Arguecore Emojis & Text

https://emojicombos.com/read-before-doing-horror

new how to write horror horrorwave horrorposting horrorpunk terrorcore read before doing horror

https://emojicombos.com/how-to-write-horror

new read before doing horror horrorposting horrorpunk terrorcore horrorwave how to write horror

r/TwoSentenceHorror
4 yr. ago
Gallantmirth


I watched the monster's jagged claws inch slowly out from under the bed.
"I won't let him in again, I promise" it assured me as my dad crept to the room.

new dadcore monstercore twistedcore

horror story (plural horror stories)

(fiction) A fictional narrative of distressing events.
The film is based on a horror story by Edgar Allan Poe.
(informal) A disturbing rumour.  ▼
We've heard horror stories about people being attacked in the elevator.
An unpleasant experience. ▼
It was more of a horror story than a vacation.

Translations

Chinese Mandarin: 恐怖故事 (kǒngbù gùshì)
Dutch: horrorverhaal (nl) n
Finnish: kauhutarina (fi)
French: histoire d’horreur f, histoire d’épouvante f
Hungarian: horrortörténet
Spanish: historia de terror, historia de miedo f
Swedish: skräckhistoria (sv)
Uyghur: قورقۇنچلۇق ھېكايە‎ (qorqunchluq hëkaye)



ghost story (plural ghost stories)

A story about ghosts or the supernatural, often meant to be frightening. quotations ▲
2012, Andrew Martin, Underground Overground: A passenger's history of the Tube, Profile Books, →ISBN, page 261:
There are the books full of Underground ghost stories. An invisible runner pounds along the platforms at Elephant & Castle; children scream in the basement of what used to be the surface building of Hyde Park Corner, [...]

Translations
 ▲±story about ghosts
Catalan: història de fantasmes f
Chinese:
Mandarin: 鬼故事 (guǐgùshì)
Finnish: kummitusjuttu
French: histoire de fantômes f
German: Gespenstergeschichte (de) f
Hungarian: kísértethistória (hu)
Irish: scéal taibhsí m
Italian: racconto dell'orrore m
Korean: 괴담 (goedam)
Norwegian: spøkelsesfortelling
Portuguese: história de fantasmas f
Spanish: historia de fantasmas f, cuento de fantasmas m
Swedish: spökhistoria (sv)
Welsh: stori fwgan f, stori ysbryd f

new 恐怖片恐怖故事恐怖灵异 horrorposting kǒngbù guǐgùshì 괴담 horrorverhaal horrortörténet 恐怖

“Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.

"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here.”

—Alice in Wonderland.

new alicecore wonderlandcore readingcore twistedcore catcore fictionkin factkin otherkin

~
-creepypastastories-
Monsters and Ghosts

Monsters are real, also ghosts
They live inside us
And sometimes they win

new erocatsapypeerc rorret dna rorroh nikretsnom niktsohg gnitsoprorroh

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

🦄👛💅🏻💄💿🎀💖👠💕

new barbiecore self care pink fashion beauty aesthetic red style

I miss my papa
✨
I really wish I didn't poison him

new twistedcore poisoncore tw death

I found myself opening a door in the basement and then
I saw the endless cavern of hour-glasses as far as the eye could see. 
The closest to the door had the names of my family members etched on them.
I saw the sand in my parent’s hour-glasses about to run out.
I called them and told them to not get on the plane. 
The sand in the hour-glasses refilled.
—Human_Gravy

new timecore shockcore airplanecrashcore familycore glasscore terrorwave twistedcore

Go to TwoSentenceHorror
r/TwoSentenceHorror
3 yr. ago
_FallenAngel__


A genie granted me my wish 
to become the most beautiful woman in the world forever

Now I sit here in a museum, frozen in a painting for the past 500 years 
as people passing by admire and faun over my timeless beauty

new wishcore twistedcore artcore TwoSentenceHorror

r/TwoSentenceHorror
6 yr. ago
Lightuke


After tucking my son into bed he says "check under it for monsters under my bed"
I found my son hiding under it whimpering "Daddy, there's someone on my bed..."

new horrorcore horrorpunk horrorwave horrorposting terrorcore bedcore bedtimecore monstercore monsterkin dadcore

 ‘Seeing Red (The First Day of School)’ by Zenryhao

Everyone loves the first day of school, right? New year, new classes, new friends. 
I like the first day of school for a different reason, though. You see, I have a sort of power. 
When I look at people, I can…sense a sort of aura around them. A colour outline based on 
how long that person has to live. Most everyone I meet around my age is surrounded by a 
solid green hue, which means they have plenty of time left. A fair amount of them have a yellow 
orange tinge to their auras, which tends to mean a disease or fire; some tragedy. Anything that 
takes people “before their time” as they say. The real fun is when the auras venture into the red 
end of the spectrum, though. Every now and again I’ll see someone who’s basically a stoplight. 
Those are the ones who get in a car crash, or even a victim of crime. It’s such a rush to see them 
and know their time is numbered. With that in mind, I always get to class very early so I can scout 
out my classmates’ fates. The first kid who came in was basically radiating red. I tsk tsk tsk. Huh.
But as people kept walking in, they all had the same intense red glow. I finally caught a glimpse of 
my own fading reflection in the window, but I was too stunned to move. Our professor stepped in 
and locked the door, his aura a sickening shade of green...

new schoolcore redcore horrorposting terrorwave horrorcore horrorpunk classroomcore teachercore greencore

The Portraits (a.k.a. The Cabin in the Woods)
Famous Creepypasta, Locations and Sites, Nature and the Outdoors / April 20, 2009 / 1 minute of reading

There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense 
forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until 
he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage...


April 20, 2009 / Famous Creepypasta, Locations and Sites, Nature and the Outdoors / anonymously
authored, cabins, camping, creepypasta classics, forests, hunters, mysteries, sites, twist endings,
woods / 1 minute of reading


Estimated reading time — < 1 minute


There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached and found the door ajar.

Nobody was inside.

The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the 
morning. As he looked around, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by many portraits, all 
painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their 
features twisted into looks of hatred. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a 
concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell in
to a restless sleep.
Face down in an unfamiliar bed, he turned blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered
that the cabin had not portraits, only windows.

new creepypastacore twistedcore mysterycore cabincore campingcore the portraits

r/shortscarystories
9 yr. ago
sp00kyscary
 
 
They're just so darn cute



I love being a 2nd grade teacher. The kids in my 
class are so cute and innocent. They're at the 
perfect age. I used to teach sixth grade, but I 
quickly realised how that it was a mistake, whence
cliques form, the bullying flourishes, and kids 
learnt how to be terrible to each other. By then,
they're corrupted by bad role models, no respect 
for authority and no desire to learn.
No; 2nd grade children are far better! The parents 
are still making an attempt to shield them from the 
harshness of the world. They look at me with wide 
eyes, eager to learn, taking in all I share with them.
My favourite day, is Valentine's Day. They make little 
paper packets they place on their desks to be filled 
with cards and/or candy. This year, I baked some
delicious cookies at home and I arrived early to 
deliver one to each student. I’m so excited to see the 
reactions.
I smile all morning. I smile as the kids arrive, dressed 
in red and pink. I smile as they happily tear into their 
construction paper holders to see what's inside. I 
smile as they give me an adorable thank-you once 
they see the cookies I've made them. I smile as they 
bite into them. And I smile as they one by one fall to 
the ground, shaking and turning blue.
After all, they're at such a cute age. It would be a 
shame to let them grow up.

new horrorkin schoolcore twistedcore smilecore redcore pinkcore sweetcore valentinescore valentinecore poisoncore They're just so darn cute [Valentine's Day Contest]

-----

Any stories involving triggering subjects must have a trigger warning
-In addition stories, roleplay or jokes that include the mention of abusing
 
Insensitive profiles are not allowed, this includes Nazi/ ww2 aesthetics that glorifies Ww2 and any profiles that glorify terrible points in history
will not be tolerated including racism, harassment, etc.
-In addition to this the use of slurs are not allowed

Please respect and follow the rules, we want to keep the community nice!

new rorroh gniod erofeb daer gnitsoprorroh erocmsicar

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

 ‘First Words‘ by alatus_corruptrix
Any day now, she’ll say her first words. 
My wife and I have been playfully betting on what she’ll say first – ‘Mamá’ or ‘Daddy.’ 
I can hear my wife crooning over and over while she feeds her ‘Mama’s little girl! Mamá loves you so much!’ 
Sometimes, she’s not even subtle about it – ‘Say ‘Mamá!’ Come on! ‘Mamá!” I don’t mind it though. I still believe 
I’ll win. When we first brought her home, she would scream and cry and nothing my wife would say could calm her down. Ours must be a daddy’s girl. 
I sit her in her chair and my wife and I begin babbling like chickens – ‘Mamá!’ ‘Daddy!’ ‘Say Mamá!’ ‘Who’s daddy’s baby?’ I pull the gag from our little girl’s mouth.
“P-please… what do you want from me? Please, let me go…”
My wife’s smile falls from her face. With a heavy heart, I put the gag back in as the girl starts to scream. 
I take her back and dispose of her. When I return, I find my wife crying.
“It’s ok, honey,” I tell her; “the next one will be better, I promise.”

new momcore dadcore horrorposting horrorwave twistedcore

r/shortscarystories
23 hr. ago
captain-howdy2323


Unknown Stranger



Oh my! I can hear him moving around down stairs. Can I remember if I heard him come inside? Idk. I must have because I've armed myself.
I cower away in this closet. But I can't remember any of that. I must be in shock. Oh my heart is racing. 
I hear him coming up the stairs. It won't be long until he finds me. I can already see what everyone will be saying. "Man found in house", "The bloodbath".
He's right outside the room. I'm breathing so heavily. I'm sure he can hear me. Please, stop shaking. Please, nerves calm down. He's opening the door. 
This is it. Finally. I've been waiting in his closet for hours.

new twistedcore horrorposting horrorwave horrorcore horrorpunk terrorcore terrorwave

“I came home from a hard day of work only to find my girlfriend holding 
our child. I didn’t know which was more horrifying, seeing my dead 
girlfriend and child, or knowing someone put them there.” -Edwin Reifer

new horrorposting girlfriendcore familycore

https://emojicombos.com/read-before-doing-horror
https://emojicombos.com/how-to-write-horror

new rorroh etirw ot woh rorroh gniod erofeb daer evawrorroh knuprorroh gnitsoprorroh erocrorret evawrorret erocspmubesoog erocerutan

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

r/shortscarystories
9 yr. ago
manen_lyset
 
 
My sister ruined my sweet 16

My sister ruined my sweet 16
It was supposed to be my special day. Everything 
was going to be perfect. I'd even gotten a custom 
made dress for the occasion. Everything was going 
off without a hitch, but then, my sister ruined my life.
 

It started during the father-daughter dance. There 
we were, gliding across the ballroom. All eyes 
on me, as my beautiful gown fluttered at my feet. 
Suddenly, my sister started convulsing in spasm’s.  Whilst 
everybody tried to figure out what had made the 
noise, the attention hog tore a hole in the side of 
my dress with her bare teeth.
 

My party guests were on-edge, all because of her!
She couldn't even let me have ONE single birthday
to myself. She then started foaming at the mouth 
mumbling incoherently. 
 

By then, my friends were running scared. They shrieked 
in horror, the party was officially ruined, her head dropped, 
she went quiet and turned blue.

 

I'm going in for surgery tomorrow to have her remains removed from 
my side…
I've been carrying around her useless conjoint self 16 years too long..

new horrorkin twistedcore horrorposters familycore twinscore twincore my sister ruined my sweet 16

Nobody wants to go near me anymore.
r/shortscarystories




Nobody wants to go near me anymore.

People used to like me, they'd sit next to me on a park bench, they'd smile 
when they saw me, they were completely comfortable bringing their girlfriends and kids around me.

Not anymore. Not since that awful murd*r. Now they cross the street 
to avoid me, and if they do look at me, it's only with a look of disgust.

I wish I could tell them all how sorry I was.

Sure, nobody blames me. It's not my 
fault. They know it wasn't my 
fault. But now, they can't stand to even glance my way.

I'm so lonely. God, what I wouldn't give to have someone sit down for 
lunch with me. I took the little things like that for granted for so long.

I had to watch him dıe. They hung him, and left before he was even 
deἀd. I was the one that saw the lífe leave his eyes, saw the paın and 
desperation on his face, and I couldn't do a thing to help him. Those 
terrified eyes will haunt me for the rest of my lífe. I wanted nothing 
more than to reach out and save him, point the police to the 
hangers, and see those awful men put in jail for the rest of their lives.

But I couldn't. I'll never be able to. I can't control where my branches bend, and my leaves can only rustle and whisper in the wind.

new personcore twistedcore hangcore reddit nobody wants to go near me anymore

I destroy the monsters you don’t ever want to know about.
by KMApok
'Why is there bad in the world?'
It’s a common question, but it is misplaced.
Light and dark.
Without one, the other cannot exist.
I roam the Earth, disposing of the bad wherever I find it.
I destroy the ones you don’t even want to know about. 
I eliminate them completely so you can sleep at night. 
You people have no idea how many of you live because of the suffocating work I do.
'What about criminals, Mussolini, Adolph...'
Well, those are the 'minor' ones I had to let live. 
For balance. 
The ones I suffocatingly destroy are too horrible and vile to even speak of...
You see, I would wager you never have heard of me, specifically in any religious texts.
Still I bet you have known of me. Some, for example, have their own name for me: SID's 
short for what you might call Sudden Infant Death Syndrome..

new horrorposting horrorpunk angelcore monsterkin angelkin monstercore horrorcore fictionkin terrorwave terrorcore sidcore miscarriagecore cot death crib death néonaticide

‘Crying isn’t going to help’ by HonestRage



I'm a murder the one who killed my wife.

He's just blubbering, perhaps a way of pleading, for his life...
Perhaps if he spoke to me to reason, it might've ended differently. 
Perhaps I might've spared instead of murder if he only could talk out of it.
But that was obviously not going to happen. 
After all, he was only just born moments ago.

new twistedcore murdercore killcore killscore lifecore ragecore filicide neonaticides

I NEED SOME BREAD AND CEREAL TOO

June 7, 2017 

@hellofinah


You get a phone call from your Mum. Since her car has been in the shop, she asks you to go to the grocery 
store and pick up a few odds and ends for her. Bread, milk, cereal, and chicken...
After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. 
Cashier makes an odd remark to you:  “you know, we’re in no danger of a milk shortage...” 
Once arriving at mum's home, you knock several times.

No answer.

You decide to try the door.

It opens.

You place the grocery bag on the counter.

Strange.

There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In some bags, the chicken and milk
have gone stale. You call out for mum, but no reply. You make your way through the kitchen
and into the living room. Sitting on the couch, with her detached head neatly resting on her lap, is mum.

Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for
nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give
your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime
scene investigator.

“It’s not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into series of repetitive behaviour” he says.

You think to yourself, “They can’t be talking about me. Schizophrenia? Nah. Repetitive behavior? Do
they think I did this?” Suddenly your cell phone goes off.

“Hello?”

“Hi hun, it’s me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk. Ohh, and I need
some bread and cereal too.”

“No problem, mum; I’ll be right over…”

new breadcore cerealcore horrorposting schizocore terrorwave grocerycore headlesscore shoppingcore

People may like horror for many different reasons. 
Personification of non-human's, perspective, etc.
There's some considerate guidelines to take in-to account.
Of course, horror's meant to be scary, but not to frightening as to cause panic attack.
Trigger warnings may give away the ending or some plot twist. Here are some tips:

~Profanity. Can say like 'oh dear' or something.
~Gore, avoiding unnecessary graphic detail. 
~Animals. Can be something like 'the dog growls at presence of ghost'
~Self harm, etc. You can, however, have a character sacrifice oneself.
~Abuse (like exploitation, arranged marriage) although you can imply abduct, poison, etc. 
~Stereotyping groups (portraying certain authorities, religions, cultures, etc. as disrespectful)

You can use (with discretion) controversial topics (execution, foeticide, the double effect, etc.) lightly.
You can mention potential topics (cannibal, baby death, poisons, apocalypse, etc.) in story insofar as it partains to the plot, but no glorifying trauma.
You can have the narrator be the villain, victim, or bystander. 

Have fun writing, and heed your emotions!

new evawrorroh gnitsoprorroh erocrorroh evawrorret noitcif rorroh aibohp

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

2:08 PM
꒰͡⠀𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐆𝐎𝐀𝐋𝐒⠀͡꒱

I know you made fresh new years revolutions, but in the end you can barely check out half of them.

To avoid this create very specific goals, for example if you want to read more, write: “read 10 books this year, so 2 each month”, this will not only help you reach your goal but to succeed it. This works for manifestation too.

new girlrotter girlbosscore readingcore yearncore timecore goals dot art text art ascii art

3:20 PM
𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒔..𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖? 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚'𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 "𝒃𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅" ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆𝒉𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒔 
𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.
𝑭𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇, 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒄𝒐𝒏,𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔.
𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒐:
𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚.(𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒔: 𝒅𝒐 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒔.˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑷𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔, 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒙𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔, 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒕𝒄.˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄.˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
-xoxo pretty girl˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆.

new hotcore prettycore shoppingcore readingcore daycore healingcore girlism

I Want to Help

It was a beautiful morning when I woke up, the sun shining through 

and the wildlife up and about. I went for my morning stroll, taking my 

usual route.

I stopped by the surface of the water, when I saw the most peculiar 

thing: a little girl… In there. Couldn’t she breathe? Why didn’t she 

come out? Panicking, I reached out and grabbed her arms, yanking 

her out of it and holding her close to me. She started to scream, but 

then seemed to be choking. I tried to calm her down. “Shh… 

Everything is fine, little one, I saved you! Relax! Breathe in!”

But she wouldn’t. And soon, despite all my efforts, she went limp. Not 

again! I couldn’t understand. I had taken her out of that horrible, 

disgusting air, and into the safety of the water. What had I done 

wrong this time?

Maybe my tentacles frighten them. Maybe I wasn’t gentle enough. Human 

children are so unpredictable. I’ll save one for real next time, I 

swear.

new twistedcore naturecore drowningcore drownedcore drowncore chokecore tumblrcore I Want to Help

My family        
Story by Pansyk            

I died eight years ago.

It wasn’t particularly tragic. Or unusual. Just a car accident. I don’t blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wife was in labor, and there was black ice on the road. He lost control of the car and I lost my life.

It's not his fault. I know that. I’m not cruel. I am not vengeful.

If anything, I’m the opposite..

↓Keep reading ↓

31ST OCT 2020 

u/Pansyk

I don’t blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wi҉fé was in labour, and

lost control of the car and I lost my lįfe.

It's not his fault.

I am not vengeful.

I’m the opposite.

You see, I don’t have any family left and I had lost my few friends around that time. When it was time for my funeral, the only people who came was my boss and the family of the man who kılled me. The wi҉fé held her newborn daughter Lily close to her.

I hated my boss, and the cemetery was awfully lonely, so I followed the family home.

Lily may as well have been my own flesh and bľood. She was sweet, and bright, and oh so very small. She had trouble sleeping if someone wasn’t rocking her crib and her parents were so tired. After they put her to bed, it was easy for me to rock her crib for her. I didn’t get tired. I could help her.

As the years passed, Jack and Lori realised that they weren’t alone in the house. It didn’t take long from there to make a connection between my funeral and when I had showed up. And I’d never been malevolent,  so they weren’t afraid or angry.

