Creepypastacore Emojis & Text

The Missed Call May 23, 2008 / Strange and Unexplained / anonymously authored / 1 minute of reading . Estimated reading time — < 1 minute A strange ringtone plays on your cell phone, you reach for it but whoever it was must have hung up, a wrong number maybe. You look at the phone anyway. You’ve missed a call. You listen to it. When you put the phone to your ear. Suddenly you hear a scream of pain, you toss the cell across the room, but you can still hear it. When you finally pick the phone up you see who the call was from, you realize who’s voice it was. Yours.

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

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

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

!ecin ytinummoc eht peek ot tnaw ew ,selur eht wollof dna tcepser esaelP dewolla ton era sruls fo esu eht siht ot noitidda nI- .cte ,tnemssarah ,msicar gnidulcni detarelot eb ton lliw yrotsih ni stniop elbirret yfirolg taht seliforp yna dna 2wW seifirolg taht scitehtsea 2ww /izaN sedulcni siht ,dewolla ton era seliforp evitisnesnI gnisuba fo noitnem eht edulcni taht sekoj ro yalpelor ,seirots noitidda nI- gninraw reggirt a evah tsum stcejbus gnireggirt gnivlovni seirots ynA -----

elbarenluv gnireffus yna gnolorp ot desu eb ton tsum mrah lacisyhp yna ot dael ylekil era taht seitivitcA erutrot dlrow-laer stciped taht tnetnoc tsoP ༚ tnetnoc evitaloiv etatilicaf ro ,etomorp ,tsoP ༚ slamina ro/dna snamuh fo ot .pse ,gniwollof eht fo yna reveN .cte noitamrofnisim )MASC( .detibihorp lerappa no yalpsid yna gnidulcni ,sruls cinhte ro suoigiler ,laicar ro ,serutseg ro egaugnal ticilpxe enecsbo /w yna ssarah ro netaerht yllabrev ro yllacisyhp ton oD )ekats ta gniebllew s'nosrep a sserts ot hguone das ro gnireggirt ot yrots a ekam t'nod( ytivitisnesni gnidiovA

!dnik yna fo ytleurc oN .setteragic dna lohocla sedulcni sihT .sgurd gninoitnem sa hcus ,ruoivaheb lufmrah egaruocne ro netaerht ton oD .ysatnaf eht fo trap eb tsum ti ,elggurts lacisyhp a fo noitciped yna si ereht fI .yna fi — ylgniraps doolb esU .smraerif oN .erog morf yawa selim yatS .ecneloiv htiw eltneg eB .ytilibadaer etairporppA selur rorroh etairporppA

seluR/ikiw/moc.mod naf.yttekoopsypeerc//:sptth

rorroh-etirw-ot-woh/moc.sobmocijome//:sptth rorroh-gniod-erofeb-daer/moc.sobmocijome//:sptth

!�𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚎� �𝚞𝚘𝚢� �𝚎𝚎𝚑� �𝚗𝚊� ,�𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚠� �𝚞𝚏� �𝚟𝚊𝙷� .�𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚜𝚢𝚋� �𝚘� ,�𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚒𝚟� ,�𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚟� �𝚑𝚝� �𝚋� �𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗� �𝚑𝚝� �𝚟𝚊𝚑� �𝚊𝚌� �𝚘𝚈� .�𝚖𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝� �𝚗𝚒𝚢𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚐� �𝚗� �𝚞𝚋� ,�𝚘𝚕𝚙� �𝚑𝚝� �𝚝� �𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙� �𝚒� �𝚊� �𝚊𝚏𝚘𝚜𝚗𝚒� �𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚜� �𝚒� ).�𝚝𝚎� ,�𝚜𝚙𝚢𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚊� ,�𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚙� ,�𝚝𝚊𝚎𝚍� �𝚋𝚊𝚋� ,�𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚊𝚌�( �𝚌𝚒𝚙𝚘𝚝� �𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚙� �𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚖� �𝚊𝚌� �𝚘𝚈� .�𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚐𝚒𝚕� ).�𝚝𝚎� ,�𝚌𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎� �𝚕𝚋𝚞𝚘𝚍� �𝚑𝚝� ,�𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚘𝚏� ,�𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚡𝚎�( �𝚌𝚒𝚙𝚘𝚝� �𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚌� )�𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚜𝚒𝚍� �𝚝𝚒𝚠�( �𝚜𝚞� �𝚊𝚌� �𝚘𝚈� )�𝚞𝚏𝚝𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚍� �𝚊� .�𝚝𝚎� ,�𝚎𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚞𝚌� ,�𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚛� ,�𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚑𝚝𝚞𝚊� �𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚌� �𝚗𝚒𝚢𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙�( �𝚙𝚞𝚘𝚛𝚐� �𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚢𝚝𝚘𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚂�~ .�𝚝𝚎� ,�𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚙� ,�𝚌𝚞𝚍𝚋𝚊� �𝚕𝚙𝚖𝚒� �𝚊𝚌� �𝚘𝚢� �𝚐𝚞𝚘𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚊� )�𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚖� �𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊� ,�𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚙𝚡𝚎� �𝚔𝚒𝚕�( �𝚜𝚞𝚋𝙰�~ .�𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚘� �𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚜� �𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚑𝚌� �� �𝚟𝚊𝚑� ,�𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚠𝚘𝚑� ,�𝚊𝚌� �𝚘𝚈� .�𝚝𝚎� ,�𝚛𝚊𝚑� �𝚕𝚎𝚂�~ '�𝚜𝚘𝚑𝚐� �𝚘� �𝚌𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚙� �𝚊� �𝚕𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚐� �𝚘𝚍� �𝚑𝚝�' �𝚔𝚒𝚕� �𝚗𝚒𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜� �𝚋� �𝚊𝙲� .�𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝙰�~ .�𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍� �𝚒𝚑𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚐� �𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚞� �𝚗𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚟𝚊� ,�𝚛𝚘𝙶�~ .�𝚗𝚒𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜� �𝚘� '�𝚊𝚎𝚍� �𝚘�' �𝚔𝚒𝚕� �𝚊𝚜� �𝚊𝙲� .�𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚏𝚘𝚛𝙿�~ :�𝚙𝚒𝚝� �𝚖𝚘𝚜� �𝚛𝚊� �𝚛𝚎𝙷� .�𝚜𝚒𝚠𝚝� �𝚘𝚕𝚙� �𝚖𝚘𝚜� �𝚘� �𝚗𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚎� �𝚑𝚝� �𝚊𝚠𝚊� �𝚟𝚒𝚐� �𝚊𝚖� �𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚛𝚊𝚠� �𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚃� .�𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊� �𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚙� �𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚌� �𝚝� �𝚊� �𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚏� �𝚝� �𝚘𝚗� �𝚞𝚋� ,�𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚜� �𝚋� �𝚝� �𝚗𝚊𝚎𝚖� ��'�𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚑� ,�𝚜𝚛𝚞𝚘𝚌� �𝙾� .�𝚗𝚞𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚊� �𝚝�-�𝚒� �𝚔𝚊𝚝� �𝚝� �𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚞𝚐� �𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚌� �𝚖𝚘𝚜� ��'�𝚛𝚎𝚑𝚃� .�𝚝𝚎� ,�𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚜𝚛𝚎𝚙� ,��'�𝚊𝚖𝚞𝚑�-�𝚘𝚗� �𝚘� �𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚛𝚎𝙿� .�𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚎𝚛� �𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚍� �𝚗𝚊𝚖� �𝚘𝚏� �𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚑� �𝚔𝚒𝚕� �𝚊𝚖� �𝚕𝚙𝚘𝚎𝙿�

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..."

!snoitome ruoy deeh dna ,gnitirw nuf evaH .rednatsyb ro ,mitciv ,nialliv eht eb rotarran eht evah nac uoY .amuart gniyfirolg on tub ,tolp eht ot sniatrap ti sa rafosni yrots ni ).cte ,espylacopa ,snosiop ,htaed ybab ,labinnac( scipot laitnetop noitnem nac uoY .ylthgil ).cte ,tceffe elbuod eht ,ediciteof ,noitucexe( scipot laisrevortnoc )noitercsid htiw( esu nac uoY )luftcepsersid sa .cte ,serutluc ,snoigiler ,seitirohtua niatrec gniyartrop( spuorg gnipytoeretS~ .cte ,nosiop ,tcudba ylpmi nac uoy hguohtla )egairram degnarra ,noitatiolpxe ekil( esubA~ .fleseno ecifircas retcarahc a evah ,revewoh ,nac uoY .cte ,mrah fleS~ 'tsohg fo ecneserp ta slworg god eht' ekil gnihtemos eb naC .slaminA~ .liated cihparg yrassecennu gnidiova ,eroG~ .gnihtemos ro 'raed ho' ekil yas naC .ytinaforP~ :spit emos era ereH .tsiwt tolp emos ro gnidne eht yawa evig yam sgninraw reggirT .kcatta cinap esuac ot sa gninethgirf ot ton tub ,yracs eb ot tnaem s'rorroh ,esruoc fO .tnuocca ot-ni ekat ot senilediug etaredisnoc emos s'erehT .cte ,evitcepsrep ,s'namuh-non fo noitacifinosreP .snosaer tnereffid ynam rof rorroh ekil yam elpoeP

‘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...

