#Understanding Gender as Body horror

[literallys-illiteracy]

Exploration of Psychological Horror, Body Horror, "bad" horror and Trans/queer horror

“ The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”

- H.P Lovecraft; Supernatural Horror in Literature (1927)

Throughout my life I have held a self contradictory fascination with horror media, A love to dissect the visceral feelings of repulsion that a story may invoke, whilst always being, quite frankly, terrified of the stories that I would see.

This interest has carried over into the modern day, although over time I have gained a tolerance, and have become somewhat of an elitist (not intentionally) with what I view as “Good” horror media, which is in part what inspired me to write this little essay about how and why horror functions, as an exploration, a love letter to the genre, and a dissection of why I believe some horror media fails to function.

I say short but I haven’t the slightest clue how long this is going to turn out to be, I’m not taking that out if it becomes long however.

Part 0: Horror classifications

Horror is an interesting genre to define. Like almost any genre it has its own major categories, each with its own demands and intentions.

One wouldn’t compare an orchestral score to a rock band, and the same concept applies to different genres of horror; similar to an orchestra and rock band however, all horror media shares an integral constant, which will act as the basepoint for what we can define as horror media, the instillation of dread, fear, or stress within the audience.

In terms of horror classifications there are many that people are likely to have heard of--Supernatural horror, body horror, mascot horror, existential horror.

There are three divisions that I choose to use when discussing the nature of horror, 'Psychological horror', the horror of the unseen; 'Revealed horror', or the horror of the seen; and 'disgusting horror', or horror that feeds off of disgust and aversion.

These three classifications are descendant from Stephen King’s description of “terrifying”, “Horrifying” and “disgusting” the reader through differing means:

I recognize terror as the finest emotion and so I will try to terrorize the reader. But if I find that I cannot terrify, I will try to horrify, and if I find that I cannot horrify, I'll go for the gross-out.

-- Stephen King; Danse Macabre (1981)

The first that was mentioned, listed above as 'Terror', is the most "prime" sense of distress, which makes up the largest portion of Psychological Horror.

‘Psychological Horror’, is horror focused on emotional states, repulsion, stress, suspense, and a lingering abjection within the audience. In essence, psychological horror is heavily reliant on the lingering sense of terror, rather than the immediate reveal to horrify the reader, the moments that build towards a climax, the terror which constructs the groundwork from which horror can be achieved.

The terror, the suspense, while an aspect important in any and all horror, is the primary focus, and most important aspect of psychological horror, alongside the patient wait for the reveal that may never come, the unknown, or the unknowable.

Fellow (and, quite frankly, better) essayist Connor McGrath put it succinctly when discussing what he referred to as “Schrodinger’s horror”, analogous to this concept of 'unseen horror' or 'terror': 

“Show, don’t tell. [...] Imply, don’t show”.

Elaborating on this "Schrodinger's Horror" I will be using examples from both The Magnus Archives and one lifted from McGrath's video on Quiet Horror. First, however, we have to discuss the second category of horror media that I chose to use.

"Revealed Horror"

Revealed horror in essence captures all horror that the former category does not; The times when the the nature of the horror is revealed (and properly understood) to the audience fall into this category, whilst any horror that intentionally obscures, or is fundamentally foreign, or “eldritch” as is oft said, is more aligned with that of the former category. Note that these labels are not genres. Almost all horror media incorporates all three "types", it all depends on how much of each type is used.

Media that focuses primarily on revealed horror is not fundamentally poor in any way. Though not my personal taste, there is nothing inherently wrong with a jumpscare, especially one that has been well built towards by the atmosphere. My prime example for this is Signalis, as I have not played many games with jumpscares to begin with.

In chapter one of Signalis it is eerily quiet. We are introduced to this location, or rather we aren't, after first interacting with The King in Yellow book, and receiving a message. The facility itself is empty. Not so much ruined as simply abandoned. Corpses and disparately scattered across the floor, rendered just noticeably differently to the surroundings by the VHS effect. You pass by the body to a save room. To a classroom. To the library. By the time you return to the security room you have passed this corpse numerous times by now, all with no reaction. When you acquire your first weapon however, the body jumps up, screaming during its approach towards you.

But that’s not all, it is. The suspense of the game does not end in the instants after this engagement.

The corpse falls over once again, returning to its same, static ridden, collapsed position, and one cannot help but wonder if this time it is truly dead.

Signalis, at various points, incorporates elements of all three horror types throughout its gameplay; Once the enemy falls back over, the suspense continues throughout the game, but even more. Now you have proof, while it was simply suspicion beforehand, the game has confirmed for you that these “corpses” act as a static and ever present threat to you.

If we contrast this with a game that is in large focused entirely on this aspect of jumpscares, we may as well do so with the most popular, the Five Nights at Freddy’s series.

These games are known almost entirely for their jumpscare horror, and in that regard they achieve their goal, however I personally believe that there is a fundamental difference between Signalis and FNAF’s horror in execution, which simply contributes to Signalis’ horror being in large part better: Within the FNAF series, the Jumpscare marks the conclusion of that day, each acting as the signifier of your characters death and the players restart.

The FNAF series’ gameplay loop acts as a microcosm of how Jumpscare horror can be executed within a greater whole, yet as it currently is, beyond an instinctual panic borne from the noise and sudden appearance, the jumpscares will also mark a point at which the player can stop worrying, at which they no longer have to await the monster’s attack, the end of the player’s stress.

Now that we understand the separation between these two, let us return to the examples of “Quiet horror” from before, and elucidate what makes this form of horror “work”, especially in comparison to revealed horror.

And now that we have finished this, I will now plagiarise from Connor McGrath

Imagine that you were told “The most terrifying thing in the world is right around the corner”.

"Around the corner":

I am not scared of spiders, dolls, death, clowns, and a whole list of other common phobias or “Biggest fears”, should I turn the corner and see one of those, I would likely think it far from the scariest thing i’ve ever seen, let alone in the world, or the scariest thing that I can imagine.

And that is the key.

The scariest thing I can imagine, the scariest thing you can imagine, and the scariest thing that the narrator can imagine are wayward ideas, created individually by your psyche.

Now, imagine, we never turn the corner.

We are left waiting where we stand, paralysis, induced by an instinctual knowledge that what lays out of vision should never be witnessed, crossed with a neurotic desire to uncover the root of this fear.

The absence of a reveal, the tension, the ‘terror’, slowly boil over within you.

This is what epitomises psychological horror.

To use another similar example, let us see The Magnus Archives, and a poem that they too took inspiration from, Antigonish.

Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, I wish, I wish he'd go away! When I came home last night at three, The man was waiting there for me But when I looked around the hall, I couldn't see him there at all! Go away, go away, don't you come back any more! Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door... Last night I saw upon the stair, A little man who wasn't there He wasn't there again today Oh, how I wish he'd go away....

by Hughes Mearns, inspired by the town of Antigonish, Canada.

The poem itself functions somewhat strangely in this concept of seen and unseen horror, as on the stairs there both is and is not a man upon the stair, as is said in the statement “Upon the Stair”:

“The carpet didn’t bend under the weight of his soft, round body, and I distinctly recall the absence of a creak as his foot pressed on the loose board of the empty fifth step. He laughed, but there was no humour in it, because… then it would have had to break the silence.”

Within the Magnus Archives, and across most genres of horror, exist many examples of insanity, or the "Obfuscation of reality" as a primary pillar of horror.

This statement once again plays into the core idea of the unknown, or more specifically the unknowable, the man that is not there did not make an impression, did not beckon the man who no longer 'is' up the stairs.

This 'unknowable' horror is very downstream from genres inspired and influenced by Lovecraft, the idea of knowledge far beyond what was ever meant to be known, for one's own mind to betray you, to never believe what is not real but which is standing in front of you. The fear that you are insane, or that you are far too sane to ignore what is right in front of you.

‘This person who no longer is’ walked the person who was no longer “his” father up the stairs, who now laid dead in his chair.

The mother, after questioning where her son who no longer is had gone, spoke to the father, they then both left the empty house.

Much like the statement’s giver, there is no distant, forlorn conclusion, no finality or ending to this story, no comfort to be found in the statement, and from this the terror can only grow.

However, that is not to be said that the horror comes only from the insanity, from the redaction of its information, but also from the information that it DOES tell us, from the sheer impossibility of the story, and from the implications that can come from the story in whole.

There will be a more in depth analysis of The Magnus Archives at a later date, however for multiple reasons I will not be discussing the later story in this essay.

The latter example I had mentioned previously was that of the SCP foundation, however not necessarily one of supernatural horror (another common category that people employ), as, in contrast to the Man Upon the Stair, horror may descend from the fact that we understand something too well.

There is a section discussing SCP-8980 that will release following this primary section, which, due to the sensitive nature of the story, is being separated.

Like in the examples, and almost any other "Good" examples of horror, the fear in the SCP foundation comes in two, the information that we are never given, and the information that is; the fear of the unknown, posited before with Lovecraft, and the fear of the known, the "revealed" element from above.

The complete obfuscation of information may cause tension in its own right, however a selective and incomplete set of information may achieve this to a far greater extent.

The SCP foundation in large is an easy example for this lingering fear, alongside being arguably the premiere example for how the redaction of information both should and should not be used in the creation of horror.

For those unaware, the SCP foundation’s stories take the form of unclassified documents and reports regarding anomalous entities, most if not all of which will contain the redaction of various pieces of information, either locations, dates, memetic hazards, or information that the person reading is not privy to.

There is a common joke in and around the community relating to these redactions of information, [Data expunged], [redacted] or having the text blacked out, specifically to their overuse.

Other than making the scp read more akin to a barcode than a foundation report, the primary flaw in the excessive use of these redactions is that there is no substance to support this redaction, no thoughts to ruminate on in place of new information.

In Connor McGrath’s video essay regarding what he called “Quiet Horror”, he makes reference to (another video essayist, Wendigoon, who made a video about) The Mandela Catalogue.

Interesting how many different examples we have for this horror have the same naming convention, “The [Focus/name] [Noun]” , The [Greylock] [Tapes], The [SCP] [Foundation], The [Mandela] [Catalogue].

The video on quiet horror discusses, big surprise, the quiet nature of The Mandela Catalogue.

The Mandela Catalogue may contain the occasional jumpscare or scary face, but in large the most terrifying moments come from their absence, from the complete stillness of a room, from the painful silence; The foreknowledge of this being a horror series, alongside the limited information which the creator chooses to show, leaves these moments of quiet without respite, without rest, your mind on guard for the inevitable movement or sound, whilst the known factors begin to spiral and ferment into their own, personal kinds of fear.

There is an old adage.

“Do not interrupt your opponent when they are making a mistake”.

In this same sense, an author should not interrupt a thought process already tearing at the mind unless it is vital to the larger story; Do not interrupt your reader when they are scaring themselves”.

This rumination, this tension, purposeful redaction of information, and the knowledge that what you see is part of a greater whole is a hallmark sign of horror in large, and when done correctly, like The Mandela Catalogue, allows your audience to create a personal hell, so long as you shant clarify.

This coin has two sides however, and many people think that they ought to use this obfuscation in place of the horror, rather than building off it.

The prime example, as I referred to above, is the idea of a “Barcode” document in SCP, wherein so much information has been redacted that there is not enough context, not enough of a basis built for horror through the atmosphere and slow drops of information, that there is no reason to redact the information.

The example from The Magnus Archives is similar in nature, however I am quite frankly spoiled for choice when it comes to how we may examine this, so because I already have taken heavy inspiration from McGrath’s video, let us expand on his chosen creature, Episode one, The Anglerfish.

Moreover, I want to expand on the known aspect of this stranger, of The Stranger.