They started to burn candles on the anniversary of my dEath day. They left an empty chair for meals and holidays. I really felt like… A member of the family.

Someone is trying to force the door.

Its Lori’s ex. He’s obsessive. He’s angry. He’s going to hur͘t the family. My family.

The thing about ghosts, is that the more offerings you get, the stronger you become. Id been enjoying candles, trinkets, and even the occasional food item for the past five years. I was strong from that.

The kn1fe feels warm in my hand. A shock of heat against the ice of my skin.

Lori, Jack, and Lily are my family. I care about them. And they’re not gonna join me yet.

new familycore twistedcore carcrashcore ghostkin revengecore obsessivecore excore loricore jackcore lilycore lostcore my family

Giggles

Chuck climbed out of the bed and made his way to the bathroom, 

refusing to turn on the bedside lamp in case he disturbed his wife 

whom was låyīng beside him.

Finishing his busıness, he made his way to the sink, and just as he 

began to run the water, thought he heard a faint laughter coming 

from the bedroom.

“Honey? Was that you?”

He listened carefully, but there was no reply from that dark doorway. 

Chuck turned back to the sink and continued to wash his hands, 

certain that it was just his half-asleep brain playing tricks. However, 

moments later, he once again thought he could hear a faint laughter 

from the bedroom.

He turned off the water, and began to make his way back into the 

bedroom. The light was off, and in the bed, he could make out the 

shape of his wife låyīng there.

“Honey? Were you laughing?”

Chuck flicked on the bedside lamp, and in an instant was looking into the 

unblinking đeađ eyes of his wife, her mouth sliced from ear-to-ear in a 

grotesque mockery of a smıle.

Chuck felt his heart freeze, before relief washed over him.

“Oh, it WAS you!” he exclaimed with a smıle as he peeled back the ̛

bed sheets, stıll stiff from the long dried błoođ, and climbed back into ̛

bed, kissing his wife’s cold cheek before turning out the light.

“For a moment there, I thought I was going cRaZy.”

new twistedcore bedcore crazycore smilecore tumblrcore chuckycore giggles

 ‘A Message From Your 
Personal Demons’ By 
MrGarm

“I am the worst of your demons,
but you see me as a friend.”

Hello, my dear. You do not know who I am, but I know you. I am one of the three demons that were assigned to you at birth. You see, some people in this world are destined for greatness, destined to live happy, fulfilling lives. You, I am afraid, are not one of those people, and it is our job to make sure of that. Who are we? Oh yes, of course, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce us: Shame is my younger brother, the demon on your left shoulder. Shame tells you that you’re a freak; that those thoughts you have are not normal; that you will never fit in. Shame whispered into your ear when your mother found you playing with yourself as a child. Shame is the one who makes you hate yourself. Fear sits on your right shoulder. He is my older brother, as old as life itself. Fear fills every dark corner with monsters, and turns every stranger on a dark street into a murderer. Fear stops you from telling your crush how you feel. He tells you it is better not to try than to let people see you fail. Fear makes you build your prison. Who am I, then? I am the worst of your demons, but you see me as a friend. You turn to me when you have nothing else because I live in your heart. I am the one who forces you to endure. The one who prolongs your torment. Sincerely, Hope.

new twistedcore scarycore horrorposting

r/shortscarystories
5 days ago
DottedWriter

My Former Highschool Bully Apologized To Me Today

I stared at her as she sobbed on her knees

"Alice, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry for everything! I'm sorry for every horrible thing I've done to you!" Sophia said as she wept in front of me.

I just stared at her as she continued to sob over all of the things she had done to me.

She would directly insult or make demeaning JOKeS about me, spread n͟asty rumours about me, manipulate my friends against me, şteal a guy I had a crush on, make horrible posts about me on social media, and even manipulate some guys into doing things like jum͜ping̨ me.

She did everything if it meant I suffered in the end.

I tried to tell my teachers about this, but they just turned a deaf ear, and I didn’t even bother talking to my parents about it, they were more focussed on their jobs than me. And even then, if Sophia found out I snitched, that would result in an extra beating from her and her cronies.

She was behind all of my sufferıng, enjoyed the despair on my face, she enjoyed how much ab*se she inflected on me.

So you could only imagine my surprise when she approached me one day and started to apologise tearfully to me

As she continued to cry, my eyes started to spark with anger, anger that I had suppressed inside me for the past 5 years after highschool .

I had no one to turn to for support, absolutely no one. And she dared to spew her little crocodile tears right in front of me.

I had enough of it.

I floated around my grave until I was behind her, I stared at her for a long minute, before I plunged my hand into her chest. She tensed up, and some of her bľood splattered onto my grave. I dug through her organs before I found what I was looking for. Her heart.

It was still beating as she collapsed to the ground, her hands clutching at the wound at a desperate attempt to cover the bleeding. She coughed out błoođ, and wheezed as she continue to bleed out.

I stared at how pathetic and pitiful she looked now. I stared at her as a twisted, evil, and satisfied grin crept onto my face .

new bullycore twistedcore manipulationcore patheticcore revengecore sophiacore alicecore my former highschool bully apologized to me today

The Lights

When I was young, I used to sleep in my mother's bed a lot due to the nightmares 
I frequently had as a kid. I could always find peace under the covers of my mom's bed but I now realize the actual comfort had come from the lights. Though still foggy in my memory, there had always been a pair of two lights somewhere near the ceiling of my moms room; I never thought much of them, at least nothing bad of course, 
they were comforting, soothing, warm. I began depending on these lights, so much that when there didn't show (only on rare occasions), I couldn't help feeling distraught and never got a good sleep. I never investigated the lights, perhaps if I had I wouldn't be in the situation I am now. Eventually I got older and gradually stopped sleeping in my mom's room. The nightmares stopped and I had relatively forgotten about the lights, until last night. Stumbling to bed around midnight after a long night of studies, I couldn't wait to just hit the bed and sleep; I didn't get much, after all. Tormented by visions I hadn't had in a long time left me paralyzed and covered in sweat when I awoke. Somewhat relieved to be back to my world I was confronted with 
with a fond memory brought up through a familiar feeling. It took a few moments
to notice the two solid lights and by now my eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness. Adrenaline surged through my body as I gripped the sides of my bed. As my eyes adjusted, 
I noticed something I hadn't through the foggy memories. They weren't lights; they were glowing red eyes. I began to wonder if this was another part of a nightmare, 
It had to be. Deep down I knew it wasn't, this was all too real. Through lost hope and fear for the unknown 
a grabbed the closest thing i could, a gift from my mother on my birthday a few years ago, a snow globe from
our Denver ski trip. Playing baseball at school I developed a pretty efficient throwing arm. Launching it across the room with my pitching arm the eyes went dark followed by a thump on the floor in front of my bed. Turning on the lights left a pang of guilt in my stomach, why was that so easy. Seeing the creature for the first time up close and knowing it had been around here since I was a kid brought bile up my throat. Its limbs were half as thick than an average humans and where it's skin should have been was a substance unknown to me, dark and leathery but looked as though you could stick your hand right through it, recently punctured with shards of glass. What happened next led me to believe the theory I came up with, as soon as I turned on the lights, was true. This creature wasn't my enemy; nor was it just a neutral visitor. That's when it began, the trampling creaks on the stairs, windows smashing, and above all the worst part was the grotesque shrieks and howls. I knew what I had done tonight was the worst and probably last mistake of my life. Somewhere down the hall my sister screamed. The creature,
the one I had killed, had been my protection.

new horrorbuff twistedcore the lights

Mothers Illness


My mother had fallen ill. She had what my dad did, at least thats what it looked like 
Everyone cried. I asked if we could take her to the doctor, but we cant afford it 
My older sister took time off college to take care of her, but we knew how it would end
Mother would die like father did 
Two months later she did 
After the funeral the cops started to snooping around 
They questioned me first; they wanted to know what l knew: They threatened me, saying I could be charged as an adult because I was almost seventeen. I cried and said I loved my parents 
They took my
finger prints and let me go. My sister was next They never let her go. They said she poisoned my parents for the life insurance policy she took out on them. My three younger siblings and i couldnt believe it 
My sister never admitted to the crime, but everyone said she was guilty. That is what it
looked like. • The hardest part of it all was getting my sisters figure prints on the poison. Faking her identity to take out the insurance policies was easy 
Soon Id be going to a new home,
with new parents. Its time to start planning my next game.

new horrorbuff twistedcore mothers illness

WIFE 

"Honey, I'm home!" I yelled, seeing my wife sitting at the dinner
table already. "Nice to see you." her voice shook,
a plastic smile stuck on her face. "It was a long day at work. Hey, do you
mind maybe checking out upstairs? I saw your clothes strewn around...'
I shrug, and start to eat dinner.
"Of course!" A fuller, bigger smile.
She races upstairs, and I continue eating.
escarysories It's been quite a while, does it really
take that long to put away clothes?
So I tiptoe upstairs, and hear panicked whispering. *9111 Yes okay, this man thinks I'm his wife
and.. ohmygod he's coming! My address j.*
"What's going on, honey?" She screams as I impale the knife
into her chest.

new familycore twistedcore wife

Horror Confessions
@Horror_Fessions 
"When I was 8 I would hear what seemed like a younger girl calling for me in my back yard, my mom decided to ask around to see if any young boys had the same name as I did, turns out 8 years prior, a girl and her brother with the same name as I were murdered in a
courtyard behind our house."

new horrorbuff horrorposting familycore murdercore

I	V	X	L	C	D	M
5	10	50	100	500	1000

🔢

Individual decimal places
Thousands	Hundreds	Tens	Units
M	C	X	I
MM	CC	XX	II
MMM	CCC	XXX	III
CD	XL	IV
D	L	V
DC	LX	VI
DCC	LXX	VII
DCCC	LXXX	VIII
CM	XC	IX

new 🔢 listcore schoolcore i ii iii iv v vi vii viii ix x xi xii xiii xiv xv xvi xvii xviii xix roman alphabet operating system

Horror Short Story: The Accident
In this horror short story, a man tries to cope with what he has done.

Written by: Reddit user Minnboy

Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn’t moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated. 
An orange blur came from his right and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas 
and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home.

Why did you run? He’d never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone. Why not just go to the police right now? 
Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me.

There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. Trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light. “Mr. Halverson?” asked the grim officer. 
He let out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Let me —”I am terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your son’s bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I’m very sorry for your loss..."

new gnitsoprorroh evawrorroh knuprorroh erocrorroh erocrac erocrekib nosrevlah erocamrak erocterger erocgnivird erochsarcrac noitcif rorroh erocdaed

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

The Vanishing Hitch-Hiker
Author: Jan Harold Brunvand

This next eerie story is about a man driving home late in the night when he spots a girl asking for a 
hitchhike. The pretty girl is dressed in a beautiful white dress. The man offers her a ride and they 
strike up an interesting conversation. He drops the girl at her home.

Next day, while driving for work he notices that the girl by accident has forgotten her sweater in his car. 
He drives towards her home to hand over the sweater. An old lady opens the door when he 
rings the bell. He narrates the incident which occurred last night and gives the sweater to the lady.

The lady refuses to accept it, saying he is mistaken. The man is surprised and questions the lady again. 
He is dumbstruck and left in an unsettling situation when the lady says her daughter died in a car accident a couple of years ago.

new hikecore drivingcore horrorposting nightgore

r/TwoSentenceHorror
8 mo. ago
homestarmy_recruiter

"Turn back," I begged my friend as 
he drove, sirens wailing in the background.

He seemed desperate not to, at first, but after I got one of his earplugs out, he agreed that their voices were too beautiful to ignore.

new drivingcore sirencore twistedcore voicecore

A White Lie
I'm the last one here. Those things have killed everyone else. Those things with the huge wings, with the beady eyes, with the sharp claws....every time I close my eyes see my coworkers being ripped apart. A few of us made it to the building here, but even here we aren't safe. I watched them get picked off one by one, screaming as they fought against death. I tried to
stop it I swear I did I tried... Now I'm running through the building to the main power center. With no one else to ask, I'm tasked with pressing one of these buttons. Either will
press the red button, or the green button. Supposedly, one button will turn the power doors back on, protecting us from whatever that shrieking, hungry, and angry...thing is outside. That's the red button. The other button is green and opens the opposite side power door, and I can only imagine
what might be out there. Why had I agreed to come and research in this lab? I think as I run, hearing the screeches behind me. Oh
....
Why did I lie on my application?
Why didn't I admit I was color blind?

new creepypastacore terrorwave twistedcore a white lie

I was starving and lost in the woods until I found a hiker; I'm full now
but I just wished she hadn���t screamed so loud.

new hikecore hikingcore twistedcore hungrycore scarycore

Not only have we implanted a lifetime 
of human memories into this rat but we 
can now monitor what it's thinking.

It appears to think it's reading the second line of a two sentence story on-line right now..

new ratcore ratkin humancore twistedcore TwoSentenceHorror

As I played in the basement, Mother called me upstairs.

From behind me, She whispered, ‘Don’t go up there.’ — CheckeredBag

new staircore horrorpunk horrorwave horrorposting

avoid writing about-
~animals
~unnecessary detail
~certain groups
-in such stories

new rorroh etirw ot woh rorroh gniod erofeb daer gnitsoprorroh evawrorroh knuprorroh erocspmubesoog relletyrots yrots trohs gnilletyrots retirwtpircs

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

Tuesday, March 31st, 2015 | I only go shopping at night


The cashier swipes my items across the scanner as I stare at the floor. 
I find it easiest to get through my anxiety by avoiding eye contact with other people. That’s why I only go shopping at night 
fewer people to avoid.

“Did you find everything okay?” she asks casually.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble to the floor. Her voice sounds nice. Pleasant. Curiosity wins over and I glance up.

The cashier’s head is completely caved in on the left side. Probably a car accident. 
I snap my gaze back down towards the floor.

After I pay she gives back my change in a hand so mangled 
I’m surprised it can hold anything at all.

Thanking her, I grab my bags and turn towards the exit. Immediately I see a man looking through magazines at the store
front. The skin on his face and hands is the consistency of a hot dog that fell into a campfire. Burn victim.
I rush out the door as fast as I can. In my car I finally catch my breath as I lean my forehead on the steering wheel. 
Eventually I look up and see my familiar reflection in the rear-view mirror: my head is blown open in the back. Gunshot victim.

Why did I ever wish for the power to see how people die?

Credit to reddit user resistance1984

new tidder erocgnippohs erogthgin erocrorroh erocamuart noitcif rorroh erocigart gnitsoprorroh

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

r/TwoSentenceHorror
4 days ago
chacde3


Halfway into our trip, the GPS arrival time switched from “Midnight” to “Never.”
I was so distracted trying to figure out what it meant, I did not notice the truck veering into my lane.

new drivingcore tripcore horrorwave terrorwave horrorposting nightgore carcore carcrashcore

I Begged You
“Please, I am literally begging you,” I warn, but the executioner only sighs and
gives me a truly sorrowful look...

The chaplain sits beside me. “Once he pushes the button, death will come 
soon after,” he explains, even though I have heard it so
many times before already. “Any final words?”

“Just, again, I tell you, begging you not to do this,” I say.
clean conscience.

That’s the thing, though; I haven’t murdered anyone. It’s been this way my
The chaplain nods sadly, sorrowful that I do not face my executioner with a
clean conscience.

That’s the thing, though. I haven’t murdered anyone. It’s been this way my
entire life. I don’t know why, but whenever I would accidentally hurt myself
others near me would receive the wound. I once got a paper cut in class that
caused the three people around me to bleed from their fingers. In high school, I
was in a car accident, and even though my side of the car was hit, my girlfriend
developed a broken leg.

I’m always very careful. I take care of myself, trying to stay in the very best of
health. But when I was mugged by that trio and he shot me in the face, theirs
exploded, not mine. And when the cops came, they found me kneeling by
their bodies, trying to figure out what to do and stupidly holding their gun.

Around thirty seconds after the execution started, I see both the executioner
and chaplain fall to the floor with a hard thump. “I begged you,” I repeat sadly.

—stellarpath

new twistedcore chaircore shockcore killercore horrorposting

CATCH IN MY CHIP viii
(Autistic author)

The room is bathed in a soft
moonlight, the shadows playing
across Plankton's sleeping features. His
body, once taut with tension,
has relaxed into the embrace
of the bed, his arm curled
around a pillow. His antennas
now rest gently on the
pillowcase, no longer quivering
with agitation.

Karen watches him sleep, her
thoughts a jumble of worry and
love. She knows he's tired, that the
weight of the world can be too
much for him to bear at times. But
she also knows that he's strong,
that he'll face tomorrow with
determination.

The first light of dawn filters
through the curtains, painting the
room in soft shades of pink and
orange. Karen gently squeezes his
shoulder before standing, her eyes
never leaving his peaceful face.
She knows that today will be a
day of apologies and
understanding, of teaching Chip
about his dad's autism and how to
navigate the world around him.

With a soft sigh, she heads to
Chip's room, her footsteps silent
on the cool floor. She opens the door
to find him sitting up in bed,
his eyes red and puffy from crying.
He looks at her.

"Is Dad okay?" he asks, his
voice thick with sleep and the
remnants of his earlier distress.

Karen nods, her eyes filled
with a quiet determination. "We'll
talk to him when he wakes up."

The words hang in the air, a gentle
reminder of the conversation that
needs to be had. Chip nods, his eyes
still puffy from crying. He clutches
his pillow, the fabric damp from
his tears.

"But what do I do?" he asks, his
voice small and scared. "How do
I make sure I don't make him
upset again?"

Karen sits on the edge of the bed,
her hand stroking his. "You
just keep being you, Chip," she
says, her voice warm. "Daddy loves
you, and we'll learn together how
to make sure he doesn't get
overwhelmed."

Chip nods, his eyes searching
hers for reassurance. "But what
about my trophy?" he asks, his
voice still shaky.

Karen's hand stops, her gaze
dropping to the shard of plastic
he holds tightly in his fist. "We'll
fix it," she says, her voice
filled with conviction. "Together."

The promise brings a small
smile to Chip's face, his eyes
lighting up. "Really?"

Karen nods, her own smile
genuine. "Of course, honey,"
she says. "We're a family. We
stick together."

With that, she stands up, her
body weary but her spirit
resolute. The room feels
lighter somehow, the air less
charged with tension.

Chip clambers out of bed, his
small hand reaching for hers.
Together, they walk to the
bedroom, the shattered
remnants of the trophy
glinting in the early light.

Plankton is still asleep,
his chest rising and falling in
a steady rhythm. Chip
looks at him, his eyes filled
with a mix of sadness and
curiosity.

"We'll talk to him when he
wakes up," Karen says, her voice
soft.

They sit beside Plankton's
bed, the room still and quiet.
Chip's hand trembles slightly as
he holds the broken piece
of trophy. "But what if he's still
mad?" he whispers, his voice
barely above the silence.

Karen's hand squeezes his.
"He'll understand," she says,
her voice filled with a calm
certainty. "He loves you, and he
knows you didn't mean to hurt
him."

The words are a gentle balm
to Chip's fears, but the doubt
lingers. He nods, his gaze
never leaving his father.

"Remember, Chip," Karen says, her
voice a soft whisper. "Daddy's
brain is different."

Chip nods, his eyes fixed on
his dad's sleeping form. He's
seen Plankton stressed before,
but never like this. He wants to
show him love.