4891ecnatsiser resu tidder ot tiderC ?eid elpoep woh ees ot rewop eht rof hsiw reve I did yhW .mitciv tohsnuG .kcab eht ni nepo nwolb si daeh ym :rorrim weiv-raer eht ni noitcelfer railimaf ym ees dna pu kool I yllautnevE .leehw gnireets eht no daeherof ym nael I sa htaerb ym hctac yllanif I rac ym nI .nac I sa tsaf sa rood eht tuo hsur I .mitciv nruB .erifpmac a otni llef taht god toh a fo ycnetsisnoc eht si sdnah dna ecaf sih no niks ehT .tnorf erots eht ta senizagam hguorht gnikool nam a ees I yletaidemmI .tixe eht sdrawot nrut dna sgab ym barg I ,reh gniknahT .lla ta gnihtyna dloh nac ti desirprus m’I delgnam os dnah a ni egnahc ym kcab sevig ehs yap I retfA .roolf eht sdrawot nwod kcab ezag ym pans I .tnedicca rac a ylbaborP .edis tfel eht no ni devac yletelpmoc si daeh s’reihsac ehT .pu ecnalg I dna revo sniw ytisoiruC .tnasaelP .ecin sdnuos eciov reH .roolf eht ot elbmum I ”,mmh-mM“ .yllausac sksa ehs ”?yako gnihtyreve dnif uoy diD“ .diova ot elpoep rewef thgin ta gnippohs og ylno I yhw s’tahT .elpoep rehto htiw tcatnoc eye gnidiova yb yteixna ym hguorht teg ot tseisae ti dnif I .roolf eht ta erats I sa rennacs eht ssorca smeti ym sepiws reihsac ehT thgin ta gnippohs og ylno I | 5102 ,ts13 hcraM ,yadseuT

‘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.”

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…”

"...ssol ruoy rof yrros yrev m’I .enecs eht ta deid eH .gnineve siht revird nur dna tih a yb kcurts saw ekib s’nos ruoY .swen dab emos evah I diarfa m’I tub ,yrros ylbirret ma I”— em teL .seY“ .hgis detaefed a tuo tel eH .reciffo mirg eht deksa ”?nosrevlaH .rM“ .thgil hcrop eht rednu doots reciffo ecilop A .ti denepo dna rood eht ot tnew ,pu tog eh ,gnilbmerT .esrow srettam ekam ylno dluow gninnuR .ti rewsna tub od dluoc eh gnihton saw erehT .em dnuof yehT .mih htaeneb yawa delbmurc ylneddus dlrow sih dna rood tnorf eht no deppat enoemos nehT ?won thgir ecilop eht ot og tsuj ton yhW .enog erutuf sih ,enog ylimaf sih ,enog reerac sih ,liaj ni sraey gninigami yb flesmih dehsinup dna siht erofeb emirc a dettimmoc reven d’eH ?nur uoy did yhW .emoh tog eh litnu rorrim weivraer sih no eye na gnipeek dna nekahs ,ssenkrad eht otni soahc eht morf yawa gnihceercs dna sag eht no gnippets ,dekcinap eh dna ylirgna deralb snroH .tnemevap eht no thgis fo tuo llef dna dooh sih ssorca dellor tsilcycib eht neht ,tloj tneloiv a saw ereht dnoces tilps a ni dna thgir sih morf emac rulb egnaro nA .detarelecca dna yrruh a ni saw eh tub ,der denrut thgil ehT .dnim sih ni revo dna revo gniyalp tpek gnineve taht reilrae tnedicca ehT .ruoh na revo rof devom t’ndah eH .moor gnivil krad sih ni tas nosrevlaH yobnniM resu tiddeR :yb nettirW .enod sah eh tahw htiw epoc ot seirt nam a ,yrots trohs rorroh siht nI tnediccA ehT :yrotS trohS rorroH

r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 days ago ChungusMcFunkopop My wife grabbed my arm tightly, and said "whatever you hear on the other side of that door, DO NOT open it". My wife's voice coming from the other side is yelling "HONEY IT'S NOT REALLY ME IN THERE - GET OUT NOW"

“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

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.

ecnarongi- gnipytoerets- ssol lamina- ytinaforp- ~diovA

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.

As I played in the basement, Mother called me upstairs. From behind me, She whispered, ‘Don’t go up there.’ — CheckeredBag

seirots hcus ni- spuorg niatrec~ liated yrassecennu~ slamina~ -tuoba gnitirw diova

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

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.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 yr. ago netflixandskill my son was reported missing last week they found him but it's not my son

“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

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

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.

“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

seirots dias ni- smirc~ liated yrassecennu~ step~ -on

spuorg fo nuf gnikam~ elpoep niatrec fo layartrop etaruccani~ liated evissecxe~ slamina gnisol~ -diova

r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago myymyy Rollercoaster "Mooooom, I don't like it. I want to get off!" I was a bit surprised. He had always been so brave. I was way more afraid than him when we got on. I never liked to be so high up from the ground. "This will be so much fun!", he had said when we were parking the car. I had kinda hoped he would be strong for both of us. "Oh honey, I'm sorry but we can't get off now, the ride has already started. But remember the small rollercoaster, in the park we went to when you were little? With the funny clown? This is just like that, only bigger. And remember how AWESOME it was?" My son looked at me with watery eyes. He had been so excited about this. I tried to swallow my own nervousness and keep talking to calm him down. My voice was shaking a bit, but I managed to put on a smile. "It's okay, it's okay. You might feel a bit funny in your stomach. It's because of the speed and the changes in the force that pushes you. It's normal! Listen, do you hear? Other people are scared too." He looked at me with his kind, blue eyes and nodded. Just barely. I wanted to hug him, but my back was pressing to the seat so heavily I couldn't move enough. So was his. My eyes caught a glimpse of the sun over my sons head. The sky was so bright. I tried to ignore the metallic clanging sound and people screaming somewhere that seemed to be so far away. Oh, how I missed the ground. Then I felt a big drop on my stomach. We were going faster and faster. My son started sobbing and I tightened my grib on his hand. I thought that he would become such a handsome man someday. He would end up having a good life, and marry a nice girl - or a guy, who knows? I didn't care as long as he was happy. That's all I wanted. For him to be happy and not scared. "Hey, you know what? Close your eyes. This will be over soon. I'm here. I'm not letting go." Someone behind us started to scream. I felt my blood run cold. I tried to keep my focus on the one thing that mattered: my sons hand and my calm voice that kept telling him that it was all going to be okay. Oh, he would become such a handsome man someday. But at this moment he was just a 6 year old boy on his first flight, going to surprise his grandparents all the way across the country. And the last thing I saw before I closed my own eyes, was the second engine on fire...

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?

~sgat gniwollof eht sgat gniwollof eht sgat gniwollof eht

下次，你會記得我的 你是否曾走進房間，發現一個吸血鬼？ 你的心臟是否加速跳動，盡管你的腿拒絕跳動？ 轉眼間，當這個怪物在黑暗中穿過房間時，你是否感到時間變慢？ 當它把一只爪子放在你的頭上，另一只放在你的下巴，使你傾斜，露出你的脖 子時，你是否害怕得發抖？ 當它粗糙、幹燥的舌頭順著你的臉頰，滑過你的下巴，到達你的喉嚨，尋找你 的動脈時，你是否掙扎著扭動？ 當它探測你的脈搏時，你是否感覺到它的熱氣在你的皮膚上發出嘶嘶聲 — 那 是通向你大腦的氣流。 它的舌頭是否停留在那兒，微微跳動，貌似在品味這一刻？ 當你發現並非所有的吸血鬼都以血為食 — 有些吸血鬼以記憶為食時，你是否 經歷過一種沈淪、噁心的黑暗？ 你是否曾經……咳咳，讓我重新描述這個問題：你是否曾經走進一個房間，突 然忘記了你為什麽進來？ 原文作者：IPostAtMidnight

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..

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.

學會數數的女兒 昨晚11點50分左右，我的女兒叫醒了我。我和妻子把她從她朋友薩利的生日會 上接回家，並把她放在床上。 我妻子走進臥室看書，而我在看勇士隊比賽時睡著了。 “爸爸，”她悄聲說，扯著我的襯衫袖子。”猜猜我下個月會有多大？””我不知 道，美女，”我邊說邊戴上眼鏡。”多大了？”她笑著舉起四根手指。” 現在是7點半。我的妻子和我已和她一起待了近8個小時，她仍拒絕告訴我們她 從哪得到這些。 原文作者： RealScience87

掌握壽命的男人 他在十歲生日時得到了這塊表。這是一隻普通的灰色塑料腕表，除了它正在倒 計時的事實之外，其他方面都很普通。 “這是你留在世界上的所有時間，兒子。明智地利用它。” 而他確實做到了。隨 著手表的滴答聲，這個男孩，成為了一個男人，盡情地享受生活。他爬山、遊 海。他談笑風生，享受生活與愛。這個人從不害怕，因為他清楚地知道自己還 剩下多少時間。最終，手表開始了最後的倒計時。 老人站在那裡看著他所做的一切，他所建立的人生。 5. 他與商業夥伴握手，這個人一直是他的朋友和知己。 4. 他的狗過來舔他的手，男人輕輕地拍了拍它的頭。 3. 他擁抱了他的兒子，確認自己是個好父親。 2. 他最後一次親吻了妻子的額頭。 1. 老人笑了笑，閉上了眼睛。 然後，什麽也沒發生。手表發出一聲提示音，而後關閉。那人仍活生生地站在 那裡。你也許會認為，在那一刻，他應該是欣喜若狂。 相反地，在他的生命中，這個人第一次感到害怕。 原文作者：gridster2