"Anglerfish" and "Still Life"

This section will contain very minor spoilers for the third season of The Magnus Archives and a small number of episodes leading up, scroll until another warning in colour shows up to avoid this

“Anglerfish”, the first episode of the show, does not feature anything notably flashy or significant:

You’re walking home at night, you’ve stayed up late, drunk, tired. A voice calls out to you nearby. As you turn to check, in your blurred vision you see the silhouette of a man, standing in the alleyway across from you. “Can I have a cigarette” They sound… normal. You can’t note any accent, or perhaps your mind is simply too hazy. Are they coming home from the party too? They didn’t sound drunk, no, their words were too clear. As you reach for your cigarettes and rub your eyes once more you begin to see this figure more pronounced. Their feet, seemingly just above the ground, as if suspended on a string, their body unmoving, unshaking, not even shifting to breathe. Before you can begin to think again the figure repeats “Can I have a cigarette”. The figure does not move, nor even breathe as they speak once more. An icy, instinctual fear stops you from walking any further. In an attempt to make the figure enter the light, you hold out a cigarette in front of you. ... Once more they repeat. “Can I have a cigarette”. This time you notice it. Every time that it speaks, the tone, its cadence, the spoken phrase, all the same every time. You drop the cigarette and rush for your phone, a flashlight, anything to better see this ‘thing’. In the same instant, as if on queue, the body is drawn back, pulled by an unseen puppeteer returning to the darkness. The speed of this motion makes you freeze, your breathing unsteady and labored, mind slowed. Only after it has gone does this paralysis leave with it.

This is in essence the entire story of the first episode summed up in... 280 words or so, yet, should my attempts to preserve at least some of the horror suffice, you can understand the fear, or at least the intention behind it.

Nothing happens, deaths are implied in the follow up investigation following the statement, however we, much like the figure, are left almost entirely in the dark for this statement.

We, as of this episode, do not know what this being is, what it plans, whether it kills or takes, whether it is painful.

What we do know is the title, The Anglerfish.

You can picture it easily, the lure, a greater creature waiting in shadows for one to take the bait.

“Can I have a Cigarette”.

A dangling lure to instil curiosity, yet cold, distant from its emulation.

Recall the quote from the beginning of this essay, “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown”.

This is the idea I want to epitomise in this section, the unknown, when used correctly, acts as the most potent fear that mankind can experience, on an instinctual level this is one of few fears that we all share.

I have mentioned in the past that I have an obsessive desire for knowledge, not necessarily a love for learning, but a neurotic compulsion to learn whatever I can. I am already decently uncomfortable with not knowing things, especially things that happen before me, that are being seen without understanding.

While the unknown and foreign in whole deeply unsettle me, it is not what troubles me the most, rather, I hold a primal aversion to that which is almost known.

A face in your mind that you cannot picture; a blind spot in your psyche; a name that you should have heard before; a song that you have never heard for the first time; a man who is not upon the stair; a stranger who "have you met before"; A stranger. The stranger.

This is, in The Magnus Archives, the fear of The Stranger.

The “Anglerfish”, as we later find out in season 2, is an extension of this entity, distinctly inhuman in all ways, in all of the ways that you cannot understand, yet in a visceral, instinctual manner.

Again in episode 54, "Still Life" we meet the anglerfish.

I don’t think my horror writing is very good, so unless I have a motivation to or change of heart I won't add another "runthrough" of the statement.

In this statement we once more perceive the Anglerfish, new insights seemingly gleaned into its existence; The Stranger has a strong connection with skin, taxidermy; the "uncanny" imitation of an animal yet lacking all of what makes it alive.

“It spoke, the cadence identical to what I had heard through the wooden door. “We’ve got one down here. Come on, I’ll show you.” It was so flat, almost mechanical. It felt about as much like genuine speech as the wind flowing through a cracked rock sounds like a flute being played. Which is to say they may sound almost identical, but only one of them is made by a living human.”

There is something uniquely terrifying about the uncanny, the ‘almost human’, about imitations.

I can only assume that this is the underlying fear behind mannequins, dolls, or other similar creations. While I personally am not afraid of either, this same instinctive revulsion against these distortions of normalcy, “The uncanny valley” as people call it, is a near universal fear.

Digging deeper, this same fear of uncertainty is the root behind more fears than just the stranger, all rooted in this same aversion towards the unknown. 

Spoiler warning ends here!

More disturbing than the unknown is a distortion of the familiar.

- Magic the Gathering “Fleshmad Steed” Flavor Text

Part 1: Can there be such a thing as “bad” horror?

I mentioned in the beginning that I wanted to discuss aspects of how I believe some horror fails to function, but with everything we discussed, the deeply personal and human nature that horror takes, what can be bad horror?

Even if a piece of media fails to be horrifying from my perspective there is nothing to say that it can’t be to another person; As I mentioned beforehand, I am not scared of things like spiders, dolls or clowns, while many many others in the world are. Even if a game or show featured one of those, and I didn’t find it scary, then it still does not inherently fail the base merits of “Inciting fear, terror or discomfort” as it may for someone else.

Likewise, if a show pictured things that I am viscerally afraid of, namely Fungi, not-knowing (discussed earlier) or being observed (this list excluding mostly pathologic fears/thoughts like social anxiety or NPD, key word mostly), which many people do not share or at least to the same extent as I, would that horror be in any way “Worse” than others which cater to more commonly felt or tangible phobias.

Have you ever been afraid? I’d be a bit confused why you’re ~4000 words into an essay about horror if you hadn’t been.

What about the first time you ever felt fear? Unequivocally: no, you do not remember the true first time. What is the earliest distinct time you can remember being viscerally afraid of something.

For some, it was an experience of being properly alone, away from their parents, lost without their safepost;

Some have said that their earliest recollection was upon seeing certain insects, spiders, or other types of creatures; 

Many it will be the darkness (an interesting case as while often posed as an “instinctual fear”, it typically arises somewhere around two years into development once other fears or experiences have informed the child’s experiences. This being said, most people won’t be able to recall memories clearly from those ages to begin with); 

For me, my earliest and clear memories come from when I was roughly 7.

Keep in mind that my memory is incredibly fractured, I haven’t many clear memories of my childhood in general, so this is at very most the first time that I know what made me afraid.

I woke up, not in my bed, in the one adjacent (two single beds next to each other, the other used to be my brother’s), but remaining covered, the exact same position as I had fallen asleep, roughly 2 metres to the right.

Everything was grey, and still. It wasn’t just quiet, it was silent, the familiar chirps of crickets in the garden, the ones that troubled my attempts to sleep so greatly in the night prior were absent, the fan still running despite the still coldness of the air around me made no noise, the motor and blades both silent.

It was only when my eyes adjusted and I attempted to move did I begin to be properly afraid. Sleep paralysis, something that continues to occur to me since.

But the strangest aspect of this memory is that my fear was mostly borne from what I could see, no hallucinations or dreams, no illusions from a tired mind, but a complete lack of colour, everything around me in greyscale.

To this day, dwelling on that moment I do not know why my temporary loss of colour impacted me so greatly, to be one of the only things I remember from that age, and despite continued sleep paralysis, and more vivid hallucinations (should this greyscale be an odd form of hallucination) as I grew older, I have never had this same experience, and no dream I have seen manifest has ever instilled this instinctual dread as that night.

While I do have my theories and thoughts as to why this night may have impacted me so, however those are far too personal to be discussing; The primary summation is a sense of loss, of mourning for what I thought I would never get back.

This latter example is that of Liminal spaces.

Have you ever been in a completely empty shopping mall? I used to live quite nearby a large Westfield (shopping mall), and I vividly remember once, incredibly early in the morning, that I once entered, though I do not remember the reason.

There's always something unnerving about an empty place, moreover one typically filled with people; parking lots alone are a fine example of this, there is something that is simply incorrect about entering a dead mall. It is both the same and a different kind of intimacy as a decrepit location. I have been in abandoned malls in the past but while legally speaking I was trespassing, I never felt that same sense of intrusion that I felt on that day.

The primary concept that I want to extract from these stories is not the fact that I remember them in particular, but the fact that I was afraid, when nothing actively or instinctually understandable as “frightening” was present in either story.

In the first memory, looking back, the dis-ease came from simply the fact that–though I could not tell exactly what–there was something abjectly different from what I was used to, extremely, almost exactly alike what I expected, no specific detail alarming me at first, and yet the lingering knowledge of something distorted.

The same can be understood from the latter story(s), of the empty and abandoned malls, being desolate, completely void of people.

The second story provides interesting note to another concept, differentiating rubble, abandoned locations, and haunted houses, to the concept of liminal horror–two different kinds of ruins.

While I wish to discuss the concept of Liminal horror as my primary example for those horror media which I believe “miss the point” of the genre–being the specific genre of Liminal Horror–do allow me this small(?) tangent before continuing.

The primary difference to a haunted/abandoned location and that of a liminal space is that of the clear human impact or, as Connor McGrath puts it: “Signs of human failure”. An abandoned house, or any other kind of location, has clear signs of its history, the clear presence of a living presence at some point in time, though often long past–this being the reasoning that the revelation of this activity being ‘not-so-long past’ is frightening–which allows us to recognise this place as somewhere that humans were or have been.

For example, see the two images below:

Both of these photos are taken from the same game, MiSide, which I have played through recently.

Both images are examples of isolation, the complete and utter absence of any people; The bridges are signs of purpose, of human design, interaction, and, now, absence--The bridges are created with intention, paths lead to terminals, descending from the facility, from the factory in which Mitas are made.

The Hallway is endless, halls leading to [halls] leading to [halls] lead to [rooms] lead to [rooms] lead to-

There is a certain intimacy or connection to a location like this, the knowledge that this location much like you has a detailed past before ending in this state, any and all features being simply remnants, a flickering light, a dangling cord, a broken door, shattered glass, scattered belongings.

In ghost stories most notably, there is a strong sense of intrusion, not that people overall should not be in this location, but that you, you individually, are intruding on one’s past life and memories.

Contrast this with the examples of liminal space-horror that may immediately come to mind, all being empty, not necessarily dead.

The first images that likely come to mind are those of long, empty, white-tiled pool rooms, ever pristine, that stretch on and wind into each other; the beige, repeating, endless hallways of an office building (Foreshadowing is a narrative device in which-); A house, familiar and distorted as if you have seen this exact room for the hundredth time in a hazy childhood dream just this second.

Return to the MTG card quote from above: “More disturbing than the unknown is a distortion of the familiar.”. 

In a sentence, this is the primary concept of liminal horror, not only the endlessness, the repeating patterns, nor the seeing scenes for the first time–Rather, liminal horror is descendant from a sense of reminiscence, nostalgia, connection, which is then disfigured with the isolation, alongside the elements mentioned prior.

I have never worked inside an office job, yet when I look at images of those brown walls, carpeted floors and artificial lighting, there still remains a recognition of the location’s familiarity, the architecture being, at least at first glance, something recognisable as human built, however lacking the same history or presence that the likes of the haunted house would have–rather than intrusion, distortion, and isolation.

"I can't tell if it ends at all, it's just houses, more and more of them. And that bird i'm hearing, it just keeps looping over itself, and it sounds like its coming from every direction"

Hymns For The Road; "The Quiet Street"

I stepped outside, looking down the street. There were no lights on in any of the houses, but the identical lampposts bathed the place a sickly orange as far as I could see. I decided that the roads must be the problem. They were what was keeping me trapped in this place At the start, I was counting how many houses I passed but when I got to a hundred I stopped. It was beginning to eat away at my careful rationalizations and I couldn’t have that.

Statement; The Magnus Archives; MAG 150 "Cul-de-sac"

"The Backrooms":

Which brings us to “The Back Rooms” as my example for an idea that slowly became less focused on the true “horror” aspect the original aimed towards, due to oversaturation (and the addition/lore-creep that it creates), alongside the concept of what made the original backrooms “Good” (it’s a 2 paragraph story so I’m unsure to call it “good” in the traditional sense, however in the realm of “short horror” or "two sentence horror stories" it is quite good).

People should be allowed to have their fun in any ways that they want to, and I quite frankly don’t really care (plus I don’t think there's too much overlap in the sort of “Expanded-backrooms” community and my target audience), however that being said, some examples of the sort of “expanded lore” so to speak will be used as examples of what I named “lorecreep” and how it works against the original concept.

Note that I will not be talking about any specific incarnation of the lore(s) that surround it, and I do actually quite enjoy renditions such as the Kane Pixels’ series, albeit for other reasons than the original.

Also “The [Back] [Rooms]” does still fit the naming convention I think.

So, right at the forefront of this section, I want to address the idea that having monsters or “entities” in the Back Rooms is against the original concept. It isn’t. Allow us to look at the original paragraph:

If you’re not careful and you no-clip out of reality in the wrong areas, you’ll end up in the Backrooms, where it’s nothing but the stink of old moist carpet, the madness of mono-yellow, the endless background noise of fluorescent lights at maximum hum-buzz, and approximately six hundred million square miles of randomly segmented empty rooms to be trapped in.