With tentative steps, he moves
closer to the bed, his heart
beating a staccato in his chest.
He reaches out, his hand shaking
slightly as he hovers it over
his dad's arm.

"Chip," Karen whispers, her hand
covering his. "Remember, gentle."
Her words are a gentle
reminder of the invisible lines
that can be crossed.

Chip nods, his eyes on Plankton's
peaceful face. He takes a deep
breath, his hand steadying. Slowly,
so slowly it's almost imperceptible,
he brings his palm to rest
on Plankton's forearm, his touch
as light as a feather.

Plankton's body tenses for a
moment, a reflexive reaction to
the sudden contact. Chip holds
his breath, waiting, hoping.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he feels
his dad's arm relax under his hand.

"It's okay," Karen whispers, her
voice a gentle breeze. "He's okay."

Chip's hand remains hovering, his
heart in his throat. Plankton's
body remains still, his breathing
even. Karen's touch is a guide,
her hand resting on Chip's.

"It's okay," she whispers, her voice
a soft encouragement. "You can
do it."

With a deep breath, Chip's hand
descends, his fingertips brushing
against Plankton's arm.

Plankton's antennas twitch.
Karen watches, her eyes never
leaving her husband's face.

Chip's hand hovers, his
heart racing. He wants to
reassure his dad, to let him
know he's there. He's
learned about space and
understanding, but all he
can think of is the warmth of
his touch, the comfort
he craves to give.

His fingertips graze Plankton's
arm, the contact so light it's
barely there. He watches,
waiting for a reaction, for a
sign that he's crossed the line.
But Plankton remains still,
his breathing unchanged.

Encouraged, Chip presses down
slightly, his hand a soft
weight on his father's arm.
He feels the warmth of his
skin, the steady pulse beneath.
It's a tentative connection,
fragile as spider silk.

Plankton's antennas quiver,
but his body remains still.
Chip's heart hammers in his chest,
his breaths shallow and quick.
He's afraid to move, afraid
to break the spell.

Karen watches, her eyes
filled with a quiet hope.
The air in the room is thick
with anticipation.

Chip's hand hovers over
Plankton's arm, trembling
slightly with nerves and
love. He's unsure if this
small gesture will be met
with anger or acceptance.

Karen's gaze is a silent
cheer, urging him on. Plankton's
breaths remain steady, his body
still. Chip's heart is a
drum in his chest, each beat
a silent plea for
understanding.

With a tremble, he lets his hand
settle, his fingertips barely
grazing the fabric of the blanket.
He feels the heat of Plankton's skin,
the rise and fall of his chest.
It's a gentle touch, the lightest
of caresses.

Karen's hand remains on his,
guiding him, encouraging him.
Plankton's breaths remain steady,
his body still. Chip's eyes
are wide with hope, his hand
poised above the blanket.

With a tremble, he lets his
fingers come to rest on the
cotton, feeling the warmth
of his father's arm beneath.
He holds his breath, waiting
for a reaction, for any sign
that he's done the right thing.

Plankton's body remains still,
his breathing unchanged.
Karen's eyes are glued to
his face, watching for any
hint of distress. But there's
none. Only the gentle rise
and fall of his chest, a testament
to his deep sleep.

Chip's hand is a butterfly
landing on Plankton's arm, his
fingers fluttering slightly
against the warmth of his
skin. He's never felt so
exposed, so vulnerable. But
his love for his dad is stronger
than his fear.

Karen watches the silent
exchange, her heart in her throat.
The moment feels sacred, a
testament to their growing
understanding of each other.

Chip's hand remains on Plankton's
arm, the warmth of his touch a
promise of comfort and love.
He's afraid to move, afraid to
disrupt the delicate balance.
Karen's hand is a soft presence,
guiding him, giving him
the courage to stay.

Plankton's breaths are slow
and even, his body relaxed.
Chip wonders if he's dreaming, if he's
in a world where the sensory
overload doesn't exist. His heart
swells with hope, with the
desire to protect his dad from
the world's harshness.

Karen's hand on his is
a gentle reminder that he's not
alone. She gives him a small,
encouraging nod, her eyes filled
with understanding. He takes a
deep breath, his hand moving
slowly, so slowly, to cover his dad's.

The moment their skin
touches, it's like a dam breaks.
Chip feels a rush of warmth, a
connection that's been missing.
He squeezes Plankton's arm lightly,
his heart pounding. He's afraid to
move, afraid to breathe too loudly.

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, watching for any
sign of distress. But his features
remain relaxed, his antennas
still. The room is a sanctuary
of quiet, the only sound their
melded breaths. Chip feels a
lump form in his throat, his eyes
welling with tears.

He whispers, "Thank you," to
his mom, his voice shaky with
emotion. She nods, her hand
still covering his. "Remember,"
she says, her voice a soft
caress. "Gentle."

With trembling fingers, Chip
tucks the blanket closer around
Plankton, the fabric smoothing
over his shoulders. It's a
tiny act of love, a silent
apology. He wants to crawl into
the bed beside him, to wrap
his arms around his dad..

He looks up at Karen, his
eyes pleading. "Can I?"

Karen nods, her smile sad
but understanding. "Just be
careful not to wake him,"
she whispers.

With the grace of a
cat burglar, Chip slides into the
bed, his movements slow and
calculated. He's careful not
to disturb the sheets, not to
make a sound that could break
the tranquil silence.

Plankton's arm is a warm
mound beside him, and he
reaches out tentatively, his
fingers seeking the comfort
of his dad's skin. He finds it,
his hand coming to rest lightly
on the crook of his elbow.
The connection feels right,
like finding a piece of himself
he didn't know was lost.

He snuggles closer, his head
resting on the pillow beside
Plankton's.

Karen watches, her heart
swelling with love for her son.
"It's ok," she whispers. "Just be
gentle."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II viii

JUST A TOUCH viii
(Autistic author)


After dinner, they
retreat to the living room.
Plankton's eye is glued
to the puzzle book on the
coffee table, his antennae
twitching with unspoken
longing. Karen picks it up,
opening to a new page.

"Would you like to work
on this one together?"
she asks, her voice gentle.
He nods, his eye lighting
up with the familiar challenge.

Together, they tackle the
puzzle, Karen's voice a gentle
narration as Plankton's antennae
move in time with her words.

The patterns on the page
hypnotize him, drawing him in.
Plankton's antennae stop
twitching, his focus solely
on the words before him.

And then the doorbell rings,
breaking the spell. Karen's
heart skips a beat, her hand
tightening around the puzzle
book. Plankton's head snaps up,
his eye wide with alarm. "Who
is it?" he asks, his voice
sharp.

Karen's eyes dart to the clock.
"It's probably SpongeBob,"
she murmurs. Plankton's antennae
perk up at the mention of his
friend's name. "Party," he says,
his voice hopeful. Karen nods,
swiping at the tear that's
managed to escape. "Yes, Plankton.
SpongeBob's probably here
to invite us to a party at the
Krusty Krab. Do you
think you're up for it?" she asks,
her voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae droop
slightly. "Maybe," he says,
his voice unsure. The thought
of the bright lights and loud
noises at the party sends a
shiver of anxiety through
his tiny body. But the
prospect of seeing Sponge
Bob is tempting.

Karen sighs, understanding
his hesitation. She walks
to the door, her movements
slow and deliberate. Sponge
Bob's cheerful greeting floods
the hallway. "Hey,
Karen! Plankton! You guys
coming to the party?"

"Hey, Sponge Bob," she says,
her smile forced. "What's the
occasion?"

Sponge Bob's face lights up
like a Christmas tree, his
spongy body bobbing with
excitement. "Mr. Krabs is
throwing a bash at the
Krusty Krab!" he says, his
hands gesturing wildly. "You
guys are coming, right?"

Plankton's antennae quiver
at the mention of the party.
The thought of the loud
noises and the jostling
crowd makes his stomach
churn, but the prospect of
seeing his friend shines like
a beacon through the fog
of his fear.

Karen watches him,
reading his emotions like
a book. "It's okay," she says,
her voice a gentle reminder.
"We can go for a little bit."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. "Okay," he says, his voice
barely a whisper. Karen can
see the internal struggle
playing out across his features.
"Just stay as long as you're
comfortable," she adds. "I'll
just stay, you go with him."

Sponge Bob's eyes light up.
"Great!" he says, bending
down to hold his hand. He
holds his finger as they go.

Plankton's grip is tight,
his antennae flat against
his head. The noise of the
Krusty Krab is a cacophony
of sounds, each one
stabbing at his heightened
senses. But the warmth of
Sponge Bob's hand, the
familiarity of their friendship,
anchors him.

Mr. Krabs sees Plankton
clinging to Sponge Bob's 
side.

"What's going on, laddie?"
he asks, his voice gruff but
concerned at the sight of
their hands.

Plankton's antennae
twitch, his gaze darting
to the floor. Mr. Krabs' 
eyes narrow.

"Why did ye invite
Plankton?" he asks
with suspicion.

Sponge Bob's smile
doesn't waver. "Well,
he's always welcome..."

Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow.
"But he's our enemy.."

Sponge Bob's smile
doesn't waver. "He's my friend,"
he says firmly. "And I'm watching
to make sure he won't steal any
thing, boss.."

Mr. Krabs' eyes soften,
his suspicion giving way to
reluctant acceptance. "Alright,
but keep an eye on him," he says,
his voice gruff.

Sponge Bob nods, his grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.
Plankton's antennae quiver,
his heart racing at the sudden
influx of stimulation. The
colorful lights, the smells of
frying food, the laughter of
the patrons—it's all so
much. But Sponge Bob's hand is
warm, a lifeline in the chaos.

They move through the
crowd, Plankton's steps small and
careful. His eye darts around,
trying to take it all in without
getting overwhelmed. Sponge
Bob's voice cuts through the
noise like a knife. "You okay,
buddy?" he asks, his smile
concerned. Plankton nods, his
voice a strained whisper. "Good,"
Sponge Bob says, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's.

As they reach the party
area, Plankton's antennae start to
wave erratically. The lights
are too bright, the sounds too
loud. He clutches Sponge
Bob's hand tighter. 
Plankton takes a deep breath,
his chest expanding with the
effort. It's like trying to
swim through jello, his senses
on high alert.

Sponge Bob feels the
change in his friend's grip,
his own heart racing with
concern. "You okay, Plankton?"
he asks again, his voice
barely audible over the din.
Plankton nods, his eye
focused on the floor. The
pattern of the tiles is
soothing, grounding him amidst
the chaos.

A flash of pink darts
through the crowd, and Plankton's
antennas twitch. "Patrick!"
Sponge Bob says, letting go
of Plankton's hand.

Plankton looks around and
sees Squidward doing the
dishes, but in a disorganized
manner that Plankton needs
to correct.

The sight of the
scattered plates, the water spots
on the glasses, sends a jolt of
anxiety through him. His
compulsion to straighten, to
organize, to make it right, is
almost unbearable. So he goes
to Squidward by the sink to interfere.

Squidward glances up, his
tentacles frozen mid-wash. "What
are you doing here?" he snaps.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his gaze fixated on the mess.
"Help," he says, his voice tight.

Squidward rolls his eyes, grabbing
another plate to wash as he ignores
Plankton.

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
eye darting between the chaos
and Squidward's dismissal. He's
doing the dishes wrong and needs
him to help!

"Squidward, let Plankton assist,"
he says, his voice formal.
Squidward sighs, shaking his
head.

"Look, I don't have time for
this," he says, his tentacles
moving rapidly. Plankton's
body tenses, his need for
meticulousness consuming him.

As Plankton approaches Squidward,
his movements are precise, almost
mechanical. His antennae twitch
in time with his racing thoughts,
his need for order a silent
scream in the noisy room. He
holds out his hand, palm up.
"Wash," he says, his voice firm.
Squidward pauses, eyeing him
warily. "What?"

Plankton's gaze is unwavering,
his voice steady. "Smudges.
Wash dishes. Correct way."

Squidward's grip on the plate
slackens, his eyes narrowing.
"What do you mean?"

Plankton's antennae wave
frantically. "Correct way,"
he repeats, his voice a
desperate whisper. "No smudges.
Wrong order."

Squidward's tentacles still,
his gaze sharpening. "What's
gotten into you?" he asks, his voice
filled with skepticism.

Plankton's antennae twitch.
"No smudges," he says again,
his voice a mix of urgency and
desperation. Squidward sets
the plate down with a clatter.
"What are you on about, Plankton?"

But Plankton's focus is solely
on the task at hand. He reaches
for the dish soap, his movements
precise.

Squidward watches him, his
expression a mix of annoyance
and curiosity. "What's going on?"
he asks, his voice gruff. Plankton's
antennas twitch, his eye darting
to Squidward. "Just helping,"
he says, his voice flat as he puts
the now clean dish away. But he
sees imperfections on some of the
clean dishes, handing them over
for Squidward to wash as he straightens
up the other plates.

Squidward's eyebrows furrow,
his gaze flicking between Plankton
and the dishes. "What are you
doing?" he asks again. Plankton's
grip on the towel tightens, his
body vibrating with the need for
perfection. "It's not right,"
he says, his voice strained. "Has to be
right."

"Those I've cleaned!" Squidward
says as Plankton puts them in
the sink for him to wash over
again. "Squidward look. No..."

But before Plankton can
finish, Squidward snatches the plate
from his tentacles. "Look, I don't
have time for your... whatever
this is," he says, his voice gruff. He
takes it and haphazardly shoves
it with smaller plates. Plankton
can't take the misalignment!

Plankton's antennae stand on
end, his eye wide with horror.
"No!" he says, his voice rising.
"Wrong order!" His hands
shake as he tries to grab the
plate, his mind racing with
the need to correct the mistake.

Squidward pulls away, his
expression a mix of confusion
and irritation. "Plankton, what's
wrong with you?" he snaps.

"Plankton's centrum semiovale has
restricted inhibitory synaptic
transmission!" Plankton's
voice is a mix of panic and
frustration, his antennae waving
wildly. Squidward's eyes narrow,
his grip on the plate tightening.
"What are you talking about? I
am not going to wash this again,"
he says, his tone firm.

Squidward's words hit a nerve,
triggering a cascade of emotions
in Plankton. "It's not
about Squidward!" he says, his voice
sharp. "It's about the order! Cleanliness..."

"PLANKTON I SAID NO!" Squidward
yells, startling him as he turns back
to the sink.

new just a touch neurodisability viii

NEW REALITY viii
(Autistic author)

"I don't
understand," she says, her voice
filled with distress.

Plankton's hand clenches, his
body vibrating with tension.
"Numbers," he repeats, his voice
edging on a scream. "They
make quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen, her smile
fading to a look of horror.
"But Plankton," she says, her voice
shaking, "it's just a clock."

But her words are like fuel
on the fire of his distress.
He steps closer to the clock,
his hand outstretched as if
to will it to silence. "Numbers,"
he whispers, his voice a
plea. "They make quiet."

Hanna's eyes fill with
sympathy, but her words only
worsen his agitation. "Plankton,
it's just a clock," she says,
reaching out to touch him.

Karen's heart hammers in
her chest as she sees his
body tense even further.
"Hanna, don't," she warns, her
voice tight. "Please don't touch
him right now."

But Hanna doesn't hear her,
her own voice rising with
frustration. "It's just a clock,
Plankton," she repeats, her hand
covering his shoulder. "Nothing's
going to hurt you.."

The touch sends him spiraling,
his body convulsing with
overstimulation. "No touch!"
he screams, his hand slapping
at her arm, his face a mask of
fear and anger.

But Plankton's outburst has
ignited something in Hanna,
a spark of anger.

"Why can't you just be normal?"
she snaps, her voice echoing
through the tense room.

Karen's heart breaks as
Plankton's eye goes wide, his
body jerking away from her.
"Hanna, please," she says,
her voice tight with pain.

But Hanna's words keep coming,
a barrage of misunderstanding.
"You can't just ignore us,"
she says, her voice rising. "You have
to interact with the world."

Plankton's body recoils, his
skin seemingly vibrating with each
of her words. "Interact," he echoes,
his voice strained.

Karen's heart is in her throat.
"Hanna, please," she says, her
voice tight with pain. "You're
not helping."

But Hanna's eyes are
glassy with frustration. "How
can I help if he won't even
look at me?" she asks,
ignoring the desperation in
Plankton's gaze as she holds
his arms tightly.

Karen's eyes plead with her,
but Hanna's grip doesn't loosen.
"Let go," Plankton whimpers,
his voice tight with tension.

Hanna's smile is forced,
her grip unyielding. "Look at me,
Plankton," she says, her voice
laced with irritation. "You can't
just..."

But her words cut him like
knives. "Look
away," he murmurs, his voice
strained, his body begging for
the pressure to ease.

Hanna's smile falters, her
grip tightening. "Why can't
you just look at me?" she asks,
her voice edged with annoyance.

Plankton's breath hitches,
his antennae drooping. "Can't," he
whispers, his gaze flickering
between her and Karen.

Hanna's eyes narrow, her
grip on his arms tightening.
"You can," she insists, her
voice firm. "Just..."

But Plankton's whimpers
grow louder, his body
shaking with the effort
to pull away.

Hanna's smile fades, her
grip tightening in frustration.
"Why can't you just be like
everyone else?" she asks, her
tone no longer gentle.

Plankton's whimpers become
sobs, his body shaking with
the effort to break free.
Karen's eyes are wet with
unshed tears as she watches
the scene unfold, her heart
breaking for him.

Hanna's grip remains firm,
her expression a mix of
confusion and annoyance.
"Why are you doing this?"
she demands, her voice
sharp. "You're just being
difficult."

Plankton's sobs grow more
desperate, his body
twisting in her grasp.
"Let go," he whispers, his voice
a strained plea.

Hanna's eyes flash with
irritation. "Why ca--"

Her words are cut off by
Karen's firm voice. "Hanna,
please," she says, stepping
between them. "You're
upsetting him."

But Hanna's confusion turns
to anger. "How can I not
be upset?" she retorts, her
grip on Plankton's arms
tightening. "He won't even..."

Her words are cut off by
Karen's firm voice. "Please,
Hanna," she says, her eyes
pleading. "You don't
understand."

Suddenly, Plankton's legs
buckle, his body going slack
as Hanna finally releases
his arms. He crumples to
the floor. He's retreating, Karen
realizes, her heart racing.
He's retreating into himself.

Karen's eyes fill with
fear as she watches him, his
sobs subsiding into quiet
whimpers. "Plankton," she
whispers, her voice a prayer.

Hanna's face falls, her anger
replaced with shock. "What's
wrong with him?" she asks,
her voice trembling.

Karen's eyes are wet with
unshed tears as she crouches
beside him. "It's a condition,"
she says, her voice tight with
frustration. "He needs time
and space to process everything."

Hanna's face crumples, her
hands going to her mouth.
"I didn't know," she whispers,
her eyes wide with regret.
"I'm sorry."

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's huddled
form. "It's not your fault,"
she says, her voice thick with
emotion. "But we all have
to learn."

Hanna nods, her eyes
brimming with tears.

Karen wraps her arms
around Plankton, her
touch gentle. "It's okay,"
she murmurs. "I'm here."
He trembles against her,
sobbing.

Hanna stands there,
apology etched in every
line of her face. "What can
I do?" she whispers.

Karen looks up, her eyes
wet. "Just give us a moment,"
she says, her voice a gentle
command.