ᴺᵒᵗ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ⁱˢ ᵇᵉˡⁱᵉᵛⁱⁿᵍ! ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ ⁱˢ ᵃᵗ ʰᵒᵐᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ ⁿᵒⁱˢᵉˢ ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏⁱᵗᶜʰᵉⁿ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵍᵒᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏⁱᵗᶜʰᵉⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠⁱⁿᵈˢ ᵃ ˢˡⁱᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵖⁱᶻᶻᵃ ᶠˡᵒᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃⁱʳ‧ ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ'ˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵉⁿᵗᵉʳˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏⁱᵗᶜʰᵉⁿ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵉᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵖⁱᶻᶻᵃ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵉ ˢᶜᵒˡᵈˢ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵉᵃᵗ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵈⁱⁿⁿᵉʳ‧ ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ ⁱˢ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜˡᵉᵃⁿ ʰⁱˢ ʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᔆᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿˡʸ⸴ ʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳˢ ᵃ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ⁱⁿˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵈʳᵒᵒᵐ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉ ⁱⁿᵗʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵉˢ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᵃˢ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿᵛⁱˢⁱᵇˡᵉ ᵇᵒʸ ʷʰᵒ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ʷᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ'ˢ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ‧ ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ ᵍʳᵃᵇˢ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ'ˢ ᴹᵒˡᵉᶜᵘˡᵉ ᴰᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵒʳ ᴸⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗˢ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵛᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒʸ'ˢ ʳᵉᵃˡ ᵇᵒᵈʸ⸴ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ ᵈᵉˢᶜʳⁱᵇᵉˢ ᵃˢ ᵐᵒⁿˢᵗʳᵒᵘˢ‧ ᵁⁿˡⁱᵏᵉ ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵒʷ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵇˡᵉ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ʰᵃˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵒ ᵃʳᵐˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃⁿᵗᵉⁿⁿᵃ‧ ᴴᵉ ⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗⁱᶠⁱᵉˢ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ ᵃˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ʰᵘᵐᵃⁿ⸴ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵒᶠ‧ ᔆᵃᵐᵐʸ ᵃˢᵏˢ ⁱᶠ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ʰⁱᵐ ⁽ᵃˢ ᵃ ᵖᵉᵗ ᵖᵉʳʰᵃᵖˢ⁾ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵖᵃʳᵉⁿᵗˢ ˢᵃʸ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈ ˢᵉⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᶻᵒᵒ⸴ ᵃˢ ʰᵘᵐᵃⁿˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃⁿ ᵉⁿᵈᵃⁿᵍᵉʳᵉᵈ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵉˢ‧‧‧ ᴬᵘᵗʰᵒʳ⁽ˢ⁾ ᴿ‧ᴸ‧ ᔆᵗⁱⁿᵉ

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..

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.

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.

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.

新🥷🏽🏴‍☠️

r/TwoSentenceHorror 3 hr. ago masiakasaurus On the last day I told my double, "only one of us be coming out alive." And I tied his umbilical cord around his neck.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 3 hr. ago SadiqUddin I came out of the shower and I saw a burglar standing over the bodies of my family. I couldn't just let him get away, he's seen too much.

Go to TwoSentenceHorror r/TwoSentenceHorror 3 hr. ago GraceTheGreat666 I asked the genie to show what I look like a year from now. I found myself staring at a gravestone with my name on it.

.tnemegduj tseb ruoy esU .cte ,sruls fo esu ,roivaheb citsinogatna ,kcabdeef ytilauq wol yllanoitpecxe ,stlusni lanosrep ,hceeps etah/yrtogib :ot detimil ton si tub ,sedulcni sihT yratnemmoC suoixonbO oN

Gᴏᴛ ᴀ sɴᴀᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ sᴛᴏᴍᴘᴇᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴇʟ ᴏғ ʜɪs ʙᴏᴏᴛ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ɪᴛ. Lᴀᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ʜᴇ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏsᴛ, ᴀs ʜɪs ʙᴇғᴜᴅᴅʟᴇᴅ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʀᴀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ Pᴀ. "Sᴏɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ʙᴏᴏᴛs. Hᴇ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ 'ᴇᴍ, ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏғ ғᴀᴄᴛ. Wᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. Wᴇʟʟ, I ʀᴇᴄᴋᴏɴ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. Hᴇʀᴇ—" Mᴀ, ᴡɪᴘɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜᴇʀ sᴇᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴏʟᴅ ᴄʜᴇᴇᴋ, ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪʀ ᴏғ ʙᴏᴏᴛs ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀs ᴀɴ ʜᴇɪʀʟᴏᴏᴍ. Hᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ʜᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜs sʜᴀᴅᴇ. Dʀᴇssɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ, ʜɪs ɴᴇᴡʟʏ ᴡɪᴅᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴡɪғᴇ ʜᴜɢɢᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴏɴ. "Bᴏʏ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢʀᴀɴᴅғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛs ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅɪᴅ. Tᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ..." Oғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴏʀ ʙᴏʏ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ᴍᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ғᴀᴛᴇ. Hɪs ᴡɪғᴇ ʜᴇʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛs. Lᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏsᴇʟʏ, sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ғᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏᴏᴛʜ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ sɴᴀᴋᴇ, sᴛɪʟʟ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏɪsᴏɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs. Lᴏᴅɢᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍʙᴇᴅᴅᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛs.

r/shortscarystories 13 hr. ago S_G_Woodhouse I think I'm losing my head I was driving home after a long day at work. I blinked, and the next thing I knew, I was at home having dinner with my wife and 2 daughters. "What's wrong honey" she asked me. "I don't know. I just feel like I've forgotten something" I replied, confused. Forgot something? It was much worse than that, I had no memory of going home. I reassured her and spent the rest of the evening as normal, re-watching one of my favorite movies. Eventually, I dozed off. I dreamt strange things. I saw myself, having a picnic with my parents. Except they weren't smiling and happy like I remembered them. Instead, they were sitting on the picnic blanket, staring into space, their faces closed and expressionless. No matter how much I shouted at them in my daze, I couldn't see any life left in them; it was as if they were there, without being there. Detached. I woke up in my bed, alone. I looked all over the house, but not only was my wife gone, so were my children. My cell phone line was dead, no service. I went outside to get my car and drive to work, thinking I'd try to call my wife a little later. There was no one on the road but me. It was as if the whole Earth had emptied out. I'd dismissed my detachment last night, but I was seriously beginning to wonder if I was losing my mind. I was lost. I decided to go to my work to see if anyone was still in town, if a national evacuation drill was underway and could explain everything. Once there, I rushed back into the building, hoping to find someone who could explain what was going on. And when I opened the door, I was relieved to see that all my colleagues were there. At last, I could find out what was going on. I walked over to a colleague who over the years had become my best friend. "Hey, what's going on? My family's disappeared and there's nobody left in town," I asked him. He didn't answer. I stepped forward to face him, and discovered to my horror that his face and expression were detached exactly the same as my parents' in my dream. It couldn't be, was I trapped in a nightmare? I tried to talk to everyone, but they were all in the same state. My head hurt, my eyes hurt. I saw lights, and sounds filled my ears even though there was nothing here. Nothing alive. My vision began to narrow. Sounds began to blend together. Blackness. Emptiness. And finally, words I didn't have time to understand came to me for the last time. "The driver is dead, his head was torn off by the impact."

r/TwoSentenceHorror 2 days ago MatchaEmerald71 I stare at the moon, basking in it's beauty. As I stare I can't help but wonder if the humans figured out what the moon really is yet.

Go to TwoSentenceHorror r/TwoSentenceHorror 4 days ago Turds_Unlimited Ten armed men entered my home! Wait, there were two of them...

flodA deman s'eH 8881 .c yob ybab a ot htrib evig ot tnew dna ti tpek ehs os ,dias dah yeht "redael dlrow a eb ot pu worg ro tsitra na eb dluoc ybab ruoy" .noitanimret ycnangerp gniredisnoc s'ehs retfa dlihc reh peek ot degaruocne saw namow eht ,oga yrutnec a revO

ʳ/ˢᶜᵃʳʸˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ ¹⁵ ʰʳ‧ ᵃᵍᵒ ᴰʳᵉᵃᵈ_ᴿᵉᵃᵖᵉʳ_ ᵀʰᵉ ᴾˡᵃʸᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᴵⁿ ᵃ ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗ⸴ ᵃᵇᵃⁿᵈᵒⁿᵉᵈ ˢᶜʰᵒᵒˡ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃᵘᵍʰᵗᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉᶜʰᵒ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃˡˡˢ‧ ᴼⁿᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ⸴ ᵃ ʲᵃⁿⁱᵗᵒʳ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᶠᵃⁱⁿᵗ ᵍⁱᵍᵍˡᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖˡᵃʸᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ‧ ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ⸴ ʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵐᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵒʷⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷˢ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ᵖˡᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵒᵃᶜʰᵉᵈ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍˢ ˢᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿˡʸ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ'ˢ ˡᵃᵘᵍʰᵗᵉʳ ᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ˢⁱⁿⁱˢᵗᵉʳ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳˢ⸴ ʳᵉᵛᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗˢ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵈ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶜʰᵒᵒˡ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁿ⸴ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍˢ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵏᵉᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿ⸴ ʳᵉᵛᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗˡʸ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰᵒˡˡᵒʷ ᵉʸᵉˢ⸴ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ⸴ "ʲᵒⁱⁿ ᵘˢ ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ‧"

ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴᴰᴬʸ ᶜᴬᴺᴰᴸᴱᔆ ᵇʸ ʳᵉᵈᵈⁱᵗ ᵘˢᵉʳ ᶻᵉⁿʳʸʰᵃᵒ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃʳᵈᵉˢᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇˡᵒʷ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱᶠᵗᵉᵉⁿ ᶠˡⁱᶜᵏᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃⁿᵈˡᵉˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ʰᵘᶠᶠᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵘᶠᶠᵉᵈ‧‧‧ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵒ ᵃᵛᵃⁱˡ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵍˡᵃⁿᶜᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵈ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵗ ʰᵒᵘʳˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᶜᵃᵏᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵉˣᵖʳᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵘⁿᵇᵉᵃʳᵃᵇˡʸ ᵍᵘⁱˡᵗʸ‧ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ'ˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢᵗᵃʳᵉᵈ ˢᵃᵈˡʸ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵘⁿʸⁱᵉˡᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᶠˡᵃᵐᵉˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵇᵃʳᵉˡʸ ᶠᵃˡᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ'ˢ ᶠᵉᵉᵇˡᵉ ᵃᵗᵗᵉᵐᵖᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ᵇˡⁱⁿᵏᵉᵈ ᵃ ᶠᵉʷ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ʰᵉʳ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ‧ ᵂʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ "ᴴᵃᵖᵖʸ ᴮⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ⸴" ˢʰᵉ ᵇˡᵉʷ ᵃ ᵍᵘˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ʷⁱⁿᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃⁿᶜⁱⁿᵍ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ ᵈⁱˢˢⁱᵖᵃᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᶠᶠˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵐᵒᵏᵉ‧ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰʸ ʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵃᵗ‧ ᴵᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ʸᵉᵃʳ; ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵇᵃᵏᵉᵈ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳᶠᵉᶜᵗ ᶜᵃᵏᵉ⸴ ʰᵉ ᶠᵃⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇˡᵒʷ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿᵈˡᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵉ ᶜʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶜʰᵃⁿᵍᵉᵈ ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵘᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵃⁿᵈˡᵉˢ‧ ᵀⁱᵐᵐʸ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ ʰᵘᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ‧‧‧ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵒ ᵃᵛᵃⁱˡ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵐᵉʳᵉˡʸ ᵈʳⁱᶠᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ʰᵉʳ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵉⁱᵗʰᵉʳ‧

r/TwoSentenceHorror 1 min. ago AcrobaticTransition4 “My lower back hurt” I told the chiropractor Then I heard a snap and then all the pain has been permanently alleviated as i bent slumped over feeling nothing...

r/TwoSentenceHorror 6 days ago Old_Lady_In_Titanic Everyone else was distracted by the huge iceberg that glided within inches of the ship. Only I saw the giant metallic sea-bear gash a hole in the hull beneath the waterline with it's razor sharp knife-like claws.

‘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...

r/TwoSentenceHorror 40 min. ago derf_vader "Hello Darkness my old friend..." I sang the familiar lyrics as I passed by the dark alley. "I've come to greet you at the end," the Darkness sang back softly creeping, as it enveloped me in the sounds of silence...

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, you fool? 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.

˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 ˚ 　　　 .　　 　　˚ 　　　 .　　 ˚ ᜊ i choose to stop apologising for being me ᜊ i radiate confidence, balance and inner harmony ᜊ i am so pretty and i love myself ᜊ i love my body and all it does for me ᜊ i am worthy of love and good things ᜊ i attract wonderful people into my life ᜊ i do not compare myself to other people ᜊ i feel beautiful and confident with my body ᜊ i will stop worrying about everything ᜊ i am becoming more at-ease with myself ᜊ i will take things on with a gentle approach ˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 ˚ 　　　 .　　 　　˚ 　　　 .　　 ˚

　　 ˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 　　˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 　　˚ 　　　 . you are bigger than what is making you anxious 　　 ˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 　　˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 　　˚ 　　　 .

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 : to heal from things you don’t talk about to take some time for yourself to be treated nicely and with respect so many flowers a peaceful and joyful life to have supportive people in your life more than you can ever imagine

‘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.

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."

I hate when websites ask "are you human?" ... no, I'm a vacuum. August 7th, 2012, 6:14 AM

────(♥)(♥)(♥)────(♥)(♥)(♥) ɪƒ ƴσυ'ʀє αʟσηє, ──(♥)██████(♥)(♥)█████(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ɓє ƴσυʀ ѕɧα∂σѡ. ─(♥)████████(♥)████████(♥) ɪƒ ƴσυ ѡαηт тσ cʀƴ, ─(♥)██████████████████(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ɓє ƴσυʀ ѕɧσυʟ∂єʀ. ──(♥)████████████████(♥) ɪƒ ƴσυ ѡαηт α ɧυɢ, ────(♥)█████████████(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ɓє ƴσυʀ ρɪʟʟσѡ. ──────(♥)█████████(♥) ɪƒ ƴσυ ηєє∂ тσ ɓє ɧαρρƴ, ────────(♥)█████(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ɓє ƴσυʀ ѕɱɪʟє. ─────────(♥)██(♥) ɓυт αηƴтɪɱє ƴσυ ηєє∂ α ƒʀɪєη∂, ───────────(♥) ɪ'ʟʟ ʝυѕт ɓє ɱє.

NEWEST GUIDELINES ON CANCERS SCREENING OF THE WOMB COMPARED TO PREVIOUS RECOMMENDATIONS SUGGESTED for AFAB people aged ~25-65 yrs. old 2020 Update 2012 old 2018 former rec. Ages <25 No screening Pap test every 3 years Pap test every 3 years Age 25‒29 HPV test every 5 years (preferred) , HPV/Pap cotest every 5 years (acceptable) or Pap test every 3 years (acceptable) Pap test every 3 years Pap test every 3 years Age 30‒65 HPV test every 5 years (preferred) or HPV/Pap cotest every 5 years (acceptable) Pap test every 3 years (acceptable) or HPV/Pap cotest every 3 years (preferred) or Pap test every 3 years (acceptable) Pap test every 3 years, HPV test every 5 years, or HPV/Pap cotest every 5 years Age 65 + No screening if a series of prior tests were normal No screening if a series of prior tests were normal No screening if a series of prior tests were normal and not at high risk for cancer

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☀️🐼

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🌅🐉

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stop trying so hard for people who don't care Feb 18th, 2018

July 15, 2015 A true relationship is two unperfect people refusing to give up on each other.

To who ever is reading this; you’re lovely. Absolutely lovely. A perfect creation. You have so much potential and can achieve so much. Really, you are. So live your life the way it feel right, dream big dreams, and live passionately. Aug 19th, 2019

☆꧁lil reminder!: 𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘴. ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