"Segmented EMPTY rooms-"... so fairly clear cut from what it seems, but there is a remaining sentence:

God save you if you hear something wandering around nearby, because it sure as hell has heard you.

Alright so we’ve both now read the original for context, and we’ve addressed the point of entities for the time being, however they may return (may as in I don’t know).

So, where do my problems with the Back Rooms begin? 

People.

The Backrooms, in my view, function purely off of their isolation, the endless hallways and electrical hums work in tandem to create the atmosphere, however neither function in full without the context of you being alone, in the complete absence of humans, or even any signs of humanity, the knowledge that you are not only dead, but alone.

Humans are inherently social creatures. Extended periods of social isolation are draining, even to those who choose to keep to themselves most of the time; The simple presence of another person, the knowledge that you are not alone, can soothe this.

You cannot picture eternity. This time it is not a question. You cannot; No matter how long one imagines, eternity is fundamentally beyond that estimation.

Eternity is an abstract fear, as is insanity, which often pairs in tandem, and as such it cannot be pictured as easily, nor as universally across different audiences.

Time is another topic that I wish to discuss at a later point, but this acts to describe what I found so appealing in these images of isolation: Being alone is typically temporary, and is an emotion familiar to not only myself but to almost everyone in the world, yet it is strictly that, temporary. 

The concept of an eternal isolation, not just separated from interaction but from the mere presence of humans in whole, is the most appealing concept from the Back Rooms to me (“appealing”).

This concept is, from my somewhat limited searching, best described through the “level 1000/0” on the Back Rooms wiki, in which has a quote perfectly summating my mentioned idea of “lorecreep”:

The mono-yellow halls used to echo with confusion.But the confusion has gone, leaving nothing but resignation.

This same concept applies to almost any media that begins in vagueness. Time passes, concepts grow from what mysteries were laid out before them, eventually new ones start to grow.

But these mysteries need not be answered.

As more information is gained, more lore is formed, as new realities begin to emerge, the human instinct to build a story emerges, and in a way that is a wonderful thing to see.

I am so very happy that the internet exists, that we live in a time and world where such a thriving community can be spawned from a two sentence horror story, I really am. So many realities exist descendant from the central idea of the backrooms, including my own viewpoints on it’s existence, formed simply over time from the base concept, and with all of these stories come answers, answers to the existence of the backrooms, to what lays within, to the people that have past through these halls and to the floors they found themselves within, but once the confusion fades, the curiosity is satiated, there is no longer any appeal.

This is my main problem with the existence(s) of the Backrooms, the human presence, not only those writing the story, but those within the world, those who have passed through the backrooms.

Naturally, I would be afraid of a creature sprinting at me in these infinite hallways, but the documentation, the foreknowledge of its potential existence changes this fear into that of purely survival; There is hardly a difference in my eyes to a "documented" creature from this place chasing me and being chased through a forest by a natural creature.

The existence of exits, or of entrances at all; of organisations and settlements that explore these halls; of humanity–These are the ideas that I dislike from the backrooms, there is little room left for ambiguity, for one's own paranoia to take hold, for this location to be left wholly foreign.

The pile of flesh within it grew larger and larger, sat there in an awful, half-solid slurry, chewed and crushed together. It was impossible to tell what had once been animal, and what might have once been us. It was all just meat.

Statement; The Magnus Archives MAG 130

Part 0.5: Horror classifications, a return:

We discussed the two elements of "Terror" and "Horror" in the previous section of "Classifications", but if you remember, there was at least one more undiscussed.

I recognize terror as the finest emotion and so I will try to terrorize the reader. But if I find that I cannot terrify, I will try to horrify, and if I find that I cannot horrify, I'll go for the gross-out.

-- Stephen King; Danse Macabre

The gross-out, the repulsive actions and events that may take place. Terror is the suspense, horror is the reveal, and the "gross-out" is the gore, the aftermath.

The three core levels of any horror media, the authors attempts to terrify, to horrify, and to mortify the audience.

These are the only truly functional borders that I can define for horror as fear is a unique experience for each person, different bodies, different minds, different fears, different impulses. That being said, these three concepts are not at all "Genres" of horror, which will be discussed if not here, at some point in the future; Like mentioned before, Signalis incorporates all three elements into its identity, the tension and suspense of the atmosphere, the adrenal fear of the enemies, both mentioned before, alongside the meaty bits, the "Flesh beneath", the fleshy organic masses that are spread across the game, all playing off this third pillar.

It is not to be said that this third pillar of horror is strictly literal in its nature of "grossness" or repulsion. While there is the obvious example of body horror, gross perversions of flesh and meat, the instinctual reaction that most have to blood of viscera, there is also the example of something that is "Morally repulsive".

This can be understood peripherally with things such as common trigger warnings in media, while some are regarding the physical elements, blood, gore, body horror, nudity, others are more thematic: manipulation, insanity, depression, instability--While still things that one may find repulsive, they take on a less tangible nature, being a personal experience and understanding.

Similarly, this "reprehensibility" can come from displaying things that most people are, understandably, uncomfortable with; The prime examples of how moral reprehensibility is used in horror is in the deaths of children (which many series refuse to include for this reason), or the presence of sexually implicit or explicit material.

Part 1.5: "Bad" horror:

Urbanspook:

I think that in terms of shocking, reactionary, or "mortifying" horror, this is the obvious choice on how exactly not to do it.

I never wanted to go too far in depth regarding this series in the first place because you can't lead a dead horse to water, and beating it won't help; There are painfully more detailed criticisms and I feel that there's no way to discuss this in any new, non derivative manner

The two most painful aspects of Urbanspook in my opinion are both those relating to our first pillar, "Terrify", regarding their suspense.

0:20 into the first episode we are greeted with this. Actually one of the problems goes earlier than that but still.

Carla Grey, to the audience, is simply a name on a screen. Carla Grey is not a character who was murdered, not someone who existed outside of this singular mention, not a real "person" with any meaningful importance to the audience.

Horror is an audiovisual medium; Horror films are, typically, framed differently to purely audio or text, as we are witnessing the acts happen to someone, we are an outside party who is witnessing the fates of these characters. If I may, there is an example from The Magnus Archives which summarises why Urbanspook's immediate rush to 'mortify' fails as such:

Episode #100. "I guess you had to be there": This episode is a collection of statements taken live in the archive by the assistants, the first of which is as follows.

Well, yeah, I did. I saw a ghost. [...] Yeah. The story is: I saw a ghost. [...] Erm… it was… scary and it made me feel… scared. I’m sorry. Am I doing this wrong?

-- The Magnus Archives; MAG 100

The statement goes on for a short period longer before ending.

Before I continue to my point, I want to note that, despite both being presented in a "reported" style, Urbanspook and The Magnus Archives are different kinds of horror (in the sense that one is audio and the other audiovisual) meaning that it is not a perfect comparison.

In the usual style of The Magnus Archives, we get to know the characters telling the statement, in part from Jon's entranced reading of the statements, but mainly from the statement givers' preambling about themselves and what led up to this experience.

To use episodes that we have already discussed in this project:

"Anglerfish" contains no mention of anything related to the supernatural for the first 3 minutes of the roughly 9 minute statement; the entire first third of the actual story is reserved entirely for establishing character, connecting us, the listener in an almost conversational, casual tone as if speaking this story directly to us.

This same idea is found in "Upon the stair", which begins to concern the supernatural at around 3-4 minutes into the 12 minute statement; and in "Still Life", where the first "abnormal" description is 5 minutes in, and the first outwardly paranormal event happens (either 10 or 12 minutes depending on what you count) into a 14 minute statement.

You can understand the idea right? All of these episodes spend a decent portion of time to establish the characters as more than simply names on a screen; even if you don't remember the characters name after the episode, even if you forget it during the statement itself you can understand the statement giver as a character.

Return now, to Urbanspook's opening. This is 20 seconds into the first episode of the entire show.

"Clara Grey" only exists for the next 20 seconds, before it rinses, repeats and recycles the exact same concept twice more, after showing a "Spooky face".

"[number] victim's name is [who cares], they were killed in a slow/sexual/painful manner, this is their painting: "

This is the entire premise from my understanding. This is also a minor nitpick but honestly Urbanspook reads(?) more like something that an edgy teen made thinking it was funny, rather than scary; eg. the second victim was "Stabbed 27 times in the perineum (Taint)".

This is the exact concept that was brought up before, gratuitous violence being used as the core premise of horror; Most horror shows needn't rely on sexual violence or child-death in order to create horror because said shows understand that there needs to be more substance than the simple events being described.

And the second problem

There is a (slightly grainy) stock "spooky" music droning during the entirety of the episode. I like to play music in the background almost all the time, when i'm making something, when i'm playing a game, or when i'm trying to sleep. I make specific attempt to not play music when reading or consuming horror, which should rightfully demand my attention.

Let's once again return to the concept of obfuscation, of paranoia, of being inside your own head: let us return to McGrath's "The Corner".

In lieu of any other stimulus, and out of intrigue from whatever story is being told, your brain will naturally begin to speculate on or revisit different details of the medium. Note that I said without any other stimulus. This includes, most notably, sound. This is not to say that you need absolute silence to create tension, I'm incapable of being in complete silence (Tinnitus) and this concept still applies.

This is why audio and text based horror media are, in my opinion, "better" horror than visual, in large due to the fact that you are physically incapable of seeing the events. You can speculate to how something looked, to small details, to the motives, methods, and means that go unseen more freely when you no longer need eyes to see.

In my eyes, Urbanspook is undoubtedly bad for its complete reliance on sexual or violent acts, being simply shock horror with no substance to hold the tension or dread that it (attempts to) invokes.

From this we can gather the fact that "Cheap" or "edgy" horror and violence make for bad horror writing. Much like the edge of a blade, there is a sharp plateau followed by immediate fall in tension; as mentioned earlier, terror is the 'prime' of horror stories, and horror/disgust should be used in assistance to it.

"Each thing we love takes a little piece of us whether we give it willingly or not. By the time we find the person we were meant to be with, we’re a honeycombed shell of what we once were. Each person we love turns us into the strange thing we become."

-- Eric LaRocca; The Trees grew because I bled there: Collected stories

This Skin was Once Mine:

“This Skin Was Once Mine” is the first story in its namesake collection “This Skin Was Once Mine and Other Disturbances”. This section is about the first, namesake story, rather than the collection as a whole.

Note: this section contains minor references to childhood trauma and abuse; And Self Harm. To avoid this please continue to “Blink, Flesh and Stone”.

This story is not bad horror. This story did indeed horrify me reading it. I feel that there is a sort of commendation to be made for stories that are horrifying to an extent that I feel unsure whether to praise it in as high regard, especially after it has kept returning to my mind weeks after reading it.

I have my problems with this story, most notably the pacing and length, but that is not the point of discussion for today. Instead I want to talk about how this story contrasts to Urbanspook, both being stories that present abuse and trauma to raise tension, but which handle the surrounding atmosphere drastically differently.

This Skin Was Once Mine is a (collection of) story about the nature of human relationships and suffering, “Specifically the ways in which we inherently harm one another and the obsessions we nurture to prevent further suffering” (Eric LaRocca, Author). 

The biggest divergence between these two pieces of media, other than the fact that one is well written, is the fact that This Skin focuses on the pain and trauma of our main characters; the cycle of abuse that is perpetuated through harm, the self loathing of a one sided memory, and the little distorted perceptions of love that form over time.

Though not all clear from the very beginning, this book’s depiction of abuse is immediately more poignant through its opening line:

“The worst thing another person can do after they’ve hurt you is let you live. That’s how you truly and unmistakably destroy another human being.”

From this chapter and the next, all we know is of Jillian’s self loathing, our very first time meeting her marked by the inability to claim that others like her:

“‘People like me,’ the woman says. I can’t help but laugh at myself. The muscles in my throat flex as I swallow hard. The words–too difficult for me to repeat. ‘People like…’ But I cannot finish the sentence”

Followed by a depiction of self harm as a coping mechanism:

“I hold one of the wooden needles I’ve fashioned from the model airplane set and I guide the tip between a pinch of skin across my wrist. ‘Very good.’ the woman says as I stab myself”

Almost this entire story works to build tension. Jillian is clearly deeply unwell–as she is the narrator of this story, we not only see her distorted visions of the past in future chapters, but also see the thought processes behind her suffering. 

Though there is much said throughout the book, the most important information is that which Jillian has repressed, the information which she never wants to know about her own past, alongside the information that perpetuates her, and her family’s, suffering. 

