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Apparently, Ass, and Bad: bibliotecaria-d: ebonykain: karacat: othersideofforty: erinnightwalker: ripped-up-jeans-and-glitter: erinnightwalker: acaffeinejunkie: erinnightwalker: erinnightwalker: geostatonary: sixpenceee: “A house I pass on the way to work has this sculpture in its yard. Its about 8 feet tall.” (Source) “HELLO NEIGHBOR STEVE, I WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU TO BARBEQUE ON THE EVE OF THE BLOOD MOON.  I FEEL WE GOT OFF TO A BAD START.” “NEIGHBOR STEVE, DO YOU NOT WISH TO PARTAKE OF THE UNCLEAN FLESH-MEATS OF PIGS AND THE POLLUTED ESSENCES OF TOMATO?  PERHAPS YOU ARE A CAROLINA STYLE MAN, NEIGHBOR STEVE?” “PUT THE GUN AWAY NEIGHBOR STEVE, YOU KNOW I SHALL ONLY RISE AGAIN WITH THE DAWNING OF THE MOON.  WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH THIS MANY TIMES.” “LOOK AT THIS PICTURE MY SON DREW OF YOU AND CHILD TIMMY, YOUR SON.  ARE THEY NOT THE PICTURE OF PACT-MATES?  THIS COULD BE YOU AND ME, NEIGHBOR STEVE.” “YOU MISSED THE UNHOLY NEXUS OF POWER THAT IS THE KEY TO MY CORPOREAL FORM, NEIGHBOR STEVE.  YOU WILL NEED TO RELOAD NOW, SO I WILL GO INSIDE TO MY HELL-WIFE AND PUT YOU DOWN AS A SOLID ‘MAYBE’.“ I have the feeling that the families get along great except for Steve. Like, the wives are baking (questionable) brownies together, the kids are playing together, Antler Guy occasionally takes Son and Timmy to school (no car, just carries them in huge swinging strides through a nexus of ungoldly sights in a swirling netherworld shortcut. Sometimes they stop for McDonalds). Hell-wife gave them a potted Audrey Jr., Steve’s wife (who I now christen Sharon) gave them a begonia. One time Steve tries throwing holy water but all Antler Guy does is thank him, saying that no, Antler Guy isn’t Catholic but it’s the thought that counts, he is so kind to water his creeping deathshade vines regardless. For Christmas Antler Guy gives Steve a case of ammunition. To be funny/sarcastically mean Steve gets Antler Guy the world’s most hideous Christmas sweater, singing light-up reindeer included. He immediately regrets it because not only does Antler Guy love it and wears it for several months, it will never need batteries because Antler Guy powers it with his own eldritch aura. When they come back from a holiday to Hawaii, Steve is horrified to find out Sharon bought them matching Hawaiian shirts. He is even more horrified that his wife means it that if he doesn’t wear it he will forever sleep on the couch. I want to expand on this, since I see it’s still passing around and the ideas have grown in my brainmeats. What drives Steve up the wall and down the other side is how… normal… everyone treats the Abominations. (Yes, that is their last name. No, it is not a joke. Son was asked his last name for the standardized testing at school, had a quick conference with Timmy, and decided that Son Abomination sounded good, “Since my dad calls your dad the Abomination anyway and we can paint it on your mailbox just like the Henderson’s did theirs!”. Antler Guy agreed and did a lovely rendition of it for the mailbox, with only a few glyphs of soul-rending terror added to keep up to snuff.) The Great Plant Exchange went beautifully, though the Audrey Jr. (named Aubergine for the lovely shade of purple poison that drips from her fangs) is on a diet at the moment. She was in cahoots with the cat and the dog to get into the good people food and ate two frozen turkeys all herself. Now she’s restricted to the hallway table to answer the phone and the door. (Steve actually likes her, and keeps slipping her hotdogs when Sharon isn’t looking. Their door-to-door salesman rates have dropped dramatically since she changed abodes.) Hell-wife has almost gotten the begonia to bloom and say it’s first words. The homeowner’s association just loves the Abominations. All paperwork stamped and dotted, in on time and in triplicate. Antler Guy likes filing, says it reminds him of his old job. There is a resident who spent 20 years as a lawyer and they have long, animated conversations about all sorts of things that make Steve swear to never need legal counsel. Hell-wife joined the PTA and