I̵̱̓͆͘'̷̞̰̜̭͚̉͂̈́̌͗m̴͓̼̲͖̮̣̣͒͛̈́̑̿͘ ̷̛͓̖̯͎̱͇̓̉̔̿͝T̵̰̓͊̈́͛͆̀̈́̎̆͝e̶̞͔̤̟̒̋̽̍r̸̨̻̬̲̰̂͑̍̂̋͜r̵̨̫̓̄̀̀͊̔̽͝i̷̢̺͇̒͗́̈́̚͜͝f̸̛̦̱̱͋̾͊̔ị̵͇͙̥̭̜̒͒̆̃́e̸̬̺͉̩̘̬̟̥̊̾ḑ̵͇̪͚̻̾̉̈́̅͗̀̉̀͐͘ͅ S̵̨̛̙͉̈́̏ą̷͔̣̳̙͈̝̫͈͔͋̅̌̎̇̓̎͝v̴͉͙͈̺̖̖̠͉͛̔̆̔͌͑͝ę̴̠̓͊͑̈́M̸̱̠̞̲͗̑̓̉̇̾̋͜͝ͅȩ̶̳̻͚̣͈̱̤͔̩̽͂̽͗̃̈́̀̂̾S̶̨͓͔̠͚̒̍̽a̵̳̩͓̣̐͂̾̈͆́̑̕͘̕v̸̨͔̱̥̭̭̆͒͘ę̷̝̺̖̪̩̭̀̔̑͛̍̔̈́͘ͅM̴̯̮͓̠̘͚̦͚̔̀͂̈́͆͜ę̷̧͓͇̫̗̩͆̿͆̌́͝͠S̴̡̘͖͓̺͖̟͎̓͌͂̅̀̄̈̀͌̈́à̵̢̯͇͙͓̗̣̗͖̂͊̊͘͝v̵̰̟͎̈́̀͒͆͐̅e̵̱͕̰̯̬̹͋̋͐́ͅM̷̱̻̜͔̘̗̱̐͌͂ë̷͍͎̙̖̝̙̝̫͙́̓͜Ş̵̧̛͕̬̭̭͉̫̂̋͑̉̇͜ạ̷̧̯̲͍̠̦̤̞͗̀͌̍̈͋͝v̸̢̰̞̺̟̦̺̝͗é̷̢͈͚̟̙̠̽̆͛̉̃̚Ḿ̵̡͔͔̠̫͓̭͔͖̬͂̐̄̓̅͆͝ḙ̵̹̯͇̭̃̊͂͌͊̚̕S̸̩̒͝a̴̢̪͚̻̦͖͇͆͗̈́̏̈̽͆̔̚v̶̛̾͂̏́̀̉̚͜ẻ̶͕̖͂̀́̏̂͛͒͜M̵̰̭̟̯̩̻̘̭͐͑̋̔̎ȩ̸̛̛̹͉͓̿̈̽̈́͊ S̵̨̛̙͉̈́̏ą̷͔̣̳̙͈̝̫͈͔͋̅̌̎̇̓̎͝v̴͉͙͈̺̖̖̠͉͛̔̆̔͌͑͝ę̴̠̓͊͑̈́M̸̱̠̞̲͗̑̓̉̇̾̋͜͝ͅȩ̶̳̻͚̣͈̱̤͔̩̽͂̽͗̃̈́̀̂̾S̶̨͓͔̠͚̒̍̽a̵̳̩͓̣̐͂̾̈͆́̑̕͘̕v̸̨͔̱̥̭̭̆͒͘ę̷̝̺̖̪̩̭̀̔̑͛̍̔̈́͘ͅM̴̯̮͓̠̘͚̦͚̔̀͂̈́͆͜ę̷̧͓͇̫̗̩͆̿͆̌́͝͠S̴̡̘͖͓̺͖̟͎̓͌͂̅̀̄̈̀͌̈́à̵̢̯͇͙͓̗̣̗͖̂͊̊͘͝v̵̰̟͎̈́̀͒͆͐̅e̵̱͕̰̯̬̹͋̋͐́ͅM̷̱̻̜͔̘̗̱̐͌͂ë̷͍͎̙̖̝̙̝̫͙́̓͜Ş̵̧̛͕̬̭̭͉̫̂̋͑̉̇͜ạ̷̧̯̲͍̠̦̤̞͗̀͌̍̈͋͝v̸̢̰̞̺̟̦̺̝͗é̷̢͈͚̟̙̠̽̆͛̉̃̚Ḿ̵̡͔͔̠̫͓̭͔͖̬͂̐̄̓̅͆͝ḙ̵̹̯͇̭̃̊͂͌͊̚̕S̸̩̒͝a̴̢̪͚̻̦͖͇͆͗̈́̏̈̽͆̔̚v̶̛̾͂̏́̀̉̚͜ẻ̶͕̖͂̀́̏̂͛͒͜M̵̰̭̟̯̩̻̘̭͐͑̋̔̎ȩ̸̛̛̹͉͓̿̈̽̈́͊ S̵̨̛̙͉̈́̏ą̷͔̣̳̙͈̝̫͈͔͋̅̌̎̇̓̎͝v̴͉͙͈̺̖̖̠͉͛̔̆̔͌͑͝ę̴̠̓͊͑̈́M̸̱̠̞̲͗̑̓̉̇̾̋͜͝ͅȩ̶̳̻͚̣͈̱̤͔̩̽͂̽͗̃̈́̀̂̾S̶̨͓͔̠͚̒̍̽a̵̳̩͓̣̐͂̾̈͆́̑̕͘̕v̸̨͔̱̥̭̭̆͒͘ę̷̝̺̖̪̩̭̀̔̑͛̍̔̈́͘ͅ M̴̯̮͓̠̘͚̦͚̔̀͂̈́͆͜ę̷̧͓͇̫̗̩͆̿͆̌́͝͠S̴̡̘͖͓̺͖̟͎̓͌͂̅̀̄̈̀͌̈́à̵̢̯͇͙͓̗̣̗͖̂͊̊͘͝v̵̰̟͎̈́̀͒͆͐̅ e̵̱͕̰̯̬̹͋̋͐́ͅM̷̱̻̜͔̘̗̱̐͌͂ë̷͍͎̙̖̝̙̝̫͙́̓͜Ş̵̧̛͕̬̭̭͉̫̂̋͑̉̇͜ ạ̷̧̯̲͍̠̦̤̞͗̀͌̍̈͋͝v̸̢̰̞̺̟̦̺̝͗é̷̢͈͚̟̙̠̽̆͛̉̃̚ Ḿ̵̡͔͔̠̫͓̭͔͖̬͂̐̄̓̅͆͝ḙ̵̹̯͇̭̃̊͂͌͊̚̕S̸̩̒͝a̴̢̪͚̻̦͖͇͆͗̈́̏̈̽͆̔̚v̶̛̾͂̏́̀̉̚͜ẻ̶͕̖͂̀́̏̂͛͒͜M̵̰̭̟̯̩̻̘̭͐͑̋̔̎

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

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...

‘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.

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𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓅𝒶𝓃𝒾𝒸 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓈 ｆａｃｔｏｒｓ：　胃イ艶 1. if you have sensory issues, the lighting and the way the store is built can actually trigger panic attacks and sympt0ms. 2. agoraphobia is a huge factor as well. basically, you don’t want to go to places where you’ve had panic attacks and obviously get prettɥ terrıfıed. ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ　ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ　ｉｔ：　佳なヺ it’s not particularly easy to get through these situations. it’s hãrd to go through situations that make you uncomfortable. 【ｔｉｐｓ】 1. try to bring a fidget spinner, fidget cube, or something of sort. it will help distract you a bit. it may not work a lot, but i find it helpful. 2. have water with you, where ever you go. . 3. chew some peppermint gum or suck on some peppermint candies. it may not help a lot, but if you have a dry møuth from your panic attacks, it’ll help that symptom out. 4. pretend you’re excited. i know, it won’t be that easy, but sometimes faking one emotion, can actually make that emotion happen. try convincing yourself, “i’m fine, i’m excited! it’s okay!” (source: DARE - THE NEW WAY TO END ANXIETY AND STOP PANIC ATTACKS by Barry McDonagh) 5. accept your panic attacks and anxıety. don’t say no to anxıety because then you’re pushing it a̛way and gıvıng it more pøwer. accept that you do have this going on, but you’re NOT your anxıety. 6. taking deep breaths in and out. try different patterns, it may be hãrd to breathe, but you have to t̢ry. don’t gıve up! 7. finally, try EFT. emotiona1 freedom tapping is known to help relax you. (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ what you can bring into your regular life ♥ there are so many things you can bring in your life and routines. get ready because i’m gonna list a lot!: 1. meditation 2. eft 3. michael sealey hypnosis 4. yoga 5. exercise 6. journaling 7. bullet journaling 8. reading 9. drinking water 10. drinking herbal teas such as - chamomile, lemongrass, lavender, and etc.. 11. dancing 12. drawing and doodling 13. singing 14. playing some videogames 15. stretches 16. melatonin 17. magnesium 18. listening to motivating podcasts, videos, or songs 19. washing your fash and smiling in the mirror 20. talking positive to yourself 21. writing stories 22. doing thinking exercises in the morning to shift your negative thinking 23. watch one of your favourite shows on youtube, netflix, hulu, or whatever 24. write down on paper, something you want to do. don’t mention your fears or think about it. do something you WANT. don’t let the fear get in the way. 25. practicing some self-care 26. go outside 27. eat some delicious food 28. open your windows and let the sunlight come in 29. take vitamin d and b12! 30. smile and don’t let your panic attacks consume you. you’re a beautiful human being.

Special Needs Parenting requires an almost super human love, where the parent's expectations are set aside and the needs of the child are met first September 30, 2015

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𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ♡ ✦ life isn’t meant to be hard ✦ i wasn’t put on this earth to suffer ✦ i don’t need to push myself to the point of despair for the sake of productivity ✦ i am the kind of person who good things happen to ✦ i’m not cursed, good things can and will happen to me ✦ i am extremely lucky ✦ i am constantly receiving good news and being blessed with miracles ✦ i deserve to rest ✦ i deserve to take up space ✦ it’s okay to struggle and ask for help, other people also struggle, and they care about me and are happy to help ✦ i don’t need to apologize so much. i didn’t do anything wrong and i have nothing to feel guilty for ✦ it is possible for me to be healthy and live a happy life ✦ “i can’t accept this, i don’t deserve it” if you don’t take it, someone else will, whether they deserve it or not. if someone’s offering you an opportunity, or present, it’s because they thought you deserved it, and want you to have it, so stop being silly and take it ✦ i’m not stuck with any identities. i can always change and become and better me. maybe i’m not athletic, but i can be. maybe i’m not organized, but i can be. i’m not stuck and i can change this post is a reminder to myself and others that we’re allowed to take up space in this world and that we deserve to be happy just because. we don’t need to earn the good things in life by suffering and working to the point of exhaustion. we don’t need to thank people a million times for something they chose to do for us, we don’t need to constantly apologize for being sad or needing help. aren’t we all human? aren’t we all struggling, trying to figure life out? why is it that when it’s me who needs a little help, suddenly it’s burdening? i think i have a hard time manifesting certain things, because i still see myself in a negative light, in many ways, and because, for a very long time, i believed i had to be humble, work hard, that suffering was something honorable. i think this is something that comes with existing as a woman in this world, being so apologetic about everything, and it’s something i really want to let go off. me existing in this world as someone who does no harm to others is reason enough for me to deserve to take up space and live a happy life.