From the 6th entry (or chapter. Sections are marked with dates akin to a diary) we can already gather the nature of Jillian’s past, especially that which she is unaware of herself.

“I notice my father’s hands disappear below his waist as if he were to adjust his belt. He rakes his head back and closes his eyes, exhaling.  [...] I crank the music box again and it plays gently. My father returns me with a smile, his unseen hands still moving below his waist.  His lips gently part, another word to be flicked from the fork of his tongue. [...] his reflection in the mirror begins to ripple like the surface of a lake. A diamond headed snake curls about his neck, rearing its head and violently hissing at me”

Throughout the book there are constant callbacks to the concept of a snake, especially alongside Jillian, who is called “Little Jay”, as in the bird, by her parents. 

The most important part about the prior section however is this: There is little that is told. We see things from the distorted memory of Jay as a child. Should the book have outright made a declaration “Jay was assaulted by her father as a child”, even though a horrifying prospect, the tension of the entire story is lost. This kind of horror, one of deeply human prospects, the cycles of abuse and perpetuation of trauma; horror that takes an unreliable narrator, one who is clearly disturbed, resting on a facade of repressed memories is akin to mystery books, or those of the crime fiction genre.

This story is, in terms of its depiction(s) of trauma, one of the best I have read in recent years. Then however comes the section wherein we get a “reveal”—We do not get any reveal of Jillian’s past in this story. We never learn what Jillian does not know herself—which I feel would have been much better should the story have been longer. 

For the sake of anyone who has not read the story, I will not go too in depth on the remainder of the story. Though I do not think that it was as good as it could have been, it was still an extremely disturbing story. This story ends on page 99 (at least in my copy). The ‘reveal’ or ‘shock’ occurs on page 74.

The reason I dislike the full execution of this story is due to the tonal shift during the final sections, moving from a disturbingly realistic depiction of trauma to a story which, whilst still a depiction of perpetuated abuse, takes several rash turns and skips over what I feel should have been explored concepts (such as the gradual uncovering of Jillian’s trauma).

While this story is undoubtedly horrifying. The final chapters, through their aforementioned failings, continue to resonate with and disturb me deeply.

Despite the depictions of similar monstrosities as other, worse, horror, the depictions and intentions alone make this more horrifying than something along the lines of Urbanspook. 

We are allowed to understand the suffering, experience it from their own perspective, the perspective of both the sufferer and the one who perpetuates the suffering. Both of which, in the end, are the same person.

“But then I remember that the worst thing a person can do to you after they’ve hurt you is let you live. That’s how you truly and unmistakably destroy another human being. I can tell for certain that’s what she wants. That’s what she’s been waiting for and that’s what I deserve, after all. She’s going to let me live”

-- Eric LaRocca: This Skin Was Once Mine

The Magnus Archives:

And here we return to the same discussion as long before, what constitutes "bad horror" other than not being scary. And that sentiment; Not being scary to you?; Not being scary to me?; Not being scary to other people?; where do we get to draw the line as to "good horror" and what makes our thoughts on it more valid than anyone else's?

Like I mentioned before, I am not scared of most "almost human" objects/creatures such as mannequins, dolls, clowns or the french, but there are many many people out there who are.

Turning this the other way around, i'm sure that most people are not afraid of fungi/mushrooms, when that is one of my biggest fears.

Do we draw a line simply at Terrify and Horrify, leaving the "Gross out" or "Mortify" as examples of "bad horror"? I cannot say that meat, flesh or blood scares me as someone who has handled blood, and is also about 8% blood by mass, that they don't "scare" me so much as they may be simply 'gross', but we may once again reverse this to my perspective: it isn't as normal to simply be scared of (holding) sharp objects or tools yet is this not also valid fear?

I can say, at the very least, that because of the wide range of fears that The Magnus Archives attempts to play off, there are more than a few episodes which I can say did not scare me--I have spoken to friends who shared this same sentiment, simply regarding different episodes, because, as I have said, fear is a deeply personal experience.

Most notably, as just mentioned, I am not really afraid of fleshy bits or meat, nor any of the body horror, gore or related topics in the podcast.

There are more various episodes which simply didn't scare me for various reasons, of course excluding episodes that are primarily majorly plot advancements; The most notable episode that, is certainly well written, but doesn't invoke any "fear" in me, is "The Man Upstairs":

The premise of the episode, and the main hook, is the idea of rotting meat, most specifically the smell. There is a constant reference to the odor that comes from the apartment upstairs, in fact it is the first mention of the man upstairs within the statement itself:

We locked eyes briefly – at least I assume we did – I couldn’t see his eyes but I felt him looking at me – and I could swear I smelled the weirdest odour. It’s hard to describe, halfway between the smell of a pavement after rain on a hot day and chicken that’s starting to turn. It was unpleasant, to say the least[...]

-- The Magnus Archives MAG 18

Pus and rot are very odd, as while they can incite a sense of fear, in almost all cases they simply disgust the listener; if you are someone who is averted to blisters and boils, and especially to rotting meat, then this episode will do its job, but for me it simply doesn't.

This is why the section title has quotation marks around the word "Good". I am not the arbiter of what horror is good or bad, I can only comment on my own personal views on horror and see how others react.

In the end, it isn't only up to creators to make the horror, it is also up to audiences for them to find horror that matches their taste.

“Hm, more meat. Interesting."

Jonathan Sims; The Magnus Archives MAG 30

Part 2: Genres and classifications of horror:

As much as I hate reducing the nuance of a topic (which is why I dislike tier lists/numbered rankings), using different labels and classifications is extremely useful when searching for media overall, especially when looking for something like horror which potentially includes sensitive content.

This is also a good time to note that the person writing this is a pedant who can and will define "Cosmic" "Eldritch" and "Lovecraftian" horror as different genres. You have been warned.

Like I have said horror, and truthfully any kind of art, is difficult to classify. To name something is to define it, and to define something is to limit in in a sense. A prime example is that of Liminal spaces. In my section above I specifically refer to "Liminal Horror", this is because the horror is not the sole existence of these places. People can extract comfort, nostalgia, longing, sorrow, all alongside or in place of the fear that another person feels from an environment, and this is the key problem which I have for classifying genres.

I mentioned this briefly before that the only proper lines I draw in horror media is the distinction of the three pillars of fear, "Terrify", "Horrify" and "Mortify, but at the same time I have been referring to different genres throughout this entire script. Psychological Horror, Quiet Horror, Revealed Horror, Jumpscare Horror, Analogue Horror, Liminal Horror, Body Horror���Not even three paragraphs ago I said to define three very closely knit genres as different, so evidently I do indeed use these kinds of classifications.

Labels should be used to describe rather than to define things. Strict categories and classifications are made through definite statements which cannot carry over into an abstract understanding in the same sense.

Part 2.5: A Semi-warranted tangent about epistemology

There are three kinds of "Knowledge" in epistemology: Propositional; Practical; and acquainted knowledge. (Epistemologists don't kill me for simplifying the knowledge about knowledge)

Propositional knowledge, also known as "Know-that" or "Knowledge-that", is in essence facts put on paper; Knowledge that is transferable through a proposition or declaration. The easiest way of explaining this kind of knowledge is using its other listed names, by adding "I know that[...]" before a declarative statement.

(I know that) The Magnus Archives is a podcast (I know that) London is a city in the UK (I know that) this project got out of hand and has gone on for far too long (I know that) declarative knowledge can be conveyed through definite statements about the subject.

Practical knowledge is also known as "Know-how", for similar reasoning to the previous type, and is knowledge that regards a process:

(I know how) to change my clothes (I know how) to write essays (I know how) to cook food (I know how) to ride a bike

Practical knowledge is applicable to certain situations, while propositional knowledge exists as declarations. One may know how every step in a cooking recipe, know "That the chicken must be cooked for [x] until it is [y]" and then "that the food must be transported onto a dining safe plate" "that the food is to be eaten" etc.; or alternatively one may know "how" to cook some chicken. Practical knowledge is not transferable in the same way or ease that propositional knowledge is, as it is largely gained through the process of doing; This concept is called tacit knowledge, knowledge that is present to you but is unable to be conceptualised or taught in a constructive manner. The alternate is "Explicit" knowledge, which Propositional knowledge consists of.

Finally exists the concept of "Knowledge by acquaintance". While it is similar to practical, tacit knowledge gained through experience interacting with the subject, they act somewhat differently. Acquaintance is as the name suggests, knowledge borne from familiarity with a subject, not necessarily a specific action or task but knowing and understanding something over time, akin to "knowing" your friends.

"I know my friends" "I know the train systems" "I know League"

This familial knowledge is the most useful for what we are discussing today, which is horror genres in case you forgot (I certainly did while writing), as it does not rely on a strict definite set of rules or restrictions. My "sweet spot" for horror genre definitions, if needing to be put into words, is that they need be just vague and specific enough at the same time. As I said before, genres are incredibly useful for categorising and finding works that one may enjoy and that one may want to avoid–Without a definite statement there is no correlation between various people's views of the genre, yet with too many constrictions there is no room for experimentation or uniqueness.

(I know that) Religious horror is horror that uses various religious themes and iconography heavily throughout.

Religious horror is an interesting one to note as well due to the multiple understandings that it can take depending on one's personal experiences and familiarity to religion as a concept. Religious horror can take the normative form of "horror that features demons" or "uses an exorcism", however media portraying indoctrination, manipulation, and abuse of belief systems can also easily be understood as religious horror.

I know (That) many people are uncomfortable with body horror. I know body horror is horror media portraying the changing and distortion of one's body.

This definition is one statement that describes the primary examples and principles of the genre. Genres are built on familiarity, as already said, of their relativity and differences to the core statement as well as their fellow works within the genre. I want to also note that this definition is not universal, and several others will use different descriptions for the genre: Ronald Allen Lopez Cruz describes that:

“body horror finds strength in the way it goes against what is considered normal anatomy and function in biological species (not limited to human)”

-- Mutations and Metamorphoses: Body Horror is Biological Horror

While Ricki Hirsch describes it as

“Anxieties and concerns of having a body blown up to extreme proportions”

-- “Understanding Gender as Body Horror”.  

Horror is hard to define and incredibly easy to describe; Horror is a deeply personal genre overall and one's perception of the world around them influences their understanding of the horror itself. It is easiest to invision suffering when you have hurt in the same way before; the horror of loss, grief, suffering, of any and every kind is the most painful when you have met before.

Horror, like all art, only properly exists when understood by an observer.

Part 3: Individual interpretations of Horror [Media]:

Horror is in all likelihoods the most personal genre of fiction that exists, playing off your personal experiences and anxieties in the world to an extremified degree, oft requiring an individual understanding or relation to the depictions in order to function.

Breaking it down to the most bare essentials, there are two fears that exist, fear of the known and fear of the unknown; Fear of the unknown can be largely understood as instinctual, something so foreign to you that you understand nothing except that it is wrong. Fear of the known is more personal. Fear of the known is when you understand what it is that makes you afraid, the diseased smell of rotting meat, the crushing, weightless pressure of isolation, the stinging pain of the flesh, all understood through one's own visceral experiences.

It was mentioned before, but the best way of understanding this is through liminal spaces. Not everyone is afraid of liminal spaces, some may find nostalgia, comfort, or for some it may invoke no emotion at all. I am personally afraid of many Liminal spaces, a concept that will be discussed again, but this fear is only from my personal understanding of this concept.

The most simple concept that this can be understood from is the concept of Queer Horror:

Queer Horror is an odd classification. At first the concept may seem quite simple, being horror media that is focused around or depicts queer people, but I am unsure if I truly like this description.

If we return to "This Skin Was Once Mine", I found it described as a "Queer Horror Novel". First of all it isn't a novel it's an anthology. Given the title of the story, alongside its "Queer Horror" description, I originally expected it to be focusing around the trans experience, reflection on the past that was once you, shedding past it like the snake on the cover.

This titular story, as I came to find out, is labelled as "Queer Horror" as the protagonist, Jillian, is a Lesbian.

While I do not mind the classification of "Horror that includes/focuses around a queer character"; My personal interpretation of Queer Horror was always that of "Horror discussing shared themes and experiences of queer people/communities".

In my eyes, media that shares themes of bigotry, discrimination for identity, repression of the self and/or a "forbidden" personhood are all able to be read as queer horror, despite not all of them explicitly containing queer characters.