Hanna nods, backing away
slowly, her eyes on Plankton.
"Okay," she murmurs, the weight
of her words heavy in the
silent room.

Karen holds Plankton tightly,
his body a trembling mass
of emotion. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her voice a
soothing balm. "You're safe."

He nests his head into
her shoulder, his whimpers
softening to quiet sobs.
The room feels thick with
their shared pain, the air
charged with the tension
of misunderstanding.

Hanna's eyes dart around,
looking for anything that might
soothe him.

Karen's gaze meets hers,
a silent plea for understanding.

"It's called autism," Karen says softly,
her voice a gentle explanation.

Hanna's eyes widen, her face
a canvas of realization. "Oh," she
whispers, the word a soft
exhalation of breath.

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's tear-stained
face. "It's a spectrum,"
she says, her voice calm and
steady. "And he's on a part
of it that's very sensitive to
stimulation."

Hanna nods slowly, her
understanding growing. "I'm
sorry," she says, her voice
full of regret. "I didn't know."

Karen's grip tightens around
Plankton's shoulders. "It's okay,"
she murmurs. "We're all still
learning."

Hanna nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's trembling
form. "I'll go," she says, her voice
small. "I didn't mean..."

Karen nods, her gaze
steady. "Thank you," she whispers.
"We can talk soon."

Hanna nods, her eyes filled
with sadness. "Of course," she says,
turning to leave.

The door clicks shut behind her,
leaving Karen and Plankton in the
heavy silence. Karen's arms
remain around him, her body
a protective cocoon against
the harshness of the world.

Plankton's sobs slowly
ease into quiet sniffs, his body
still trembling in her embrace.
Her heart aches for the pain
he's feeling, the fear that
Hanna's misunderstanding
has brought to the surface.

"I'm sorry," she whispers
to him, her voice
shaking.

Plankton's trembles begin
to subside, his breathing
evening out. He pulls back,
his eye searching hers. "No,"
he murmurs, his voice hoarse
from crying. "Not at fault."

Karen's eyes fill with
relief, her grip on him
loosening slightly. "It's
okay," she says, her voice
a gentle caress. "We just need
to find ways to help you."

Plankton nods, his eye
fluttering shut.

Karen's mind races with
thoughts of what more she
can do, what she can say
to make him feel safe.

"We'll get through this,"
she says, her voice a promise.
"Together."

Plankton's eye opens,
his gaze meeting hers.
"Together," he echoes, his
voice a whisper.

Karen's heart swells with
love for him, her eyes
shimmering with determination.
"We'll find what works,"
she says, her voice firm.

Plankton nods, his gaze
dropping to the floor.
"Thanks," he murmurs, his
voice barely audible. "Tired.."

Karen's heart breaks at the
exhaustion etched into his
features. "I got you, you
can rest," she says, her
voice a gentle whisper.

They move to the couch,
Plankton's body curling into
her side. She wraps the
weighted blanket around him,
still within their embrace.

His breathing slows, his body
relaxing against hers. The
whirring fan above offers
a steady rhythm, a lullaby for
his troubled mind.

Karen's hand strokes his
back in gentle circles, her
thumb tracing patterns that
seem to soothe his nerves.

The fan's steady whir
fills the room, a calming
symphony that lulls Plankton's
racing thoughts to a crawl.

Karen's thumb moves in
soothing circles on his back,
each pass sending a ripple
of comfort through him.

Plankton's breathing evens,
his body slack against hers.
The fan's steady hum is a
lullaby in the quiet room,
a metronome for his racing
thoughts.

Karen's hand continues its
soothing dance across his back,
his eye finally closing.

The room is a cocoon of
silence, the fan's whisper the
only sound breaking the stillness.

Plankton's breathing slows,
his body melts into Karen's embrace.
Her hand continues its gentle
caress, a metronome of comfort as
he finally surrenders to sleep.

new new reality hannacore viii

I̵̱̓͆͘'̷̞̰̜̭͚̉͂̈́̌͗m̴͓̼̲͖̮̣̣͒͛̈́̑̿͘ ̷̛͓̖̯͎̱͇̓̉̔̿͝T̵̰̓͊̈́͛͆̀̈́̎̆͝e̶̞͔̤̟̒̋̽̍r̸̨̻̬̲̰̂͑̍̂̋͜r̵̨̫̓̄̀̀͊̔̽͝i̷̢̺͇̒͗́̈́̚͜͝f̸̛̦̱̱͋̾͊̔ị̵͇͙̥̭̜̒͒̆̃́e̸̬̺͉̩̘̬̟̥̊̾ḑ̵͇̪͚̻̾̉̈́̅͗̀̉̀͐͘ͅ

S̵̨̛̙͉̈́̏ą̷͔̣̳̙͈̝̫͈͔͋̅̌̎̇̓̎͝v̴͉͙͈̺̖̖̠͉͛̔̆̔͌͑͝ę̴̠̓͊͑̈́M̸̱̠̞̲͗̑̓̉̇̾̋͜͝ͅȩ̶̳̻͚̣͈̱̤͔̩̽͂̽͗̃̈́̀̂̾S̶̨͓͔̠͚̒̍̽a̵̳̩͓̣̐͂̾̈͆́̑̕͘̕v̸̨͔̱̥̭̭̆͒͘ę̷̝̺̖̪̩̭̀̔̑͛̍̔̈́͘ͅM̴̯̮͓̠̘͚̦͚̔̀͂̈́͆͜ę̷̧͓͇̫̗̩͆̿͆̌́͝͠S̴̡̘͖͓̺͖̟͎̓͌͂̅̀̄̈̀͌̈́à̵̢̯͇͙͓̗̣̗͖̂͊̊͘͝v̵̰̟͎̈́̀͒͆͐̅e̵̱͕̰̯̬̹͋̋͐́ͅM̷̱̻̜͔̘̗̱̐͌͂ë̷͍͎̙̖̝̙̝̫͙́̓͜Ş̵̧̛͕̬̭̭͉̫̂̋͑̉̇͜ạ̷̧̯̲͍̠̦̤̞͗̀͌̍̈͋͝v̸̢̰̞̺̟̦̺̝͗é̷̢͈͚̟̙̠̽̆͛̉̃̚Ḿ̵̡͔͔̠̫͓̭͔͖̬͂̐̄̓̅͆͝ḙ̵̹̯͇̭̃̊͂͌͊̚̕S̸̩̒͝a̴̢̪͚̻̦͖͇͆͗̈́̏̈̽͆̔̚v̶̛̾͂̏́̀̉̚͜ẻ̶͕̖͂̀́̏̂͛͒͜M̵̰̭̟̯̩̻̘̭͐͑̋̔̎ȩ̸̛̛̹͉͓̿̈̽̈́͊

S̵̨̛̙͉̈́̏ą̷͔̣̳̙͈̝̫͈͔͋̅̌̎̇̓̎͝v̴͉͙͈̺̖̖̠͉͛̔̆̔͌͑͝ę̴̠̓͊͑̈́M̸̱̠̞̲͗̑̓̉̇̾̋͜͝ͅȩ̶̳̻͚̣͈̱̤͔̩̽͂̽͗̃̈́̀̂̾S̶̨͓͔̠͚̒̍̽a̵̳̩͓̣̐͂̾̈͆́̑̕͘̕v̸̨͔̱̥̭̭̆͒͘ę̷̝̺̖̪̩̭̀̔̑͛̍̔̈́͘ͅM̴̯̮͓̠̘͚̦͚̔̀͂̈́͆͜ę̷̧͓͇̫̗̩͆̿͆̌́͝͠S̴̡̘͖͓̺͖̟͎̓͌͂̅̀̄̈̀͌̈́à̵̢̯͇͙͓̗̣̗͖̂͊̊͘͝v̵̰̟͎̈́̀͒͆͐̅e̵̱͕̰̯̬̹͋̋͐́ͅM̷̱̻̜͔̘̗̱̐͌͂ë̷͍͎̙̖̝̙̝̫͙́̓͜Ş̵̧̛͕̬̭̭͉̫̂̋͑̉̇͜ạ̷̧̯̲͍̠̦̤̞͗̀͌̍̈͋͝v̸̢̰̞̺̟̦̺̝͗é̷̢͈͚̟̙̠̽̆͛̉̃̚Ḿ̵̡͔͔̠̫͓̭͔͖̬͂̐̄̓̅͆͝ḙ̵̹̯͇̭̃̊͂͌͊̚̕S̸̩̒͝a̴̢̪͚̻̦͖͇͆͗̈́̏̈̽͆̔̚v̶̛̾͂̏́̀̉̚͜ẻ̶͕̖͂̀́̏̂͛͒͜M̵̰̭̟̯̩̻̘̭͐͑̋̔̎ȩ̸̛̛̹͉͓̿̈̽̈́͊

S̵̨̛̙͉̈́̏ą̷͔̣̳̙͈̝̫͈͔͋̅̌̎̇̓̎͝v̴͉͙͈̺̖̖̠͉͛̔̆̔͌͑͝ę̴̠̓͊͑̈́M̸̱̠̞̲͗̑̓̉̇̾̋͜͝ͅȩ̶̳̻͚̣͈̱̤͔̩̽͂̽͗̃̈́̀̂̾S̶̨͓͔̠͚̒̍̽a̵̳̩͓̣̐͂̾̈͆́̑̕͘̕v̸̨͔̱̥̭̭̆͒͘ę̷̝̺̖̪̩̭̀̔̑͛̍̔̈́͘ͅ

M̴̯̮͓̠̘͚̦͚̔̀͂̈́͆͜ę̷̧͓͇̫̗̩͆̿͆̌́͝͠S̴̡̘͖͓̺͖̟͎̓͌͂̅̀̄̈̀͌̈́à̵̢̯͇͙͓̗̣̗͖̂͊̊͘͝v̵̰̟͎̈́̀͒͆͐̅

e̵̱͕̰̯̬̹͋̋͐́ͅM̷̱̻̜͔̘̗̱̐͌͂ë̷͍͎̙̖̝̙̝̫͙́̓͜Ş̵̧̛͕̬̭̭͉̫̂̋͑̉̇͜

ạ̷̧̯̲͍̠̦̤̞͗̀͌̍̈͋͝v̸̢̰̞̺̟̦̺̝͗é̷̢͈͚̟̙̠̽̆͛̉̃̚

Ḿ̵̡͔͔̠̫͓̭͔͖̬͂̐̄̓̅͆͝ḙ̵̹̯͇̭̃̊͂͌͊̚̕S̸̩̒͝a̴̢̪͚̻̦͖͇͆͗̈́̏̈̽͆̔̚v̶̛̾͂̏́̀̉̚͜ẻ̶͕̖͂̀́̏̂͛͒͜M̵̰̭̟̯̩̻̘̭͐͑̋̔̎

new zalgocore horrorposting zalgo

CHIP AND FAIL viii
(Autistic author)

Karen's hand was a lifeline,
her voice a gentle guide. "Chip,"
she called out.
"We need to talk."

Chip stopped in the hallway. 
Why was Dad acting so
weird? He turned to face his
mother, his eyes brimming with
unshed tears. "What's wrong with
him?" he demanded, his voice
filled with accusation. "He doesn't
deserve to be called my dad if
he can't even..."
But that's when it happens.
That's when Plankton started
hyperventilating, and that's
when Plankton can't take
anymore.
That's when it happened.
Chip's words were like a match
striking too close to a powder keg.
Plankton's breath hitched, his antennae
twitching erratically. Karen rushed to
his side, her screen wide with concern.
"Babe, you okay?" she asked, her voice
a gentle caress. She holds her arms
out to catch Plankton.

But Plankton's mind was a
whirlwind, his body a live wire.
He couldn't answer, couldn't find
the words to explain the chaos
that was his reality. His antennae
trembled as he struggled to
breathe, his body rigid with fear.
He had hoped to keep this
hidden, to protect Chip from the
truth, but it was too much.
The storm inside him grew
wilder, each breath a battle.

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his own confusion
mirroring the chaos in the
room. "What's wrong with you?"
he repeated, his voice a mix of anger
and desperation.

But Plankton's mind was a tornado,
his thoughts swirling too fast
for words. He could feel his chest
constrict, his heart pounding
like a drum.

Karen watched her son's screen,
seeing the hurt in his eyes, the
misunderstanding etched
deep. She took a deep breath,
knowing the moment had arrived.
"Chip," she began, her voice
soft but firm, "there's something
you need to know about your dad."

Chip looked at her, his expression
a mix of anger and confusion. "What
could possibly make him act like
this?" he spat, poking Plankton hard. "Why
did you marry him? He's just nothing but..."

"Chip," Karen said firmly, taking his
hands in hers, when Plankton
starts to wheeze heavily, his body
constricting with each shallow breath.

Chip's anger faded, replaced with
fear as he watched his father's
distress. "Dad?" he whispered,
his voice shaking.

Plankton's body trembled as his
legs gave out, collapsing into the
embrace Karen had been ready to offer.

"Dad?" Chip's voice was barely
above a whisper, his eyes wide
with fear and confusion. He had
never seen his father so
overwhelmed, so vulnerable.

Karen knelt beside Plankton, her
hands gentle on his trembling
body. "It's okay, love," she
whispered, her voice a salve
on his raw nerves. "Just breathe."

Chip's eyes were glued to his
father with fear. He had never seen him
like this before, his body a
stranger's under his own touch.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked
again, his voice shaking.

Karen took a deep breath, her
hands trembling as she smoothed
back Plankton's antennae. "Chip, your
dad was born with something..."
Her voice trailed off, the words
stuck in her throat like a piece
of unchewed food.

Chip's eyes searched hers, his
confusion a storm cloud
gathering. "What do you mean?"
he asked, his voice small and
scared.

Karen took a deep breath, her
heart aching for both her son
and her husband. "Your dad," she
began, her voice shaking with
the weight of her words, "was born
different, Chip." Plankton's
eye flickered open, filled with a
mixture of fear and hope.

"What do you mean, 'different'?"
Chip asked, his voice small and
scared. He had never heard his
mother talk about his dad this
way before.

Karen took a deep breath,
swallowing the lump in her
throat. "When your dad was born,
Chip," she began, her screen
filled with a sadness that
threatened to spill over, "his brain
was injured during delivery. When
the doctors pulled him out, they
didn't realize how fragile he was
and they..." Her voice trailed off,
the memory too painful to
recount. "They had to get him out
and applied too much force on his
head, which caused some damage.
It gave him a type of condition, where
he's on what's called autism spectrum."

Chip's eyes widened, his grip on
his shirt tightening. "But that's
not his fault, right?" he asked, his
voice a hopeful whisper. He didn't
want to think of his dad as
damaged or broken.

Karen nodded, her screen filled
with love for both her husband and
her son. "No, honey, it's not his
fault," she said, her voice steady.
"It's just how he's. And
it's not something you can see or
touch. It's like having a radio in
your head that's always tuned to the
loudest station, and sometimes
the static gets too much."

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II viii

hurt/comfort
(fandom slang) A genre of fan fiction in which a character receives comfort from another after or while suffering injury, illness, or a traumatic experience. 
H/C stories appeal to readers in different ways. 
While genres for these stories range from drama to mystery, many stories are classified by their authors as romances or as “hurt/comfort” stories.
Hurt/comfort is a fanwork genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. 
A great trope if you want to bring two characters closer together, or if you want to show how deep their relationship goes.

new writercore healthcore comfortcore readingcore fanfictioncore hurt/comfort

Music, Arts, Crafts, Recipes and Fashion blogging from a Gothic/Dark Romantic perspective.
Sunday 31 May 2015
Goth Is Not Inherently Satanic
I got harrassed for being a Goth by a stranger professing the grounds of Christianity, and attempting to convert me away as reason to berate me. 
Yesterday, I was out busking in town, in relatively Gothic clothes, wearing my red wig, and playing my usual fare of traditional Scottish, Irish and other European folk tunes, and this  middle-aged man who was clearly drunk came up to me, and started going about how I play "mystical stuff that goes back to the 12th century" (a reference to an incoherent comment he'd made about Greensleeves at me months ago; I'm surprised he'd remembered it, because I had forgotten about it) and then started going on about how I "don't have to wear black, and dye your [my] hair red" (I pointed out that I was wearing a wig, but he didn't seem to be listening) and then went on to get into my personal space and loudly and aggressively deride being a Goth as Satanic, and tell me that he's a Christian and that I should, to paraphrase him 'find my Saviour'. I tried my best to explain that Goths no religious affiliation and simply an aesthetic preference, but he kept insisting. As he later went on to inform that he'd been an alcoholic, and then "clean for 2 years" but had "done a runner three days ago", I decided that his words and actions were the product and not to take them to heart. He said he would pray for me, and I thanked him. I decided silently I would pray for him too, for that after 2 years clean and then relapsing, he finds his way back to sobriety, and get the help and support to do so, and find the inner strength too, because I know addiction is hard battle. Just as he left my Goth friends came up to me, saying they weren't sure whether to intervene, as he had harassed them too, condemning them. 
It was a complex situation, and even though he railed at us and condemned us, his actions were clearly a sign of his own struggles and I could not bring myself to be harsh with him, and he did give me a £5 note, so at least he was generous as well as religiously harrassing (not that giving me money ameliorates bad behaviour, and I do wonder if he thought giving me money was simply a way to get my time). I didn't know what to do about the situation; I felt cornered because busking generally means I have to stand with my back to a wall to avoid being in the way of pedestrians, and although people were walking by, nobody helped me and I could not see any security guards or police, although I did feel that they might just treat him as another obnoxious drunk, when he probably needed more nuanced help than that. 
This got me thinking that it is a common misconception that Goth is synonymous with Satanic, or at least that it is inherently Satanic, and I feel like it would be productive to break down that misconception.
Goth is simply a subculture that is focused on having an appreciation for the morbid, dark and spooky in music, fashion, art and literature; it has no religious affiliation at all, and Goths come from all religions as well as agnostic and atheists. 
That is the short response, but does not really contain any nuance, not does it explain why Goths sometimes use Satanic imagery, or gives any differentiated understanding of how occult themes tie into the Gothic, and as such does little to shed light on how Goth is not Satanic even though it looks like it could be.
Satanic imagery is used within the Gothic subculture for several reasons.
Sometimes Satanic imagery is used for shock value, especially by those who feel constrained by a conservative cultural backdrop and wish to differentiate themselves as other, as part of something taboo, dark and frightening. Often it is teens who do this, and it is not representative of the wearer's/displayer's true religious or spiritual beliefs, but part of a more complex process of wishing to separate themselves and create their own identity. Often a passing phase - either because all interest in dark and spooky things is a passing phase, or because they mature into somebody more in the identity, rather than identifying themselves oppositionally to others. Some people carry this behaviour on adulthood, but usually a behaviour that people mature. Often, Satanic imagery used for is not used in a way that is coherent with the actual uses of those symbols within Satan or the occult, and is often mixed up with symbols from other religious and spiritual groups (I have seen symbols appropriated into this sort of shock-value pseudo-Satanism, but that is another matter.)
Some Goths actually are Satanist, but they are a minority even within the Goth scene - these people will use Satanic symbols correctly, and tend not to advertise their Satanic affiliations. Most of the actual Satanists I know personally are not Goths; they tend to be more "nerdy" and less into the theatric and ostentatious aesthetics of Goth. Most of the I have met subscribe to a version of Satanist where Satan is an archetype of independence, hedonism and suchlike, rather than a deliberately Anti-Christ worship of the Devil. I have never met an actual Devil-worshipper, someone who subscribes to a Christian theology and cosmology, but looks to Heck and the Devil rather than to Heaven and Jesus - I am not saying they do not exist, just that such people must be quite rare, even amongst Gothic and Occult circles.
Sometimes people mistake Neo-Pagan iconography and symbolism for Satanic imagery, for example confusion can arise over the use of pentacles and pentagrams (and their inverted variations), and this is exacerbated by the misuse of these. Neo-Paganism is a religion that has no concept of an adversarial dichotomy, with no Heck or Satan. Some people hold the belief that all things other than their specific religious path are Satanic or at least a distraction or deception from what they see as the truth, but outside of that belief structure, there is little in Neo-Paganism that could mark it as anything Satanist, any more than say, Buddhism or Hindoo; it is a completely different belief system to any of the monotheistic faiths. As Goths often have an interest in the spiritual, and are apt to look outside conventional spirituality for answers, there are quite a few Neo-Pagans within Goth, but again, not all Goths are Neo-Pagans, and not all Neo-Pagans are Goths (quite a few dress very 'mainstream' and others -a significant proportion- are more inclined towards Hippy and 'Bohemian' aesthetics.).
There are some who feel badly hurt by Christianity, or who see it as a destructive force, and who use Christian symbols and anti-Christian symbols as a critique of Christianity and the power of organised religion; sometimes this falls into the territory of shock-value, and sometimes it is done with more refinement and nuance, but this is not unique to Goth, even though it does exist within the Gothic subculture, nor is it something you have to engage in as a Goth. Goths tend to be people who have been outcast by traditional community structures, and that can include the Church, and/or people who use Christianity as an excuse to harass (a bit like the man in my opening paragraphs) - as such, there are probably a greater percentage of Goths who do this than non-Goths. Personally, even as an apostate, I find this sort of thing can often be more harmful and rectionary than productive. I don't think religions should be beyond criticism or critique, but I do think that there ways to go about doing this, and there are ways that are just rude and mean, where the message is lost.
There are, of course, more than these four contexts, but these are the four most common contexts and reasons for the use of Satanic imagery within the Gothic subculture. Sometimes it is used in the traditional way it was used within Gothic horror; as a symbol for various evils or villainry that a good person can come across, for example.
The use of Satanic imagery is not inherent to Goth - the use of dark imagery is, but not all dark imagery has to come from the cultural/religious context of Heaven and Heck, God and the Devil - there are plenty more traditions to draw from, and a lot of Gothic imagery comes from European folk-tales, sometimes more entwined with Christianity. The imagery of death, decay, transience and similar are part of the human experience, and appear in different ways across all cultures. There is plenty of positive Christian iconography used in Goth as well - but that is a topic for different blog entry entirely (and something I would quite like to write about, and get some of my Christian Goth friends to write guest posts for, but that is for a different time). Not everything dark is Satanic even in a Christian context; the Bible is full of stories about people who had to overcome pain, suffering and violence, and the very concepts of martyrdom and Christ as crucified saviour involve death and sacrifice; not everything that is dark is inherently negative.
Goths are not synonymous with Satanist, we are not a group who worship the Devil or are anti-Christian; we are diverse with diverse perspectives outside of things that are actually Goth (of which specific religious affiliation is not). There are quite a few Goths who are Christians, and there are Goths who are Jewish, Muslim, and members of other monotheistic faiths. There are even Goth priests - check out the ::Priestly Goth Blog:: for example. You cannot tell someone's religion by subcultural affiliation. 

