#creepy finds

[lucentparanormal]

Reddit user u/toeturn recently posted to the r/mildyinteresting subreddit about having discovered a shelf in their new home was actually an upside down Ouija board.

Did the original homemakers have a great sense of humour or are we about to watch a horror movie unfold?

[eroticlamb]

Kinetica Art Fair, 2012, featuring 'Pony' by Tim Lewis  (video source)

edit: i feel the need to specify that this is a robot for everyone who's confused 😭

[voodooya]

[radiance1]

Danny has been reincarnated.

Which was an odd thing to realize, it wasn't even a slow one he just... snapped into it one day. One moment he was staring at a wall out of boredom the next, well, he was staring for an entirely different reason.

It was a task for his now young -he thinks around three years old?- mind to work its way through the memories, but it wasn't like he had much else to do honestly. So, what does he know?

His name is Danny, like, his actual name and not just a moniker. He was once a halfa and he already knows he's going to be missing invisibility and intangibility. He, well, died. For like, a second time which actually makes sense because reincarnation-

Anyways.

He was a clone of two people from this thing called the Justice League which, weird name but probably some government or activist group. Wonder Woman and Superman. Which were pretty weird names to name your kids but eh.

He doesn't really remember much besides that from this life, or the one from before but he's an adult! He'll figure things out once he gets out of this containment tube thing.

Did he mention he was in a test tube? He's a tube baby now. He thinks? Or maybe it's more like he's being contained.

Whatever.

So he breaks out. Thank you apparent superstrength that he has no idea why he has but he's not going to complain! He then wandered around all of the other test tubes, able to remember just enough of English to see that yea, they're dead.

He probably was too, before he had memories zapped into him. Or a vegetable.

He then finds this really big container, checks it out, then opens it because the clone inside isn't dead!

'Project Match' it said. He'll just call him Match.

Was he thanked for helping him? Nope. You would think that he would be thanked or at least somewhat respected for saving this guy but nope!

He was, quite literally, held up by his leg and dangled in the air. Who dangles a three-year-old?! Well, he was technically and adult but still! The next few things were a blur but after pulling off the old Fenton charm he found him and Match outside as he tried to stop him from attacking random people.

Luckily the charms and privilege of the youngest (he's assuming he's the youngest, because he's physically three) was more than enough to get through to him. Sure, the guy couldn't form words, really aggressive for literally no reason, really weird but also absolutely cool looking eyes. But he worked around the first issue by developing their own personal language from like grunts and stuff, the second he once again used his youngest privilege to boss him around and the third a pair of sunglasses easily fixed.

He just had to steer Match clear of those random S crest mark thingies. Which was a weird thing to hate but hey, he's not there to judge.

[gracieellenhazel]

The biggest caterpillar I've ever seen. He crossed the whole road with my supervision. Look at that color!!

Polyphemus moth caterpillar.

Found in NY:)

[dewardin]

[greenglowinspooks]

Hey. Shakes you by the shoulders. DCxDP where Eobard Thawne is Danny’s cool distant “uncle” that he never sees but always sends in the coolest gifts for the holidays.

~

Danny had grown used to seeing people injured at a surprisingly young age.

He wasn’t injured on the regular, or witness to some sort of extraordinary amount of violence; his parents’ lab was just… very volatile, and they were unprofessionally lax on safety measures on the best of days.

As such, when he saw an unconscious, incredibly injured man wearing some sort of superhero suit in their backyard in the early hours of the morning (he had gotten up to get a glass of water when he heard a thump outside), he didn’t panic, as any young child should have in his situation.

No. Instead, Danny dragged the man inside (with considerable difficulty; despite how thin he was, he was heavy), treated his wounds as best he could (it’s difficult for a child younger than 10 to do stitches, you understand), put a blanket over the man, and went back to bed.

After losing a fight to the Flash and passing out in a random suburban lawn, the last thing Eobard was expecting to wake up to was a small child sitting on the floor in front of him, noisily eating a bowl of cereal.

(He had thought, maybe he would have been found by the Flash and brought to some Justice League holding cell. Or, found by a civilian, and brought to the police. Perhaps, in his feverish state, he had remembered the prison he ended up in from his time, with their brands and chemicals and torturous therapies.)

For some unknown reason, this child had found him, not recognized him as the monster he is (perhaps due to the boy’s age), and helped him—even if his healing factor would have fixed him eventually, having all his parts in the right order certainly sped up the process.

Usually he wouldn’t care for civilians. He’d killed enough that he’d lost count what felt like an eternity ago—and yet, somehow, he felt indebted to this boy. This boy, who had helped him so selflessly, who was so entirely clueless to the evil right in front of him.

This boy, who was all alone in an empty house, whose sister was away, whose parents had gone on a trip and left him behind.

(It didn’t matter the explanation the boy gave for it, Eobard’s mind whispered to itself regardless. Kin. Like calling to like.)

And so, he worked hard to free himself from this debt he had incurred.

He traveled through time, working his way into the family whilst posing as a distant relative. It was remarkably easy; the Fentons didn’t have an incredible memory of their relatives; all he had to do was forge a few papers and mention a few people and he was now “Uncle Eo”.

It was, however, taxing on the mind. These people were absurdly friendly, not to mention talkative. The effort had become a multi-year operation, popping in every now and then for large family gatherings and home visits.

It felt… nice, to be wanted for once. To be noticed in his absence for more than just his status.

To be liked.

He made sure to send the boy a gift on the right holidays, as well as on his birthdays. With his skillset, it wasn’t too difficult to follow him around and see what he liked and wanted. It also wasn’t difficult to spy in when he opened them, to ensure that he had done an acceptable job.