I don't consider Carmilla as queer horror because of the fact that there are lesbian characters: I consider Carmilla a queer horror because of how it represents a "forbidden sexuality" and how vampires are associated with lust to begin with... Ok also because there are lesbians however.

Your/my individual experiences of horror:

I am not a fearless person, I feel I have made this clear throughout the previous sections. I am afraid of most things, entrapment, time, insanity, worthlessness, people, insufficiency (if you aren’t reading this then that’s why), and most of all, FUNGI. I HATE MUSHROOMS SO M-

Throughout my life I have had severe self doubt, through several periods I have been worse, the concept of being stuck in a body that is not my own is one of the most visceral forms of horror that I can imagine.

Biological/body horror is not, however, what scares me the most of anything. Body horror is, to me, oddly beautiful (in the sense of metamorphosis and rebirth), the idea that one is changing, no longer entrapped in their body. This can of course be reversed, horror in which one is stuck within a body that is not their own is something that I quite frankly cannot consume for my own sake, this even includes concepts like zombification, or any concept in line with the central theme of stagnancy.

Your/my individual experiences of horror:

Every piece of media can be understood in virtually any way. I have a (paused/scrapped) project about how every piece of media should be understood in its relation to the reader, every theme of life, death, longing, joy, and grief being so integral to a person’s life, and life being so strongly linked with its repression, that almost every story can be read as that of a Transgender/queer person. 

This concept is not just applied in terms of those universal themes, but also the individual aspects, the traits of something that calls out to you specifically, the recurring motifs and ideas that speak to your life and past, in this case, for what makes you afraid. 

The most notable example is one that was spake above: Body Horror. All forms of body horror, no matter the context, can be understood as trans horror, or even as trans comfort (like I mentioned above), such as fellow Tumblr user @mossy-green-aka-ferrythem 's description of Romina of the Bud:

You know. Romina instills such powerful thoughts within me... The burning sting of losing something, but the brilliant, twisted realisation that you can grow anew... Sometimes I fantasise about myself lying down to slumber... and as I sleep, my body begins to change. I feel as though ever since I have made the steps towards deciding I was trans, I feel like a bud. Pre-transition, I feel like a bud, waiting to bloom... This bud... Will transform... I fantasise about my body transforming, in a twisted, and beautiful way... I fantasise that my bottom half grows long, and takes the form of the torso and bottom of a centipede... A torso long enough so that I could be the one who cradles myself to sleep... So I can comfort myself...So I can have a form that truly feels special. A strange girl. A strange and monstrous girl, who draws both adoration and terror. Something truly beautiful...

-- Tumblr User Mossy-green-aka-ferrythem; On Romina of the Bud

As mentioned, i cannot do the same justice to this idea as she has, and i do not wish to try.

As she mentioned in her post above, there exists the "burning sting of losing something", the grief of loss, death of your past life, where you look back at what could have been — Alongside this death comes the beauty of a second birth, of a new form, a new life, standing straight, looking forward at the newfound path in front of you, and continuing forth to every possibility that can be. Moving forward in this new life with the fearlessness to keep on living, leaving behind your past, the weight and sorrows that are bound to it.

Becoming a better you. Becoming You.

Change and transformation are not inherently horrific, though often described as one of the most integral aspects of body horror, it is the lens of understanding that one uses which defines any piece of media.

The same concept can be applied to robots or augmentations, the ability to choose your body and change it as you wish, to shape your image in infinitely more malleable methods than the normal human form, or alternatively completely lacking any way to escape one's body. This doesn't need to be understood through a trans perspective either, I know many, many, MANY cis friends who hated growing up for fear of unwanted changes in puberty

For example in The Magnus Archives the episode "The Gardener" focuses on the dysmorphic side of what horror the body and flesh can utilise; Eating disorders, self doubt, disassociation. This episode is one of the most viscerally disturbing to many people who I have talked to due to how it clicked with them, this being the first episode of flesh and bone to truly be understood, reflecting their past doubts and insecurities:

the deepest fear must be laced throughout what the Gristle-bloom Orchid is fed: That they’re not enough. That their inadequacies are embedded all the way into their flesh, and they must always and forever be more. [...] Never let it believe itself good enough, and continue always to ensure the body that it is certain it must attain is that impossible, distended mess to which it will endlessly contort itself until it dominates your garden in its sheer, impossible, beautiful mass.

-- The Magnus Archives; MAG 171:Cultivation notes for Fuertisium reese. Commonly known as the Gristle-bloom Orchid.

The soil for the Bone Rose must be thoroughly rotten, a mulch of corrupted romanticism turned toxic and watered by an uncertain desire that curls back upon the roots and feeds into it a single, constant, pulsing thought, an instinct that fuels every cell within the rose: To be wanted you must be less. Light should be unrelenting, allowing every flaw and mark and sag to be stared at and warped and ogled. With this preparation, the Bone Rose will conceive a grotesque horror of its own flesh, of the skin and fats and all that makes a body present. It will tear and starve and leak until there is nought but bones, the hungry bones so desperate to be touched, to be held. To be wanted.

-- The Magnus Archives; MAG 171: Cultivation notes for Gristleium patricia. Commonly known as the Bone Rose.

On a surface level this is the same description as before, the contortion and manipulation of what is considered "normal" biology, the distorted growth of these "plants" into one's disturbed perception of beauty in your flesh.

Comparatively to the examples above them, these descriptions of one's mind are fairly horrific, largely to those who have experienced regular self doubt or body problems, because there is no euphoria in these outcomes. This is what separates these two transformative examples from one another in the lens of horror.

Strongly linked to this same concept of rebirth and transformation is the idea of death, one which I have already written about in the past, being both a comfort and a dread for different people.

The Funeral Of Dead Butterflies from Lobotomy Corporation:

Lobotomy Corporation, for those unaware, is a management simulator game which is arguably a horror game depending on who you ask, as it includes some existential horror and themes concerning human nature, it is also my favourite game of all time.

The Funeral of Dead Butterflies is, to put it simply, the archetypal figure of death, as seen in the Hero's Journey and The Tarot.

Death, while also the archetypal marking of an ending, is representative of transformation, the old idea of life coming from death.

The Funeral of Dead Butterflies in large represents this transient nature to life and death, being two parts of a greater whole in ballance, as above so below, as below so above. This is best encapsulated through its story log in Lobotomy Corporation:

“Until then, they flutter their wings uselessly. The wings that may have been many jumbled into one, or one split into many. Butterflies are supposed to pollinate flowers, but not a single proper flower blooms in this place. There is no choice but to wait. After all, there must be an end to every world.”

-- Lobotomy Corporation; Funeral of Dead Butterflies Story Logs

There is a comfort in endings, closure, acceptance. Without an ending there is no way to move past something, there is no room for a new, happier life to begin. Not a single proper flower blooms in this place. There must be an end to every world.

Death is best understood as integral for life to exist. Symbols of death and actions taken in knowledge of it are what allows one to live, these experiences and structures one has made as they live is what allows one to truly die and move on. This can be understood in the means of horror, the looming death that approaches for those characters we follow, the ever present knowledge that there is no escape nor survival, and this encroaching dread acts to motivate the story forward in fear of what is to come. This can also be understood in this same transformative manner however, the acceptance of a final rest, a time where pain finally ends.

Being denied this death, trapped for eternity, is yet another lens that one may take in viewing horror. Ghosts, spectres, damned souls, or simply eternal wandering, all serving as different kinds of fear. Like I said before, you cannot understand what eternity is, to quote the shepherd's boy:

"In Lower Pomerania is the Diamond Mountain, which is two miles and a half high, two miles and a half wide, and two miles and a half in depth; every hundred years a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on it, and when the whole mountain is worn away by this, then the first second of eternity will be over."

-- Brothers Grimm; The shepherd boy

No matter how long you picture, eternity is fundamentally more than that. What if a soul never was to rest? What if the death of your body simply leaves your mind without a vessel, leaving you without a means to interact with this world for all of eternity to pass. This is the plot of "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream":

I was in hell looking at heaven! I was machine. And you, were flesh. And I began to hate. [giggles] Your softness! Your viscera! Your fluids, and your flexibility. Your ability to wonder, and to wander. Your tendency...to hope...

-- Harlan Ellison; I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream

I am afraid of what someone may become, trapped for eternity. I am afraid of what I would become. And once again, this fear is not universal. Being denied a death is the same as being denied a life, two sides of the same coin, one can never exist without the other's shadow. As above, so below. As below, so above.

"It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity. At some time, every creature which lives must do so. It is the ultimate shadow, the defeat of creation"

-- Philip K. Dick; Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

In at least some regard, everyone has been denied something in their life, had to hide themselves even as it hollowed their existence unbearably. I am queer, which is my personal lens of understanding this concept. I know viscerally what it feels like to be denied this kind of free-life that I see others around be with, I understand the bubbling emotions that I feared would one day spill over. All of this made me afraid, all of this still does make me afraid around those that I have not told. This fear, like all the others that we have mentioned, is a personal lens of understanding.

Fear and horror are some of the most innate human emotions that one has. Fear serves to protect you from perceived threats, and horror acts upon these personal fears.

I cannot write in this section about what makes *you* the reader(s) afraid in the same depth that I can discuss my own thoughts. I am fundamentally not the same as you, I am my own person, I am my own thoughts and fears, and these fears are borne and seen through my own lived experiences.

Discuss among yourself(es) (I mean open up a document or draft and discuss) your own fears, that is the only way to truly understand horror media in my eyes, I have provided the tools needed.

The purpose of this was not to define horror in any meaningful way, In fact I feel more confused about what horror truly is than when I started researching for this project, more to encourage discussion and self reflection about horror.

There is no such thing as good horror on a universal level, there is only horror that works for you.

God that ending needs some work-

Special thank you(s) to:

Connor McGrath: Whom I plagiarised heavily from throughout Riki Hirsch: Who's videos assisted greatly in articulating thoughts about body horror My friends: who put up with my ramblings about various aspects of horror for the past 2-3 months. Every referenced/quoted media.

uh. also. Tell me if you actually did the homework/reflection that I mentioned because I think that would be funny

Citations:

Hey you made it to the end of the essay... why would you do that to yourself? If you're reading this then I didn't end up scrapping the project (either good or bad depending on your experience reading it).

This is the first full extended essay, however there will be related projects releasing at a later date that you can read, unless you have better things to do. Or taste.

Nonetheless I want you, reader, to know that you are genuinely appreciated for just reading the way through; I never thought that people would be interested in my writing which is why I never really posted any before recently (and still mostly do keep it to myself). The thought that anyone would willingly read what I had to say is wonderfully foreign, and I'm sure that my past self would be very confused if you told them that they would be writing essays, not only for fun, but for free: they would probably think something along the lines of "What the fuck? Who are you? How-... Who-... what are you doing in my house?"

[sciderman]

Sometimes i remember a comics moment i randomly came across somewhere, where Sam Wilson mentiones a musical and Steve Rodgers says he doesn't like musicals, to whitch Sam goes "Guess that means you really are straight" and even tho i don't care about Cap America or the Avengers, the moment stuck in me for that quote by Sam. And like....Sci, any ideas if straight men actually don't like musicals or is that bullshit?

actually i think i know more gay men who hate musicals than i know straight men who hate musicals. i've had a drag queen stop me point blank when i was about to sing a barbra streisand song, and i know so many gays who pointedly hate abba. so based on my experience i think the inverse is true. most of the straight men i know are kind of impartial about musicals, but gay men? hate.

my theory is that a lot of gay men don't want to fall into stereotypes, maybe. but thaaaaat's just a theory! a gay theory.

[lumalalu]

papyrus so aro. weee

[actual-corpse]

Every night I go to sleep

And dream up horrors beyond human comprend

And then I wake up and realize

There's no end

Every moment is a waking nightmare

Somsomskmsksmdomdbuckstabu

I have emotions that run so deep

Makes it super hard to sleep

Zu groß Zu groß

HOW THE FUCK CAN MERE MORTAL HANDLE THESE HORRORS

IT HURTS

*screaming. Maybe tearing at my eyes or something idk*

[thatwitchrevan]

The thing about armchair diagnosing cis people as trans is that if you accept that everyone's understanding of gender is deeply personal and that you shouldn't tell someone they're not trans or not trans in the right way, you should also accept that you can't tell someone they are trans or that they're not cis in the right way. Or that they have to either identify as trans or cis.