spearheaded a committee to fundraise in the fall with a haunted house. It was a county-wide hit, though the claims that a particularly rowdy group had been deliberately lost in a timeslip to the Outer Doors Of Chaos was firmly rebuffed. Most young people nowadays, it was agreed, just couldn’t appreciate flute music. Antler Guy really does try to connect with Steve. The surprise birthday party was perhaps a bit much, given that most participants do not have the ability to suddenly materialize in front of the guest of honor to give them a hug. Sharon assured them that Steve normally screams on his birthday, and the remains of the cake were heartily enjoyed by all. (A plate was saved for Steve once he came down from the treehouse.) After the Hawaii trip (which was a present for his birthday) and the Matching Shirt Ultimatum (which was Sharon’s attempt at patching things up with Antler Guy, he really was sad about the birthday screaming), Steve finally grabs his courage in both hands (plus the shotgun, which let’s face it is about as useful as a teddybear at the moment but it does comfort him) and confronts Antler Guy, about why such a group of……Abominations could possibly come to his quiet slice of suburban bliss. “……BUT NEIGHBOR STEVE, WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE.” “No no no, I read it in a book! Don’t you have to be invited or something?!” “WELL YES, TO THE HUMAN WORLD. BUT THIS IS NOT THE HUMAN WORLD AS YOUR THREE-DIMENSIONAL BRAIN PERCEIVES IT.” “What the hell does that mean?!!” “DID YOU NOT KNOW, NEIGHBOR STEVE? LEGALLY SPEAKING, ALL OF THE VASTNESS OF HUMAN SUBURBIA IS, IN FACT, A PART OF HELL.” “……..” “THE FLAMINGOES ARE THE BOUNDARY MARKERS. IT WAS DECIDED THAT THE FLAMING SKULLS WERE TOO KITSCHY FOR MODERN TIMES.” Reblogging cause I kind of want more of this…. Since you asked nicely ^_^ Antler Guy, as one may have noticed, is a calm sort of fellow. In the face of human atrocities he displays a curious Zen sort of state of mind. Timmy asks Son if he’d ever seen his dad angry, and Son hasn’t. (When asked, Timmy says that yeah his dad gets mad, but it’s like the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua down the street- mostly high-pitched noise and occasionally TV remote chewing. Sharon replaces the poor thing every 3 months or so.) When pressed (gently, at the monthly book club, and with many cups of tea and at least one daiquiri), Hellwife admits that this comes from serving many years at his old job. After the revelation of the nature of his neighborhood, Steve has not been overtly mean to Antler Guy. Not yet in the realm of friends, but vastly better than before. No more holy water, no more shotgun blasts. (Still the occasional jumpscare, but Antler Guy really can’t help that part.) They even occasionally share news over the fence as Antler Guy trains the creeping deathshade vines in proper oral hygiene, and Steve waters his lawn (and occasionally slips a goldfish cracker to a deathshade vine that looks particularly adorable. Aubergine has trained him well.) Which is how Antler Guy learns about the peeping tom that’s been plaguing the adjacent streets. Apparently the pervert has been getting bolder, and rattling doors. He almost broke into one apartment, whose occupants were a single mother and her daughter, Mildred. Millie, a shy girl who is a great horror fan and firm friends with Timmy and Son, had missed school because of it. Steve knew because Sharon had told him, on her way to deliver a tuna casserole and a double batch of brownies to the pair. (Sharon has been dubbed the unoffical mob boss of the Mother’s Mafia. She is quite pleased with this title.) He tells her to wait, confers briefly with Aubergine, and sends her along with, “Only as a loan, you know, but Auby wants to stretch her roots and she’d probably like getting all ribboned and curled anyway. Little girls still do that, right?” She has strict orders to bite anyone that makes Millie or her mother cry. (Steve is dubbed the official neighborhood marshmallow for this. The bookclub buys him a jar of marshmallow fluff in commemoration.) He turns to look at Antler Guy, and freezes, much as a chihuahua will when faced with a hungry