All I saw was red ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↓ˢᶜʳᵒˡˡ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ↓ I check into small hotel some kilometres away. It is late. I am tired. I tell woman at desk I want a room. She tells me room number and give key. “But one more thing, comrade; there is one room without number and always lock. Don’t even peek in there.” I take key and go to room to sleep. Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red. Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. “By the way who is in that room?” She look at me and begin to tell story. There was woman in there. M*rdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red..

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1/2 MOVING ON ➪ғᴇᴀʀ ᴏғ ᴅʏɪɴɢ. "Honey, you forgot your phone!" Karen yelled. The door slammed shut. Karen sighed, setting the phone down on the kitchen counter. Plankton had been more obsessed with his latest scheme than usual these past few days, and it was starting to wear on her. Her thoughts drifted to the time before they were married, when his ambition had been endearing, not exhausting. They had met in college, where Plankton's mind for science had been as vast as the ocean. Back then, his inventions had been quirky little gadgets that never quite worked out as planned. But now, as he chased after Mr. Krabs' secret recipe, his obsession had become all-consuming.. Suddenly, Karen saw a flash of light from the direction of the Krusty Krab, she dashed out the door, and she raced to the chaos, and as she approached, she saw the exploding contraption hit his head. "Plankton!" she screamed, but it was too late. He lay motionless as she sprinted, fear coiling around her. She knelt beside his tiny frame, her hands shaking as she felt for a pulse. The Krabby Patty formula could wait. Her husband's life couldn't. With trembling fingers, she dialed the emergency number, her voice shaky as she relayed the situation. Sirens grew louder, piercing the stillness of the night. When the medics arrived, they worked swiftly, their movements a blur of efficiency. Karen hovered nearby, her screen never leaving her husband's face. They loaded him onto the stretcher, Karen going in with him. The hospital was a stark contrast to the colorful underwater world she knew. The doctor's expression was grave as he explained that Plankton was in a coma. "We're doing everything we can," he assured her, but his words offered little comfort. Karen sat by Plankton's bed, her hand tightly gripping his. The machine beside them beeped a steady rhythm, a grim reminder of his condition. The door to the room squeaked open, and in waddled SpongeBob Square Pants, looking out of place in the stiff chair. "Hi, Karen," he said softly, his eyes immediately finding Plankton's lifeless form. Karen looked up, the tears still fresh on her screen. "Oh, Sponge Bob, thank you for coming," she managed. He nodded, his usual cheerfulness replaced by a look of genuine concern. "I heard about the accident," he said. "Just keep him company," she replied, her voice weak. Sponge Bob nodded solemnly, his gaze shifting back to Plankton. He approached the bedside, the squeak of his shoes echoing. He pulled up a chair and sat down, twirling his hat nervously. It was strange to see the normally energetic Plankton so still, so small in the face of something bigger than his own ambition. Then, tentatively, Sponge Bob began to speak. "You know, Plankton," he started, his voice barely a whisper, "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be here without you causing trouble. You've been a real thorn in Mr. Krabs' side, but you've also been a part of our lives for so long. In a weird way, I guess you're like family." He leaned closer, his spongy hand reaching out to squeeze Plankton's tiny one. "And families stick together, even when things are tough." He took his hat and laid it on the bedside table. Karen watched, surprised by the tenderness in Sponge Bob's voice. Despite their rivalry, there was a bond between them that she had never fully understood. Perhaps it was born from the years of adversity, a shared history that transcended good and bad. "I know you're in there, Plankton," Sponge Bob continued, his voice a mix of hope and sadness. "You're the most stubborn person I've ever met. I can't imagine you giving up now." He swallowed hard, his eyes misting over. "You've got to pull through this, buddy." The room grew quiet again, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machine. Karen felt a warmth spread through her, despite the coldness of the room. Sponge Bob's words had touched her in a way she didn't expect. Their friendship, built on a foundation of constant conflict, was somehow stronger than she had ever realized. Then Mr. Krabs entered. "Karen, hey," he began, his voice cracking with emotion. "How's he doing?" Karen looked up from her vigil. "No change," she replied, her voice flat. Mr. Krabs shuffled over, his eyes flicking from the unmoving Plankton to the worried look on Sponge Bob. He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I just wanted to, you know, check on him," he said awkwardly. Sponge Bob nodded, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. "We're all here for him," he said, his voice firm with resolve. Mr. Krabs hovered by. "I never thought I'd say this," he murmured, "but I don't want to lose him either." The words were a surprise to him, and also to Karen. The weight of their shared history sat heavily in the room, a silent acknowledgment of the battles they all endured. SpongeBob nodded, his expression earnest. "We all have our moments," he said. "But it's what we do when things get tough that really counts." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving Plankton's face. "Remember that time you accidentally turned us into babies?" A faint smile ghosted his lips at the memory. "We all were so tiny, I could've swallowed you whole." He chuckled, a sound that was unfamiliar in the somber room. "But I didn't. Because deep down, I knew you had more to give to this world than just being a rival." Mr. Krabs chuckled too, the tension in his eyes easing. "Aye, that was a wild ride, all right," he said, his gruffness softening. Karen couldn't help but smile at the memory, wiping a fresh tear from her screen. "You two have had quite the history," she said, her voice filled with wonder. Sponge Bob nodded. "Yeah, more adventures than I can count." He paused, his smile fading. "But none of them have ever made me feel like this." He took a deep breath, his words coming out in a rush. "Plankton, if you can hear me, you need to wake up. Your Chum Bucket's not going to run itself, and I can't eat Krabby Patties without someone to compete with." Mr. Krabs grunted in agreement, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. "Yeah, and who's going to challenge me for the title of best burger in town if you're not around to stir the pot?" They shared a moment of quiet laughter, the kind that comes from a place deep within, where memories are etched. It was a strange sight: the sworn enemies, now united by a shared love for the pint-sized that was more than just a rival. It's midnight when he's no longer in a coma. Right at midnight, was when their waiting would come to an end, and everything's changed.. Plankton's eye fluttered open, his vision blurry. He tried to sit up. He felt weightless. Karen and Sponge Bob gasped. Mr. Krabs' turned to emit a choking cough. They stared at the empty space where Plankton's body still lays. "What's going on?" Plankton's voice was faint, echoing around the room. "Karen?" But they seemed to ignore him. The doctor sighed. Karen and Sponge Bob exchanged a hopeful glance. "Plankton?" she whispered, leaning in. "Can you hear me?" Plankton's eye searched the room, confused. "I'm right here," he said, his voice growing stronger, but still not reaching them. "Ma'am," the doctor says, "I know it's hard but, you can leave the hospital whenever you're ready." Karen nodded, her screen still fixed on Plankton's body lying on the bed. The beeping machine had stopped. "What?" Plankton's voice grew desperate, floating above the room. "Why aren't you guys listening?" Karen's gaze remained fixed on his lifeless body, the reality of the situation setting in. "Oh dear Neptune," she whispered, her hand trembling as it hovered over his chest. "He's...he's..." Sponge Bob's eyes widened in realization as he cried. Mr. Krabs stumbled back, his claws over his mouth, his eyes bulging in shock. "No, no, no," he murmured, his voice a whispered denial. The doctor looked from the machines to the ceiling, his eyes glassy. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice hollow. "We did all we could." Karen felt the world collapse around her, her body heavy with the weight of her loss. Plankton's voice grew faint, his words lost in the air like a ghostly echo. Sponge Bob's sobs filled the room. Plankton's spirit hovered above his body, his mind racing. "What happened?" he asked, his voice now a mere wisp of what it had once been. "Can one of you just explain to..." But his words trailed off as he saw the tears on Karen's screen, the shock on Mr. Krabs' face, and the sadness etched into Sponge Bob's features. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur. "Why are you all so upset? My machine exploded but now I'm awake!" It was as if there was a barrier between them that muted his voice and kept him from touching the world. He waved his arms frantically, trying to get their attention. "I'm right here," he whispered, his voice growing louder with each desperate attempt. But the only response was the sadness that hung in the air, thick and palpable. The doctor's expression remained steady, his gaze flicking from the machines to Plankton's body, then back to Karen. "Ma'am," he said gently, "you should go home. Rest." But Karen couldn't tear her screen away from Plankton's lifeless body. "Karen?" Plankton called out. "What's happening?" But Karen remained silent as she stared at his still form. Sponge Bob was crying openly now, his body heaving with sobs. Mr. Krabs was leaning against the wall. "What's going on?" he asked again, his voice desperate. "Why can't they see me?" He looked around the room. "Karen," he shouted, his voice echoing through the emptiness. But she just sat there. "Guys, I'm right here!" Plankton's voice was now a desperate shout, but it was as if he didn't exist.