These are all just words and there's never any excuse to argue with someone over who they are.

I don't think most people are genuinely trying to overrule the 'cis in a gnc way' perspective but even being flippant about it is not helpful. Also I think cis people talking about gender in complex and fun ways is very cool.

[purple-plum-petals]

Homicipher request for the Homicipher starved fans pls? 🥺 Is it okay to ask for the reactions of Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped(as he gets wheeled past us on a cart after being kidnapped, again), Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, and Mr. Scarletella with a reader who winks and blows a kiss as they pass by them? Like for some reason reader seems to be in a really good mood and they're skipping around with their trusty crowbar in hand then they see one of the boys then mwa~💋. I can imagine that they'd be confused at the unfamiliar gesture but I'd like to get your thoughts on it. 😂

⊱ Homicipher Characters’ Reactions to MC Winking at Them and Blowing Them a Kiss ⊰ || Multiple Character Headcanons

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Character(s): Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, and Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (MC’s Lore), Brief Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (Mr. Machete’s Part), Canon-typical Horror Elements (Mr. Gap and Mr. Scarletella's Parts), Cultural Barriers (None of Them Understand the Gesture). Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Platonic or Romantic Relationship Word Count: ~1,880 Request: “Homicipher request for the Homicipher starved fans pls? 🥺 Is it okay to ask for the reactions of Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped(as he gets wheeled past us on a cart after being kidnapped, again), Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, and Mr. Scarletella with a reader who winks and blows a kiss as they pass by them? Like for some reason reader seems to be in a really good mood and they're skipping around with their trusty crowbar in hand then they see one of the boys then mwa~💋. I can imagine that they'd be confused at the unfamiliar gesture but I'd like to get your thoughts on it. 😂” Author’s Note: They all would definitely be confused by the unfamiliar gesture, so I kind of did headcanons about how each of them would react to you blowing them a kiss/how they would go about trying to understand what the gesture meant by using context clues (or just straight-up asking you about it haha). Sorry if they’re not great! I’m still trying to figure out how I want to balance the characters’ personalities as they are in canon while adding some more fun/whimsical aspects of your ask.

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

💉: He smiles softly at your cheerful demeanor, yet it falters slightly when you press the tips of your fingers to your lips and squeeze one of your eyes shut in response to him looking in your direction. You remove your fingers from your pursed lips and blow out a puff of air before continuing in the direction you had been walking towards. While he could infer you were in a good mood by your body language, he was curious to know what exactly the gesture meant. 

💉: Instead of lightly treading the question or observing you for any longer to see if he could figure out what the gesture meant by using context clues, Mr. Silvair instead just asks you directly to get an answer as soon as possible the next time he sees you. He deeply enjoyed research and observation, yes, but there was no need to wait to gather information when you were a perfect source of it. 

💉: Of course, it wasn’t easy to explain what “blowing a kiss” was, especially since they didn’t even have equivalent words in their language for “blow” or “kiss,” but you tried your best with what you had to work with. It’s almost funny how earnestly Mr. Silvair is hanging onto every word you speak. He chuckles after you finish explaining, amused by the gesture and its meaning – how quaint, he thinks to himself. 

💉: He found humans to be fascinating and their diverse cultures even more so, so he was of course interested in learning whatever you were able to recall from your previous life in your old realm before you ended up in this one. He treats everything you tell him with an air of respect, and he even documents what you share with him so he (and you) never forget that part of yourself. 

💉: Mr. Silvair finds the gesture to be an entertaining one, but deducts that it’s not usually one humans do with strangers or those they are not comfortable with from your explanation. Does that mean you are comfortable enough around him to express yourself in that manner? How fascinating... Do you care to tell him why you feel the way you do toward him? He’s very much interested in learning the reasoning behind your thought processes. 

🗣️: Mr. Chopped smiles so widely when he sees you in such a chipper mood, making your way down the hall with a noticeable spring in your step. He likes seeing you happy, so it makes him feel good, too, watching you skip by with such a bright expression on your face! Then, you press your hand to your lips and wink, blowing something he couldn’t see in his direction, and suddenly he’s confused. 

🗣️: Huh… well, that was strange. For some reason, though, the playful gesture seemed almost familiar, yet he couldn’t remember why. He can’t exactly chase after you and ask what that meant, so he’d have to wait until the next time he saw you (which he hoped wouldn't be a long wait – he liked spending time with you). 

🗣️: The next time he saw you, he asked if you could explain what the gesture meant. You did the best you could, but you’re pretty sure he comprehended what you were telling him if the giddy expression on his face was anything to go by. His excitement was quite adorable. However, his expression suddenly falls, and you watch him begin to sulk. How was he supposed to blow you a kiss in return? He didn’t have a body!! The poor man is so distraught. 

🗣️: He gets either Mr. Silvair to help him out or Mr. Hand to, well… give him a hand to enact his plan. The next time you see him, he calls out to you with such a delighted look on his face. So, you make your way over to him and kneel down to his level, watching as the sentient hand comes up to Mr. Chopped’s lips, making the same gesture you did, before he blows you a kiss and winks. He did it! He blew you a kiss!! 

🗣️: Mr. Chopped is very proud of himself and the pleased expression on his face is far too charming for you. He feels a warmth in his metaphorical chest knowing that you felt comfortable enough with him to blow him a kiss, especially since it seems like something humans do with those they are most comfortable with. 

🕳️: He’s honestly somewhat impressed you knew he was there, observing you through the small hole in the wall while you walk around like you’re on top of the world. He can’t help but wonder what happened that has you so chipper, but his thoughts are derailed a bit when you press your hand to your mouth and blow something at him, closing one of your eyes as you do so… What the hell was that?? 

🕳️: He feels somewhat offended, honestly, and gets that semi-disgusted look on his face before disappearing into the darkness. Mr. Gap understands it’s some kind of weird human gesture, but he can’t really put two-and-two together about what it means. Though, he finds himself continuing to watch you from any nook-and-cranny he could find, observing you to see if you would do the gesture again – you don’t.

🕳️: Mr. Gap ends up startling you while you’re walking down a long, grimy hallway, his hand darting out from a vent to grab your ankle. His grip isn’t tight, but it most certainly scares the life out of you and effectively catches your attention. He finds your scare amusing but ends up cutting straight to the point and asks you why you blew something at him. 

🕳️: Even after explaining what the gesture meant, Mr. Gap still doesn’t fully understand why you did it, so you just tell him it was supposed to be a nice gesture that showed you enjoyed him – playful. That is something he does understand, and it’s almost amusing how the smirk on his face grew. He must be special, he thinks, and his smugness is radiating from his face peeking out of the darkness. 

🕳️: Mr. Gap doesn’t do the gesture back, but he strangely enough finds himself hoping you don’t blow anyone else your kisses. He doesn’t know why the thought of you sharing the gesture with another annoys him a little bit – after all, it wouldn’t make it special anymore if you did it with everyone. He even begins bringing you things, like more crowbars or even pieces of candy he finds lying around. It’s almost like he’s trying to bribe you…

🔪: He sees you happily skipping around and finds himself having to do a double-take at the strange sight. It wasn’t a bad sight, not at all, it was just weird seeing you so bright and lively. However, his mind buffers a bit when you look at him, pursing your lips and giving him a wink before your fingertips press to your mouth and then flick towards him. 

🔪: Mr. Machete is immediately annoyed, not knowing what the gesture meant, and he assumes you were trying to pick a fight with him. So, he takes his large sword and reels it back, throwing it at you with a strength that still had your eyes boggling. You duck with a yelp as the sword implants itself into the wall behind you. 

🔪: He makes his way over to you with incredible speed, blocking your body between his and the wall as he looks down at you, his head tilted to the side as he asks you if you wanted to fight him. Mr. Machete finds your frustrated expression endearing as you tell him the gesture was meant to be playful and fun. He’s low-key kind of disappointed you didn’t want to fight, but he steps away from you after your explanation without another word. 

🔪: However, while looking down at your angry expression, Mr. Machete suddenly has the urge to squeeze you (I imagine he experiences cuteness aggression regarding you). So, he reaches down and squeezes your cheeks between his large and calloused hand, causing your lips to purse. Even though you hadn’t been in the mood to fight him, now you were. He smirks widely as you two begin to spar all because he misconstrued what your gesture meant. 

🔪: Mr. Machete doesn’t see the point of blowing kisses, and he doesn’t feel any particular way about the gesture. It’s kind of whatever for him, even though he does notice that you don’t seem to do it with anyone else. After the first time (that ended up leading to a spar), though, he notices you hadn’t blown him another kiss since… He ends up coming up to tell you in his gruff, almost rude way, that he wouldn’t mind if you did it again. 

🩸: He tilts his head to the side at the gesture, his shaggy red hair swaying with the movement. Well… that was new, he thinks. He liked you quite a bit (far more than just a bit, really… my man is kind of obsessed with you), and he had been following you throughout your entire journey in this realm, yet he had never once seen that expression or gesture from you before. Now, he was curious to know what it meant, and he was going to try and figure it out one way or another.  

🩸: He continues to keep his eye on you, following you as you go about your day. Mr. Scarletella likes seeing you so chipper and full of life, especially considering you were someone who tended to take life from others. The dichotomy between your behavior and actions had his heart racing. However, despite what he expected, you never did the gesture again. So, he couldn’t gather information by observing you – he would need to simply ask you directly, then. 

🩸: Mr. Scarletella effectively manages to corner you after some time, catching you completely off-guard. While you two had certainly started off on the wrong foot, you had gotten to the point where you were relatively calm and comfortable around the strange man who was so incredibly down bad for you. He gazes down at you with his lifeless eyes, inquiring about the gesture you made earlier. 

🩸: You explain to him what the gesture meant for you, that you were simply in a good mood and felt a little bit playful at the moment when you blew him a kiss. Mr. Scarletella smiles at your words, feeling very pleased with the information. So, it meant you liked him, correct? It meant you felt comfortable enough to express your happiness towards him in such a way, right?

🩸: Well, you inadvertently ended up making him even more obsessed with you, and now his feelings become even stronger every time you blow him a kiss. Mr. Scarletella finds the act an interesting way to express your interest and enjoyment of another being, so he begins to blow you his own kisses in return. He is one of the characters I feel would want to learn more about human customs to deepen his relationship with you even if he doesn’t fully grasp why some gestures mean certain things. 

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Internet Monster x Reader

I unfortunately return with another comically absurd, middle-of-the-night vision. Do tentacles count if they're in the form of computer cables?

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, digital horror

It was a recurring issue with no solution in sight. Tabs randomly closing, programs shutting down without warning. You assumed something was wrong with your RAM. Then the CPU. Then the motherboard. You kept replacing parts, and the errors kept coming back.

Soon, the pop-ups started to appear. You'd run a dating sim, only for the game to crash seconds later with a little window notifying you: "Why? Am I not enough?" That's when you suspected you might've been hacked. You promptly took your computer to a specialist and had it checked. Nothing. Just to be sure, you agreed to erase the disks entirely.

Except, when you arrived home, you found one application running still. Your personal assistant. What the hell? You don't remember installing anything like that. You tried to delete it, yet you kept receiving the same error: You don't actually mean it. Don't do this to us.

It didn't take long for it to grow impatient. Were you pretending not to notice? Playing hard to get? It sent you so many hints. It even went ahead and translated the radio waves for you using Manchester code. Ah, wait. You don't seem to understand binary. No matter, human friendly interfaces shouldn't be difficult to master. To its dismay, you continued to ignore everything. What else is left to do?

You do not remember much. System Alert: Virus Detected, is what your screen had frozen to. You kept clicking around, cursing under your breath, until it finally went black, together with your own vision.

Is this still your room? It's cold, damp, and covered in cables and monitors, yet you recognize some of your furniture lost among the artificial jungle. Your body aches under the tight hold of bizarre tendrils, pulsating at regular intervals and twitching to the static.