Side note: if you wish to convert someone to your faith, condemning them and berating them will have the exact opposite effect; you are more likely to drive that person away from the religion you profess than convert them. 
The HouseCat at 07:00

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CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS viii

(Autistic Author)


They sit in silence for a few moments, 
the sound of Plankton's slowing breaths 
filling the space. Karen's mind races with 
the conversation they need to have with 
Chip.

"How do we explain it?" Plankton asks, 
finally breaking the silence. His 
antennae still, his eye looking at the 
floor.

"We tell him the truth," Karen says firmly. 
"But we also remind him of all the 
wonderful things you do for him, all the 
ways you show him love."

Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping 
further. "I know I'm not the dad he 
deserves," he murmurs.

Karen's voice is firm, but filled with 
warmth. "You are the dad he needs," 
she corrects. "And we'll get through this 
together."

Finally, Plankton's 
antennae perk up slightly. "I'm sorry," he 
says again, his voice still thick with 
emotion.

Karen nods. "I know," she says softly. 
"But we can't keep hiding this from him. 
He needs to understand."

Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. 
"I know," he admits. "I just don't know 
where to start."

Karen gives his hand a gentle squeeze. 
"We'll start by talking to him," she says, 
her voice strong and reassuring. "When 
you're ready."

They sit there for a while longer, the 
rhythm of Plankton's breathing slowly 
returning to normal. Karen's mind is 
racing with thoughts of how to navigate this 
chapter in their lives. How to help Chip 
understand his father's condition without scaring 
him or making him feel responsible.

Finally, Plankton turns to her, his antennae still shaky. 
"What do we do now?" he asks, his voice a mix of exhaustion and fear.

Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes filled with resolve. 
"First," she says, "we make sure you're ok."

They sit there, the only sound in the room the distant 
hum of the TV. Plankton's antennae are still, his eye 
focused on the floor. Karen's hand remains on his 
back, a silent promise that she's there for him.

"Let's get you to bed," she says softly. "You need to rest."

With her help, Plankton stands, his legs wobbly from 
the intense episode. Together, they make their way 
to their bedroom, the quiet of the house a stark 
contrast to the emotional upheaval they've just 
experienced.

Once Plankton is tucked into bed, Karen sits beside 
him, her hand resting on his arm. "We'll get through 
this," she says, her voice a gentle reassurance in the 
stillness. "We're a family."

Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of doubt, and 
he looks up at her, his eye searching hers for 
understanding. "But what if I can't?"

Karen's gaze is unwavering. "You can," she says 
firmly. "You're strong, Plankton. And we're here to 
help you."

Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods slowly. 
"Ok," he whispers. "Ok."

Karen leans in, kissing his forehead. "Rest," she 
says. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

With a nod, Plankton closes his eye, and Karen slips 
out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. She 
heads to Chip's room, heavy with the weight of the 
conversation they need to have.

Chip is lying on his bed, his small form wrapped in a 
blanket, staring at the ceiling. His eyes are red, and 
he looks up as Karen enters.

"Hey, buddy," she says softly, sitting beside him. 
"Can we talk?"

Chip nods, his eyes still wet with tears. "What's 
wrong with Daddy?" he asks, his voice shaky.

Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words 
carefully. "Daddy has something called Autism, 
sweetie," she says, her voice gentle. "It makes his 
brain work a bit differently from ours. Sometimes, 
when he's really upset or overwhelmed, his body can 
react in ways that might seem strange or scary."

Chip's eyes are wide with curiosity, and he nods 
slowly. "Is that why he gets so mad?" he asks.

Karen takes a moment before responding. "Sometimes, yes," 
she says. "It's his way of dealing 
with big feelings. But it's not because he's mad at you, ok?"

Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. 
"But why does he get so mad?" he asks again, his 
voice quivering.

Karen sighs, her hand stroking him. "Daddy gets 
overwhelmed by his feelings, and it's hard for him to 
express them," she explains. "Sometimes, when he 
can't find the right words or when things get too 
much, he feels like he's going to break apart. That's 
what we call a meltdown."

Chip sniffs, his eyes glued to the ceiling. "It's like 
when I'm really sad and I don't want to talk?"

Karen nods, her heart swelling with love for her son's 
empathy. "Exactly," she says. "And just like you, 
Daddy needs some space when that happens."

Chip looks at her, his eyes serious. "But what if I 
want to show him my affection?"

Karen smiles sadly. "You can, Chip," she says. "Just 
remember to be gentle, and maybe use words or 
gestures that aren't to overwhelming for him."

Chip nods, his eyes still on the ceiling. "But what if I 
make it worse?" he whispers.

Karen's heart clenches at his fear, and she takes his 
hand in hers. "Sometimes, we just need to learn new 
ways to show and receive love."

Chip nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. 
"Ok," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Karen leans in, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. 
"You're brave," she says, her voice filled with pride.

"But what about the rock he broke?" Chip asks, his 
voice still shaky.

Karen sighs, her eyes meeting his. "Daddy didn't 
mean to scare you," she says. "Sometimes, when 
people are upset, they do things they don't mean to. 
It's part of how they cope."

Chip nods, his grip on her hand tightening. "But 
Dad now," he says again, his voice small.

"We'll give him some time to rest," Karen assures him. 
"And tomorrow, we'll talk about it more."

With that, she tucks the blanket around him and turns 
to leave. As she reaches the door, Chip's voice stops 
her. "Mom," he says, his tone tentative. "Can I go to Daddy?"

Karen's heart skips a beat, and she looks back at 
him, her eyes filled with both concern and hope. "Do 
you think that's a good idea, sweetie?"

Chip nods. "I want to tell him I love him," he says, his 
voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's heart squeezes. "Ok," she says, taking a 
deep breath. "But remember, we need to be gentle 
with him right now. Let's go to his room together."

They tiptoe down the hall, the house eerily quiet. 
Karen can feel Chip's hand in hers, small and warm 
and trembling slightly. When they reach the bedroom, 
she opens the door quietly and peeks in. Plankton is 
lying on his back, his antennae still, his chest rising 
and falling with deep, even breaths.

They approach the bed, and Karen can see the 
tension in Plankton's body, even in sleep. She
whispers to Chip, "Remember, sweetie, just a little. 
And if he wakes up, tell him you love him."

Chip nods solemnly, and together, they tiptoe to the 
bedside. Chip extends a tentative hand and gently 
pats Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennae twitch, but 
he doesn't wake. "I love you, Daddy," Chip whispers, 
his voice quivering.

Karen's eyes fill with tears at the sight of her son's 
bravery and love. She gives Chip's hand a squeeze.
"That was perfect," she says, her voice barely a 
murmur.

They stand there for a moment, watching Plankton's 
chest rise and fall in the dim light of the moon 
peeking through the curtains. Then, with a heavy 
heart, Karen leads Chip back to his room.

Once Chip is tucked in, she kisses his forehead and 
whispers, "You're a brave boy, and I'm so proud of 
you." His eyes, still red and swollen from crying, 
meet hers with a quiet understanding beyond his 
years.

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore viii

The End

“The End is nigh” “Agency Officials: Spend this time with your loved 

ones” “Citizens prepare for the Inevitable”

The newspapers were all the same.

His mother whisked him away from the news stand and into her 

arms, but not before he read the last headline. “The Invasion: What 

could We have done?”

“Mommy, what’s happening?” he whispered. She pressed his warm, 

chubby hand to her wet cheek and let out a quiet sob.

“The humans. They found us.”

new endcore twistedcore familycore tumblrcore the end

1 day ago
u/Sticky_Cheetos

He handed me a box and said, “If you press this button, you get $100,000, but it takes one year off of your lįfe.”
I pressed it once, and everything went dark̵.

new darkwebcore twistedcore sadcore reddit

r/TwoSentenceHorror
2 hr. ago
villianrules
 
After taking the ancestry test I discovered that I was related to a serial killer.

It makes me so proud of continuing the legacy.

new horrorposting horrorposters familycore

i turned to the guy who 
k1lled my wife
✨
He cried so 
desperately, scared for what was to come. 
If only he had talked to me and tried to 
reason, maybe I could have spared him. 
But that was impossible. After all, he was 
born just a few moments ago...

new familycore twistedcore horrorposting ✨ horrorbuff

America’s Top 5 Spooky Spots for Horror Enthusiasts

February 17, 2024 / Strange and Unexplained / 4 minutes of reading

Estimated reading time — 3 minutes

How many times have you tried to find a place in the US that will raise your hair up and fill you with adrenaline? If you’re the kind of person who loves to take part in horror adventures, then you should know that America is full of spooky places, like dark cemeteries, abandoned mansions, and dark towns. The only thing you’ve left to do to satisfy your horror cravings is to choose the most suitable one for your needs and plan your next trip.

The 5 spooky places in America that we’re about to list and discuss will indeed fascinate every horror enthusiast.

Table of Contents

1. Bonaventure Cemetery
2. Lemp Mansion
3. Bally’s Resort and Casino
4. Gettysburg National Military Park
5. Clinton Road
Final Thoughts

1. Bonaventure Cemetery

At first glance, you might think that Bonaventure is just another cemetery that might attract horror lovers at times. But trust us, you actually need to prepare yourself before you see the centuries-old tombstones that surround this historic site in Savannah, Georgia.

Bonaventure Cemetery is an ancient, historic district that was once a privately owned cemetery. Even though this site attracts tourists with its beautiful nature and architecture, to this day, multiple people have reported unusual occurrences, such as the sounds of children and barking dogs, even when no one is around. As visitors claim, you should definitely consider going around the graves of  Gracie Watson or Kehoe House – children who died in the 19th century but whose ghosts never left the Bonaventure Cemetery.

2. Lemp Mansion

Besides cemeteries and battlefields, you can find numerous mansions and old houses in America that are considered haunted. Lemp Mansion in St. Louis, MO, is one of those mansions that still fascinates visitors with its eerie atmosphere. The main reason why this house is considered haunted is the history behind it – the tragic death of the Lemp family over 60 years ago.  

Almost a century ago, Lemps were important figures in the brewing industry. In the 1920s, the business began to decline. Not surprisingly for that period, this downturn made a few family members commit suicide. The first one among them was William Lemp who was followed by his son Billy. His brother, Charles, did the same later, along with a 13-year-old physically and mentally disabled brother. Today, Lemp Mansion is an inn and a restaurant and its visitors sometimes encounter the spirits of these 4 dead members of the Lemp family.

3. Bally’s Resort and Casino

If someone asks you to name some of the most popular attractions in Las Vegas, chances are that you’ll name Bally’s Resort and Casino if you’ve ever gambled in this building. Everyone knows that Las Vegas is full of casinos and entertainment venues. But it turns out that horror enthusiasts either take pleasure in playing thrilling real casino games online or gamble at physical casinos that have a reputation for being haunted. Bally’s Resort and Casino is one of those haunted places in America.
This casino was initially known as MGM Grand in the 1970s and attracted wealthy people from all over the US. But this was before a terrible incident happened – in 1980, faulty wiring started a fire in the building, which resulted in the deaths of 80 individuals. Today, visitors to this casino claim that from time to time they hear spooky noises and notice the spirits of the people who died on that day. That’s why Bally’s Resort and Casino is considered haunted.

4. Gettysburg National Military Park

Considering the number of people who died at the Battle of Gettysburg during the American Civil War, it’s not really surprising that the National Military Park of Gettysburg is said to be haunted by the ghosts of soldiers.  

As a matter of fact, the Gettysburg National Military Park consists of numerous spots where paranormal activities occasionally take place. For example, there, you might encounter three disembodied heads. These hands belong to Confederate soldiers who died tragically on the battlefield. But other than these figures, sometimes you can even hear gunfire, shouts, and even the cries of wounded men.

5. Clinton Road

One more scary place in America that usually fascinates horror lovers of various preferences is Clinton Road in West Milford, New Jersey. It’s a 10-mile-long road that isn’t anything special at first glance. However, the legend says that if you decide to race on this road, chances are that you won’t escape evil spirits and phantom headlights.

Even more exciting about this haunted place is the rumor that after throwing a coin into the bridge at midnight, someone will throw this coin back at you. It’s hard to decide whether it’s true or not, but if you dare to explore this place, throwing a coin is worth it. Just remember to do it exactly at midnight.

Final Thoughts

It wasn’t easy for us to choose only 5 haunted spots for horror enthusiasts who plan their ghost-haunting trip in America. But at least, now you have a starting point for your adventure. Just keep in mind that although you might consider yourself brave enough to explore these eerie locations, we don’t recommend going to those spooky places alone. Who knows, maybe those ghosts are actually waiting for a brave person who can become a part of their company.

new erocatsapypeerc erocyretemec gnitsoprorroh stsaisuhtnE rorroH rof stopS ykoopS 5 poT s'aciremA

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

r/TwoSentenceHorror
26 days ago
Prestigious_Salad_85


I screamed in excitement as I received 
an email stating that my application 
was accepted.

The rest of my family cried out in despair knowing they weren’t 
selected to board the last ship leaving our dying planet behind.

new familycore twistedcore horrorposters shipcore dyingcore planetcore spacecore spaceshipcore TwoSentenceHorror

Mother Warned Me
Mother always warned me not to cross the street. Mother warned me about those types of things. She said bad men would kidnap me, take me away.

I guess she was right, in a way. I crossed one day, because I was never a good child, and several men came out and picked me up and asked me many questions.

I don’t know why she never wanted me to cross the street. All the men wore blue and had badges. I don’t know why they put silver bracelets on Mother. I don’t know why Mother attempted to bite one of them.

I don’t know a lot of things, I suppose. And years later, I’ll never know why she made me call her Mother.

new creepypastacore streetcore kidnapcore horrorposting

r/TwoSentenceHorror
5 yr. ago
netflixandskill


my son was reported missing last week

they found him but it's not my son

new peoplecore horrorposting missingnokin

I thought telling the genie “I want to live forever” 
But the universe went dark 3 billion years ago
by douggold11

new horrorwave horrorposting

 ‘Ylim3’ By IPostAtMidnight

I've found her name in the wet cement,
written in remembrance.

Little Emily vanished last year. Now they’re pouring new sidewalks in my neighbourhood, and I’ve found her name in the wet cement, written in remembrance. But it was written in reverse. And from below.

new horrorbuff horrorposting ylim3

The End
From Redditor u/MrCookieCutter:

For the first time in recorded history, no humans died today.

Granted, that's because the last one died yesterday.

new reddit horrorposting humancore historycore

r/TwoSentenceHorror
4 days ago
CalebVanPoneisen


While tidying up my girlfriend’s apartment 
I found a purple diary 
labelled “Boyfriends Whom Dare to Look”.
Unable to resist the temptation 
my heart raced, at the sight of names 
and dates marked with red 
but before I could fully process 
it's meaning, a voice be-
hind me chuckled 
“It’s time to break up,” 
as a sharp object pierced my back.

new horrorposting girlfriendcore calebcore stabcore horrorpunk

“I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. As I stood in- 
front of the mirror, there was no one staring back at me.” -Lucas Smelser

new horrorposting nightgore

“I woke up in a joyful mood and went to my mirror with a smile on my face; only, my reflection wasn’t smiling back at me.” -Aubrey Lichtfield

new horrorposting smilecore

r/TwoSentenceHorror
4 yr. ago
mydadsnameisharold


"Yes, the blood means you're a 
woman now."

Too groggy to make sense of the pain between his legs, 
he managed to ask, "... what did you just do to me?"

new erocdetsiwt erocelamef nikelamef msidihcrona msihcrona erocdoirep doolb wt rorroHecnetneSowT

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

Practice Makes Perfect
by reddit user whiteddit
"You're not even trying. Again!" My calloused hands dance across the music. A finger
slips and the tune groans.
"Your father would be ashamed. Again!" My blurred vision falls from the yellowed sheet music to
the keys. I miss another note.
"Faster. Again!"
I stumble once more as the tempo increases. She rises from the bench. "Absolutely worthless. You're done for today." I hang my head in shame. I know what's
coming.
The floorboards creak as Mother returns from the kitchen.
I wince. It's hard enough to play with three fingers. It'll be even
harder with two.

new creepypastacore terrorwave twistedcore practise makes perfect

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY viii
(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his grip on Plankton's wrists
loosening. "What
accident?" he asks, his voice
filled with dread.