2/2 MOVING ON ➪ғᴇᴀʀ ᴏғ ᴅʏɪɴɢ. Mr. Krabs wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, his voice shaking. "I'm so sorry, Karen," he said, his words a mix of sadness and regret. Karen nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Sponge Bob's wet eyes. "We're all here for you," he murmured, his voice soothing despite the pain. Plankton watched as the world around him shifted, his friends' sorrow a stark contrast to his own confusion but failing to penetrate their grief. He follows Karen back home. "You can't ignore me for..." He tries to argue, but she doesn't flinch. He's invisible. It's like he's not even there. He follows her through the desolate streets of Bikini Bottom, his voice trailing behind her like a forgotten thought. "Karen, stop!" he cries, but she doesn't hear him as she goes into the Chum Bucket. Spot, his amoeba puppy, barks as they come in. "Oh, Spot," Karen says sadly, her voice heavy with a grief Plankton can't fathom. Spot looks around, sensing his master, tail wagging. "Spot, boy," Plankton calls out. He goes to sniff his owner right where he's standing. The puppy's nose twitches. "Spot, it's me," Plankton whispers, his voice now a mere wisp. The amoeba wags his tail. But Spot doesn't jump up to lick his face like he always does. Plankton watches as Karen moves about the room without a glance. He follows her, his spirit trailing behind her. "Look," he says, his voice bouncing off the glass beakers and unused gadgets. But she simply picks up a half-finished experiment, her screen glazed over with unshed tears. Plankton's inventions are scattered across the floor. "Karen, see this," he says, trying to show her his latest gizmo. But she just steps over them. "Karen!" he yells, his voice bouncing off the walls. But she doesn't acknowledge him, her screen fixed on a photo of them from their wedding. "What's happening?" he whispers, his voice trembling. "Why can't she see me?" He watches her, his mind racing with possibilities. "Karen, sweetie," he says, his voice desperate, "It's me, Plankton. Your husband." But she just keeps moving, her actions a painful ballet of loss. "Karen," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Look at me." He waves his hands wildly in front of her, but she doesn't flinch. It's like he's not even there. "Karen, can you hear me?" Plankton shouts, his voice bouncing around the room, but it's as if he's speaking into a void. He follows her into the living room, where she slumps onto the couch, her body wracked with sobs. "What's the matter?" he asks, his voice now a mere echo of his former self. But Karen doesn't respond, doesn't even look up. Plankton paces the room, trying to make sense of this. "Karen," he says again. But she turns her attention to Spot. "I don't know how to tell you," she whispers with tears. Plankton stops in his tracks. "What do you mean?" he asks, but she doesn't hear him. He backs up, Spot following him. "Spot," Karen calls. The puppy wags his tail, looking between Plankton and Karen. Plankton feels a pang of hope. "Come here, boy," he says, his voice desperate. But Spot just sits there, staring at Karen, tail thumping the floor. Plankton's voice cracks. "Why won't anyone listen to me?" he cries out. "Spot," Karen repeats, her voice broken. "I need to tell you something. Your daddy... isn't coming back. Plankton's not coming home." "What are you talking about?" he chokes out, his voice echoing in his own mind. "I'm right here!" But Spot's eye remains, his tail wagging slightly, his expression hopeful. Plankton watches as she picks him up, cradling him in her arms. "He's always been there for us," she says, her voice cracking. "But now, it's just you and me." Plankton's spirit feels a chill run through him. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice now a faint whisper. He moves to his chair, and Spot leapt out of Karen's grasp as he follows Plankton. Spot jumps onto the chair, his tail wagging. Plankton desperately tries to pet him, but his hand goes right through. "Spot," he says, his voice barely audible. "Spot, I'm here." The amoeba puppy tilts his head, his eye searching. Plankton can almost feel the warmth of his body, but his touch is met with only cold emptiness. "Spot, please," he whispers, his eye filling with tears that won't fall in his new ethereal form. Karen looks at Spot. "You're going to have to be strong," she says, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Daddy's not coming back." Plankton's spirit recoils at the words, his mind racing. "What do you mean?" he asks again, his voice now a desperate whisper. "I'm right here!" But Karen's gaze fixed on Spot. Plankton's voice is lost in the abyss of his own disbelief. "Karen," he whispers, his voice now a mere echo in the silence of the room. "What are you saying?" He sits down in the chair, Spot watching him intently. Karen looks confused at Spot. "It's ok, buddy," she says. "Daddy loved us very much, but now he's gone." Plankton's mind reels. "What do you mean 'gone'?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm right here!" Karen doesn't react to his desperate pleas. She just sits there, watching Spot. Plankton tries again, his voice now a mere echo of what it once was. "Karen," he calls out, his desperation palpable. "Can you hear me?" But she's lost in her own world of pain. At least Spot recognizes him. "Spot," Karen says. "What are you staring at?" Plankton's spirit feels like it's going to shatter. "It's me!" he shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls without reaching her. He waves his arms wildly, but she doesn't flinch. It's as if he's invisible, not even there. He watches as she moves through their home, her actions muted by his inability to interact. "Why can't you see me?" he whimpers, his voice lost in the void. Plankton's spirit follows her, his desperation growing with each ignored plea. "You ok, Karen?" he asks, his voice unheard. Karen doesn't respond, lost in thought. "Karen," Plankton calls again, his voice growing weaker. "I can see you, why can't you see me?" Karen's going through the motions of a life without him. The sound of her sobs haunts him, echoing through his invisible existence. "Well, I guess I can watch some soap operas since he's not around to complain." She says with forced laughter through her tears. Plankton watches her. She's moving on, without even realizing he's right beside her. She doesn't even look up from the TV! He stands in front of the TV but she doesn't flinch. He's getting mad now. "Forget the TV!" He says, trying to cause a ruckus by jumping onto it. But Plankton's now in the TV as it cuts to static. He's trapped in the flickering lights, his tiny frame distorting on the screen. "Karen!" He yells, his voice now a part of the static. "What's up with the TV?" Karen says. "I can't get it to..." But her words are lost to Plankton, now in the static, his spirit pushing against the unseen barrier. "Hey!" he shouts, his voice distorting with the fuzz of the television, banging it audibly. Karen hears the banging as the TV shakes. "What's going on?" she asks, her screen a mix of fear and confusion. Plankton's spirit is desperate, his voice now a part of the static, his form a flickering shadow on the TV screen. "Karen!" he cries, his words lost in the fuzzy chaos. Karen jumps at the sound of her deceased husband's distorted voice. "Was that... PLANKTON?" Plankton's spirit, still trapped in the TV, nods vigorously. "Yes, yes, it's me!" he cries, his voice distorted through the static. Karen stares, her hand trembling as it hovers over the remote. "How?" she whispers with shock. Plankton's spirit, still trapped, keeps shouting, his words a cacophony of static. "It's me, Karen! I'm right here! I followed you home from the hospital and only Spot..." "Plankton, you died in the hospital.." "What?" he asks, his confusion palpable. "That's impossible; I'm right here!" He waves his arms in front of the flickering screen, his body a distortion of colors. Karen's eyes well up with fresh tears. "Plankton," she whispers, her hand shaking as it clutches the remote. "You've got to go. You've got to move on." The static on the TV screen swirls into a tornado of colors as Plankton's spirit fights against the invisible barrier. "No," he screams, his voice a muffled cry in the cacophony of electronic distortion. "I can't leave you.." Karen's screen filled with tears as she looks at the flickering shadow that is her husband. "Spot and I will be okay," she says, her voice shaking with emotion. "But you can't stay here." Plankton pauses, his form rippling in the static. "But what about the Krabby Patty formula?" he asks, his voice a distant echo. Karen's smile is sad, her screen wet with unshed tears. "It's just a recipe, Plankton," she says softly. "You've always been so much more than that." Plankton's spirit seems to deflate, the static dimming. "But I've spent my life trying to get it," he says, his voice barely audible. "What's the point if I can't even..." "The point," Karen says, her voice firm despite the tears streaming down her screen, "is that you've touched more lives than any Krabby Patty ever could. You've got to go, Plankton. Find peace." Plankton's spirit flickers, his eye searching hers. He nods, his form growing transparent. "Ok," he whispers, his voice now a faint echo in the static. "I'll go. But I'll always be with you, Karen. And Spot. In spirit." The TV screen fades to black, the static dissipating as Plankton's spirit is released. Karen stares at the empty space, her hands clutching the remote tightly. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you for everything."

⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬛️❤⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️ ⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬛️⬜️⬜️⬜️

Music, Arts, Crafts, Recipes and Fashion blogging from a Gothic/Dark Romantic perspective. Saturday 11 August 2012 Fashion Advice for New Goths and Babybats I was discussing the topic of Babybats, and it inspired me to write some advice for people starting out in the subculture on assembling a Goth wardrobe. The first thing I will say is "Do not panic!" You do not have to immediately look like a Gothic model in gorgeous Romantic finery or a really intricately layered Deathrock-type ensemble (yes, I am aware that Deathrock is not the same as Goth, a case of parallel evolution in America that later cross-polinated with Goth, etc.) and that it does not make you 'less Goth' if you don't have fancy clothes. You cannot judge how Goth someone is by their clothes. You certainly cannot judge how good or interesting or fun a person is by their clothes! Do not forget that a lot of models are being paid to wear a certain brand or designer's clothes - those are not necessarily the clothes they actually wear every day! Also, those who do have vast wardrobes of finery have probably acquired them over a very long time, often a decade or more. If you have a passion for the music (Goth started out as a music-based subculture, and music is still its beating heart), the mindset, and taste for things dark, the reasonable amongst us will understand that you are new and may not know a huge amount about the music, the literature etc. Fashion is really a superficial concern, although I know how much looking the part can help a new person feel like they will fit in more with other Goths and how important it can be to those establishing this newly discovered facet of their identity. People who are mean to you for being new are unreasonable and silly; don't let them put you off the subculture when there is so much you might miss out on enjoying! The second most important thing I can say is that creativity is more valued in the subculture than your ability to afford expensive things. If all you can afford are charity shop clothes and craft supplies, but you spent hours carefully painting and sewing patches or adding lace trim, you will earn a lot more respect than if you have bought the latest offerings from Lip Service or Retroscope Fashions or whatever, because you will have shown creativity, individuality, a desire to make things for yourself and to customise and make something your own, and you will have put in the effort. Do not be daunted by the prospect of DIY, even if you are not hugely crafty - a lot of things are a lot easier than they look, and with a little practice even the least dextrous person can turn a plain garment into something interesting and aesthetically pleasing. There are a huge amount of tutorials and step-by-step craft projects on the internet; browse through them and pick out things you really like and think you can manage and then work your way up to more complicated projects. As to what to actually wear? Start with looking at the musicians, going back to the early '80s and late '70s, and then look at the models, and other goths. Then look at lots of other things - clothes, costumes, even interior design and artwork. Consume visually, create for yourself a scrapbook and digest all that visual information, analyse how the shapes work, how the textures work, look for why clothes look good together (here is where a physical scrap-book where you can write and draw has an advantage, but I like scrap-bookign and am therefore a bit biased), and then aim for what inspires you, what you think looks nice, and what suits you. When shopping, try to aim for a few items that look good with each other, rather than just going for the things you think are prettiest first. If you must buy something that you don't have other things to make an outfit with, because it's one-off bargain or something, it is not the end of the world that you can't wear it out right away because nothing you own goes with it, and it is better to wait until you have gathered enough to incorporate it into an outfit where it will look really good than to try an combine it with garments that just do not look right together - it won't show off your new find to its best, anyway. Your new find will not vanish, and unless your weight and shape fluctuate greatly, it you will still be able to wear it a few months later or so. Also, to begin with, buy things where you can try them on first, instead of ordering off the internet, so you get a feel for what does and does not suit you before you've actually spent any money. The most important, biggest piece of advice I can say is "Be Yourself" - wear what you think is beautiful, wear what you feel beautiful wearing. Goth isn't something you should have to try to become, it should be a natural extension of your own tastes. It is more important to be yourself than to adhere to any subculture, although if you do land between subcultures, try to describe yourself accurately - it is perfectly reasonable to say "I am a metalhead that likes Goth fashion" or "I like Goth music, but I like a Gothic take on Lolita and Aristocrat fashion" or "I like lots of things, a bit of Goth, a bit of Punk, a dash of Hippie" or whatever, but trying to say, for example, that Sweet Lolita is somehow Goth generally does not go down well. Also note that Cybergoth is not a subsection of Goth, it is a hybrid of Goth, Rave, Industrial and a few other things. Anyone can be a Goth, it doesn't matter if you're disabled, or dark skinned, or larger, shorter, blonder, ruddier, manlier, more girly or any other deviation from the stereotype. There already are Goths-of-colour, Muslim Goths, Goths in wheelchairs, Latin American Goths, Asian Goths, really short Goths, blonde Goths, freckly Goths, skinny Goths, large Goths. All sorts of people are Goths. And I've met at least one of all the above. Have fun, be beautiful! The HouseCat at 08:00

Music, Arts, Crafts, Recipes and Fashion blogging from a Gothic/Dark Romantic perspective. Sunday 19 October 2014 Developing Personal Style 3 Tips for all styles (not just Goth) on how to improve your wardrobe and find your own personal style. ☠ Purge and Replenish At the moment I am tidying my wardrobe and came to that moment of "I either need more hangers or fewer clothes" and when this happens, I tend to chose having fewer clothes. Partly, this is because it saves me buying more hangers, partly because it stops me ending up with more clothes than space for clothes (I have limited wardrobe space, as my wardrobe gets used as a store cupboard for other things, like swords and roller-skates), and partly because it helps me develop my own style. I end up sorting through all my clothes and assessing what I want to keep, and what I want to get rid of. This can be quite brutal if I've happened to find several bargains in charity shops, been gifted nice things, or been particularly lucky on eBay, as I often end up throwing something out for every new thing I have added. By doing this, I end up with a slowly growing core of clothes that I really love and never decide to throw away (as long as they still fit) and end up giving away or selling things that either do not fit, or which I am just not that fond of. Through gradual and constant repetition of this process, I get a better idea of my own personal style, which items fit within that. Items that are an experimental addition to my wardrobe may stay if I like how the experiment turns out, or will be discarded the next time I find something nice, so there is a constantly evolving collection. Over time I have come to know what cuts I like, which things I wear frequently, which things are flattering, and which things are likely to compliment other items, and I credit a lot of this to constantly re-assessing my wardrobe. This does not necessarily have to be a rapid or expensive process, just one done with thought and consideration. ☠ Take Selfies This may sound vain, but it can actually be helpful and constructive. The idea here is not necessarily share them with others, but to take pictures to view yourself, as sometimes seeing your image in a photograph gives a slightly different viewpoint or the camera 'sees' things differently to the way your eyes do, and then this fresh image can help you re-asses your outfit. Sometimes sharing can help, but I suggest sharing your selfies to a group or forum that is a constructive criticism group (for Lolita fashion, I suggest joining the ::Lolita Fashion Mentoring:: group on Facebook for newbies, and asking for constructive criticism in ::Closet of Frills::, also on Facebook) rather than to your Facebook feed or Instragram or Tumblr, because it is easy to start posing and lighting pictures to make present a nice image rather than to take an image that is there to give a clear image of how your outfit looks, flaws and all, for criticism. Also, look at other people's images in these groups, and read their feedback, and learn from that too. If you are going to post an outfit image for review, I think it is important to get a clear whole-body photograph, with lighting that gives clear visibility of details, drape, etc. (difficult with black clothes!) and to also include detail shots if there are specific details you feel contribute to the outfit but are not necessarily visible on a whole-body photograph. Remember that constructive criticism is a mixture of tips that genuinely work and personal opinion; for example, a lot of Lolitas think that fingerless lace gloves are not suited to Lolita, but I think that as long as the lace is good quality, that they do as I cannot see a good reason for them to not fit in the Lolita aesthetic. If you really love something, wear it, but also do listen to those who give reasons with their constructive criticism. ☠ Test Outfits Before Wearing If you have a dress-maker's dummy this is probably the best way of doing this, but if not, there's plenty of ways of constructing make-shift mannequins to fulfil this. One thing I do is take two coat-hangers, one being my 'shoulders' and the other suspended below to be my 'hips' and hang my clothes from the pair as if I were dressing them; that way I get an idea of what the clothes look like together before I actually put them on. I tend to only do this with outfits for special occasions, especially as I can get four (or more) coat-hangers, and put together two outfits next to each other for comparison. This does not replace testing an outfit on at home before an occasion, but it does help the process. Another option is to do a 'flat lay' - this is laying out an outfit on a bed or (clean!) floor to get a two-dimensional representation of how an outfit might work. Layer clothes carefully so you get some idea of how layering when worn will look like, and remember that details can be lost in layering, so if you have a nice print, embroidery or other detail in an item that you wish to showcase, do check to see if they're still visible once worn. Whichever option you choose, this is a good way if assessing how items combine. You can also note down which items go well together, but just do not suit a specific outfit (or 'co-ord' short for 'co-ordinated' in Lolita parlance) and which items just don't seem to fit any outfit (even if they're nice on their own) and mark them as something to either replace, or build an outfit around that does work (depending on whether you are trying to expand or reduce your wardrobe). ☽☠☾ I hope people find these tips useful in developing their own personal style and and in improving their outfits. Developing your own style is based around what you personally like (rather than what is trendy, or what is popular with others) and on what sort of things look aesthetically pleasing together (including deliberately clashing, if that is your thing) and learning over time what suits you, in your own estimation. Don't rely too much on others; it is useful initially (especially in a fashion like Lolita that is built around a framework of 'rules' or 'guidelines' that are based in what is tried and tested to work to create a certain aesthetic) but in the end, for something to be your own personal style, you need to develop it yourself. You can learn from others and imitate to a certain degree (but outright copying people's style is considered a bit weird and rude) but remember, that your style is something that should come out of your aesthetics, not someone else's. Be patient, especially if you are a teen; you probably won't settle into something that is your groove, your style, your own way of doing things until you're in your late 20s or even early 30s, and it is perfectly fine to experiment. I went through several different subcultural styles and variations on Goth before I settled on Romantic Goth, and even now, my style is evolving (just more slowly) as I evolve. We all change over time, and it is important not to stagnate.

What’s in the basement? ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↓ˢᶜʳᵒˡˡ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ↓ Mommy told me never to go in the basement, but I wanted to see what was making that noise. It kind of sounded like a puppy, and I wanted to see the puppy, so I opened the basement door and tiptoed down a bit. I didn’t see a puppy, and then Mommy yanked me out of the basement and yelled at me. Mommy had never yelled at me before, and it made me sad and I cried. Then Mommy told me never to go into the basement again, and she gave me a cookie. That made me feel better, so I didn’t ask her why the boy in the basement was making noises like a puppy, or why he had no hands or feet.