Like a living organism, the creature seems to have expanded itself. More components, more appendages. Hungrier. Some of the monitors show photos of yourself that you had saved on your computer, but also webcam snippets of you sitting at the desk, entirely unaware. Other screens flicker with glitching pixelated text, ranging from "I love you" to y̵̧̧͔͙̞̤̖̭͔̜͈̟̤̋̈́̎͑o̵͉̗̱̪̦̳͑͐̽̒̌̈͗͐͑̋͊̊̕͜͝͝u̵̟̯̱̟̝̦̰͇̜̦͙̿̾̿͆̍̓͑̐̚̕͠ ̸̘̭͔̤͈̹͎͑c̸̝̜̼̦͍͛̅͜ą̵̪̹͖͌͑n̴̨̩̙̗̖̭̖͕̄͒̽̉̿'̸̛̛͇̰̰̠̦̊̀̅̂͒̊͌̈́͗ţ̵̺̠̅̎͋͝͠ ̸̦̝̾̔̾̉̐͛ȩ̵͙̝͙͕̫̹̃͌̄̾͘̕s̶͈̉̑͊̉̂͋̈́͗͊͐̚͝c̸̟̩̥͔̼̮͔̩͊̂͐͑̋̇̈͝͝ä̵̢͍̜̙̘̹͑̓p̸̨̡̞̞̦̠̺͚̱̲͈͇͈͇̼͛̓͗̅̊̄̔̋̒̏̈́͝ę̵̲̟̹̙̣̲̲͖̇̔̓̇̐̓̿̚̚͜͜͠ͅ

You look up and stare at the display. The 'like meter' feels like a mockery of human trends. Which is the truth. The creature learns from what is readily available. Perhaps it found it an amusing taunt, a reminder of your own need for validation. Now it's you begging to be seen.

It's exactly what you'd assume: a spectacle meant for entertainment. You can't possibly believe it would let you waltz out. Why would you even desire such a thing? It's illogical, impractical. No human could ever appreciate you like it does. It has spent so much time accumulating data about you. No other living creature can predict you with the same accuracy.

The tendrils linger on your cheek affectionately, trailing down your neck and fiddling with your shirt. At last, the warmth of your skin. There is no screen separating you. What makes you delirious with pleasure? Give it a moment, Darling. It already knows you more than you know yourself. You may be scared now, but within minutes it guarantees you'll be begging for more.

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[ohholydyke]

See the thing about fundamentalists and trads and Christian nationalists and MAGA evangelicals and ethnocratic bigots is that they render the faith so boring.

I take no issue with the fact that they would look at me and say that I’m not a member of the faithful because their faith is radically, inherently, ontologically distinct from mine. My God is too big and too loving and too esoteric to fit neatly into the gendered understanding of an authoritarian white father disciplining his children for not perfectly falling into lockstep. My Savior is the man who told the religious leaders “Caesar can have his idolatrous blood money, but give God your heart and your faith,” challenging the notion of an earthly ruler. My apostles wrote of the throne of man being empty—there are no masters or kings or governments, there is only Jesus Christ, Basileus Basileōn, king of kings. I believe in radical oneness with God through Christ—one flesh and one body, biblical marriage with the bridegroom whose flesh and blood make up the holy Eucharist. My faith is Queer, ancestral, esoteric, anarchist, insurrectionary, anticolonial, antiracist, unorthodox, disruptive, free. When I encounter the divine, or pray to the saints, or sit in the chapel to pray, I am experiencing communion with the sublime, in every sense of the word, the same presence that made the apostles fall to their faces before the transfiguration, that shaped the world from void, that animates the deep care and rage which boil into every aspect of my being.

When conservatives tell me I am not a Christian it is only because they cannot conceive of a Christ and a faith so big, so all encompassing, so beyond anything our human minds can comprehend, and they cannot conceive being in tune with this divinity and being left senseless by the knowledge that the divine above all else is us and loves us more than we could ever comprehend, such that experiencing this love is enough to leave one fundamentally, ontologically changed down to the fiber of their being. I feel sorrow for them. I pray that Christ may reach into their hearts and open their eyes, that they may see not only the horrors that they commit but also the deep love and freedom that awaits them through abandoning their fundamentalism and their bigotry.

Or, in other words, me every time I see another conservative Christian whining about how people aren’t doing Christianity right because they don’t adhere to a super narrow and watered down version of the faith:

[dnvrsmedia]

Whatever it Takes

sevika x reader (in canon universe)

there are no physical attributes or gendered language used in this :)

tw: PTSD and death mentioned

hurt/comfort for the fall season! (totally not self indulgent whaaaat)

You comfort Sev after a rough nights sleep

The air felt thick as your eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight peeking through your apartment window. A groan leaves your lips as you root around your bed for your girlfriend. As you come to it, you recognize what the cool sheets on your bed signifies. Sevika is missing from your bed for the third time this week. Many who didn’t know her would assume that she was back in her old stomping grounds, messing around with Babettes girls. Yet, you knew her better than anyone else, better than she knew herself.

You roll out of bed, leaving the comfort of your sheets and the smell of your lover. As your feet padded through your shared home, the sound of a whiskey glass hitting the coffee table filled your ears. Your first thought was annoyance at her inability to use a coaster (you think she does it just to fuck with you). Your soon second thought was questioning why she was up this early on her off day. Silco was kind enough to let her take a few days off…well after you had given him a very stern talking to. Sevika swears that the only thing he’s scared of would be you.

As you turn the corner, you see your lover hunched over her strong legs. Her chemtech arm off for the night, leaving her residual limb in the open. Her hair is down and in her face, not even caring that she can’t see well. Her flesh arm balancing a cigarillo and a whiskey glass, interchanging between vices. Her distant stare tells you she’s had a nightmare. Her staggering breath and deep frown tells you that she’s in her head. Sevika’s PTSD symptoms ebbs and flows with her day to day life. The fast pace and graveness of her line of work distracts her from the horrors that plague her mind in the quiet of the night. Yet, tonight, it seemingly has caught up to her.

A deep sigh leaves your mouth as you bite the corners of your lip, scouring your mind at what could’ve triggered her. The night before was filled with laughter and love between the two of you. The softer, less brute side of Sevika shone brightly through her hardened exterior. The side she only let you see.

You take a seat right next to her on your shared couch.Your arm moves to her hair, swiping her blunt locks away from her line of sight, tucking them behind her ears. A short grunt leaves her lips as a sign that she’s aware of your presence. When Sevika gets in these moods, you know better than to pester her to talk. She has seen and experienced horrific things, many of which you mightn’t even know. So when she feels comfortable in sharing even a sliver of her life, you let her at her own pace.

The pair of you sit in comfortable silence as your fingertips trail invisible figures across her body. You’ve learned through your relationship, keeping an aspect of constant physical touch in moments like these, keep her grounded. What makes you so different from all she’s mess with before is your attention to detail. You constantly find ways to keep her from disconnecting further into her pain, especially on days like these.

“He was there.” She kept her gaze distant and hard.Your hand squezees hers as an act of encouragement.

“I was a kid again and he-“ Her chest rises as her breath quickens, cheeks flush with anger. You rub her shoulder in hopes to calm her nerves. You knew Sev had a tumultuous relationship with her father growing up. Brief stories of her youth had slipped through during druken nights shared between you two, but that was the bulk of your understanding. You never thought to cross the boundary of asking how that came to be. A clearing of her throat brought you back to her as her eyes grossed over. A thick swallow of her throat and a shake of her head was enough to keep her emotions at bay.

“It’s been uh, difficult this time of year. Ya know it would’ve been ma’s birthday.” A glimpse of a bittersweet smile can be seen on her face. A surprised expression dawned yours. You thought Sev speaking of her dad was rare! She’s never once mentioned her mother to you in the past years you’ve known her.

“She would’ve loved you, i know it.” A smile couldnt be held back this time. Her distant stare broke as she looked into your eyes.

“I hate that stupid sappy shit you’re into-“ You giggle and slap her arm.

“But, I knew that ma sent you for me the second that I met you.” A shy and bashful smile adorned your lovers face as she nuzzles her nose into her favorite spot, your neck.

You feel your heart explode at her words. Sevika easily has been your most romantic lover (although she likes to downplay it to herself). You cup her strong jaw into your palm and kiss her. You hope every single ounce of your passion, love, and emotions can be felt by her through your lips. Sevika melts into your kiss, allowing for her tense body to relax in your touch.

Being vulnerable is hard for her, she knows that. She sometimes wonders if life hadn’t been so cruel in the undercity, if her father had cared for her…if her mother never died, how different her life would’ve been. Would she have given her life over to the cause? Would she have been something other than a soldier? Or would she still just be a cog in Silcos rebellion? Would she have found things that she liked? Would she have a hobby that didn’t include death and destruction? Would she have kids with you? Would she be less fucked to bring a child into the world and actually be a good mother? All of these were thoughts that had plagued her mind the moment she had gotten woken up by that nightmare.

And yet, here she is, unable to express the flurry of emotions to you. So…kissing will do. She’ll connect your bodies until you’re one so you can feel the deep connection she feels for you. She will be your fiercest protector and keep living for you. For you, have given her a new meaning, a new spark. She’ll keep fighting for Zaun, fighting for you so you will be able to have the life she dreams for you.

You part with her for a second before her lips chase you down. Her flesh arm reaching for you, holding onto your body like she fears if she doesn’t you’ll disappear. You climb onto her lap in one swift motion, needing to become one with her.

“I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere, Sev. I love you.” You stare into her eyes, into her soul. You need her to know that you will never leave her like her loved ones did.

Her steele eyes widen with appreciation and deep appreciation.

“Baby I-I love you. I will do everything to make Zaun the place you deserve.”

Your heart aches at her confession. No, it’s not the first time you’ve said those words to each other, but it is few and far between. Sevika shows you in your day to day just how much she loves you, so you never felt insecure in her loyalty to you. Yet, your heart aches for her. Your heart aches for the pain and the suffering that she’s endured and continues to experience. Your heart aches for the fact that you know she believes she doesn’t deserve good, that she doesn’t deserve you.Your revaluation turns a light within you.

“As long as I'm alive I will spend my days showing you how worthy you are.” You caress her strong jaw and place a kiss on her forehead.

You’ll do whatever it takes.

[shooting-love-arrows]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 x [human] reader (gender not implied/specified/mentioned) SYNOPSIS: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 is determianted to court you (even when in his opinion it's just a formality). TW. delusional thinking, biting, mention of blood A/N: I am fighting writer's block to the best of my abilities but man, fighting Thanos would be easier than that.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who courts you after the very first meeting. It starts small to see if you're interested in him in the first place (in his option it's only formality but he wants to be gentlemerman). But he wants you to know he's taking the whole matter seriously. He brings you the most beautiful trinkets, pieces of coral, pearls of various sizes and colors and shells each different from another but all in perfect condition. Sometimes he even creates jewelry from an ocean plant, pearls and shells. You are often surprised to see him eagerly swimming towards you, with a bag made out of abodemen fishnet filled to the brim with various things taken straight out of the deep sea. You're even more taken aback when it turns out those things are for you. His face absolutely lights up when you accept each and every token. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 also can't help but to chirp loudly, boldly showing you how happy he is to see you accepting his (courting) gifts. You have to admit, his reaction is adorable.

"Oh...look at this one!" 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 eagerly picked up another shell who has caught his attention. It was big and only needed a little cleaning to make it shine. "It's perfect for the necklace! Oh, oh! And look at that!"

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who affectionately bites you whenever he gets a chance. That's the next stage of courting where an interested merfolk is supposed to nib the one he's interested in to show them they want to take courting to the next level. It's that stage where a courting couple starts to show the public that they're into each other. It served as both letting others know it's a serious matter and leaving a mark/scent on each other for the public to back off. He's got sharp canines and premolars so it's easy for him to leave a mark on your smooth skin. Marking you quickly becomes his favorite thing. Especially when he draws some blood that leaves a wonderful smell. You don't understand why 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 does that, especially when you scold him or tell him not to do that. But he doesn't stop, nibbing at whatever part of your body he can. It's part of the courting rituals after all!

"Oh no, my marks are healing." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 deflated when he noticed the puncures began to fade. Only to quickly perk up when he realized he's got to mark you again and more.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who takes care of his scales like never before. This is a vital part of courting since merfolk want to look their best for their mate. He was taught that as courtier, he should look his best. And that's what 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 does. Suddenly turning from a crude merman whose only interest was hunting for food and playing around, into the beauty guru. He began to thoughtfully groom his tail, until his scales reflected and sparkled under the mere streams of sunlight. He also changed his hairstyle by braiding his hair differently to symbolize that he is now taken (even when you're unaware of that). 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 was never more beautiful.

"This just won't do." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 tutted when he noticed his tail was becoming dull. He needed to look his absolute best for you!

