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deep-dark-fears · 22 hours

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Little nipper. A fear submitted by Emma to Deep Dark Fears - thanks!

You can find original and commissioned art in my Deep Dark Fears shop!

#comics #fears #watercolor #sketch #sketchbook #art #illustration #meat #dogs #food #death #cute puppies

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charlesoberonn · 3 days

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When you were young, your mother used to read you an old fairytale every night before bed.

It was a sad story, about lovers who walked through hell to reunite with one another and almost succeeded, only to be separated again forever in the last moment. It made you cry, and the next night you would beg your mom to read it again.

"You know it'll be sad, right?"

"This time they'll win, mom! This time they'll have a happy ending!"

But they didn't. Nor did they win in the next night, or the night after that.

Deep down, logically, you knew it'll always end the same way. The story is done. It's been told long before you were born. But when mom was telling it, you could pretend that maybe this time it'll work out. This time will be different.

When you grew older you didn't stop pretending, even though you knew it was silly and getting sillier. When you learned to read and write, one of the first things you wrote was a new ending. It was bad, about you as an all-powerful angel coming down to help the lovers reunite and then you get invited to their wedding.

"It's not real, it's fanfic." a friend told you when you showed them. They explained the word, and you saw what they meant. But you didn't care, seeing the words on the page helped you pretend.

You read voraciously as you grew. All kinds of stories with all kinds of ending. But you kept coming back to that one. Reading from your mom's old copy which her read to her from.

You didn't need mom to read to you anymore, but sometimes you asked her to anyway. Occasionally she'd do it, but more often than not she was tired.

Soon she stopped reading. Then she stopped speaking altogether, her voice too weak and throat too sick to speak aloud. That's when you started reading the story to her.

It was hard at first, your tears choking you up. It was hard pretending that the story will end differently.

"The diagnoses are just estimates, probabilities." your dad said. And when he spoke, you could pretend there was a chance. But when the doctors spoke, their words felt as final and unchanging as the old words in the storybook.

Eventually, mom was no more. Your dad read something personal and touching in her funeral. Everyone thought you would, too. Everyone knew how much you loved writing since you were little.

You thought you would write too, imagined it in your mind as your mother's end drew near. You had so much to say, but the words wouldn't come out. The only words that would come to you were from the story. You tried to bat them away, but you knew you couldn't. You couldn't change this ending.

When it came your time to eulogize, you pulled out the book and without preamble started reading from the second-to-last page. This time there was no pretending.

Everyone knew the story, even the people who didn't know mom personally. Everyone knew it will end in tragedy. The lovers will not get a happy ending.

Except this time they did.

You didn't notice the change until you were halfway through the final page, so out of it you were. But the reactions from the mourning crowd clued you in. Your stoic dad choking down a chuckle.

You looked closely at the book and saw the words were written in your mom's neat handwriting.

You kept on reading, a smile on your face.

It wasn't the real ending. It was fanfic.

But just for a little while, seeing the words on the page helped you pretend a little longer.

#writing #flash fiction #microfiction #death #writing about writing #writblr #charles writes #long post #short story #sad

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cemeterything · 3 days

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Would you be interested in speaking more on (your) necromania? I don't want to say it resonates with me, but I have also been deeply fascinated with the eroticism with and surrounding death for a long time...

you can call it whatever honestly, the fact remains that a lot of people would call me a necrophile because they find it repulsive regardless of the specifics of my fascination with death. but i guess it's like. i've always chafed against the idea that some things are off-limits "just because". if i'm told that something is dangerous, or forbidden, or taboo, then my kneejerk reaction is "but why?" and if i can't get a satisfying explanation (or sometimes even if i can) then i feel the need to explore it myself in order to find the answers i seek. there's a thrill to discovering where my limitations lie; what i'm capable of, and, if i find myself incapable and unwilling to cross a certain line, in understanding why i'm not, and gaining a greater understanding of myself in the process. and death is this thing that is not only widely considered taboo, but which eludes those answers altogether by being this inherently unknowable experience. i've found that i really enjoy just pressing myself against the glass and examining my reflection in its opaque surface. in encouraging myself to push through any shuddering disgust that my body might throw up in my way in order to find the intricate beauty and exquisite grotesqueness, and, yes, eroticism, amongst something that doesn't easily give up its secrets.

#death

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milksockets · 2 days

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early christian martyrs from the roman catacombs in memento mori: the dead among us - paul koudounaris (2015)

#my scan #death

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morbidology · 2 days

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Nokhur Cemetery is located in the isolated village of Nokhur, Turkmenistan. The majority of the gravestones are adorned with the horns of a mountain goat. It is believed that they ward off evil spirits and guide the soul of the deceased into heaven.

#cemetery #death #morbid #grave

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ex0skeletal-undead · 2 days

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The Witch’s Path, commission by CinnamonDevil

This artist’s Ko-fi/Shop

#art #illustration #dark art #horror #fantasy #macabre #occult #mermaid #witch #death

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crippled-peeper · 24 hours

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having your family members or ancestors bones stored at a museum or university to be gawked at by (mostly white) anthropologists for centuries and not even being given the OPTION to lay them to rest or give them dignity is perhaps the complete opposite of the CONSENSUAL and VOLUNTARY process of donating your body to science - to be a cadaver for medical students or to be studied for your medical conditions because that’s what you wanted to happen to your body.

I wish universities and their deans would gain 1 single shred of humility and sympathy and stop holding onto the body parts of marginalized and indigenous people at their schools against families wishes and calling it “science”

#dead people are still people an their families deserve the dignity of putting them in their final resting place wherever that may be #every time I hear about another Californian university hoarding body parts I become more insane and more radicalized #racism #death #abuse

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powerupcomicstonight · 3 days

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