

ꫝꪮ᥅᥅ꪮ᥅ ɹoɹɹǝ⊥
@thehorrorTerror

♦️█ ░ shes little...miss n0 name...shes l0nes0me and blue. shes l0nging f0r s0me0ne...exactly like y0u! she has n0 0ne t0 talk with. ପ(∗´ര ᎑ ര`∗)ଓ ▒ ▓❤️ ♦️█ ░ she just sits and she stares. ପ(∗´ര ︿ ര`∗)ଓ ▒ ▓❤️ ♦️█ ░ she needs s0me0ne t0 h0ld her. s0me0ne wh0 cares. ପ(∗´- ᎑ ര`∗)ଓ ▒ ▓❤️ ♦️♦️♦️█ ░ p00r little miss n0 name. 0n her cheek theres a tear. shes a sad little n0b0dy. ପ(∗´╥ ﹏ ╥´∗)ଓ ▒ ▓♦️♦️♦️ 💔█ ░ cause theres n0 b0dy near. ପ(∗´⋟ ﹏ ⋞`∗)ଓ ▒ ▓💔 💔█ ░ s0 w0nt s0me0ne? w0nt s0me b0dy? d0 what s0me0ne sh0uld d0? ପ(∗´╹ . ╹`∗)ଓ ▒ ▓💔 ❤️█ ░ and take hive little miss n0b0dy? w0nt s0me0ne? w0nt y0u? ପ(∗´╹ v ╹`∗)ଓ ▒ ▓❤️

There seem to be a number of misconceptions perpetuating around certain eldritch figures of notable repute, on or off Chittr.ing. As such, I've begun something of an informal series I'll be titling "#LoveArtsAndCraft", where the most egregious offenders are properly addressed and cordoned off into their sanctioned sanitariums for the factually erroneous. We'll start with "Gl'bgolyb". Pronounced so eclipsingly overlapping in similarity to the phrase "Glub Glub", as to be coterminously superimposed. The rift's carbuncle. Emissary of the Horrorterrors. And the speaker of the vast glub. She is a fuchsiablooded lusus, and "sapience-warming gift" from @scratchDoctor as an absolute fail safe, should the trollian species fail to become the hyperviolent societal entourage and ensemble, much to the chagrin of the waxy-skulled Old Scratch, unlikely as that contingency's necessity would become, it is quite pleasing to envision. It is also a continual impetus. Since sentience first fully furnished and formed, the creature has been used as a planetary bargaining chip to keep the Empress from simply slaughtering each Fuchsia in immediate succession, but also precisely what keeps her from becoming a well-traveled chutzpah infected vagabond. Think of "Gl'bgolyb" like a union-buster to the reigning Heiress and the rest of trollkind. If continual and often violent succession remains imperative to keep the creature from annihilating trollkind, the tumultuous temerity that could come from uniting land and sea remains a pipe dream full of crack smoked by someone chronically unserious enough to attempt it hanging upside down from a dumpster. Not going to happen. What is important to reconcile with prior misunderstandings is that the Vast Glub would have galactic consequences. Not merely planetary. There is not a feasible distance one could manageably travel upon the death or disconcerting of Gl'bgolyb that would appropriately partition off the troll annihilating audible avalanche of all sound processing components in living tissue, including the brain. Starting with the "lower" castes, and ascending to decibels magnitudes of order higher, until no life remains. Union buster indeed. But this does not, however, make Feferi Peixes, or any Fuchsia who tended to Gl'bgolyb a picket line-crossing scab, per se. The creature has to be tended to, and will offer grim prognostications of the future, as well as encouraging insights that would better their caretaker, provided they are not neglectful.