hellhound. “You….you alright there buddy?” “Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “ “Uh, yeah, I guess not. Did you, uh, know you’re kinda fuzzing at the edges, there?” “Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “ “Right. Um. Well.” Steven makes a very ungraceful exit when space starts bending around Antler Guy’s still, unmoving form. When Steve sees a shadowy form in his back yard when he gets up to pee that night, there’s no hesitation. He grabs the shotgun from the cabinet and peeks out the back door window. Just in time to see a nebulous form of soul-wrenching terror engulf the man reaching for the door handle. A sliver of moonlight reveals a very familiar eyesocket. After a moment (and a sincere prayer of thanks that he had already peed, cause otherwise he’d have done it then and there) Steve opens the door. The nebulous form freezes, reality bending around the edges. “Nice night for it, huh?” “…..Y̮̮͍͔͇͙͙̟̐͌͛̓̏͞͡Eͩͭͮ̓̍ͯ̀ͧ͏̵̴̛̺̠̱͕̕ͅS͈̹̮̟̳̪̩̘͍̤̲̻͈̱̳̽̋́ͩ̃͋̎ͩ̈͆̀͘͢͢͟ͅ.̧̢͈̭̝̥̦͚͍̇ͫ̃̓͆̿̇ͪ͊ͧ̃͛͌͜͢ “ “Guy won’t scare anymore litttle girls, will he?” “Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “ “Good. G’night then. Oh, and if Hellwife has an extra Audrey Jr. that needs a home, let me know. Millie likes Aubergine a lot but Augy’s just too big for the apartment. Dunno if they come in miniatures though.” “ I̴̛̟̭͉̮̜̩̬̮̣̘̰͚̩͙̟̳͔̜̙͑̂̆̆͗͒̀ ͖̖̰͉̥͖͔̙̤̺͍̳͈̹͙̣̞̇̇ͤ͒̅̈́͆̽ͧ́̚̚̕͘W̶̶̱͈̞͖̼̟̣̮̌͂͒̈́͑͌͒͋̍ͮ͗̈ͣ̓ͤ͘͟I̴̶̞̥̩͇̔ͩͦ̇̉̾ͣͬ̀̀̒͒ͧ͛͌͛͆̚͘͢ͅͅL̠̟͕̠̟̪̰̻ͯ͂͊ͥ̍̏͋̐ͬ̉̆̈̀͠L̸̞̭͔̮ͦ͑̉ͮͩ́ͬͨͣ͘͜.̴͈͎̮͇͓͖̱̻̣͊͊ͤͩ͊̑͗͞ ̸̡̩̖̞̩̻̩̪̭͙̳͚͇̟̺͖̑͊ͫ̀͆ͨ̉̔̓̂̓̋T̷̷̟͉̟̻̻̪̞̰̯̻͈̣̰̬̻̾͐́ͭ̓̅́͡H͇̬̪̩̬̝̣͍͈͇ͯ͛̏͌ͮͧͭͦ͟͜A̴̴̤͕͈̤̮̞̱̯͔͕̙͔͖̰̬̰͈̠ͥ̏ͥ̍̽ͧ̀͝N͗̓͋̃̈̑̀̅ͣ̽̒̂̄ͯͩͤ͏̢͢͏͈̯͎̪͇̟̠͔̯͓͓̰̠̱̠̳͕̳͝K̢̓ͧ͛͛ͣ̄̓̓ͯ̍̈̈́̌͂̔͟҉̛̘̥̖̤̦̻̳͙͟ ̢̢̻̥̹̣̞͉̘͇͚͍̖̯̘͚͔̗̩͓͐ͮ͂͂̀̚͘͠Y̜̞͇̳̗̬͎̰̙̜̩̪͎̞̙̠̔͂̌̃́̀O͇̺̲͙͍̬̳̘͈̱̜̝͔̖̊ͥ̿ͫͤͫͫͩ͋̓̃ͦ̈̄͢͟Ū̢͖̲̦̠̤͎̙͉̦͖̖͓͍̺̺ͪͯ͐͆͆ͭͯ͗ͦ̄̅̌̈̃̾ͭ̋ͧ͢͢͠͡.̶̸̞͓̞̹̗̻̣͈͕̠̬̦ͫ̆ͤͬͨͦ͒͂ͨ̿ͩͪ͘͞.ͧ͛̒̂̂͗ͨ̌͆ͥͭ͒̉͘͜͏̙͖̰̝̙̲͓̙͕͍̥̳̩́͠.̶̷̮͎̱̼̬͖̰͎͚͙̥̓͋͋ͦ̓̓ͯ͆͛̏ͫ̅ͯ.̨̧̙̤̳̮̺̙͖̞͔̗͎͍̑̆ͮ͐ͩͦ̌̽̾̏͘͠.̹̖͕̮͕̞̰͍͚͖̌ͪ̃̐̐̌̌̅̉͑ͧͪͪͬ̓͐́͛̿͘͞ ….NEIGHBOR STEVE.” “Anytime.” There are no more peeping reports. Millie brings back Aubergine and spends an entire afternoon teaching Steve the particulars of Augy’s new “hairstyle” (a gravity-defying mass of teased tendrils, ribbons, and barrettes) in between games of tag and hide-and-seek with Timmy and Son. When Antler Guy and Hellwife present her and her mother Beatrice with a tiny Audrey Jr. (”pOOr ThinG Is a ruNT And wOn’T geT MorE Than A FooT taLL, BEa, aNd NeeDS a New FRiEnD”, assures Hellwife), both mother and child burst out crying. Millie names it Bella, after Bella Lugosi, and shows it to the excited group of boys (Steve and Augy included). IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER!!!! Life in a subdivision partly populated with eldritch and possibly magical (officially classified as “extra-dimensional”, for even when faced with the physics-defying nature of their new co-habitating citizens the government cannot bring itself to acknowledge them as “magic wielding hell-beasts”, as some high-ranking staff members initially suggested) goes on fairly normally. Sure, there are a few hiccoughs. The creeping deathshade vines get a stern talking to about appropriate afternoon snacks (”NOT the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua, I don’t care how much he has it coming or what he excreted where, now spit it out!”), Aubergine sheds all her leaves at once and snowballs the house (but does helps sweep up afterwards), and moonrise is a good time to watch the night-gaunts fly by (but on moondark it’s best to stay inside, no matter how prettily they glow. They’re somewhat similar to fireflies, and don’t always check to see if their partner glows as well. It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if they didn’t dive mid-coitus and drop just above the ground.) While the neighborhood in general is accepting of the Abominations, when things get to be a bit much they tend to come to Steve. Since meeting Beatrice and Millie (and the formation of the Terrifying Triad known as Millie, Son, and Timmy) Steve is the adult human male most comfortable dealing with Antler Guy on the whole street. (Sharon as U.M.B. is widely held to have, well, steel-whatever-the-hell-she-wants, and Timmy is known to run over to Antler Guy and ask for rides through “that wobbly grey place, you know, the one with the REALLY BIG alligators?”