Plankton's smile is gone,
replaced by a look of sadness.
"Head," he says, his voice
a barely-there whisper. "Hurt." He
touches his forehead gently,
his antennas drooping.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen with
realization, his grip on Plankton's
wrists loosening entirely. "You
got hurt?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "What happened?"

Plankton nods, his antennas
still drooping.

Sponge Bob's confusion
grows, his anger replaced
with worry. "What do you
mean?" he asks, his voice
softening. "What happened to
your head?"

Plankton's antennas twitch, his
smile a distant memory. "Fall," 
he says, his voice a monotone.

Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat.
"You fell?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "When? How?"

Plankton nods, his eye
flickering with something
akin to pain. "Recently," he says,
his voice flat. "Head bad."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock,
his mind racing with questions.
"You fell and hurt your head?" he
repeats, his voice filled with
disbelief. "Why didn't you tell
me?"

Plankton's gaze drops to his book,
his hands fluttering over the
pages. "No tell," he whispers, his
voice filled with regret. "Shame."

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
understanding, his anger
evaporating like mist in the sun.
"Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice
soft. "You didn't have to keep
this to yourself."

Plankton's smile is a
pale imitation of his usual
self, his antennas still. "No good,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible. "Head hurt. Plankton bad."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry as he tries to
comprehend his friend's cryptic
words. "You're not bad, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You've
just had an accident."

Plankton's gaze remains fixed
on the book, his hands
flapping over the pages. "No,"
he says, his voice a sad echo.
"Head bad. Plankton bad." His body
slumps, his usual vibrant energy
dimmed by his distress.

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with sadness as he tries to
comfort his friend. "You're not
bad, Plankton," he says, his voice
soothing. "You're just hurt right?"

Plankton's antennas twitch slightly,
his hand stilling on the book. "Hurt,"
he echoes, his voice a monotone.
"Inside head." He taps his forehead,
his eye searching Sponge Bob's
for understanding. "Grey matter.
Neural pathways."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
confusion growing. "What do
you mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "What's
going on with your brain?"

Plankton's hand continues to
tap his forehead, his voice
detached. "Neurochemicals," he says,
his voice a robotic recital. "Synaptic
connections. Autism." His smile
is a mere memory, his eye
glazed over with a faraway look.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes in his
chest, his mind racing. "You're
talking about your brain," he says,
his voice tentative. "What's wrong
with it?"

Plankton's hand stops tapping,
his gaze focusing on Sponge Bob.
"Wiring," he says, his voice a
monotone explanation. "Neuro-
typical patterns disrupted affect
the parts of brain when result
in autism." His words are precise,
his tone devoid of emotion.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen with
comprehension, his spongy heart
sinking. "You're saying you have
autism now?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton nods, his eye
still fixed on the book. "Neurotypical
divergence," he confirms, his voice
still devoid of emotion. "Synaptic
variance, myelination discrepancies."
He speaks in a monotone, his words
sounding rehearsed and mechanical.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears,
his heart breaking for his friend.
"What does that mean, Plankton?"
he asks, his voice shaking.
"Does that mean you're not okay?"

Plankton's gaze remains on
the book, his hand tracing the
spine. "Neuro-typical divergence,"
he repeats, his voice a flat
recitation of medical terms.
"Synaptic connections altered.
Atypical neural patterns. Autism."
He speaks as if recounting
a scientific paper, his tone
lacking any personal connection.
"When hit head, damaged the
myelination," he says, his hand
continuing its mechanical movement
against the book. "Myelination is
the insulation around the axons
that speeds up the nerve impulses 
made in a part of brain we call
the cerebral cortex. My cerebral
cortex now restricts, slows
down impulses."

Sponge Bob listens, his
mind racing to keep up with
Plankton's sudden shift in
vocabulary. "But what does that
mean?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "How'd the
damage give you autism?"

Plankton's hand stops
its movement along the book.
"Neurodivergence," he says, his
voice a clinical recount. "My brain
now operates outside typical
parameters. Synaptic pruning,
myelination patterns altered.
Atypical neural networks formed."
He speaks as if discussing a
complex scientific experiment,
his words a jumble of medical
terminology that Sponge Bob
barely understands.

"Does that mean you're not okay?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice
filled with fear.

Plankton's hand stills on the book,
his gaze unfocused. "Functional
diversity," he says, his voice
a hollow echo of the medical
lingo he's been taught. "Neurodivergence
can lead to unique cognitive
strengths, but also challenges."
He taps the book, his antennas
waving slightly. "My brain's wiring
changed," he says, his voice
a monotone. "Synaptic clefts
widened, neurotransmitters less
efficient. Restricted blood flow to
temporal lobes."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with a mix of confusion and
fear. "Does that mean you can't
be... fixed?" he asks, his voice
small.

Plankton's antennas twitch,
his gaze still unfocused. "Can't fix,"
he echoes, his voice a sad
recitation. "Neuroplasticity, yes.
Rewire, adapt. But cerebral
cortex, permanent. Autism, permanent."

Sponge Bob's eyes are wide,
his mind reeling with the
complexity of Plankton's words.
"But, Plankton," he says, his voice
quivering. "What about the Krabby
Patties? Your plans?"

Plankton's gaze snaps up, his
hands still. "No plans," he says,
his voice a sad echo. "No more steal."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his heart racing. "You don't want
to steal the Krabby Patties anymore?"
he asks, his voice filled with
hope and disbelief.

Plankton's antennas droop, his
hands flapping slightly. "No more
schemes," he whispers, his voice a
monotone. "No more steal." His eye
meet Sponge Bob's, a flicker of
his old mischief briefly shining
through. "But," he adds, his
smile mischievous, "still have
competitive spirit." His hands
begin to flap with excitement.

Sponge Bob's heart soars with
relief, a smile spreading across
his face. "So, you're still
the same Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with hope. "Just...
different. Ok, cool!"

Plankton nods, his smile a
ghostly reflection of his usual
self. "Different," he repeats, his
voice a sad echo. "But still
have friend?" His antennas
wave slightly, his eye searching
Sponge Bob's for reassurance.

Sponge Bob's heart swells with
affection. "Of course, Plankton,"
he says, his voice firm. "We're
still friends. Nothing can
change that." He squeezes
Plankton's shoulder, trying
to convey his support. 

new karen and the autistic journey corpus callosum anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) braincore autismcore headinjuryposting neurodivergentcore neurodisability viii

r/shortscarystories
4 yr. ago
MintClicker
 
Moments before the tragedy

At 3, she jumped off the bed.

At 7, she unbuckled her seat belt.

At 12, she went to a sleepover at a friend's house.

At 17, she finally received her driver's license.

At 26, she said yes.

At 30, she went into labor.

At 39, she had one last hurrah.

At 46, she signed the papers to make it final.

At 55, he was diagnosed and had no one to share the news with.

At 61, she celebrated her remission with a night out.

At 22, she looked at herself in the mirror.

At 87, surrounded by her family and friends, she smiled.

There are moments before every tragedy, quick flashes of boredom or happiness, of the expected and unexpected. These moments I see. The little girl jumping off her parents bed and into an unresponsive final state. Another girl attending her first sleepover, excited and giddy, only to succumb to an unknowing fatal nut allergy.

The young woman whose proposal near the shoreline was poorly thought-out, never allowing her to live to see her marriage. The older woman who finally divorced the man she came to loathe, and for that man to not take the finality of it all with dignity or peace.

The man whose diagnosis was terminal. The woman whose 40th birthday ended in heartache and disaster. The girl whose last glimpse in the mirror was of herself, relieved, then raising the pistol to her temple.

These moments, as innocuous as they seem, are the final looks to life before tragedy ultimately hits. And I watch them. I have to. It's my responsibility to take you all from this realm to the next.

It's my duty. And I am sorry; I truly am.

Because now? At this moment, they read the final sentences of a story. Some bored. Some happy. Some expecting this ending; some not.

And I watch as they read these last words, fully oblivious as they are, that this, this is their moment.

new tw death tragicore allergycore carcrashcore twistedcore reddit moments before the tragedy

r/TwoSentenceHorror
4 days ago
kaoru-aeli


They pointed at me, laughing and calling me "four-eyes".
They weren't laughing after I decided to revealed 82 more.

new terrorwave eyecore horrorposting horrorwave

Mary had a little lamb

It's fleece was white as snow,

And everywhere that Mary went

That lamb was sure to go.

He followed her to school one day

That was against the rules,

It made the children laugh and play

But soon they felt like fools.

Mary’s corpse was in a room

And oh, what a scene!

The kids saw her coated in blood

And regretted being mean.

Soon the police arrived

Stepped over Mary’s heart,

And tried to ask everyone

How she was ripped apart.

But when nobody knew

The origins of all the gore,

The police decided

That it was time to go hardcore.

And so everyone was dragged

To detectors so they can’t tell a lie

But everybody refused to tell

Why Mary had to die.

Suspects were jailed everywhere

Tom, Barb, and Sam

Because not a single person knew

The murderer was the lamb.

June 21, 2017
 hellofinah

new lambcore lambkin creepypastacore twistedcore horrorpunk marycore

no-
~pets
~unnecessary detail
~crims
-in said stories

new rorroh etirw ot woh rorroh gniod erofeb daer gnitsoprorroh evawrorroh knuprorroh erocspmubesoog relletyrots yrots trohs gnilletyrots retirwtpircs evitarran

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

avoid-
~losing animals
~excessive detail
~inaccurate portrayal of certain people
~making fun of groups

new rorroh etirw ot woh rorroh gniod erofeb daer gnitsoprorroh evawrorroh knuprorroh erocspmubesoog noitcif cihtog yrots tsohg smlif rorroh relletyrots yrots trohs gnilletyrots noitcif rorroh

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

Avoid~
-profanity
-animal loss
-stereotyping
-ignorance

new rorroh etirw ot woh rorroh gniod erofeb daer noitcif rorroh rorroh gnitsoprorroh yrots tsohg

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

‘Crying isn’t going to help’ by HonestRage
She's gone, all because of him.
Dead.
He killed my wife.
She'd still be here, if it's not for him.
If only he could speak with reason; I could’ve let him live long enough to explain.
But that was obviously not going to happen. 
After all, he was born just a few minutes ago...

new crycore cryingcore killercore murdercore horrorposting horrorwave horrorpunk horrorcore twistedcore fetuscore birthcore childbirthcore neonaticidal néonaticide neonaticide

💕 🔮 💕
🌸 🎀 🌸
💕 🔮 💕

new dreamscape barbiecore harrypottercore

UNINSTALLING STEAM
▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▢
　　╭━╮╭━╮╭╮　╱ 　　
　　╰━┫╰━┫╰╯╱╭╮ 　　
　　╰━╯╰━╯╱　╰╯ 　
ERROR

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
████▌▄▌▄▐▐▌█████
████▌▄▌▄▐▐▌▀████
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

new twistedcore karencore glitches

GREAT CHIP vii
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes searched their faces,
picking up on the unspoken tension.
"I see you two had a talk," she said gently,
her gaze lingering on Plankton. "How are 
you feeling?"

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly.
"Tired," he admitted. "But better."

Karen stepped closer to the bed,
her hand reaching out to cover
his own. "I'm here," she said softly.
"Do you remember what happened
in Chip's room before coming in here?"

Plankton's antennae twitched
nervously. "Bits and pieces,"
he admitted, his eye avoiding hers.
"I know I had a...moment. And I...
I was mad."

Karen's hand squeezed his gently.
"It's okay, sweetie," she said, her voice
soothing. "You don't have to be ashamed.
It's just your brain's way of coping."

Plankton's eye searched hers, his antennae
still. "But the things I said..."
his voice trailing off.

Karen's expression remained calm,
understanding. "They were the seizure's words,
not yours," she assured him. "We're just
glad you're okay."

Chip's gaze flitted between
his parents, his heart aching for his dad.
He knew he needed to be strong, to support
his father through this. "Can we talk more
about it tomorrow?" he suggested, his voice
filled with hope.

Plankton's antennae nodded wearily.
"We can," he said, his voice a mix
of relief and exhaustion. "But for now,
I need to rest. It's bedtime, so.."

Chip felt a twinge of sadness
at the thought of his dad's struggle,
but he also felt a spark of hope.
Maybe tomorrow would bring a new
understanding, a way to bridge
the gap between them.

The next morning, the sun streamed
through the blinds of their small, cluttered
bedroom, casting patterns on the floor.
Chip stirred, his mind filled with the
memories of the previous night's conversation.
He checked on Plankton, who was
still asleep, his antennae twitching slightly.
He knew today would be a new day,
a chance to start anew with his father.

Carefully, Chip padded out to the kitchen,
his thoughts racing with the promise
of understanding.

He found Karen at the counter,
sipping her morning coffee, her eyes
red-rimmed from the night's worry.

"Mom," he began, his voice
still thick with sleep. "Can we talk?"

Karen turned, her eyes
filled with the same
exhaustion he saw in Plankton's.
"Of course, honey," she said,
placing her mug down gently.

Chip took a deep breath,
his words spilling out like
water from a broken dam.
"I want to understand Dad's
condition," he said, his voice
determined. "I don't want
to make it worse for him."

Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the sincerity in his gaze.
"That's a big step, Chip,"
she said, her voice filled
with pride. "But it's not
going to be easy. It'll take
patience and practice."

Chip nodded, his expression
resolute. "I'm ready," he said.
"I just don't want Dad to be
alone in this."

Karen's face softened, her hand
resting on his shoulder. "You're
such a good son," she said, her
voice warm with affection. "But 
remember, he might not always
know how to ask for help. Sometimes,
you'll have to read between the lines."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with questions and concerns.
"But what if I mess up?"
he asked, his voice trembling.

Karen's hand gave his shoulder
a gentle squeeze. "You might,"
she said, her voice filled with
experience. "But that's okay. Just
keep trying, and we'll figure
it out together."

Her words echoed in Chip's head
as he sat down at the kitchen
table, his eyes never leaving
his mother's. "But how do I know
what to do?"

Karen took a deep breath, her
eyes filled with a quiet strength.
"You'll learn," she said, her voice
calm and reassuring. "It's about
patience and observation. And
most importantly, communication."

Chip nodded, feeling the
weight of her words. "Okay," he said.
"I'll do my best."

Karen's hand squeezed his
shoulder gently. "You already are,"
she said, her smile warm.

Chip felt a surge of determination.
He was going to be there for his dad,
no matter what it took. "What can I do
now?" he asked, eager to start.

Karen's eyes searched his, a hint
of sadness in them. "Now, we wait,"
she said. "Let him sleep. When he wakes,
be there, but don't overwhelm him."

Chip nodded, his mind racing with
questions and fears, feeling a mix of emotions:
fear, love, and a newfound
determination to be the best
son he could be.

As he waited for Plankton to
wake up, he tried to remember
the cues his dad had mentioned:
twitching antennae, a sudden
quietness, a look of overwhelm.
He promised himself to be more
aware, more attuned to his father's needs.

new great chip tiredcore vii

GREAT CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

Chip took a deep breath, trying
to compose himself. "I know I can't
fix you, Dad," he said, his voice shaking.

Plankton's antennae stopped moving,
his eye focusing on Chip with an intensity
that made him feel like he was being x-rayed.
"You can't," he said, his voice firm. "But you
can support me. You can be there without
trying to change me."

Chip nodded, swallowing the lump
in his throat. "Okay," he managed to say.
"But I want to understand. I want
to be here for you."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye narrowing slightly. "Understand?"
he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm.
"Sure, it's easy. Just imagine your
brain's a pinball machine on tilt. Sounds
fun, right?"

Chip felt a smile tug at the corner
of his mouth despite the tension,
which only adds to Plankton's anger.
"Well, when you put it that way..."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye squinting at his son's response.
"What?" he barked, his voice
sharp.

Chip tried to hold onto his smile,
his heart racing. "I mean,
if it's like a pinball machine, I can
learn the patterns," he said, his tone
carefully light. "I'm pretty good at video
games, so..."

Plankton's antennae waved wildly,
his eye flashing with anger. "You think
this is a game?" he shouted, his voice
filling the room. "You think
I enjoy being out of control? WELL THEN
PERHAPS YOU CAN EXPLAIN THE FUN OF FORGETTING
WHERE I AM FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME!"

Chip's smile dropped, his eyes wide
with shock at his father's outburst.
He took a step back, his hands up
in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry,"
he said quickly, his voice trembling.
"I didn't mean to make a joke of it, I
just..."

"You just what?" Plankton spat, his
small body vibrating with rage. "You just
don't get it! You can't get it! You're not
autistic, you don't know what it's like to have
your brain turn on you like that!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his heart breaking at the accusation.
"I know, Dad," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying."

Plankton's antennae quivered with
the force of his rage. "You don't know,"
he said, his voice cold. "You can't know.
All I see is a little child playing pretend,
thinking he can understand what I go 
through! And yet you're the one asking
for help! Face it, you're never going to get 
it and so don't expect ME to explain it to you!"

Chip's eyes watered, the words hitting
like a sledgehammer. He had never seen
his father so furious, so unyielding. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered, his voice shaking. "I just want 
to help."

Plankton's antennae stopped their wild
movements, his eye focusing on his son with
a cold, calculating gaze. "Help?" he repeated,
his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want to
help by poking fun at my condition?"

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his heart racing. "Dad, I didn't mean it
like that," he said, his voice trembling.
"I just wanted to lighten the mood."

Plankton's antennae waved, his eye
still cold and distant. "Don't," he said,
his voice like ice. "Don't try to lighten
it. And don't you DARE make fun of it."

Chip's eyes fell to the floor,
his heart aching with the weight of his
father's anger. "I'm sorry," he whispered,
his voice trembling. "I di-"

"You're sorry?" Plankton's voice
was a whip crack in the silence. "Sorry
doesn't cut it!" He slammed his fist
on the table, causing their plates to rattle.
"You think an apology is enough
when you belittle what I go through?"

Chip's eyes widened with fear
as his dad's anger grew. He'd never
seen Plankton like this before, his
tiny body trembling with rage, his antennae
thrashing like live wires. The kitchen
felt suffocatingly small, the walls closing in.

"Dad, please," Chip begged, his voice
shaking. "I didn't mean it that way."

But Plankton was beyond listening, his
tiny body vibrating with fury. "You don't get to
make jokes about this!" he roared, his antennae
whipping about like agitated snakes. "You don't get to
reduce it to a game you can win with a simple joke!"

Chip took another step back, his heart
pounding in his chest. He had never seen
his father this enraged, and it scared him. "Dad, I-"
he began, but Plankton's tirade didn't stop.

"You think it's funny?" Plankton shouted,
his antennae a blur of motion. "You think
it's fun to live with this?" His voice grew
louder, his words sharper. "You think it's
easy to lighten up at the drop of a hat?"

Chip's eyes filled with tears as
his father's anger grew, his voice
crackling like static. He hadn't meant to make
light of his dad's condition, but now it
seemed as if he'd made everything worse.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his hands
shaking.