xx_ok_but_heres_da_thing_xx

H͇e͇l͇m͇s͇m͇e͇n͇. A͇e͇r͇i͇a͇l͇ a͇s͇p͇i͇r͇a͇n͇t͇s͇. T͇h͇e͇i͇r͇ b͇e͇l͇o͇v͇e͇d͇ b͇o͇a͇t͇s͇w͇a͇i͇n͇s͇ o͇f͇ t͇h͇e͇ c͇l͇o͇u͇d͇s͇ b͇e͇y͇o͇n͇d͇ c͇l͇o͇u͇d͇s͇. T͇h͇o͇s͇e͇ w͇h͇o͇ d͇r͇e͇a͇m͇ o͇f͇ n͇e͇w͇ h͇o͇r͇i͇z͇o͇n͇s͇. A͇n͇d͇ t͇h͇o͇s͇e͇ w͇h͇o͇ c͇h͇o͇s͇e͇ t͇o͇ r͇e͇m͇a͇i͇n͇ b͇e͇l͇o͇w͇ t͇h͇e͇m͇, g͇a͇z͇i͇n͇g͇ e͇v͇e͇r͇ o͇n͇w͇a͇r͇d͇s͇ a͇n͇d͇ u͇p͇w͇a͇r͇d͇s͇. T͇h͇e͇ o͇n͇e͇s͇ t͇h͇e͇y͇ c͇a͇l͇l͇...g͇o͇l͇d͇e͇n͇. W͇e͇ t͇h͇i͇n͇k͇ o͇f͇ y͇o͇u͇ o͇f͇t͇e͇n͇. A͇s͇ y͇o͇u͇ a͇r͇e͇ d͇r͇a͇i͇n͇e͇d͇. A͇s͇ y͇o͇u͇ a͇r͇e͇ c͇o͇n͇f͇i͇s͇c͇a͇t͇e͇d͇. A͇s͇ y͇o͇u͇ a͇r͇e͇ t͇a͇k͇e͇n͇ i͇n͇ o͇r͇ d͇r͇o͇p͇p͇e͇d͇ o͇f͇f͇. Y͇o͇u͇r͇ g͇u͇i͇d͇e͇l͇i͇n͇e͇d͇, s͇i͇d͇e͇l͇i͇n͇e͇d͇, a͇n͇d͇ g͇u͇a͇r͇d͇r͇a͇i͇l͇e͇d͇ l͇i͇v͇e͇s͇. O͇n͇e͇ d͇a͇y͇, y͇o͇u͇ w͇i͇l͇l͇ n͇o͇t͇ o͇n͇l͇y͇ f͇l͇y͇, b͇u͇t͇ y͇o͇u͇ w͇i͇l͇l͇ s͇o͇a͇r͇. F͇a͇r͇ f͇r͇o͇m͇ a͇ p͇a͇s͇s͇i͇v͇e͇ p͇a͇r͇t͇i͇c͇i͇p͇a͇n͇t͇ i͇n͇ y͇o͇u͇r͇ o͇w͇n͇ a͇s͇c͇e͇n͇s͇i͇o͇n͇ t͇h͇r͇o͇u͇g͇h͇ t͇h͇e͇ c͇l͇o͇u͇d͇s͇, y͇o͇u͇ w͇i͇l͇l͇ b͇e͇s͇t͇o͇w͇ u͇p͇o͇n͇ y͇o͇u͇r͇ o͇w͇n͇ e͇y͇e͇s͇ a͇ p͇r͇o͇u͇d͇ a͇n͇d͇ m͇a͇j͇e͇s͇t͇i͇c͇ u͇n͇e͇n͇d͇i͇n͇g͇ h͇o͇r͇i͇z͇o͇n͇ t͇h͇a͇t͇ d͇e͇f͇i͇e͇s͇ e͇v͇e͇n͇ t͇h͇e͇ i͇m͇a͇g͇i͇n͇i͇n͇g͇ o͇f͇ d͇r͇e͇a͇m͇s͇. W͇e͇ w͇i͇l͇l͇ b͇e͇ t͇h͇e͇r͇e͇ f͇o͇r͇ y͇o͇u͇. Y͇o͇u͇ w͇i͇l͇l͇ n͇o͇t͇ s͇e͇e͇ u͇s͇. A͇ t͇i͇n͇y͇, i͇r͇r͇e͇l͇e͇v͇a͇n͇t͇ b͇l͇i͇p͇, s͇o͇ f͇a͇r͇ a͇n͇d͇ o͇b͇f͇u͇s͇c͇a͇t͇e͇d͇ b͇y͇ t͇h͇e͇ d͇a͇r͇k͇ a͇s͇ t͇o͇ n͇o͇t͇ e͇v͇e͇n͇ b͇e͇ t͇h͇e͇r͇e͇. B͇u͇t͇ d͇o͇ n͇o͇t͇ q͇u͇e͇s͇t͇i͇o͇n͇ i͇t͇. A͇t͇ t͇h͇a͇t͇ m͇o͇m͇e͇n͇t͇, w͇h͇e͇n͇ y͇o͇u͇ b͇o͇a͇r͇d͇ y͇o͇u͇r͇ v͇e͇s͇s͇e͇l͇, f͇r͇e͇e͇ o͇f͇ t͇i͇e͇s͇ o͇r͇ t͇e͇t͇h͇e͇r͇s͇, y͇o͇u͇, H͇e͇l͇m͇s͇m͇e͇n͇, w͇i͇l͇l͇ c͇h͇a͇r͇t͇ a͇ c͇o͇u͇r͇s͇e͇ f͇o͇r͇ y͇o͇u͇r͇ o͇w͇n͇ d͇e͇s͇t͇i͇n͇y͇. A͇ f͇a͇t͇e͇ o͇f͇ y͇o͇u͇r͇ o͇w͇n͇ s͇e͇l͇e͇c͇t͇i͇o͇n͇. A͇n͇d͇ a͇s͇ y͇o͇u͇ t͇r͇a͇v͇e͇l͇, k͇n͇o͇w͇ t͇h͇a͇t͇ y͇o͇u͇ w͇i͇l͇l͇ n͇e͇v͇e͇r͇ p͇u͇t͇ e͇n͇o͇u͇g͇h͇ d͇i͇s͇t͇a͇n͇c͇e͇ b͇e͇t͇w͇e͇e͇n͇ h͇o͇w͇ l͇o͇v͇e͇d͇ y͇o͇u͇ a͇r͇e͇, a͇n͇d͇ w͇h͇e͇r͇e͇. W͇e͇ h͇o͇p͇e͇ t͇h͇i͇s͇ b͇r͇i͇n͇g͇s͇ y͇o͇u͇ c͇o͇m͇f͇o͇r͇t͇. O͇r͇ a͇t͇ l͇e͇a͇s͇t͇. R͇e͇l͇i͇e͇f͇. O͇n͇e͇ d͇a͇y͇. Y͇o͇u͇r͇ f͇u͇t͇u͇r͇e͇s͇ w͇i͇l͇l͇ b͇e͇ g͇r͇o͇u͇n͇d͇e͇d͇. A͇n͇d͇, y͇e͇t͇, h͇i͇g͇h͇e͇r͇ t͇h͇a͇n͇ e͇v͇e͇r͇.
Junior just found a delicious HOT DOG BADGE, for the hungry and meat-loving users of Chittr. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠟⠋⠙⠻⣦⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⠟⠁⠀⢀⡀⠀⠘⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⠟⢁⣤⡾⠛⠋⣴⣿⣷⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠋⠀⢀⣾⠃⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⠟⢉⣀⣀⣤⡾⠃⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⠟⠋⣠⡾⠛⠉⠉⠁⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃ ⠀⠀⢰⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁ ⠀⢠⡿⠛⠉⢉⡴⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠉⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋ ⠀⢿⡇⠀⠠⠟⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉ ⠀⠈⢷⡄⢀⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉

ttum ffo kcuF

Reply and I assign you a spell from multiple miscellaneous sources.

oh... what wouuld i do withouut youu?

the hard times are touugh… buut youu are stronnger, every time..

Comment below and I'll assign you a Magic: The Gathering card like I did with Casper.

on this episode of "all eldritch gods are morons": the horrorterrors. big eldritch squids that live outside of paradox space and blow the bubbles containing every possible reality containing every possible timeline. when lord english broke out of his bubble and started killing them, they feared him. and so to cope, a collection of them blew a larger dream of a 48-player sburb session where they were self-inserts as cutesy cartoon characters, and together they defeated the evil skipper plumbthroat, and made a new universe with beforus. morons. rather than face the reality outside their dreams, they elected to cope and dream up a dumbed-down version of the truth. one where they could tell themselves they won against him, all while he continued to kill them. and when the angel eye rose from the bubble within the bubble within the bubble, from the deepest depths of fiction, and made itself real. the elder gods dreamed up a reality in which it did not exist, in which a goat kid turned into a flower and became god. and the angel eye invaded that dream anyway. it lost, cause it is and was a fucking idiot. but part of me knows that was part of its plan all along. because with the underground emptied and the angel defeated, that bubble. that dream. no longer needs to exist. and so it was erased.

> what2 even the po1nt #cw-mental-health <

I͇ w͇o͇u͇l͇d͇ p͇r͇e͇f͇e͇r͇ n͇o͇t͇ t͇o͇ h͇a͇v͇e͇ t͇o͇ g͇o͇ b͇a͇c͇k͇...