. Still, the courtesies must be observed.) So when a writhing sparking ball of snarling terror and teeth takes up residence in the Manzo’s tool-shed, and when Animal Control refuses to come (the street is banned due to a run-in with the deathshade vines), Steve is called. Having heard the description, Steve brings Antler Guy. When they get there, Mr. Manzo is forcibly holding the door shut. Unholy yowling is coming from inside. At a gesture from Antler Guy, Mr. Manzo leaps away, and the doors blast open. A 150 pound ball of whimpering, flaming something hits Steve and knocks him on his ass. The whimpering, flaming something proceeds to slobber all over Steve, his shirt, his pants, and a decent portion of grass in between distressed yelps. “GACK!” “NEIGHBOR STEVE, ARE YOU IN DISTRESS?” “GAAACKLEARGHSPLUH- DOWN boy, HEEL, that’s a good- Antler Guy, what is this?!” “I BELIEVE IT IS A HELLHOUND, NEIGHBOR STEVE.” “Good grief, I didn’t know they came this big and…..and….. Guy?” “YES NEIGHBOR STEVE?” “Is he supposed to be…..skinless?” “YES NEIGHBOR STEVE. THIS VARIETY WAS BRED TO BE LAP DOGS. THEIR FLAME IS MOSTLY WITHOUT HEAT, AND THEY HAVE NO SKIN FOR THOSE WHO ARE ALLERGIC.” “…….laPDOG?!” “YES NEIGHBOR STEVE.” Antler Guy lays a hand on the hellhound, who tries to burrow further into Steve with little success. “HE APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN RECENTLY WEANED. IT WILL TAKE TIME FOR HIM TO GROW TO HIS FULL SIZE.” “……” “THE SMALL BREEDS GROW MORE SLOWLY.” A vile hissing emanates from the shed. (Mr. Manzo has long since fled for the safety of his kitchen.) As Steve attempts to calm the frantic hell-puppy, Antler Guy investigates. He reaches one long hand in behind the riding lawnmower and….. winces. “NEIGHBOR STEVE?” “Yeah- I’m right here, uh, doggie, not going anywhere- Guy?” “I APPEAR TO HAVE AN…. ATTACHMENT.” Steve is awed at the tiny ball of white fluff attached to one long, thin finger. He didn’t know that Antler Guy’s fingers COULD be bitten, much less by a tiny kitten. Which is how Steve and Sharon got Clifford (”Aww c’mon Sharon, how could I pass that one up?”), and Antler Guy and Hellwife get Fluffy (”NEIGHBOR STEVE ASSURES ME IT IS A TRADITIONAL TITLE.”) This might be the most amazing thing that ever crossed my tumblr dash OMIGOSH I’m in love. I LOVE EVERY BIT OF THIS This is like the stoplight post. It is Tumblr legend, and I feel I must reblog it for those fortunate few who get to experience it for the first time.
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Elf, Fall, and Head: Me? Being thel girl reading this? It's more likely than me being at elf practice. GENC You know I had to diagnose her with... G A Y <p><a href="https://closet-trash.tumblr.com/post/168372050742/idont-know-i-was-about-to-fall-asleep-when-this" class="tumblr_blog">closet-trash</a>:</p> <blockquote><p>I…don’t know. I was about to fall asleep when this image appeared in my head. I could see it. Feel it. It had such a demonic aura I couldn’t go back to sleep. THe only way to get rid of this curse is to materialize it. Bring the demons to the material world where I can defeat them through memes. I thought my previous post was the end…I was so wrong…C̸h̴a̵o̵s̶ ̴i̴s̶ ̸j̶u̴s̸t̵ ̵a̴ ̸s̵c̵a̴l̶e̴.̸.̴.̴.                        ..I̸̥͉̯͂͐̂̚t̸͍͇̯̞̲͉̹̐̀̊́͌̚͝͠͠ ̴̗̹̉̓́̽̓̀͒͊͠c̸̨̨͔̩̟̰̗͍̻̻̀̉̽͗a̷̡̛͕̭̘͙̹̍̍̀̆͆́̅͘n̷̛͎̠̣̳̯͉̲̙̭͋́͑̀͛͘ ̵̢̧̗̪̝̫͇̽̾͗̌̅͌ͅo̴̪͓̘̪̼̲̟̟͙͂̀̀̇̈͘͘n̵̍̍͊͌͑̚͠ͅl̴̲̟̻̈́̍́̋͑̊̌̏͑̚y̸̨̢̞͉̰̱͌̅̽͒̔͗̕͘͜ ̶̩̏̿̌ģ̵͓̝̞̻̱͎̮̖̻̇̀̍ȇ̴̻̲̘̳̪̘̗͛͒̓͗̂̕͝t̶̝̟͙͊̎̉̓͆̈̚͝ͅ ̴̔̾̍͐̾͘̕̕͜w̵̹̪͙͕͓͇͍̞̞̫͛̽̈́̋͘͠͝õ̶̱̲̦̩̰͇͕͖͉ŕ̶̪͕̝͈̋̉̿͝s̴̡̜̐̌e̷͎̟̣̋̌̽h̸̪̳̙̟̙̤͆͊ȩ̴̛̛̮̦͚̤̖͈̥̹̼̻̤̓̀̏̆̂͌̄͂̔͗̽̚͝ĺ̴̙̰̲̿̓̄̈͒͒ͅp̸̦̳̻̦̠̺͖͙̹͉̭̝͒͒͊̓͊ͅ ̶̡̡̹̬̙͉̥̤̫̣̎̄̆͘ĥ̴̛̳̎̂̂e̵̞̬̭͚̖̲̦̮̦̦̓̐́̓̽̂̒̀̊͝l̴̝̖̼̪̮̫̯͈͑͑̔̾̈́p̴̧̩͙̩͕̈́̽̈́̃̅ ̴̧̳̜̱͎̖͐͊͛̀͑͑͌̀̀̀̒̓͆͘h̵̡͙̳̯̮̘͈͕͚̠̔͆̓̓̃̾̈e̶̥̊̏̿͗̈́̀̉̂̿̈́̋͠͝l̷̜͔̘̪̤̬̣̘̈́̈̈́̅̍̚͝͠p̶̧̛̩͔͙̲̟̫͍̜̤̬̤̞̝̹͋́́̉̅̐̍͛̎̀̈́̅͝ ̸̙͋̌͌ḥ̶̡͈̺̭̭͚͇͕̯̌̐̑̈̇̾̚͘͝ḛ̸̢̲̥̻̑͐́l̸͍͓̑̀̀͗͌̈̒̚p̵̡̟͚̠͚̮͑̒́͠͝ ̷̢̹̼̮̫̺̝̳̦͇͚̬̓̄̈̇̒́̉́̀̒́̇͜d̵̡͙͈̙͔̱̻̻̦̺͍̓͂s̸̨̢̛̪̼̳̫̭̎͊̔̑̽̑̀͂͠a̷̛̭̰̘̔̔̓̒̉̂̀̈́͆̍̂̈́ḽ̸̻̤͔̤̟͙̘̓̅̔̈́̍̈́̚͘̚̚͜͝k̵̳̩̺̰͚̙̆̋̀̐̊̽̀̿̾d̵̡̨̥͓͓̜̦͍̲̝̥̻̊̅̊n̴̛̞̘̆̿̒̌́̉̕f̵̫̱̔̑̈́̓̓́͜͠ͅa̸͕̺̲͌̍̄̔͋̉̋͒̔͑͂͐͗ͅo̴̡̟͎̝̱̫̣̙̹̤̤̥̙̤̔̉̀̃̇͊̽̀́́̕͠ ̷̟̑̇d̸̳̍̆͆̔̅̓̔̏́͐́̕͜͠͝k̸̢̡̛̥̜̝̯͕̟͕̹̋́̐̑̿̎̈́̏͗̇̊̀̽́s̸̩̘̤̫̺͉̠̘̻̤͊̑o̶͖̰̯̞̺͛ă̸̠̘͎̺̗̰̤̞͆͗4̷̛̛͓̋͑̆̓̓̆̎̎̽̔̄͘͝k̶̡̝̘̗̣̳̊̍̊͒̐̈́̅̑̒̾̿̃͗j̴̩̱͖̲̲̘̝̽̊̊͜d̵̬͆̓̇͊̅̀̔́͐͒̓́́̚͜ ̷̡̲̱͖̫̘̺͓̀̾̓̉́̀̑̑͊̓̊̾ḍ̸̡̪͚̫͍̘̬͈̺͚̟͛̒̅̍͐͝ǩ̸̡̛̼͓̱̘͙̗̙̺̔̎̓̆̎̀̈̈́͛͑̾f̸̨̫̬̻̲̹̦͂͗ͅş̴̢̼̮̬̭̃̇̌̈́̂̓i̷̢̗̤̗̓ę̴̡̧̞͉̰̟̦̦̗̼̘̽͆̑́̓́̊̈́͊͜r̵̢̢̬̘̳̱̭̳̟̲̬̈̉̇͌̎͑́̈́̊̈́̚͠ć̵͉̭̆͜v̴̢̡̛̛̮̝̹̖͔̜̝̒̒̊̅̾̄͋̒͘ ̵̬̜͉̹͓̈́̈́͋̔̿͗̀̒̏̌͐͝d̸̙̖͙͔̲͔͔̩̟̿̈́̓̑͊͛͑̑͛̈́͆͂͊͠ž̷̫͖͉͇͇͙͕̰̜͈̼͜͝ć̵̡̥̤̼̹̜͈͚͙̩̹̓̽f̷̜͍͙͓̞̜̉ç̴̡̡͕̫͚̯̗̙̞̤̦͖͙̌̈́̿̂̀̍̒̆̍͊͒̚͝ě̶̤̯͇̣̼̯͉̟͚͈̂̓ ̸̪̞͚̼̺͕͖͗̅̃͑͌͗̀̈́͗̆̌͊͋̚d̸̳̠̲̬̩͎͈͎̃́̈͜ḳ̶̨̛̛̦̞̟̗̺̞̈́̆̉̄̔͊̅̾̐̉͝͝f̷̢̲̩̣͕̺̭̙̻̎́̎̿͒̄̔̓͘͜͜͝ͅș̷̢͈͙̱̦̣̬͕̬̳̊͊̚͜š̸͈̯͇̋̿͗̎̈̀̈́̌̆̿̔̈́̚͝͠e̴̛͈̼̖̳̫̥̒͊͗͘͜ͅͅç̴̭̲̬̥̖̝̌͐̋̎͒̿̈́͂̈́̈́̈́̓̄̕ą̵̨̢̡͓̤̝̱͔͇̙̮̦̾ͅl̴͕̣̺͚͍̩̹͎̬͖̹̳̪͖͒̃̋́̎̀̏̌̄̕f̶̨̫̙̜̬̥̪͔̩̘͙̻͓̈́̀̃͆̒̐͒̋́́͂̌ ̵̢̛̰̲̠͎͚̲̝͈̩̽͂̐̾͝e̴̜͍̠̼͋̑͒̿́̾̓̚̚͜a̷͖͌͗͌͗̄̉̾̋̊͜͠k̵̨̪̘̻̹̝̪̥͓̘͔̬͕͙͑̈͌̍ͅḑ̴̯̖͙͕̟̰̜̫̙́̇́̈́͌̀̚͝f̷̢̳̓̚͘9̷͉̱̜͍̲̯̺̘̱̻̊̍̽ǫ̸̡̧̯̬̻̗̩̞̥̻̀̊̿͆͊̐̈̑̈͂̔͋͘͘è̴̢̡̫̟͎̻̻͚̭͕̺̋̊͊̓̌̅̈͐́͛́͘ͅk̸̦̪̘͑͂̅̈́̌́͜͝a̵̦̤̰̘̼͇͈̫͚̳͕̔̍̓̈́̃̑̊̅̿͛̍͒͐̔n̷̪̝̮͗̌̀̌̈́̎̽̐̕͝d̸̹̦͍̹͖͙̥̰̋͂̍͜ ̸͕̮̠̎̿́͂̅͋̅̅̾̓c̴̡̢̨̘͙̏͒̃͑́̆͋͛̔͒̏́̕č̵̡̫̹͈̪̳̰̦͎̞͖̜̺̀̆̍̾̆ć̵̡̙̲̲̖̳̥̱͔̳̠̺͇̇̀̃͗̾͗͜ą̴̥̞̟̟̀̿͊͒͐͘͠ͅ ̶͇̙͈͕̥̝̫̼̥͚̗͈̻̻̺̃̑̒͌a̴̡̯̲̰͉̺͎̞̭̲͙͂̅͗̐̂͂̈́̂̃͜ḟ̶͙̹̇̅̿͌̇̕͝͝ṗ̷̜̬̝̖̦͎̟̖̖̰͓̂̑̎̅̇ͅͅs̸̛̈͑͌͜ở̶̳̥̼̜̠͎͍̑͂̐͐̓͝j̴̠̖͂f̵̦͓̍̆̆̌́̾̏͐̔̄͠͝ ̷̡̧̛̥͉̙͎͉̳̝̱͚͕̞̥͓̏̾̊͑͆̂̈́͐͝n̶͙̳̰̠̽g̶͎̫͕̩̭͋̃͗́̿̈́̇̊ͅh̸͕̪̬͙̦̥̣͚͎͎̹͓̝̪̤͒̇̄̿̿͗͒͗̀͘͝f̵̡̨̛̱̞̖̣̰̳̻̌̆̍͌̇͊͊̏̄̒̏̉ư̶͖̦̲͖̲̌͌̋̆̋̓̚͘ ̸̡͓͙̹̬͍̄̀̇͘n̷̛͕̼͒̽̂̃͑̂̚̕͝d̵̟͉͍̃̂̔̂̚̚̚͜͝͝d̸̨̛̞̺̟͚͙͒̽̊͆̀̇̄͝ͅͅk̴̹̟͕̜̝͍̤̖͆̆̓͒̍͗̔̒̀̌̋̕͝į̷̧̨̠͋̉͛͒̈͋̋͗̅͆͌͗̕̚͜͝f̴͇͆̋͋́́̓ ̷̡̖̟͈̮̬̭̜̽̑̔̉̉̏̚͘̕̚͝ͅ ̴̨̡̨̥̟̭̞̜̣͔̞͓̫̝̭͋͆͂̾͛̍̚͠ṇ̶̹̭̣̜̟̗͍͈̝͉͇̥̑̅̆͋̎͒̌̏̇̎̕͜͠͠͝d̵̥̥̳͎̳̮̺̖̖̦̾͆̽͒̃̈̐͂̂̈́̈̚͜͜j̴̺̟̟̪̑͌̌̽̌̄̎͒̈́̕̕̕͝͠f̸̡̧̦̬̝̙̰̜͛̽͑̆́̎̿͗͘͘̚͝u̴̮͉̰̠̠͔̓̓̿̃͊̉͛̀̽̍̅̅̐́͜t̴͔̤̥͚͈͚̪̭͕͉̃̐̎̽̍̇̿͊̈́͌͠ ̴̨̧̛̻̟̳͍͛́̔͗̉̏̊̇͊̚͠͝͝͝č̶̨̧̛̙̤͎̘̻͍͙̘̙̪̳̈́͌̈́̓̾̅̒̆̐̏̕ ̵̢͈̠͎͇͍̰͍̳̽̄̓̀́̾̊̌͂͛̈͒͜m̸̢̤̝̭̲͉̝̯̂́͌̄͒̆̇͗̓̀̾̄̚͜͝n̵̢̖̲͇̺̹̗͍̦͍̟̦͇̍̌̊̐̀͜d̵̡͈̙̦̥̘͎͕͊́̈́́̾͝ͅf̵̧̥̣͖͎͔͋͋̈́̕ü̷̻̗̜͌̇̇͛̈́ơ̶̛̓̉͆̇͊̈́̋͂̉͗͜ ̵̡̧̹̝̰͑̇͆̍͊͛͋͋s̸̢̨̰̹̠̞͔̰͎͇͆̀̅̍ç̷̛͎̭͉͍̹͍̲̯̼̌̒̀͒̓̒̄́̏̾̾́̚ä̵̡̼̬̥̘̼̰̼̟̺̜̩̬͙̦m̴͚̹̠̮̠͖͇͙͕͈̤̆͆̚v̸̨̞̳̥̳̥̪̠͒̆̈́͆̑̌̅ͅ ̶̡̨̹͍͔̱͕̤̦̮̘̲̏̒̋̄͋̂͗̅̕ ̵̻͖̩̱͇̃̍͋͌̈́Ḧ̶̝̽̈́̋͜ ̵̛͖͇͔̜̯̪̳͕̓̑́͗̽̀̋̄̇̎͛͊͆̐͜E̷̫̾̅ ̷̢͔̼̖̜̠̖̲̯̹̾L̶̛̰̺̬͇̜̗̣̯̱͈̪̟̹̬̔̑͐̋͊ ̴̡̯̝̜͛̃̀̓́̕͝Ṗ̶̺̠̼͕̱̘͋̎̈́̽͌͜͠ ̴̢̛͕̤̤̮͕̹̋̈̉̉̐̊̈̎͠ͅH̸̢̧̳͉͈͎̖̬̮͚͍̫͇͙̽ ̷̢̧̛̺̩̭̘̣̌͌̀͌̌́̅̽͠Ȅ̴̡̤̱̝̹́̍̅͂͌̍̈̽͂̈́ ̶̧̡̛̰̰̳͉̯̜̳̬̼̘͔̗̪̓̏͂͂̎̽̊͑̋̉̚̚L̶̨͉̖͕̗̈́̇͆̊͗̓̀͆̒͋̒͂̚̚̕ ̸̗͓̅̓̅̈́̀̔̔͝P̷̧̡̮̯̙̭̞̺̘̘͉̑ ̷̨̺̭̖̳̻̘̙̦̰̝̓̾̃H̸̢̊͑̉ ̴͚̍̐̊̒̂̽͂̐̃͝ ̶̝̊̀̈̈́̉͊̑̃ͅ ̴̧̢̺̜̗͚̬̹͉̖̗̩̋̑̿́̀́̉̔͊̃͑͐Ę̷̨̧̞̻͙̖̼̼̦̼̖̙͈̾́͐̆͠ ̵͓͖̲̳͓͙̱͉̙͖̮̰͖͇̂ ̷̛͉̦͚̫̩͔̱̥̃͒̔͋̏̈́̕͜ ̸̢̧̧̛̥̞̻̣͚͖̭̜̣͗̒̋́L̴̢̮͙̺̯̳̠̩̝̪͐͑͆͆͑̕ ̶͇̼̫͇̦̗̺̔͛͑̈́͑̓̓́̽̔́̄͝͝ ̶̡̢͚̘̼̮̯̠̜͔̮̪̪̯̓͆̾̆͒P̷̨̢̙̫̹̭̣̩͖͚̜͚̬͛̈́̾̀̓̒̐͊̉̇̚͜ ̸̛̺̫̣̼̙̞̖͈͉̳̊Ḩ̷̢͇͕̪̬̱̻̊É̶̫̿̌̉́̕L̸̢̖̺̙̖͖̝͉̥̙̰̭͋̈̃Ļ̸̨̖̬̮̪̭͔̠̫̉̋̔̈́́̿̕̕͝ ̶̨̡̪̦̲̰̗̳̬̬̹̠̩͖͖̔̏͆I̴̡̳͔̤̰̰̖̮̳͈͙̾͑͌́͒͋͐̋̅͘͠S̷̡̖̗̪̝̥̖̠͍̫̜͇̍͂̍͝ ̸̨̪̱̜̖̱͖̻̭̤̃͛̓͌͐́̽̈̓̒͊̆̀̃͜R̷̞̗̠͉͓͖͔͓̞̈̄̄͒̃̐̚E̸̮͍͇̯̰͕̣̳̰̝̮̫͖̋̐Ạ̷̧̧̳̙̙̦͇͙͙̗̩͈͇́̆̌͘͜͠L̸̯͔̂̇̎̀̐͠ ̵̫͖͍̫̲̀̄͐͋͆̇̈́̉͘ͅH̵̹̤̣̫̍̂͌̓̈́͌̓̔͠Ȩ̵̫̠̱͐͋̎̈́́͘͝͝͠͝L̴̡̢̛̬̯̹̪͕̜̥̻̞͈͉̞̓̂̿̂̉͗̿͛̈́̾L̵̖̠͇̼̻̩̜̞̲͌͑̎͗ ̵̨̜̮̳̰̻̞̙͍̻̥̂͑̂͑̄́̄̓̌͝ͅĮ̵̨̖̖͉͈͚̙̮͕͙̫̟̄͊̑̌͛́̓̔̾̂̿͘͝͠͝S̸̢͍͉̩͖͉͕͆́̋ ̷̨̛͎̣̣̰̻̮̲̙͇̜͚̤̘̇́̈́́̄̕͘R̵̖̬̦̹̫͕͇̾̅́͊̏͑̎̒̇̔͊ͅE̷̳̖̥̟̜̺̭͉̓̏͑̈́̅̈͑͑̈́̈́ͅA̵̱̯̽̄̂̄̈̓̆̔̿̾̀͘L̴̩̩͉̀̈́ ̶̧̠̺̅̅̇̓̏H̴̟͓͉̻͚̗͑̾́͊̉̐́̿̀̄̿E̶̢̛̹͓̘̤̠̦͚͔͕̗̪̹͉̍͂̈́̄͂̒̉̈̈́͠͝͝L̶̳͚̾̓̀̾͌̿͘L̷̻̩̞̮̹͉̲͍̻͚͉̯̪͔̘̄̋̿̉̕͝ ̵̪̯̮̜͕̗̞̤͒̓͑̿̿͒̍͋I̶̧̼̳͉̹͑̈́͗̏̐̽̀́̐̃̕S̶̡̧̡̮͖̤͎͖̖̪̓̐́̀̀ ̶̟̱̯̟́̍R̶̩̝͈͓̉̌̒̒̽̆͑́Ę̵̛̖̰͇̤̩͔̞̣̬͚̽̌̈́̿̔̋̒̅̚͜͜͝Ā̵͖̺̽̑Ḻ̸̳̝͉̞̳̀͋͊̆̽͒<br/></p></blockquote> <p>Cursed Image™</p>

closet-trash: I…don’t know. I was about to fall asleep when this image appeared in my head. I could see it. Feel it. It had such a demonic ...

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Elf, Fall, and Head: Me? Being thel girl reading this? It's more likely than me being at elf practice. GENC You know I had to diagnose her with... G A Y closet-trash:I…don’t know. I was about to fall asleep when this image appeared in my head. I could see it. Feel it. It had such a demonic aura I couldn’t go back to sleep. THe only way to get rid of this curse is to materialize it. Bring the demons to the material world where I can defeat them through memes. I thought my previous post was the end…I was so wrong…C̸h̴a̵o̵s̶ ̴i̴s̶ ̸j̶u̴s̸t̵ ̵a̴ ̸s̵c̵a̴l̶e̴.̸.̴.̴.                        ..I̸̥͉̯͂͐̂̚t̸͍͇̯̞̲͉̹̐̀̊́͌̚͝͠͠ ̴̗̹̉̓́̽̓̀͒͊͠c̸̨̨͔̩̟̰̗͍̻̻̀̉̽͗a̷̡̛͕̭̘͙̹̍̍̀̆͆́̅͘n̷̛͎̠̣̳̯͉̲̙̭͋́͑̀͛͘ ̵̢̧̗̪̝̫͇̽̾͗̌̅͌ͅo̴̪͓̘̪̼̲̟̟͙͂̀̀̇̈͘͘n̵̍̍͊͌͑̚͠ͅl̴̲̟̻̈́̍́̋͑̊̌̏͑̚y̸̨̢̞͉̰̱͌̅̽͒̔͗̕͘͜ ̶̩̏̿̌ģ̵͓̝̞̻̱͎̮̖̻̇̀̍ȇ̴̻̲̘̳̪̘̗͛͒̓͗̂̕͝t̶̝̟͙͊̎̉̓͆̈̚͝ͅ ̴̔̾̍͐̾͘̕̕͜w̵̹̪͙͕͓͇͍̞̞̫͛̽̈́̋͘͠͝õ̶̱̲̦̩̰͇͕͖͉ŕ̶̪͕̝͈̋̉̿͝s̴̡̜̐̌e̷͎̟̣̋̌̽h̸̪̳̙̟̙̤͆͊ȩ̴̛̛̮̦͚̤̖͈̥̹̼̻̤̓̀̏̆̂͌̄͂̔͗̽̚͝ĺ̴̙̰̲̿̓̄̈͒͒ͅp̸̦̳̻̦̠̺͖͙̹͉̭̝͒͒͊̓͊ͅ ̶̡̡̹̬̙͉̥̤̫̣̎̄̆͘ĥ̴̛̳̎̂̂e̵̞̬̭͚̖̲̦̮̦̦̓̐́̓̽̂̒̀̊͝l̴̝̖̼̪̮̫̯͈͑͑̔̾̈́p̴̧̩͙̩͕̈́̽̈́̃̅ ̴̧̳̜̱͎̖͐͊͛̀͑͑͌̀̀̀̒̓͆͘h̵̡͙̳̯̮̘͈͕͚̠̔͆̓̓̃̾̈e̶̥̊̏̿͗̈́̀̉̂̿̈́̋͠͝l̷̜͔̘̪̤̬̣̘̈́̈̈́̅̍̚͝͠p̶̧̛̩͔͙̲̟̫͍̜̤̬̤̞̝̹͋́́̉̅̐̍͛̎̀̈́̅͝ ̸̙͋̌͌ḥ̶̡͈̺̭̭͚͇͕̯̌̐̑̈̇̾̚͘͝ḛ̸̢̲̥̻̑͐́l̸͍͓̑̀̀͗͌̈̒̚p̵̡̟͚̠͚̮͑̒́͠͝ ̷̢̹̼̮̫̺̝̳̦͇͚̬̓̄̈̇̒́̉́̀̒́̇͜d̵̡͙͈̙͔̱̻̻̦̺͍̓͂s̸̨̢̛̪̼̳̫̭̎͊̔̑̽̑̀͂͠a̷̛̭̰̘̔̔̓̒̉̂̀̈́͆̍̂̈́ḽ̸̻̤͔̤̟͙̘̓̅̔̈́̍̈́̚͘̚̚͜͝k̵̳̩̺̰͚̙̆̋̀̐̊̽̀̿̾d̵̡̨̥͓͓̜̦͍̲̝̥̻̊̅̊n̴̛̞̘̆̿̒̌́̉̕f̵̫̱̔̑̈́̓̓́͜͠ͅa̸͕̺̲͌̍̄̔͋̉̋͒̔͑͂͐͗ͅo̴̡̟͎̝̱̫̣̙̹̤̤̥̙̤̔̉̀̃̇͊̽̀́́̕͠ ̷̟̑̇d̸̳̍̆͆̔̅̓̔̏́͐́̕͜͠͝k̸̢̡̛̥̜̝̯͕̟͕̹̋́̐̑̿̎̈́̏͗̇̊̀̽́s̸̩̘̤̫̺͉̠̘̻̤͊̑o̶͖̰̯̞̺͛ă̸̠̘͎̺̗̰̤̞͆͗4̷̛̛͓̋͑̆̓̓̆̎̎̽̔̄͘͝k̶̡̝̘̗̣̳̊̍̊͒̐̈́̅̑̒̾̿̃͗j̴̩̱͖̲̲̘̝̽̊̊͜d̵̬͆̓̇͊̅̀̔́͐͒̓́́̚͜ ̷̡̲̱͖̫̘̺͓̀̾̓̉́̀̑̑͊̓̊̾ḍ̸̡̪͚̫͍̘̬͈̺͚̟͛̒̅̍͐͝ǩ̸̡̛̼͓̱̘͙̗̙̺̔̎̓̆̎̀̈̈́͛͑̾f̸̨̫̬̻̲̹̦͂͗ͅş̴̢̼̮̬̭̃̇̌̈́̂̓i̷̢̗̤̗̓ę̴̡̧̞͉̰̟̦̦̗̼̘̽͆̑́̓́̊̈́͊͜r̵̢̢̬̘̳̱̭̳̟̲̬̈̉̇͌̎͑́̈́̊̈́̚͠ć̵͉̭̆͜v̴̢̡̛̛̮̝̹̖͔̜̝̒̒̊̅̾̄͋̒͘ ̵̬̜͉̹͓̈́̈́͋̔̿͗̀̒̏̌͐͝d̸̙̖͙͔̲͔͔̩̟̿̈́̓̑͊͛͑̑͛̈́͆͂͊͠ž̷̫͖͉͇͇͙͕̰̜͈̼͜͝ć̵̡̥̤̼̹̜͈͚͙̩̹̓̽f̷̜͍͙͓̞̜̉ç̴̡̡͕̫͚̯̗̙̞̤̦͖͙̌̈́̿̂̀̍̒̆̍͊͒̚͝ě̶̤̯͇̣̼̯͉̟͚͈̂̓ ̸̪̞͚̼̺͕͖͗̅̃͑͌͗̀̈́͗̆̌͊͋̚d̸̳̠̲̬̩͎͈͎̃́̈͜ḳ̶̨̛̛̦̞̟̗̺̞̈́̆̉̄̔͊̅̾̐̉͝͝f̷̢̲̩̣͕̺̭̙̻̎́̎̿͒̄̔̓͘͜͜͝ͅș̷̢͈͙̱̦̣̬͕̬̳̊͊̚͜š̸͈̯͇̋̿͗̎̈̀̈́̌̆̿̔̈́̚͝͠e̴̛͈̼̖̳̫̥̒͊͗͘͜ͅͅç̴̭̲̬̥̖̝̌͐̋̎͒̿̈́͂̈́̈́̈́̓̄̕ą̵̨̢̡͓̤̝̱͔͇̙̮̦̾ͅl̴͕̣̺͚͍̩̹͎̬͖̹̳̪͖͒̃̋́̎̀̏̌̄̕f̶̨̫̙̜̬̥̪͔̩̘͙̻͓̈́̀̃͆̒̐͒̋́́͂̌ ̵̢̛̰̲̠͎͚̲̝͈̩̽͂̐̾͝e̴̜͍̠̼͋̑͒̿́̾̓̚̚͜a̷͖͌͗͌͗̄̉̾̋̊͜͠k̵̨̪̘̻̹̝̪̥͓̘͔̬͕͙͑̈͌̍ͅḑ̴̯̖͙͕̟̰̜̫̙́̇́̈́͌̀̚͝f̷̢̳̓̚͘9̷͉̱̜͍̲̯̺̘̱̻̊̍̽ǫ̸̡̧̯̬̻̗̩̞̥̻̀̊̿͆͊̐̈̑̈͂̔͋͘͘è̴̢̡̫̟͎̻̻͚̭͕̺̋̊͊̓̌̅̈͐́͛́͘ͅk̸̦̪̘͑͂̅̈́̌́͜͝a̵̦̤̰̘̼͇͈̫͚̳͕̔̍̓̈́̃̑̊̅̿͛̍͒͐̔n̷̪̝̮͗̌̀̌̈́̎̽̐̕͝d̸̹̦͍̹͖͙̥̰̋͂̍͜ ̸͕̮̠̎̿́͂̅͋̅̅̾̓c̴̡̢̨̘͙̏͒̃͑́̆͋͛̔͒̏́̕č̵̡̫̹͈̪̳̰̦͎̞͖̜̺̀̆̍̾̆ć̵̡̙̲̲̖̳̥̱͔̳̠̺͇̇̀̃͗̾͗͜ą̴̥̞̟̟̀̿͊͒͐͘͠ͅ ̶͇̙͈͕̥̝̫̼̥͚̗͈̻̻̺̃̑̒͌a̴̡̯̲̰͉̺͎̞̭̲͙͂̅͗̐̂͂̈́̂̃͜ḟ̶͙̹̇̅̿͌̇̕͝͝ṗ̷̜̬̝̖̦͎̟̖̖̰͓̂̑̎̅̇ͅͅs̸̛̈͑͌͜ở̶̳̥̼̜̠͎͍̑͂̐͐̓͝j̴̠̖͂f̵̦͓̍̆̆̌́̾̏͐̔̄͠͝ ̷̡̧̛̥͉̙͎͉̳̝̱͚͕̞̥͓̏̾̊͑͆̂̈́͐͝n̶͙̳̰̠̽g̶͎̫͕̩̭͋̃͗́̿̈́̇̊ͅh̸͕̪̬͙̦̥̣͚͎͎̹͓̝̪̤͒̇̄̿̿͗͒͗̀͘͝f̵̡̨̛̱̞̖̣̰̳̻̌̆̍͌̇͊͊̏̄̒̏̉ư̶͖̦̲͖̲̌͌̋̆̋̓̚͘ ̸̡͓͙̹̬͍̄̀̇͘n̷̛͕̼͒̽̂̃͑̂̚̕͝d̵̟͉͍̃̂̔̂̚̚̚͜͝͝d̸̨̛̞̺̟͚͙͒̽̊͆̀̇̄͝ͅͅk̴̹̟͕̜̝͍̤̖͆̆̓͒̍͗̔̒̀̌̋̕͝į̷̧̨̠͋̉͛͒̈͋̋͗̅͆͌͗̕̚͜͝f̴͇͆̋͋́́̓ ̷̡̖̟͈̮̬̭̜̽̑̔̉̉̏̚͘̕̚͝ͅ ̴̨̡̨̥̟̭̞̜̣͔̞͓̫̝̭͋͆͂̾͛̍̚͠ṇ̶̹̭̣̜̟̗͍͈̝͉͇̥̑̅̆͋̎͒̌̏̇̎̕͜͠͠͝d̵̥̥̳͎̳̮̺̖̖̦̾͆̽͒̃̈̐͂̂̈́̈̚͜͜j̴̺̟̟̪̑͌̌̽̌̄̎͒̈́̕̕̕͝͠f̸̡̧̦̬̝̙̰̜͛̽͑̆́̎̿͗͘͘̚͝u̴̮͉̰̠̠͔̓̓̿̃͊̉͛̀̽̍̅̅̐́͜t̴͔̤̥͚͈͚̪̭͕͉̃̐̎̽̍̇̿͊̈́͌͠ ̴̨̧̛̻̟̳͍͛́̔͗̉̏̊̇͊̚͠͝͝͝č̶̨̧̛̙̤͎̘̻͍͙̘̙̪̳̈́͌̈́̓̾̅̒̆̐̏̕ ̵̢͈̠͎͇͍̰͍̳̽̄̓̀́̾̊̌͂͛̈͒͜m̸̢̤̝̭̲͉̝̯̂́͌̄͒̆̇͗̓̀̾̄̚͜͝n̵̢̖̲͇̺̹̗͍̦͍̟̦͇̍̌̊̐̀͜d̵̡͈̙̦̥̘͎͕͊́̈́́̾͝ͅf̵̧̥̣͖͎͔͋͋̈́̕ü̷̻̗̜͌̇̇͛̈́ơ̶̛̓̉͆̇͊̈́̋͂̉͗͜ ̵̡̧̹̝̰͑̇͆̍͊͛͋͋s̸̢̨̰̹̠̞͔̰͎͇͆̀̅̍ç̷̛͎̭͉͍̹͍̲̯̼̌̒̀͒̓̒̄́̏̾̾́̚ä̵̡̼̬̥̘̼̰̼̟̺̜̩̬͙̦m̴͚̹̠̮̠͖͇͙͕͈̤̆͆̚v̸̨̞̳̥̳̥̪̠͒̆̈́͆̑̌̅ͅ ̶̡̨̹͍͔̱͕̤̦̮̘̲̏̒̋̄͋̂͗̅̕ ̵̻͖̩̱͇̃̍͋͌̈́Ḧ̶̝̽̈́̋͜ ̵̛͖͇͔̜̯̪̳͕̓̑́͗̽̀̋̄̇̎͛͊͆̐͜E̷̫̾̅ ̷̢͔̼̖̜̠̖̲̯̹̾L̶̛̰̺̬͇̜̗̣̯̱͈̪̟̹̬̔̑͐̋͊ ̴̡̯̝̜͛̃̀̓́̕͝Ṗ̶̺̠̼͕̱̘͋̎̈́̽͌͜͠ ̴̢̛͕̤̤̮͕̹̋̈̉̉̐̊̈̎͠ͅH̸̢̧̳͉͈͎̖̬̮͚͍̫͇͙̽ ̷̢̧̛̺̩̭̘̣̌͌̀͌̌́̅̽͠Ȅ̴̡̤̱̝̹́̍̅͂͌̍̈̽͂̈́ ̶̧̡̛̰̰̳͉̯̜̳̬̼̘͔̗̪̓̏͂͂̎̽̊͑̋̉̚̚L̶̨͉̖͕̗̈́̇͆̊͗̓̀͆̒͋̒͂̚̚̕ ̸̗͓̅̓̅̈́̀̔̔͝P̷̧̡̮̯̙̭̞̺̘̘͉̑ ̷̨̺̭̖̳̻̘̙̦̰̝̓̾̃H̸̢̊͑̉ ̴͚̍̐̊̒̂̽͂̐̃͝ ̶̝̊̀̈̈́̉͊̑̃ͅ ̴̧̢̺̜̗͚̬̹͉̖̗̩̋̑̿́̀́̉̔͊̃͑͐Ę̷̨̧̞̻͙̖̼̼̦̼̖̙͈̾́͐̆͠ ̵͓͖̲̳͓͙̱͉̙͖̮̰͖͇̂ ̷̛͉̦͚̫̩͔̱̥̃͒̔͋̏̈́̕͜ ̸̢̧̧̛̥̞̻̣͚͖̭̜̣͗̒̋́L̴̢̮͙̺̯̳̠̩̝̪͐͑͆͆͑̕ ̶͇̼̫͇̦̗̺̔͛͑̈́͑̓̓́̽̔́̄͝͝ ̶̡̢͚̘̼̮̯̠̜͔̮̪̪̯̓͆̾̆͒P̷̨̢̙̫̹̭̣̩͖͚̜͚̬͛̈́̾̀̓̒̐͊̉̇̚͜ ̸̛̺̫̣̼̙̞̖͈͉̳̊Ḩ̷̢͇͕̪̬̱̻̊É̶̫̿̌̉́̕L̸̢̖̺̙̖͖̝͉̥̙̰̭͋̈̃Ļ̸̨̖̬̮̪̭͔̠̫̉̋̔̈́́̿̕̕͝ ̶̨̡̪̦̲̰̗̳̬̬̹̠̩͖͖̔̏͆I̴̡̳͔̤̰̰̖̮̳͈͙̾͑͌́͒͋͐̋̅͘͠S̷̡̖̗̪̝̥̖̠͍̫̜͇̍͂̍͝ ̸̨̪̱̜̖̱͖̻̭̤̃͛̓͌͐́̽̈̓̒͊̆̀̃͜R̷̞̗̠͉͓͖͔͓̞̈̄̄͒̃̐̚E̸̮͍͇̯̰͕̣̳̰̝̮̫͖̋̐Ạ̷̧̧̳̙̙̦͇͙͙̗̩͈͇́̆̌͘͜͠L̸̯͔̂̇̎̀̐͠ ̵̫͖͍̫̲̀̄͐͋͆̇̈́̉͘ͅH̵̹̤̣̫̍̂͌̓̈́͌̓̔͠Ȩ̵̫̠̱͐͋̎̈́́͘͝͝͠͝L̴̡̢̛̬̯̹̪͕̜̥̻̞͈͉̞̓̂̿̂̉͗̿͛̈́̾L̵̖̠͇̼̻̩̜̞̲͌͑̎͗ ̵̨̜̮̳̰̻̞̙͍̻̥̂͑̂͑̄́̄̓̌͝ͅĮ̵̨̖̖͉͈͚̙̮͕͙̫̟̄͊̑̌͛́̓̔̾̂̿͘͝͠͝S̸̢͍͉̩͖͉͕͆́̋ ̷̨̛͎̣̣̰̻̮̲̙͇̜͚̤̘̇́̈́́̄̕͘R̵̖̬̦̹̫͕͇̾̅́͊̏͑̎̒̇̔͊ͅE̷̳̖̥̟̜̺̭͉̓̏͑̈́̅̈͑͑̈́̈́ͅA̵̱̯̽̄̂̄̈̓̆̔̿̾̀͘L̴̩̩͉̀̈́ ̶̧̠̺̅̅̇̓̏H̴̟͓͉̻͚̗͑̾́͊̉̐́̿̀̄̿E̶̢̛̹͓̘̤̠̦͚͔͕̗̪̹͉̍͂̈́̄͂̒̉̈̈́͠͝͝L̶̳͚̾̓̀̾͌̿͘L̷̻̩̞̮̹͉̲͍̻͚͉̯̪͔̘̄̋̿̉̕͝ ̵̪̯̮̜͕̗̞̤͒̓͑̿̿͒̍͋I̶̧̼̳͉̹͑̈́͗̏̐̽̀́̐̃̕S̶̡̧̡̮͖̤͎͖̖̪̓̐́̀̀ ̶̟̱̯̟́̍R̶̩̝͈͓̉̌̒̒̽̆͑́Ę̵̛̖̰͇̤̩͔̞̣̬͚̽̌̈́̿̔̋̒̅̚͜͜͝Ā̵͖̺̽̑Ḻ̸̳̝͉̞̳̀͋͊̆̽͒

closet-trash:I…don’t know. I was about to fall asleep when this image appeared in my head. I could see it. Feel it. It had such a demonic au...