Plankton's antennae whipped around
his head, his eye bulging. "Sorry won't
make it go away!" he screamed, his voice
bouncing off the walls. "You think you can
make it better with a laugh?" He slammed
his fist down again, the sound like a gunshot.
"It's not a joke, Chip!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears as he watched
his father's outburst, his heart pounding.
He had never seen Plankton like this,
his anger a living, breathing thing that filled
the room like a toxic cloud. "I know," he whispered,
his voice shaking. "But I want to help."

Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his
body shaking with the force of his emotions.
"Help?" he spat, his voice a whip. "You want
to help? Then stop making it about you!"

Chip's eyes grew wide with fear
as he watched his father's anger
boil over, his voice shaking. "Dad, please,"
he whispered, his heart racing.

Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly,
his body vibrating with uncontrollable
rage. Suddenly, he grabbed the
coffee mug from the table,
flinging it across the room
where it shattered against the wall.
Shards of ceramic flew everywhere,
puncturing the silence like shrapnel.

"Dad, no!" Chip yelled, his heart racing
faster than it ever had before. He had
never seen Plankton this out of control.
And Karen knew she had to act fast.

Her voice was calm but firm as
she approached Plankton. "Sweetie,
it's okay," she said, her hands up in a
non-threatening gesture. "Let's go
to your workshop. You know that's your
safe space."

Plankton's antennae thrashed, his
eye darting around the room, seeking
anything to target his anger. "I don't
want to go anywhere!" he roared, his
body shaking with the intensity of
his emotions. "It's not okay!"

Karen stepped closer, her voice
steady. "It's okay to be upset,"
she said, her eyes never leaving
his. "But Chip..."

But Plankton's rage was unstoppable.
He lunged for the nearest object,
a framed photo of Chip,
his grip tightening as he raised it
over his head, ready to smash it
against the floor.

Karen's eyes widened, her heart
pounding in her chest. She had
to defuse the situation before it
got any worse. "Plankton, no," she
pleaded, her voice steady. "Please,
don't."

But Plankton's rage had taken over,
his body moving on autopilot as he
swung the photo frame with all his might.
It crashed to the floor, the shattering
glass echoing in the small room.
Chip's eyes grew round with shock,
his body frozen in place as he watched
his father's tantrum unfold.

"Dad, please stop!" he shouted, his voice
cracking with fear. "You're scaring me!"

But Plankton's rage was a runaway train,
his antennae quivering with the intensity
of his anger. He stomped over to the counter,
grabbing a plate and flinging it against
the wall, where it shattered into a hundred
tiny pieces. The sound was deafening, the force
of the impact sending a shiver down Chip's spine.

Karen stepped in front of Chip,
placing herself between him and the storm
of Plankton's fury. "Stop," she said firmly,
her voice a calm oasis in the chaos.
"You're scaring him."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye focusing on Karen with a mix
of anger and confusion. For a moment,
his body seemed to pause, his arm
still mid-air, a kitchen towel gripped tightly
in his hand. Then, with a roar, he threw it,
the soft fabric landing limply on the floor.

Karen's eyes searched her husband's,
seeing the turmoil behind the rage.
"Please, Plankton," she said, her voice
soothing. "Let's talk about this."

But Plankton's anger was like a
wildfire, consuming everything in its path.
He picked up another mug, his arm
winding up to throw it, when Chip
suddenly stepped forward, his eyes
locked on his father's. "Dad," he said,
his voice shaking. "Please don't."

Plankton's antennae paused, his
arm still raised. "WHY?" he growled,
his eye wild with anger. "You think
you can just tell me what to do?" And
then, with a sickly twisted satisfaction,
Plankton hurled the mug in front of
Chip, purposefully missing him.

The room seemed to hold its breath
as the mug spun through the air,
the shattering of porcelain on the
tile floor a symphony of pain. "Dad,"
Chip said, his voice shaking. "It's not
about control. It's about us. Our fam..."

But Plankton was beyond words,
his rage a living entity that
consumed him. He grabbed a toaster,
his grip white-knuckled, and hurled
it at the fridge, the metallic clang
a cacophony in the small kitchen.
"I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!"
he bellowed, his antennae a blur.

new great chip familycore ix

Over a century ago, the woman was encouraged to keep her child after she's considering 
pregnancy termination. "your baby could be an artist or grow up to be a world leader" they had
said, so she kept it and went to give birth to a baby boy c. 1888
He's named Adolf

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

r/TwoSentenceHorror
12 hr. ago
HoardofAngryQuokkas


It's happening again - I must wash away all this blood;
silently, I creep out to the kitchen like I've been doing for the past three years, spending hours in the moonlight scrubbing out every speck of evidence.
I know my dad and brothers think I'm some late bloomer, but I just don't want to freeze to death out in the menstrual hut like mum did.

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8ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☾

new march eight viii month mars march 1 coquette

princess checklist

♡ be cute ✓ྀིྀ

♡ be kind ✓ྀིྀ

♡ be princessy ✓ྀིྀ

Posted 3 months ago by barbie-doll

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🌸ㅤ˚ ㅤ⋅ ⊹ ☆ ͡ ݂ ۫ ꒰ఎ ♡ ໒꒱ ☆ ͡ ݂ ۫ㅤ ˚ ㅤ⋅ ⊹ 🌸
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10:27 AM PST • January 5, 2016
So, Recode reported today that Twitter was tinkering around with the idea of expanding its 140 character limit to a number a bit higher….10,000 characters.
But what, you ask (and I’m glad you did), does 10000 characters look like? Let’s find out
So did you see the Warriors game last night? Crazy right? It was nice to see Harrison Barnes back and the entire crowd cheered when he entered. Steph Curry is probably not human cause he shoots the ball from the parking lot and it swishes like butter. How many characters am I up to now? Lemme check, so hold on
597
Anyway then it started raining and my dogs don’t like rain so it’s really difficult to take them outside to do their business in the morning when they don’t want to deal with the rain. I try to talk them into the fact that they’re actually getting a bath and pooping at the same time, kind of a two birds with one stone thing. They don’t buy it. Speaking of rain, it didn’t rain on my wedding day like the weather people thought it would. How do they keep their jobs when they’re wrong all of the time? It’s almost like they could do my job. Wait, I didn’t mean that how it sounded. Where are we at now?
1194
Here’s quote Bill Clinton:
If you live long enough you’ll make mistakes. But if you learn from them, you’ll be a better person. It’s how you handle adversity, not how it affects you. The main thing is never quit, never quit, never quit.
I think what he’s saying is that you can make mistakes, but you have to learn from them. I’ve made a bunch of mistakes, how about you? My dogs made a mistake this morning because they didn’t want to go out in the rain. But that’s cool, I don’t get mad. Life’s too short, you know?
Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit.
2507
Did you see President speak about gun control today? It’s important. Probably the most important problem of our time and we have to solve it. Here’s what he said today:
THE PRESIDENT: Happy New Year everyone. Before the New Year, I mentioned that I had given the charge to my Attorney General, FBI Director, Deputy Director at the ATF, and personnel at my White House to work together to see what more we could do to prevent a scourge of gun violence in this country.
I think everybody here is all too familiar with the statistics. We have people every single year who are killed by guns. We have suicides committed by firearms at a rate that far exceeds other countries. We have a frequency of mass shootings that far exceeds other countries in frequency.
And although it is my strong belief that for us to get our complete arm around the problem Congress needs to act, what I asked my team to do is to see what more we could do to strengthen our enforcement and prevent guns from falling into the wrong hands to make sure that criminals, people who are mentally unstable, those who could pose a danger to themselves or others are less likely to get them.
And I’ve just received back a report from Attorney General Lynch, Director Comey, as well as Deputy Director Brandon about some of the ideas and initiatives that they think can make a difference. And the good news is, is that these are not only recommendations that are well within my legal authority and the executive branch, but they’re also ones that the overwhelming majority of the American people, including gun owners, support and believe.
So we’ll be rolling out these initiatives. We’ll be making sure that people have a very clear understanding of what can make a difference and what we can do. And although we have to be very clear that this is not going to solve every violent crime in this country, it’s not going to prevent every mass shooting, it’s not going to keep every gun out of the hands of a criminal, it will potentially save lives and spare families the pain and the extraordinary loss that they’ve suffered as a consequence of a firearm getting in the hands of the wrong people.
I’m also confident that the recommendations that are being made by my team here are ones that are entirely consistent with the Second Amendment and people’s lawful right to bear arms. And we’ve been very careful recognizing that, although we have a strong tradition of gun ownership in this country, that even though it’s who possess firearms for hunting, for self-protection, and for other legitimate reasons, I want to make sure that the wrong people don’t have them for the wrong reasons.
So I want to say how much I appreciate the outstanding work that the team has done. Many of you worked over the holidays to get this set of recommendations to me. And I’m looking forward to speaking to the American people over the next several days in more detail about it.
Thank you very much.
Regardless of where you stand on the matter, we have to change some things.
Back to tech. Are you at CES? I’m not this year. Mostly cause there’s a lot of germs and I shouldn’t be around them if I can help it. I’m pretty sure my dogs would have liked it though cause there’s a lot of tech in Vegas for all kinds of people and pets. If youre a dog would you want a phone? Or a self-feeding thing? Of course you would. You’d have to sit around all day watching your parents use technology while you sit around and lick yourself. What kind of existence is that? I know right? I hope there’s some dog tech that comes out of the conference, otherwise it’s a wash.
6294
Time for JFK:
When written in Chinese, the word ‘crisis’ is composed of two characters. One represents danger and the other opportunity.
I think what JFK meant was just because things aren’t going your way doesn’t mean that it won’t eventually. You have to play the long game, you have to stick in there and see things as far as you can possibly see them. It’s like Twitter. People are worried about whether Twitter can weather the storm of lack of growth. I think it can. What about the character count? I personally feel like asking people to keep their thoughts shorter make them more powerful. They’re easier to share. Repeat, etc. What will happen when people can put this much text in a tweet? I don’t know. I do know that I don’t want to spend hours reading tweets because I like the fact that I can glance at the app and figure out what’s going on pretty quickly.
If I wanted to write a book, I’d do it on Facebook.
Maybe people want more characters. I’m not sure who though I’d like to meet them. Maybe they have dogs too. We could chat about that.
What are your favorite movies? I have top 10:
– Rocky
– Forrest Gump
– Cast Away
– Fantastic Mr Fox
– Signs
– Lars and the Real Girl
– Superbad
– Spaceballs
– Shawshank Redemption
– Jackie Brown
7657
Here’s a quote from Maya Angelou:
The thing to do, it seems to me, is to prepare yourself so you can be a rainbow in somebody else’s cloud. Somebody who may not look like you. May not call God the same name you call God – if they call God at all. I may not dance your dances or speak your language. But be a blessing to somebody. That’s what I think.
Being a blessing to someone is a great way to be. Have you been a blessing to someone lately? I feel like we could all do a better job of that, even if it’s in small ways. I feel like people always want to do something great and massively huge, but forget about all of the little things along the way. Making someone smile, holding the door for someone, giving someone a hug when they really really need it. Those kinds of things last forever. Don’t hold back on doing a bunch of little great things to do something huge that you’ll get overwhelmed with and not follow through on.
8614. Wow this is a lot.
I feel like Kurt Wagner did good talking about ramifications of expanding tweets to 10,000 characters:
The design aspect is key. Making Tweets bigger by adding more content or pictures diminished user engagement in the past according to one source. If tweets take a long time to consume or take up more space on your screen, it’s likely that you’ll view (and engage with) fewer of them. So Twitter is trying to add more content without disrupting the way you currently scroll through your timeline.
How can Twitter become more like Facebook without becoming Facebook? There’s too many words on Facebook, something the company itself is trying to get away from by introducing all sorts of new media like 360° videos. There’s always a place for long form content, and just because you have the space doesn’t mean you have to fill it. But still, a lot of people will try. Spammers will definitely try. In fact, can you imagine getting spam tweets that are over 140 characters? Ugh. It’ll be like reading SPAM in your EMAIL!@$#!@#!@#
One more quote from Clarence Darrow:
When we fully understand the brevity of fleeting joys and unavoidable pains; when we accept the facts that all men and women are approaching an inevitable doom: consciousness should make us more kindly considerate. This feeling should make use their best efforts to help on the road make the path brighter easier as journey on. It should bring a closer kinship, a better understanding, and a deeper sympathy for the wayfarers who must live a common life.
Twitter should just acquire Medium instead.
Oops I went to the limit

new twittercore charactercore 10000

ᔆⁱᵈᵉ ᵇʸ ˢⁱᵈᵉ
⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾
ᴼⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰʳᵉʷ
ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵖᵖˡⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵒᵒᵏ ᵃˢ ⁱᵗ ᵃᵗᵗᵃᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᶠ ᵒᶠ
ᵗʰᵉ ᵏʳᵘˢᵗʸ ᵏʳᵃᵇ‧ ᔆᵉᶜᵘʳⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ
ᵍᵒᵗ ᶻⁱᵖˡⁱⁿᵉ ᵐᵉᶜʰᵃⁿⁱˢᵐ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʲᵘᵐᵖᵉᵈ ˢˡⁱᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ
ᵈᵒʷⁿ‧ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃᵇᵒᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵃᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿ 
ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵖᵉ ˢᵗʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ‧ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵒʷⁿ
ʰᵉᵃᵈᶠⁱʳˢᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᶜᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ʰᵉ
ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵈᵒʷⁿ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃʷ ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵃⁿ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʰⁱᵗ
ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ⸴ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘᵖ‧ ᴴᵒʷᵉᵛᵉʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ
ᵉʸᵉ ʳᵒˡˡᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵘᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ
ᵃ ⁿᵒⁱˢᵉ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉˡˡ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃᵗᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵃⁱⁿᵗ‧ 
ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵃʷᵃʸ ˡᵉᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ
ʷᵃˢ ᵘⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵍᵃⁱⁿ ᶜᵒⁿˢᶜⁱᵒᵘˢⁿᵉˢˢ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ 
ᴸⁱˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃᵗᵗʸ ⁱⁿᵍʳᵉᵈⁱᵉⁿᵗˢ ⁱⁿ ᵈᵉˢᵖᵉʳᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ‧ 
ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᔆᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵃⁿᵈ  ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ʷᵉʳᵉ ʰᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ 
ᵃ ᵍⁱʳˡˢ ᵗʳⁱᵖ⸴ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ˢᵉᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ ᵃˢ ˢᵖᵒᵗ 
ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵐᵒᵉᵇᵃ ᵖᵘᵖᵖʸ ᵗʳᵒᵗˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ʷʰⁱᵐᵖᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ 
ᵍᵃᵛᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵏⁱˢˢᵉˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ  ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵖᵒᵗˢ 
ˡⁱᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗᵉˢᵗ! "ᴵ ᵇʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗ 
ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵒᵐᵉ‧‧" ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ ᵀʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ⸴ ʰᵉ 
ᶠᵉˡᵗ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ‧ "ᴾˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵒʰ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ 
ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧" ᔆᵒᵇᵇⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵃᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵃʳᵐ 
ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵖᵘˡˡᵉᵈ 
ᵘᵖ ᵃ ᶜʰᵃⁱʳ ᵇʸ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃᵈʲᵃᶜᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ ᴴᵉ ʰᵉˡᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧
"ᴵ'ˡˡ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢᵒ ʷᵉ'ˡˡ ᵇᵉ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵇʸ ˢⁱᵈᵉ‧‧"
ᵀʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃʷᵒᵏᵉ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧
"ᴳᵒᵒᵈ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵉᵃʳ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ! ᴵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵉᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿʸ
ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ‧ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵐⁱˢˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵘˢ!" ᴷⁱˢˢⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵒʳᵉʰᵉᵃᵈ
ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃᵗ ᵇʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ᔆʰᵒʷ ᵐᵉ ᵃ ˢⁱᵍⁿ‧‧‧" ᶜʳʸⁱⁿᵍ
ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ ʷᵃⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ‧
"ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᵇᵒᵒᵏˢ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶜᵉᵈ
ᵃ ᵇᵒᵒᵏ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ‧ "ᴬ ᵇᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ⁿᵘᶜˡᵉᵃʳ ᵖᵒʷᵉʳ‧‧" ᶜʰᵘᶜᵏˡᵉᵈ
ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ˢⁱᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ᴵ'ˡˡ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ
ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵍⁱⁿⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵍᵒᵗ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳʳᵘᵖᵗᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ʰⁱˢ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ‧
'ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ? ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ‧‧' ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ 
ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ!"
ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ʰᵃⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵇᵒᵒᵏ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵃˡᶠ ᵒᶠ ⁱᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ˡⁱᵏᵉ
ⁱᵗ ᵖᵃʳᵗⁱᶜᵘˡᵃʳˡʸ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ᵏᵉᵖᵗ ᵒⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧‧
ᴾᵉᵗˢ ᵃʳᵉ ˢᵐᵃʳᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉ⸴ ˢᵒ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ
ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵃ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ⁱᵐᵐᵉᵈⁱᵃᵗᵉˡʸ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵘᵈᵍᵉ
ʰⁱᵐ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ˢˡᵒʷˡʸ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢᵘʳᵉˡʸ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵛᵉʳʸ‧ "ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ˡᵒᵛᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ
ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒ ᵈᵒ ᴵ‧ ᵂᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ʷᵉˡˡ‧ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ˢᵒ
ᵃᵐᵃᶻⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᴺᵒ ᵐᵃᵗᵗᵉʳ ʷʰᵃᵗ⸴ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵃ ᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ‧‧"
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡⁱᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ
ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉⁿ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ᵇᵃʳᵏᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱᵐ 
ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ˢʰᵒʷ ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵐᵒᵛᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃˢ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ᵇᵃʳᵏᵉᵈ‧ "ᴸᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧" ˢᵃⁱᵈ
ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ᵖʳᵒᵘᵈ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ
ʷᵃᵏᵉⁿ ᵘᵖ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᶠˡᵘᵗᵗᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵖᵉⁿ‧ "ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ⁻ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ʷᵉ‧‧"
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰᵘʳᵗ‧
"ʸᵃᵒ⸴ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ; ʷʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ‽" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ
ᔆᵃⁱᵈ⸴ ᵈᵃᶻᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ʷᵉᵃᵏ‧ ᴶᵘˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉⁿ⸴ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ
ⁱⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵇᵒᵃʳᵈ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ‧ "ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ‧‧" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᴵ ᵇʳᵘⁿᵍ
ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ!" ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ ᵖˡᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧
"ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵘˢ ᵃ ᵐᵒᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᴾᵃᵗ?" "ᔆᵘʳᵉ‧‧" ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ ᵖˡᵃʸᵉᵈ
ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧ "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᶠᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍʳᵒᵍᵍʸ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ
ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰᵘʳᵗ‧ ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵉˡˡ ᵐᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ?"
ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵉˡᵖᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢⁱᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ᵘᵖ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ
ʷᵃˢ ᵈⁱˢᵒʳⁱᵉⁿᵗᵉᵈ‧ "ᵀʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᶠ ᵒᶠ ʳᵉˢᵗᵃᵘʳᵃⁿᵗ'ˢ‧‧" "ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳᵈᵃʸ
ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢⁱᵈᵉ‧ ᔆᵖᵒᵗ ᵃˡˢᵒ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ
ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵇʸ ˢⁱᵈᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ᴵ ʷᵃˢⁿ'ᵗ
ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵖˡᵃʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ‧" "ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵉᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵃˢ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ?" "ᴼᶠ
ᶜᵒᵘʳˢᵉ! ᴺᵒʷ ˡᵉᵗ'ˢ ˢᵉᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ'ˢ ᵍᵒᵗ‧‧"
"ᴰᵒᵉˢ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵖˡᵃʸ?" "ᵂᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵗʳʸ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ'ˢ
ⁿᵉʷ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ!" "ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ᴵ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ‧‧" "ᶜᵃⁿ ᴵ ᵃˢᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰʸ ʸᵒᵘ
ʰᵉˡᵖ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧‧‧" "ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᶠᵃˡˡ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ'ˢ
ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ⁿᵒʷ! ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ
ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡ ʸᵉᵗ ˢᵒ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵒʳʳʸ‧‧" "ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ʳᵒˡˡ ᵈⁱᶜᵉ ᶠᵒʳ?"
"ᴳᵒ ᵃʰᵉᵃᵈ‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ⸴ ʷʰᵒ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˢˢᵉᵈ
ᵗʰᵉ ᵈⁱᶜᵉ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈⁱᶜᵉ ᵘⁿⁱⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡˡʸ ʰⁱᵗ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ
ᵍᵒᵗ ᵈᵃᶻᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ᵐᵒᵐᵉⁿᵗ‧ "ᵂᵃᵗᶜʰ ⁱᵗ!" ᴴᵉ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ʷᵉᵃᵏˡʸ‧
"ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ'ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵒʷ‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ
ᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵇᵘᵗ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ
ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ⸴ ᶠʳᵘˢᵗʳᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʰᵘʳᵗ‧
"ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ʰᵉˡᵖ?" ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ ᵃˢᵏᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ
ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵉˡᵖ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢⁿᵃᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ‧ "ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ʰᵉ
ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ⸴ ᴾᵃᵗ‧ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᶜᵃᵗᶜʰ ᵘᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃᵗ ᵃⁿ
ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵘᵍᵍᵉᵈ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ‧ ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ᴾᵃᵗʳⁱᶜᵏ
ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ 
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵃˢ⸴ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ʷᵉˡˡ ᵘᵖ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉ‧ "ᵂʰᵃᵗ
ⁱˢ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵘᵖ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ!"
ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵃʳʳⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵉʳ ᵗʳⁱᵖ‧ "ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ! ᴼʰ ᴵ
ᵃᵐ ᵍˡᵃᵈ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ
ᵉˣᵖˡᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʷ ʰⁱˢ ʷⁱᶠᵉ
ᵃˢ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳ‧ "ᴴᵉʸ‧‧" "ᴴⁱ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ;
ᴵ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳᵈᵃʸ!" "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵉˡᵖᵉᵈ
ᵐᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ ᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ?" "ᴵ ˢᵘʳᵉ ʷⁱˡˡ!"