Of course, he couldn’t let this sort of thing cut into his time spent fighting the Flash, so he wasn’t too present. The last thing he wanted was to drag trouble into the boy’s life from his presence.

But then, it happened.

He found out that this boy, and the one known in his time as Phantom, were one and the same.

It was, as a historian, thrilling.

It was, as a villain, horrifying.

In all his travels, he had never intended to involve himself with that mysterious being which shadowed the Justice League. That ghost with the power, in some timelines, to bring about the end of all things.

Of course, he was also capable of doing that, but it isn’t exactly fun to meet someone who’s powers are a match for your own.

Especially if you couldn’t find it in yourself to end him, should he make himself your enemy.

Still, he had a debt to repay, and a boy to look after.

He delivered things to the boy’s room to help him; tactical gloves, a lightweight protective suit, weapons and equipment. All uncredited, since the boy seemed to value the idea of a secret identity.

He took it upon himself to shift the odds in his favor a few times, even; making faster-than-light adjustments to the boy and his combatants during fights to shift the odds in his favor.

Somewhere along the years, he had formed some sort of odd affection for the boy, if he was capable of doing so at all.

And so, when that ghost-boy sought his Uncle Eo out all the way in Central City, carved open and scarred, a distant look in his eyes, he took him in without a second thought.

He would protect this boy, who once had protected him.

[circslai]

[chechula]

Sketch for this was in my diary for 6 years. That boy was just so sure that America was a fantasy land so for a moment I also believed him ♥

[honehonn3honey]

What happens to this empty place, waiting for my arrival...

Rook in my heart. You can read the monster list here @lustlovehart

[Alt under the cut]

This is the original version but God, I don’t see anything else and I didn’t want others to get hurt watching

Now here I put my thoughts as I drew him:

I think our beautiful creature doesn't really have a human anatomy, his limbs are long and with very little muscle covering. Their bones could click together if it fully manifested. Claws replacing part of the bony fingers and nails. You could feel the long ribs behind that thick sack

He doesn’t need beyond his big and cool gothic sack to cover his abnormal appearance, after all the is no more shadows and fog for everyone’s eyes

The darkness consumes you from the pores, in each puff of lungs, you could become one with him and he would be delighted

I feel that it is detached from all worldly, but I would keep a thing or two of those who most appreciate... like the feathers of Neige or a brooch of Vil

[jingledbells]

people saying that ford didn’t appreciate fiddlefords gifts is lowkey crazy to me. first of all HE LOVED THAT AXOLOTL. HE SET IT FREE BECAUSR OF BILL. LIKE WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO DO. and he treasured those gloves so much like cmon. and the breaking of the snow globe was an accident I mean cmon he was startled by bill and he dropped it. do you seriously think he meant to do that on purpose.

[mizaruwu]

Legend wakes up in an uncomfortable wooden box, his memories hazy– he sees hyrule looking over him

"w–" He feels as if his throat is made out of sandpaper and strains to get a sentence out "what did you do"

Hyrule smiles "I woke you up!"

[voodooya]

[plaguedocboi]

Do you have a deep sea fact that you find mind boggling that can also be a good thing to share this spooktober?

Can u please share it with us?

Thankyouuu

There is a line in the ocean that fish can’t cross.

At approximately five miles (8,400 m) deep, the pressure becomes so intense that it stops certain chemical processes necessary for vertebrate life, so there are no vertebrates found deeper than that. However, they do live as close to that line as they can. The deepest recorded fish so far is the hadal Snailfish, sighted at 8,336 meters!

All hail the bibby, who saw the “no fish allowed” sign and started wiggling in defiance all around it.

[black-and-yellow]

Don't think for a second I forgot about these terrors.

[vicariousresearcher]

Thinking about Simon with a girlie with agoraphobia. A sweet bird he met through a pen pal program between civilians and soldiers.

It started off so superficial and stilted. You tell him about your favourite foods, about your remote job, about the stray cat you’ve been trying to lure into domesticity. Surface level, like you’d been forced. Later, he learned that your therapist suggested this as a form of human contact. 

Maybe it was the simpleness with which he replied, maybe it was the exasperation of all exposure techniques attempted, or maybe it was the bone-deep, clenching starvation of human contact that led to you spilling your guts into the letters. Personality in the swoops of your g’s and slashes of t’s. Inner workings laid bare for a faceless man who offered no judgment. Anonymity veils over you both like a confessional booth. Your words detailed a festering wound of loneliness that ate you from the inside out, drainage the colour of a pent-up rage for that which made you the way you were. Simon offered comfort in mutual struggle, the addiction genes laying in wait in his DNA that led him to wander over the lines of normalcy to obsession. 

Offerings were made to one another as a form of thanks. You’d give tea bags, a wrapped-up sweet, a polaroid of a bedraggled cat sitting within arms reach of your window sill. 

Simon became a scavenger for every little thing you gave him. Picking through like a vulture of the offerings of yourself, this deity who he knew existed only for himself. Not a soul knew you the way he did. 

Flowered plucked from cracks between concrete, foreign pop bottle lids, a chicken scratch drawing of a pond at sunrise were the meagre offerings he gave back. You were sequestered in that mind of yours just as much as the four walls of your apartment kept you in place but that was okay. Simon could just bring his world to you. You always had him thinking about the next letter, the next piece of his life he could give to you.

You were such a grateful little thing after all. You always took his gifts and sent back your thanks with more of your own. 

But now as he stood clutching a soiled collection of wildflowers in his fist he didn’t quite understand the confusion and fear in your eyes as he stood on at your front door.