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Elf, Fall, and Head: Me? Being thel girl reading this? It's more likely than me being at elf practice. GENC You know I had to diagnose her with... G A Y closet-trash: I…don’t know. I was about to fall asleep when this image appeared in my head. I could see it. Feel it. It had such a demonic aura I couldn’t go back to sleep. THe only way to get rid of this curse is to materialize it. Bring the demons to the material world where I can defeat them through memes. I thought my previous post was the end…I was so wrong…C̸h̴a̵o̵s̶ ̴i̴s̶ ̸j̶u̴s̸t̵ ̵a̴ ̸s̵c̵a̴l̶e̴.̸.̴.̴.                        ..I̸̥͉̯͂͐̂̚t̸͍͇̯̞̲͉̹̐̀̊́͌̚͝͠͠ ̴̗̹̉̓́̽̓̀͒͊͠c̸̨̨͔̩̟̰̗͍̻̻̀̉̽͗a̷̡̛͕̭̘͙̹̍̍̀̆͆́̅͘n̷̛͎̠̣̳̯͉̲̙̭͋́͑̀͛͘ ̵̢̧̗̪̝̫͇̽̾͗̌̅͌ͅo̴̪͓̘̪̼̲̟̟͙͂̀̀̇̈͘͘n̵̍̍͊͌͑̚͠ͅl̴̲̟̻̈́̍́̋͑̊̌̏͑̚y̸̨̢̞͉̰̱͌̅̽͒̔͗̕͘͜ ̶̩̏̿̌ģ̵͓̝̞̻̱͎̮̖̻̇̀̍ȇ̴̻̲̘̳̪̘̗͛͒̓͗̂̕͝t̶̝̟͙͊̎̉̓͆̈̚͝ͅ ̴̔̾̍͐̾͘̕̕͜w̵̹̪͙͕͓͇͍̞̞̫͛̽̈́̋͘͠͝õ̶̱̲̦̩̰͇͕͖͉ŕ̶̪͕̝͈̋̉̿͝s̴̡̜̐̌e̷͎̟̣̋̌̽h̸̪̳̙̟̙̤͆͊ȩ̴̛̛̮̦͚̤̖͈̥̹̼̻̤̓̀̏̆̂͌̄͂̔͗̽̚͝ĺ̴̙̰̲̿̓̄̈͒͒ͅp̸̦̳̻̦̠̺͖͙̹͉̭̝͒͒͊̓͊ͅ ̶̡̡̹̬̙͉̥̤̫̣̎̄̆͘ĥ̴̛̳̎̂̂e̵̞̬̭͚̖̲̦̮̦̦̓̐́̓̽̂̒̀̊͝l̴̝̖̼̪̮̫̯͈͑͑̔̾̈́p̴̧̩͙̩͕̈́̽̈́̃̅ ̴̧̳̜̱͎̖͐͊͛̀͑͑͌̀̀̀̒̓͆͘h̵̡͙̳̯̮̘͈͕͚̠̔͆̓̓̃̾̈e̶̥̊̏̿͗̈́̀̉̂̿̈́̋͠͝l̷̜͔̘̪̤̬̣̘̈́̈̈́̅̍̚͝͠p̶̧̛̩͔͙̲̟̫͍̜̤̬̤̞̝̹͋́́̉̅̐̍͛̎̀̈́̅͝ ̸̙͋̌͌ḥ̶̡͈̺̭̭͚͇͕̯̌̐̑̈̇̾̚͘͝ḛ̸̢̲̥̻̑͐́l̸͍͓̑̀̀͗͌̈̒̚p̵̡̟͚̠͚̮͑̒́͠͝ ̷̢̹̼̮̫̺̝̳̦͇͚̬̓̄̈̇̒́̉́̀̒́̇͜d̵̡͙͈̙͔̱̻̻̦̺͍̓͂s̸̨̢̛̪̼̳̫̭̎͊̔̑̽̑̀͂͠a̷̛̭̰̘̔̔̓̒̉̂̀̈́͆̍̂̈́ḽ̸̻̤͔̤̟͙̘̓̅̔̈́̍̈́̚͘̚̚͜͝k̵̳̩̺̰͚̙̆̋̀̐̊̽̀̿̾d̵̡̨̥͓͓̜̦͍̲̝̥̻̊̅̊n̴̛̞̘̆̿̒̌́̉̕f̵̫̱̔̑̈́̓̓́͜͠ͅa̸͕̺̲͌̍̄̔͋̉̋͒̔͑͂͐͗ͅo̴̡̟͎̝̱̫̣̙̹̤̤̥̙̤̔̉̀̃̇͊̽̀́́̕͠ ̷̟̑̇d̸̳̍̆͆̔̅̓̔̏́͐́̕͜͠͝k̸̢̡̛̥̜̝̯͕̟͕̹̋́̐̑̿̎̈́̏͗̇̊̀̽́s̸̩̘̤̫̺͉̠̘̻̤͊̑o̶͖̰̯̞̺͛ă̸̠̘͎̺̗̰̤̞͆͗4̷̛̛͓̋͑̆̓̓̆̎̎̽̔̄͘͝k̶̡̝̘̗̣̳̊̍̊͒̐̈́̅̑̒̾̿̃͗j̴̩̱͖̲̲̘̝̽̊̊͜d̵̬͆̓̇͊̅̀̔́͐͒̓́́̚͜ ̷̡̲̱͖̫̘̺͓̀̾̓̉́̀̑̑͊̓̊̾ḍ̸̡̪͚̫͍̘̬͈̺͚̟͛̒̅̍͐͝ǩ̸̡̛̼͓̱̘͙̗̙̺̔̎̓̆̎̀̈̈́͛͑̾f̸̨̫̬̻̲̹̦͂͗ͅş̴̢̼̮̬̭̃̇̌̈́̂̓i̷̢̗̤̗̓ę̴̡̧̞͉̰̟̦̦̗̼̘̽͆̑́̓́̊̈́͊͜r̵̢̢̬̘̳̱̭̳̟̲̬̈̉̇͌̎͑́̈́̊̈́̚͠ć̵͉̭̆͜v̴̢̡̛̛̮̝̹̖͔̜̝̒̒̊̅̾̄͋̒͘ ̵̬̜͉̹͓̈́̈́͋̔̿͗̀̒̏̌͐͝d̸̙̖͙͔̲͔͔̩̟̿̈́̓̑͊͛͑̑͛̈́͆͂͊͠ž̷̫͖͉͇͇͙͕̰̜͈̼͜͝ć̵̡̥̤̼̹̜͈͚͙̩̹̓̽f̷̜͍͙͓̞̜̉ç̴̡̡͕̫͚̯̗̙̞̤̦͖͙̌̈́̿̂̀̍̒̆̍͊͒̚͝ě̶̤̯͇̣̼̯͉̟͚͈̂̓ ̸̪̞͚̼̺͕͖͗̅̃͑͌͗̀̈́͗̆̌͊͋̚d̸̳̠̲̬̩͎͈͎̃́̈͜ḳ̶̨̛̛̦̞̟̗̺̞̈́̆̉̄̔͊̅̾̐̉͝͝f̷̢̲̩̣͕̺̭̙̻̎́̎̿͒̄̔̓͘͜͜͝ͅș̷̢͈͙̱̦̣̬͕̬̳̊͊̚͜š̸͈̯͇̋̿͗̎̈̀̈́̌̆̿̔̈́̚͝͠e̴̛͈̼̖̳̫̥̒͊͗͘͜ͅͅç̴̭̲̬̥̖̝̌͐̋̎͒̿̈́͂̈́̈́̈́̓̄̕ą̵̨̢̡͓̤̝̱͔͇̙̮̦̾ͅl̴͕̣̺͚͍̩̹͎̬͖̹̳̪͖͒̃̋́̎̀̏̌̄̕f̶̨̫̙̜̬̥̪͔̩̘͙̻͓̈́̀̃͆̒̐͒̋́́͂̌ ̵̢̛̰̲̠͎͚̲̝͈̩̽͂̐̾͝e̴̜͍̠̼͋̑͒̿́̾̓̚̚͜a̷͖͌͗͌͗̄̉̾̋̊͜͠k̵̨̪̘̻̹̝̪̥͓̘͔̬͕͙͑̈͌̍ͅḑ̴̯̖͙͕̟̰̜̫̙́̇́̈́͌̀̚͝f̷̢̳̓̚͘9̷͉̱̜͍̲̯̺̘̱̻̊̍̽ǫ̸̡̧̯̬̻̗̩̞̥̻̀̊̿͆͊̐̈̑̈͂̔͋͘͘è̴̢̡̫̟͎̻̻͚̭͕̺̋̊͊̓̌̅̈͐́͛́͘ͅk̸̦̪̘͑͂̅̈́̌́͜͝a̵̦̤̰̘̼͇͈̫͚̳͕̔̍̓̈́̃̑̊̅̿͛̍͒͐̔n̷̪̝̮͗̌̀̌̈́̎̽̐̕͝d̸̹̦͍̹͖͙̥̰̋͂̍͜ ̸͕̮̠̎̿́͂̅͋̅̅̾̓c̴̡̢̨̘͙̏͒̃͑́̆͋͛̔͒̏́̕č̵̡̫̹͈̪̳̰̦͎̞͖̜̺̀̆̍̾̆ć̵̡̙̲̲̖̳̥̱͔̳̠̺͇̇̀̃͗̾͗͜ą̴̥̞̟̟̀̿͊͒͐͘͠ͅ ̶͇̙͈͕̥̝̫̼̥͚̗͈̻̻̺̃̑̒͌a̴̡̯̲̰͉̺͎̞̭̲͙͂̅͗̐̂͂̈́̂̃͜ḟ̶͙̹̇̅̿͌̇̕͝͝ṗ̷̜̬̝̖̦͎̟̖̖̰͓̂̑̎̅̇ͅͅs̸̛̈͑͌͜ở̶̳̥̼̜̠͎͍̑͂̐͐̓͝j̴̠̖͂f̵̦͓̍̆̆̌́̾̏͐̔̄͠͝ ̷̡̧̛̥͉̙͎͉̳̝̱͚͕̞̥͓̏̾̊͑͆̂̈́͐͝n̶͙̳̰̠̽g̶͎̫͕̩̭͋̃͗́̿̈́̇̊ͅh̸͕̪̬͙̦̥̣͚͎͎̹͓̝̪̤͒̇̄̿̿͗͒͗̀͘͝f̵̡̨̛̱̞̖̣̰̳̻̌̆̍͌̇͊͊̏̄̒̏̉ư̶͖̦̲͖̲̌͌̋̆̋̓̚͘ ̸̡͓͙̹̬͍̄̀̇͘n̷̛͕̼͒̽̂̃͑̂̚̕͝d̵̟͉͍̃̂̔̂̚̚̚͜͝͝d̸̨̛̞̺̟͚͙͒̽̊͆̀̇̄͝ͅͅk̴̹̟͕̜̝͍̤̖͆̆̓͒̍͗̔̒̀̌̋̕͝į̷̧̨̠͋̉͛͒̈͋̋͗̅͆͌͗̕̚͜͝f̴͇͆̋͋́́̓ ̷̡̖̟͈̮̬̭̜̽̑̔̉̉̏̚͘̕̚͝ͅ ̴̨̡̨̥̟̭̞̜̣͔̞͓̫̝̭͋͆͂̾͛̍̚͠ṇ̶̹̭̣̜̟̗͍͈̝͉͇̥̑̅̆͋̎͒̌̏̇̎̕͜͠͠͝d̵̥̥̳͎̳̮̺̖̖̦̾͆̽͒̃̈̐͂̂̈́̈̚͜͜j̴̺̟̟̪̑͌̌̽̌̄̎͒̈́̕̕̕͝͠f̸̡̧̦̬̝̙̰̜͛̽͑̆́̎̿͗͘͘̚͝u̴̮͉̰̠̠͔̓̓̿̃͊̉͛̀̽̍̅̅̐́͜t̴͔̤̥͚͈͚̪̭͕͉̃̐̎̽̍̇̿͊̈́͌͠ ̴̨̧̛̻̟̳͍͛́̔͗̉̏̊̇͊̚͠͝͝͝č̶̨̧̛̙̤͎̘̻͍͙̘̙̪̳̈́͌̈́̓̾̅̒̆̐̏̕ ̵̢͈̠͎͇͍̰͍̳̽̄̓̀́̾̊̌͂͛̈͒͜m̸̢̤̝̭̲͉̝̯̂́͌̄͒̆̇͗̓̀̾̄̚͜͝n̵̢̖̲͇̺̹̗͍̦͍̟̦͇̍̌̊̐̀͜d̵̡͈̙̦̥̘͎͕͊́̈́́̾͝ͅf̵̧̥̣͖͎͔͋͋̈́̕ü̷̻̗̜͌̇̇͛̈́ơ̶̛̓̉͆̇͊̈́̋͂̉͗͜ ̵̡̧̹̝̰͑̇͆̍͊͛͋͋s̸̢̨̰̹̠̞͔̰͎͇͆̀̅̍ç̷̛͎̭͉͍̹͍̲̯̼̌̒̀͒̓̒̄́̏̾̾́̚ä̵̡̼̬̥̘̼̰̼̟̺̜̩̬͙̦m̴͚̹̠̮̠͖͇͙͕͈̤̆͆̚v̸̨̞̳̥̳̥̪̠͒̆̈́͆̑̌̅ͅ ̶̡̨̹͍͔̱͕̤̦̮̘̲̏̒̋̄͋̂͗̅̕ ̵̻͖̩̱͇̃̍͋͌̈́Ḧ̶̝̽̈́̋͜ ̵̛͖͇͔̜̯̪̳͕̓̑́͗̽̀̋̄̇̎͛͊͆̐͜E̷̫̾̅ ̷̢͔̼̖̜̠̖̲̯̹̾L̶̛̰̺̬͇̜̗̣̯̱͈̪̟̹̬̔̑͐̋͊ ̴̡̯̝̜͛̃̀̓́̕͝Ṗ̶̺̠̼͕̱̘͋̎̈́̽͌͜͠ ̴̢̛͕̤̤̮͕̹̋̈̉̉̐̊̈̎͠ͅH̸̢̧̳͉͈͎̖̬̮͚͍̫͇͙̽ ̷̢̧̛̺̩̭̘̣̌͌̀͌̌́̅̽͠Ȅ̴̡̤̱̝̹́̍̅͂͌̍̈̽͂̈́ ̶̧̡̛̰̰̳͉̯̜̳̬̼̘͔̗̪̓̏͂͂̎̽̊͑̋̉̚̚L̶̨͉̖͕̗̈́̇͆̊͗̓̀͆̒͋̒͂̚̚̕ ̸̗͓̅̓̅̈́̀̔̔͝P̷̧̡̮̯̙̭̞̺̘̘͉̑ ̷̨̺̭̖̳̻̘̙̦̰̝̓̾̃H̸̢̊͑̉ ̴͚̍̐̊̒̂̽͂̐̃͝ ̶̝̊̀̈̈́̉͊̑̃ͅ ̴̧̢̺̜̗͚̬̹͉̖̗̩̋̑̿́̀́̉̔͊̃͑͐Ę̷̨̧̞̻͙̖̼̼̦̼̖̙͈̾́͐̆͠ ̵͓͖̲̳͓͙̱͉̙͖̮̰͖͇̂ ̷̛͉̦͚̫̩͔̱̥̃͒̔͋̏̈́̕͜ ̸̢̧̧̛̥̞̻̣͚͖̭̜̣͗̒̋́L̴̢̮͙̺̯̳̠̩̝̪͐͑͆͆͑̕ ̶͇̼̫͇̦̗̺̔͛͑̈́͑̓̓́̽̔́̄͝͝ ̶̡̢͚̘̼̮̯̠̜͔̮̪̪̯̓͆̾̆͒P̷̨̢̙̫̹̭̣̩͖͚̜͚̬͛̈́̾̀̓̒̐͊̉̇̚͜ ̸̛̺̫̣̼̙̞̖͈͉̳̊Ḩ̷̢͇͕̪̬̱̻̊É̶̫̿̌̉́̕L̸̢̖̺̙̖͖̝͉̥̙̰̭͋̈̃Ļ̸̨̖̬̮̪̭͔̠̫̉̋̔̈́́̿̕̕͝ ̶̨̡̪̦̲̰̗̳̬̬̹̠̩͖͖̔̏͆I̴̡̳͔̤̰̰̖̮̳͈͙̾͑͌́͒͋͐̋̅͘͠S̷̡̖̗̪̝̥̖̠͍̫̜͇̍͂̍͝ ̸̨̪̱̜̖̱͖̻̭̤̃͛̓͌͐́̽̈̓̒͊̆̀̃͜R̷̞̗̠͉͓͖͔͓̞̈̄̄͒̃̐̚E̸̮͍͇̯̰͕̣̳̰̝̮̫͖̋̐Ạ̷̧̧̳̙̙̦͇͙͙̗̩͈͇́̆̌͘͜͠L̸̯͔̂̇̎̀̐͠ ̵̫͖͍̫̲̀̄͐͋͆̇̈́̉͘ͅH̵̹̤̣̫̍̂͌̓̈́͌̓̔͠Ȩ̵̫̠̱͐͋̎̈́́͘͝͝͠͝L̴̡̢̛̬̯̹̪͕̜̥̻̞͈͉̞̓̂̿̂̉͗̿͛̈́̾L̵̖̠͇̼̻̩̜̞̲͌͑̎͗ ̵̨̜̮̳̰̻̞̙͍̻̥̂͑̂͑̄́̄̓̌͝ͅĮ̵̨̖̖͉͈͚̙̮͕͙̫̟̄͊̑̌͛́̓̔̾̂̿͘͝͠͝S̸̢͍͉̩͖͉͕͆́̋ ̷̨̛͎̣̣̰̻̮̲̙͇̜͚̤̘̇́̈́́̄̕͘R̵̖̬̦̹̫͕͇̾̅́͊̏͑̎̒̇̔͊ͅE̷̳̖̥̟̜̺̭͉̓̏͑̈́̅̈͑͑̈́̈́ͅA̵̱̯̽̄̂̄̈̓̆̔̿̾̀͘L̴̩̩͉̀̈́ ̶̧̠̺̅̅̇̓̏H̴̟͓͉̻͚̗͑̾́͊̉̐́̿̀̄̿E̶̢̛̹͓̘̤̠̦͚͔͕̗̪̹͉̍͂̈́̄͂̒̉̈̈́͠͝͝L̶̳͚̾̓̀̾͌̿͘L̷̻̩̞̮̹͉̲͍̻͚͉̯̪͔̘̄̋̿̉̕͝ ̵̪̯̮̜͕̗̞̤͒̓͑̿̿͒̍͋I̶̧̼̳͉̹͑̈́͗̏̐̽̀́̐̃̕S̶̡̧̡̮͖̤͎͖̖̪̓̐́̀̀ ̶̟̱̯̟́̍R̶̩̝͈͓̉̌̒̒̽̆͑́Ę̵̛̖̰͇̤̩͔̞̣̬͚̽̌̈́̿̔̋̒̅̚͜͜͝Ā̵͖̺̽̑Ḻ̸̳̝͉̞̳̀͋͊̆̽͒

closet-trash: I…don’t know. I was about to fall asleep when this image appeared in my head. I could see it. Feel it. It had such a demonic a...