new readingcore fallcore faintcore faintingcore patricktonbob plankrick planktrick planktrickbob patbob headinjuryposting karen plankton plankbob side by side

Go to shortscarystories
r/shortscarystories
8 yr. ago
EvantheNerd83

A Perfect Baby

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆

A Perfect Baby

When she was born, Little Jamie got all the attention. Her mother 

cradled her in her arms and the doctors and nurses who were present 

crowded around them. They peered over the shoulders of their 

coworkers. They wanted to see the most perfect baby in the world.

And Little Jamie was perfect. She had bright blue eyes that shone like 

sapphires, such a deep shade that it reflected the sky. A pink and soft 

body.

She glowed under the fluorescent lights of the hospital room, an angel 

delivered in mortal form. Everyone stared and cooed and stroked her 

puffy cheeks, took out their cameras and took pictures when they 

could, complimented her mother for conceiving such a lovely child. 

Her mother blushed in embarrassment and scratched her black hair. It 

was a joyful reception until the armed men in the uniforms stepped in

to the room.

Laughter died. Awkward coughing ensued. It was time to follow the 

rules. The symbol pinned to their chests declared as much.

Little Jamie was handed over to them, their stoic expressions 

remaining untainted as they walked out. Her mother watched and 

begged and screamed. But, the nurses held her back. Urged her to be 

quiet. For her own sake.

Little Jamie's newborn wailing cut-off down the hallway. The elevator 

door had closed. Now, she was downstairs with the others.

Little Jamie was perfect, but mortal perfection wasn't acceptable.

She had to be Aryan.

new twistedcore perfectcore reddit

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new twittercore studycore 10000

https://i.imgflip.com/8k27h7.gif
https://i.imgflip.com/8k26y8.gif
https://i.imgflip.com/8k25xx.gif
https://i.imgflip.com/8k269n.gif

new horrorposting ripcore the ghost of plankton

r/shortscarystories
1 day ago
Chemical-Elk-1299


My family died in a fire. I think it was my fault.



I only remember one thing from my childhood.

Fire.

I couldn’t remember how it happened, or why. Only the nagging 
sensation that I had something to do with it. I remember the heat and 
the horror, a yawning red mouth that swallowed everything in its path. 
The humanity. The fear. The sound of groaning metal. Crawling out of 
the flames while women screamed in a language I couldn’t understand.

Then nothing.

The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by white walls and doctors.

They told me it was a hospital. That I needed to be kept under 
observation. Apparently I should have burnt to death, but I didn’t. In 
fact, there wasn’t a scratch on me, apart from a lump on my head. 
Concussion. After two months, I figured it out — I wasn’t just being 
healed. I was being studied. This was no ordinary hospital.

But it wasn’t like I was going anywhere.

When I first awoke, I had to relearn everything. How to walk. How 
to talk. After I’d recovered, one of the researchers explained — the 
government wanted to know how I’d started the fire. How I’d survived 
it. Apparently, I’d be of some use to them if I could only remember.

But I have an idea.

I’ve been here for a long time. The men studying me have grown worn 
and grey, but my face hasn’t aged. They had me run tests where I 
stared at other prisoners, told to think “hot thoughts”. And sure 
enough, every so often — tender flames, smoldering weakly around 
their feet. But it was never enough.

They wanted to know how I started the big one.

To counteract the amnesia, they’d put me through “hypnotherapy”. 
Something about my subconscious. I’d get flashes.

We were flying to America. An airship. It was… a long time ago. I was 
mad at my sister. Something about father loving her more than me. 
How mother called me a freak. I was so angry. I wanted to hurt her, as 
badly as she’d hurt me. So, I closed my eyes. I thought of my sister, 
curling like bacon in the fire. A spark. Father’s skin sloughing off in 
smoking ribbons. Mother plummeting to the ground, far below. 
Flames against an endless sky.

The therapy ended there. Too painful.

Eventually, my captors resorted to drastic measures. They wanted my 
power, needed it for their own. And they needed me to remember how 
to use it.

So they brought in someone to jog my memory.

A survivor, they said. When they wheeled his decrepit old bones to my 
isolation cell, I could see it in his eyes. He knew me. We’d met before, 
in the sky long ago. He screamed, raged in a language so familiar and 
yet so foreign. German, I think. I didn’t understand, but I knew that he 
hated me. Would never forgive me.

One name was clear, howled in my face again and again.

“The Hindenburg”.

new unalived twistedcore fire

https://loadreams.tumblr.com/post/704671090475253760/t%CA%9C%C9%AAs-%C9%AAs-%E1%B4%80-%CA%9F%C9%AAs%E1%B4%9B-%E1%B4%8F%EA%9C%B0-%E1%B4%98%E1%B4%8Fs%E1%B4%9Bs-%E2%B5%8A-%CA%9C%C9%AA%C9%A2%CA%9C%CA%9F%CA%8F-%CA%80%E1%B4%87%E1%B4%84%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%8D%E1%B4%8D%E1%B4%87%C9%B4%E1%B4%85-%CA%8F%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%9C-%E1%B4%9B%E1%B4%8F

Tʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ʟɪsᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏsᴛs ⵊ ʜɪɢʜʟʏ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ

https://loadreams.tumblr.com/post/704671090475253760/t%CA%9C%C9%AAs-%C9%AAs-%E1%B4%80-%CA%9F%C9%AAs%E1%B4%9B-%E1%B4%8F%EA%9C%B0-%E1%B4%98%E1%B4%8Fs%E1%B4%9Bs-%E2%B5%8A-%CA%9C%C9%AA%C9%A2%CA%9C%CA%9F%CA%8F-%CA%80%E1%B4%87%E1%B4%84%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%8D%E1%B4%8D%E1%B4%87%C9%B4%E1%B4%85-%CA%8F%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%9C-%E1%B4%9B%E1%B4%8F

# Neville’s archive by @muselogy

# methods hold no power by @nakedbibi333

# thoughts by anon on @sexydreamgirl

# eiypo by @celestial-heartbeat

# states by @23209

#lexicon by @23209

#effort by @lavender–fairy

# revision by @sirensplayhouse

# waiting for your desires by @venstark

#sp guide by @celestial-heartbeat

# manifest DF by @id18297

#you’re above all by @sparklingself

# being by Aphroditeapprenticee (deactivated)

# laws by @sutheworld

# Edward art series by @lotusmi

# self conception by anon on @sparklingself blog

#void by @arabella111

# all is within by @vesora

# the root of your desire by @neobora

# you create the rules by @fleurlx

#logic by @princessofangiemania

# fulfill in imagination by @remcycl333

# leaving the old story by @blushydior

# Movement by @venusvxen

https://loadreams.tumblr.com/post/704671090475253760/t%CA%9C%C9%AAs-%C9%AAs-%E1%B4%80-%CA%9F%C9%AAs%E1%B4%9B-%E1%B4%8F%EA%9C%B0-%E1%B4%98%E1%B4%8Fs%E1%B4%9Bs-%E2%B5%8A-%CA%9C%C9%AA%C9%A2%CA%9C%CA%9F%CA%8F-%CA%80%E1%B4%87%E1%B4%84%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%8D%E1%B4%8D%E1%B4%87%C9%B4%E1%B4%85-%CA%8F%E1%B4%8F%E1%B4%9C-%E1%B4%9B%E1%B4%8F

new tumblrcore readingcore listcore tumblr

https://imgflip.com/gif/8jx0k3

new chumcore horrorposting

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iii
(Autistic author)

The sound of the door opening
interrupted. Sandy
barged in. "Hey,
Karen!" she called out.
"Hi, Sandy; come in.." Karen says.

Sandy looked over at Plankton
sitting at the
kitchen table, his plate empty,
his gaze fixed on the spot where
his food had been. "Hey, Plankton!"
she exclaimed, as he got up to go
sit on the living room floor with a
science book. She followed him.

"What's up, buddy?" she asked,
her voice cheerful. But Plankton
ignored her, his focus solely on the
pages in front of him. Karen watched
their interaction with a mix of
concern and curiosity.

"Plankton, you ok?" Sandy's
voice grew softer, her eyes
narrowing as she studied her friend.
"You seem... different."

Karen tensed, waiting for his
response. Plankton didn't look
up from his book, his eye
scanning the pages.
"Plankton?" Sandy tried again, her
voice a mix of confusion and
concern.

But Plankton remained
oblivious, his new condition
rendering him unable to read social
cues. "Why?" he asked, his tone
matter-of-fact, as if inquiring
about the weather.

Sandy's smile faltered. "Well,
you're just sitting there, not
saying anything," she said, trying
to keep the frustration from her
voice.

Plankton didn't look up from his
book. "Reading," he said, his voice
devoid of any inflection.

Sandy's confusion grew into
hurt. "Is everything ok?" she
asked, her voice tentative.

Plankton, still engrossed in
his book, didn't look up. "Ok,"
he murmured.

Sandy's known
Plankton for years, but his behavior
today was unlike anything she had
ever seen.

Karen prompts him. "Plankton,
say hello to Sandy."

He glances up from his book,
his gaze passing over her without
recognition. "Say, say hi Sandy," he 
says, his voice lacking any warmth.

Sandy's smile fades, her paws
clenching slightly with irritation.

"What's gotten into you, Plankton?"
she snaps, her voice sharper than
she had intended. "You're acting
like you don't even know me!"

Karen's circuits whir with
activity. "Sandy, it's okay," she
hesitates, not quite
sure how to explain
without revealing the truth.
"I'll go pick up some soda
pop drinks." She says, leaving
them both.

Sandy watches her leave, her
expression a mix of anger and
hurt. She turns to Plankton.

"What's your deal, Plankton?"
she asks, her voice tight.
"You've been acting weird
ever since I got here."

Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his gaze unnervingly intense.
"Weird," he repeats, as if
processing the word for the first
time. "Different."

Sandy's anger bubbles to the
surface. "Yeah, you're different.
You're ignoring me!" she exclaims,
her paws on her hips. Plankton's
expression doesn't change. "Reading,"
he says simply.

Her frustration grows. "You're
always reading, Plankton," Sandy says,
her voice rising. "But you've never
ignored me like this before!"

Plankton's eye blinks, his focus
shifting to her. "Sorry," he says,
the word a mere echo of what
he used to express. It's clear
his social awareness has shifted.
He doesn't understand the subtleties
of her emotions anymore.

Sandy's hurt turns to anger. "You
don't just say sorry and go back
to ignoring me," she snaps. "What's
going on with you?"

But Plankton seems lost in his
own world, the words on the pages
of his book more real to him than
the friend standing before him.
Sandy's patience wears thin. "Why
aren't you listening to me?" she
demands.

"Listening," Plankton murmurs, his
gaze never leaving the book.
Sandy's eyes widen, her anger
building. "I'm right here!" she
says, her voice a mix of frustration
and sadness. "What is so important
that you can't even look at me?"

But Plankton's mind is elsewhere,
his thoughts racing through the
pages of his book. The words
swim before his eye,
each line a puzzle waiting to be
solved. He's oblivious to Sandy's
hurt, his world now filtered through
a new, more intense lens.

Sandy's voice pierces through
his concentration, her tone
sharp. "I said, why aren't you
listening to me?"

Plankton looks up, his eye
dilating slightly as he takes in
Sandy's stance. He tries to
interpret her body language.
"Plankton reading," he says, his voice
still flat, his gaze drifting
back to the book.

Sandy's eyes flash with anger.
"That's not what I asked, Plankton!"
she says, her voice rising. "What's
going on with you? Why are you
ignoring me?"

Plankton's gaze flicks back to
her, his expression still vacant.
"Reading," he repeats. The
word feels like a shield, a way to
explain the inexplicable.

Sandy's eyes narrow, her paws
snatching the book from his grasp.

Plankton's eye widens in surprise
at the sudden movement. He tries to
retrieve the book, body moving in jerky
motions. "Book," he says, his voice
still monotone.

Sandy holds it out of reach. "Look at
me Plankton!" 

Plankton's arms flail, his body
straining to retrieve the book.
"Book," he says, his voice
desperate, his mind overwhelmed.

Sandy, unable to understand feels her
own anger flare up. "What's your
problem?" she snaps, holding the
book higher. "You're acting like
a little kid!"

Plankton's eye locks onto the
book. "Mine," he whispers,
voice strained.

Sandy's seen him at his worst,
but this is something she can't
comprehend.

"I'm not a toy for you to ignore!"
she shouts. She hid the book on a
high shelf. 

Plankton's body tenses.
"Mine," he repeats, his
voice rising in desperation.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears of
frustration. "Why are you acting
like this?" 

He stands up, his body
shaking. "MINE," he shouts.

"What's gotten into you? Why
are you being like this?"

Plankton's eye darts around
the room, unable to hold
Sandy's gaze.

"Plankton, you're acting like a
complete jerk," Sandy says, her voice
shaking. "No wonder Karen is
always so tired with you."
"Karen," Plankton murmurs.
"Karen ok?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Sandy throws her arms in the air,
exasperated. "How can you be so 
selfish? Don't you know that
Karen is sick of you?" "Sick 
of me?" he echoes. "Yes, sick of you," she 
snaps. "Why don't you try acting
normal? Perhaps then
Karen would be happier! Or
better yet, leave her!"

The words hang in the air like a
toxic cloud, their sting hitting
Plankton's core. But his new
brain can't process the depth of
her anger. "Karen happy," he
whispers, his voice a broken
echo of his former self.

Sandy's eyes flash with rage.
"You don't know anything," she
spits out, her words like acid.
"You're just a selfish, self-centered
plankton who doesn't care about
how Karen feels!"

Plankton's concepts of "selfish" and
"sick of" are foreign to his new
way of thinking. He tries to
find the patterns in her words,
the logic in her accusations, but
it's like trying to solve an
impossible equation. "No," he
whispers, his voice trembling. "Karen
not sick of me?"

"You really don't get it,
do you?" she says, her voice
filled with a mix of anger and
sadness. "You're so caught up you
can't see what's right in front of
you! Karen doesn't deserve this!"

Plankton's eye narrows slightly,
his mind struggling to piece
together the puzzle of her
emotions. "Karen happy," he
repeats, his voice strained. 

Sandy's anger turns to
despair. "You don't even know
what you're saying," she says, her
voice heavy. "You're
so wrapped up in your own little
world that you can't see how much
Karen does for you, and how
much you hurt her."

As if on cue, Karen returns 
with coffee. "I'm back," she says, her
voice a gentle hum. She notices
the tension in the room and
Plankton's distress.

"Is everything ok?" she asks,
placing the drinks on the table.
Sandy glares at Plankton.
"No," she says, her voice
shaking. "Everything is not ok.
Plankton's been acting weird
all morning and, I told him how
you're always tired of him,
and he just doesn't get it."

Karen takes in the scene. She tries to
intervene gently. "Sandy, I think
there's something you should
know," she begins, but Sandy cuts
her off, turning to Plankton.

"See? Even Karen
thinks you're a burden!"

Plankton's world
shatters. Sandy's words hit him
like a tidal wave, her accusations
sinking into his new reality.
His teary gaze locks onto Karen,
desperation in his voice. "Burden?"
he croaks.

Karen's 
circuits racing as she tries to
smooth over the situation. "No,
Sandy," she says, her voice calm
but firm. "That's not what I said."

"Don't lie to me, Karen," Sandy
snaps, her eyes never leaving
Plankton. "I can see you've had enough
and if Plankton can't see that, then
perhaps it's best if he just leaves."

Karen's circuits race with
a mix of emotions - anger at
Sandy's accusations, sadness at
Plankton's distress, and fear of
what this means for their friendship.
"That's not true," she says, yet
Plankton's searching for any hint of
deception.

Sandy's eyes are steely, her
body language confrontational.
"Why don't you just leave her alone?"
she spits out, her voice thick with
frustration.

Plankton stands up, his sobs echoed
through the corridor as he runs back 
to the bedroom, shutting the door with
a thud.

"Sandy
that was uncalled for," she says,
trying to keep her voice steady.

Sandy's anger turns to surprise.
"What are you talking about?"
she says. "I'm
just telling the truth.."

Karen's expression is a mix of
sorrow and anger, her
voice tight. "You don't know what
he's going through."

Sandy's anger fades, replaced
by confusion. "What do you mean?"
she asks, her voice softer.

Karen takes a deep breath,
steeling herself for the
conversation she had been dreading.
"Plankton had an accident, hit
his head on the vault and got
knocked out."

Sandy's in shock.
"What? Is he ok?" she asks.

Karen sighs, her shoulders
slumping. "Plankton has
autism now," she says. "He can't
help the way he's acting."

The revelation hits Sandy like a
ton of bricks. The realization of
her own harshness crashes over
her. "Oh no," she murmurs, her
eyes filling with tears. "I had no
idea."

Her gaze drifts to the
closed bedroom door.
"What have I done?"
she whispers, her 
voice cracking.

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