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Books, Confidence, and Douchebag: Why Do Men Keep Putting Me in the Girlfriend- Zone? You know how it is, right, ladies? You know a guy for a while. You hang out with him. You do fun things with him-play video games, watch movies, go hiking, go to concerts. You invite him to your parties. You listen to h problems. You do all this because you think he wants to be your friend But then, then comes the fateful moment where you find out that all this time, he's only seen you as a potential girlfriend. And then if you turn him down, he may never speak to you again. This has happened to me time after time: I hit it off with a guy, and, for all that I've been burned in the past, I start to think that this one might actually care about me as a person And then he asks me on a date I tell him how much I enjoy his company, how much I value his friendship. tell him that I really want to be his friend and to continue hanging out with him and talking about our favorite books or exploring new restaurants or making fun of avant-garde theatre productions. But he rejects me. He doesn't answer my calls or e-mails, if we'd been making plans to do something before this fateful incident, these plans mysteriously fail to materialize. (This is why I never did get around to seeing the Hunger Games movie. Not to name any names, but thanks a lot, Tom.) Later, when I run into him at social events, our conversations are awkward and kewarm. This is because the moment we met, he put me in the girlfriend- zone, and now he can't see me as friend material. I must say that I find this really unfair. I mean, I'm a nice girl. I have a lot to offer as a friend, like not being a douchebag and stuff. But males just don't want to be friends with nice girls like me. They can't help it, I guess; it's just how they're wired, biologically. Evolution conditioned our male hominid ancestors to seek nice girls as mates and form friendship bonds only with the other dudes that they hunted mammoths with. It's true- know this because I studied hominids in my fifth-grade science class. So what's the answer? Should I take up mammoth-hunting in an attempt to appeal to the friendship centers of men's primal lizardbrains? Should keep making guy friends" and then prevent them from making a move on me by subtly undermining their self-confidence? Should I just give up on those manipulative, game-playing, two-faced bastards once and for all? don't know. I mean, I'd really like to have a true friendship with a guy someday, but it's so hard to trust and respect them when they never say what they mean-and you never know when you might be relegated to the girlfriend-zone DATINGFAILS ORG Why do men keep putting me in the girlfriend-zone?
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Finals, Johnson & Johnson, and Memes: Acredita Nisso? Johnson & Johnson troca plastico por papel nos cotonetes fO/ACREDITANISS00FICIAL OACREDITANISSO @AcreditaNisso? Boa parte do plástico que jogamos no lixo acaba no oceano. É tanto material descartável que as correntes marítimas do Pacífico fizeram o favor de varrer tudo para um canto só: há 100 milhões de toneladas de garrafas e embalagens concentradas em uma região de mar aberto de 700 mil km2 — duas vezes a área dos EUA — à leste do litoral da Califórnia. O valor é só uma boa estimativa feita pelo oceanógrafo Charles Moore, que tropeçou na camada concentrada de lixo flutuante, com dez metros de espessura, em 1999 — 14 anos depois de sua presença ter sido detectada, entre 1985 e 1988, por pesquisadores de órgãos públicos americanos. Pior: o plástico é uma espécie de esponja de poluição, e qualquer substância tóxica derramada no oceano entra na cadeia alimentar e volta para o ser humano eventualmente. Um tiro no pé que ocorre até no banheiro. Segundo a Marine Conservation Society (em português, “Sociedade de Conservação Marinha”), os cotonetes foram a sexta forma de poluição mais encontrada nas praias britânicas em 2016. Boa parte dos cotonetes usados na Europa são jogados na privada depois de usados. O algodão e a cera de ouvido vão embora, mas a haste de plástico azul resiste e acaba no mar. A opção é usar tubinhos de papel biodegradável, medida anunciada no ano passado pela empresa farmacêutica americana Johnson&Johnson – a maior fabricante de hastes flexíveis com pontas de algodão, a ponto de o nome de sua haste flexível com ponta de algodão, o Cotonete, ter batizado todos os cotonetes. Enfim. Os primeiros cotonetes ecológicos começaram a chegar a lojas da Inglaterra no começo do mês, e logo vão dominar o mundo. A medida vem no encalço de uma campanha ecológica inusitada: a SwitchTheStick (em português, algo como TroqueOPalito), que no final do ano passado pressionou os nove maiores varejistas do Reino Unido a não aceitarem cotonetes feitos de plástico. Fonte: SuperInteressante . SIGAM-ME OS BONS ➡️ @Nandinhatw (ADM)

@AcreditaNisso? Boa parte do plástico que jogamos no lixo acaba no oceano. É tanto material descartável que as correntes marítimas do Pacífi...

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Memes, Oxygen, and Ideology: "To feel satisfied with what you have, that is the ultimate wealth Not to crave or be attached to anything at all, that is the ultimate happiness." What are we? These vessels of carbon & cells... We are not these vessels. These thoughts of our place in the universe, how we are the universe and yet we observe ourselves... We are not these thoughts. The liquid that sustains our existence in this current form, made of Hydrogen & Oxygen, we drink it every day, it allows us to regenerate... We are not merely liquid. These electronic devices that I am writing this on, you are reading this on and that is connecting electrically to an Atmosphere, where we share this air, almost as if the energy that is being conducted was created by the device itself, but it is just channelling energy created by the universe, harnessed by other energy sources. We are not these devices. These ideologies devoid of spirit, of sexism, racism, capitalism, classism and all of the isms-systems that support the separation of self from spirit. We are not these ideologies. We are the universal, the realms are all interwoven, spiritual, physical, mental, it is all one. You can look through your pupils but you will only see with your third eye. Vision comes when you accept your ancestors & acknowledge that you are here for your children's children. You are not your thoughts, you are awareness of these thoughts. You are not feelings, they are not you, it is just energy that you are channelling. You do not own anything, even the air you breathe in must be exhaled. The phone you hold in your hand, made from minerals mined by Africans, who make $1 per day, assembled in China & distributed from North America by Europeans who have enough money to start countries...All in the name of capitalism. You are not capitalism, you are not racism, you are not sexism, you are not classism. Money, what is money, just energy so why do we try to hold on to it. Why do we try to hoard this energy?? This energy will destroy us. When you buy into materialism it is not money you are paying with, but hours of collective existence that we will never get back. Remember this for you are not money. You are a soul... Do what is good for your soul. chakabars

What are we? These vessels of carbon

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Memes, Paradise, and Messenger: DON'T GIVE UP GREAT THINGS, TAKE TIME “One of the Salaf said: 'When I am afflicted with calamity, I praise Allah four times: I praise Allah for it not being worse than it is. I praise Allah for nourishing me with the ability to bear it patiently. I praise Him for granting me the accord to say: ‘To Allah we belong and to Him we return.’ And I praise Him for not making the tribulation in my religion.' - Looking to relief through patience is an act of worship since tribulation never remains forever. Patiently bear every calamity, take heart, Know that harm never endures forever. Be patient, just as the nobles were patient: It is a fleeting event, here today, gone tomorrow.” (Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyyah, Heartfelt Advice To A Friend) - “Anas b. Malik reported that Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said that one amongst the inhabitants of Hell who had led a life of ease and plenty amongst the people of the world would be made to dip in Fire only once on the Day of Resurrection and then it would be said to him: - ‘O, son of Adam, did you find any comfort, did you happen to get any material blessing?' - He would say: 'By Allah, no, my Lord.' - And then that person from amongst the persons of the world be brought who had led the most miserable life (in the world) from amongst the inmates of Paradise. and he would be made to dip once in Paradise and it would be said to him: - 'O, son of Adam, did you face, any hardship? Or had any distress fallen to your lot?' - And he would say: 'By Allah, no, O my Lord, never did I face any hardship or experience any distress.’” (Muslim 2807)

“One of the Salaf said: 'When I am afflicted with calamity, I praise Allah four times: I praise Allah for it not being worse than it is. I p...

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