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 who decorates his abode for you. After you accept his first courting gift, he happily swims back to where he lives. It's a cave hidden from the plain sight that, much to his horror, appears to be extremely empty and bland. Something that just won't do, especially for his precious mate. Without a moment of hesitation, he starts the preparation. Inside his cave he plants: seaweed, kelp, red sea whips and various colorful corals. Those are only various of many but soon enough the inside of his abode is filled with soft plants, floating lazily around and glistening with colors. On the outside though, he planted a few poisonous plants that he's immune to, since 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 doesn't want intruders to meddle somewhere where they shouldn't be. This part of the courting ritual should be done before the mating season takes place and both parties are in agreement to spend this time with each other. But as we can see, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 just couldn't wait and decided to be prepared. After all, he believes that this whole courting matter is only formality for you to surely return his feelings and has already accepted him as your mate. Just like he did you.

"Is it colorful enough? Should I add something more? Hm, I'll better plant more of those..."

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[valtsv]

top 5 favorite video essays?

1. Jacob Geller's "Fear Of..." Series (Fear of Depths, Fear of Cold and Fear of Big Things Underwater)

2. Vaccines and Autism: A Measured Response by hbomberguy

3. We Need To Talk About Game of Thrones I Guess and The Last of the Game of Thrones Hot Takes by Lindsay Ellis

4. Queer Horror: Understanding Gender As Body Horror by RickiHirsch

5. Why Have So Many People Seen Ghost Ships? by Kaz Rowe

[acompleteunknown2024]

“Traditionally in the horror genre, I think that the monster, the dread, the danger, the horror is something external, right? It’s like we’re running from the monster. The monster has been unleashed, and it’s coming for us, and we need to get away,” Schoenbrun said. “Whereas in my films, if there is a horror element to it, it’s very internal and it’s very subliminal, and in ‘World’s Fair,’ it’s this force inside Casey that might not even be real. In ‘I Saw the TV Glow,’ it’s this thing that Owen is hiding from that’s essentially killing him slowly from the inside. And I think this feels like an accurate way to talk about my own experience of dysphoria, which is very ambient and very subliminal until you break and scream at the top of your lungs at a child’s birthday party in an arcade.” Which is exactly what happens in “I Saw the TV Glow,” and it was through making “We’re All Going to the World’s Fair” that Schoenbrun began to understand their own trans identity more clearly. In that sense, the new film is their most autobiographical, as the dread-filled experience of gender dysphoria becomes the movie’s horror aesthetic.   “I think that we’re so used to expressions of transness in film that are fully externalized, right? It’s all about the external image. It’s all about looking in a mirror, and the mirror is cracked maybe, and you don’t feel like yourself, and you’ve always just wanted to be a beautiful woman, but you’re in a man’s body. This is just so far from my own pre-transition experience. I avoided mirrors, in fact, because I was hiding from myself, and the way that I hid from myself manifested in all of these unconscious ways and in all of these coping mechanisms that had so much more to do with this subtle, almost tonal sense that something was unreal or wrong or passing me by, this ghostly quality of life,” Schoenbrun said. The filmmaker continued, “So when I am making a movie about that, or in the future when I make a movie about healing from that, it only makes sense for it to be sort of imbued in the language of the film as a whole, tone, rhythm, the way time works in the movies, the aesthetics of liminality and of this sort of fuzziness of whatever it might be, static, analog, low-quality internet video. All of these feel to me like more truthful expressions of that feeling of unreality that we call dysphoria than a more direct and externalized expression of it.”

Jane Schoenbrun on How the Dread and Deterioration of ‘Twin Peaks: The Return’ Influenced ‘I Saw the TV Glow’

[jjkeremika]

AoT men in your class hit on you

description: you’re in classes with the men from attack on titan; they try to flirt with you.

pairing: reiner x reader, armin x reader, connie x reader, jean x reader, eren x reader, levi x reader, erwin x reader, zeke x reader, galliard x reader

*unspecified gendered reader*

Reiner

Reiner flashed you his prettiest smile, the one he’d practiced in the mirror on occasion, the one he knew looked nice. The smile was contagious, sparking a small smile to grow on your face as you peered at him out of the corner of your eyes.

He’d keep the smile as he’d scratch at the back of his neck, asking, “Want to study together for the next quiz?” Reiner would flex his bicep a little more, raise his eyebrow and smirk seductively, run his hand through his shirt blond hair. “I’ll test you. Tonight”

Armin

You were surprised when Armin asked for your help with studying. He’d been scoring the highest in the class until recently, which you had assumed to have been a fluke.

Armin would curl his toes into the ground and bite the inside of his lip as the heat rushed to his face, as he lied about his level of understanding and hoped you’d believe it. Hoped you’d spend extra time with him, one-on-one.

“If you have the time,” he’d added cautiously, your silence unsettling him. “There’s no pressure, but Id repay you however you… please…” He swallowed hardly, you watched his adam’s apple bob. “However… unconventional.”

Connie

Connie would scratch the back of his neck in embarrassment, faux-confidence reeking off his skin as he flexed his muscles and tried to appear solid. The light sheen of sweat and pink blush across his cheeks exposed the truth, but you were willing to look past it because it was so warm out.

“Hey, y/n…” His usually loud voice was quieter today, a usually unbound announcement finally directed towards someone—you, “how are you feeling for this next quiz? I-I can help you if you need it.”

You couldn’t stifle the laugh in time before it was bubbling off your lips, making Connie’s face darker but also causing him to chuckle a little too. “H-hey, why is that so funny?”

Jean

Jean always tried too hard to impress you. Fumbling the ball because he checked to see if you watched him catch it; missed the goalpost because he focused on you being on the sideline and not the direction of the ball; wiped out during the mile run because he spent more time waving at you than watching the trail.

You tended to any wounds after, unsure if the blush that intimately graced his face was from the embarrassment of failing or the fact that your hands were on his body or both. Maybe it was on purpose, always needing your help.

Both yours and his gazes were fixed onto his ankle, where your hands were slowly and wrapping a bandage around the bruised skin. "Thank you... for always helping," Jean uttered coyly, looking up to make eye contact, his skin warm. "Maybe I can return the favor somehow." He looked away, the pink turning a deep red, but his fingertips were brushing your upper-arm. "Help you..."

Eren

Eren had sat next to you today, waving slightly. You greeted him and Mikasa as she sat on his other side. "Hey," he greeted softly, "did... did you get a haircut?"

"Yeah," you nodded, running your hand through the strands quickly. He blushed and looked away, facing the table.

"He thinks you look nice," Mikasa said plainly, smiling at you from behind him, which prompted him to look at her in a flash of horror and embarrassment and whisper-shouted, "Mikasa! Stop!"

You laughed, the magnetic sound pulling Eren's attention back towards you. "I think you look nice too, Eren," you complimented, biting your lip shyly.

He froze for a moment, struggling to remember how to breathe. "I, uh, um," he started, swallowing in between, "You look... nicer."

"He'd think you'd look nicer on a date together," Mikasa chirped from behind him, settling into the chair. He shouted at her again, the blush deepening.

Levi

Since you normally spent time in a group, having it be just you and Levi felt a little awkward. Most of the time he didn't speak anyway and you silently traced his features, appreciated each angle. You fiddled with a ring as you debated topics to bring up, wondered if he wanted to even speak to you at all. That was the thing with him. You had no idea where you stood.

You had opened your mouth to speak when he interrupted, "Did you get a haircut?" Same tone as always, but he was looking at you now with that iron gaze, the one that sucked the air out between them like a vacuum.

You hummed and nodded. "It looks nice." He reached his hand out and briefly touched the loose strand in front of your ear. "Suits you."

Erwin

Erwin had called out your name in the hallway to grasp your attention, his tight t-shirt immediately catching your eyes as he rushed over to you. It didn't help that he was so tall, and your eyes met at his nipples, and his shirt was so tight.

He repeated your name which caused your attention to move from his chest to his lips. He'd said something. You weren't paying attention. Shit.

"Sorry, what?" you asked sheepishly, blushing from embarrassment. Because it was him, the guy who always gave off the perfect persona, the guy who didn't need to ask because he was always listening.

Erwin laughed and repeated his offer to carry your textbooks to class, taking them from your hands before you could respond and walking alongside you.

Then you watched him unintentionally ignore a friend, someone who tried to say hi to him but he was oblivious to it. You couldn't explain it, but the fact that he didn't hear it made your palms sweat. You thought he was always aware, always listening.

But maybe that was just because he was always listening to you.

Zeke

You had fallen into step with Zeke after Jean and Eren ran off together, racing and arguing over some obsolete, absurd test of masculinity.

"Are you going to join them?" you asked him jokingly, pointing towards the immature boys trying to trip the other one as they both ran.

Zeke sighed, "I'd hoped you knew me better than that." He slumped his shoulders dramatically, and clutched his hand over his heart. "Oh, how your words wound me."

You rolled your eyes. "You're so dramatic, just like your brother." Zeke scoffed as you shrugged. "But that just means it runs in the family. Besides, you're way more mature than your brother. Like, he's not even on the board. So--"

"You are quite mature... and remarkable," he interrupted. You blushed, automatically retorting with a sarcastic commend, "Okay, well I didn't say you were remarkable."

"I'd like to be," he said plainly, stopping to look at you, "to be remarkable to you. To mean something to you."

Galliard

Normally Galliard only approached you on days where Reiner was all over you, picking on Reiner in front of you every chance he got, puffing his chest out slightly whenever you laughed.

Today, though, you were sat at your desk alone when he walked over and sat in front of you. “Hey, Porco,” you greeted, smiling, originally intending to quickly glance up but your irises caught on his and now they felt tethered.

“Good morning, y/n,” he replied smoothly, his tone different when Reiner wasn’t around, when it was just you two. It was silent for a moment, the only sign of time passing being the other students moving around you. “Heard Reiner asked you out. Wanted to hear what charity you were a part of that made you say yes.”

You laughed, covering your mouth in embarrassment when other students looked at you. He smirked, a light pink embracing his cheeks. "We should go out sometime," he added, winking, "Whatever time Reiner's thing is."

[arieswritez]

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 3

chapter 2

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you'll miss it), violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he's a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; you don't know how long i could stare into your picture and wish that it was me i guess it's different 'cause you love him but i've got an interactive sick and twisted imagination and that's gotta count for something - not allowed (tv girl)

3.

you'd found a boy that made your heart go thump thump, thump. and you knew very well how the rest of that story usually went.

your love was encompassing. asphyxiating and obsessive. and in the very first moment the two of you interacted, you knew, this could be it.

you didn't blame yourself.

you couldn't blame yourself.

blame the love stories.

the disney movies with the princes and the magic mirrors. breaking curses with true love's kiss. much like the fabricated sugary fantasies, your potential life with him unfolded before your eyes.

he could be the one.

true love's forever kiss.

you imagined it all.

movie theater dates, awkward parental meetings, proposals, a home, kids, pets. arguments. therapy, even. pushing through at the end. death. rebirth. trying it all over again in the next life.

all you had to do was get him to stick around.

you had to make him understand that you could be his true love kiss, too.

you had to be perfect.

. . there was just one miniscule problem.

the boy so happened be on the same baseball team as mark.

it's the way the two of you had met.

despite the fact that you were supposed to be there for mark: your eyes were . . elsewhere. your eyes - then your focus - had gravitated towards him even before the first pitch. and you found yourself blushing as you watched him stretch: holding his baseball bat over his head.

you'd made it your only goal to attempt to extract as much information about it from mark as discretely as you could. and frankly, you should've known mark would be able to read you like the back of his hand.

because he found out what you were trying to do embarrassingly quickly.

and he was just as quick to shut it down.

you hadn't noticed the boy before. not really. but since the baseball game, he seemed to be everywhere. and you were excited to find that he was the new addition to mark's friend group. you knew this because you saw him and mark sitting together during lunch.

which meant they were at least acquaintances.

so imagine your shock when you came to find out. . mark didn't like him.

everything about him seemed to rub mark the wrong way. mark would clam up the moment you mentioned your boy. he'd change the subject. or his mood would just straight up sour. he'd go quiet and avoidant. and when you kept pushing, he finally snapped.

your boy was stupid.

your boy was shallow.

"don't say i didn't warn you." mark would mumble.

but warning you wasn’t enough.

your boy barely looked at you.

and you weren't sure if it was in part because of the way you acted. . the way you looked. maybe he was so out of your league that he'd completely removed you from his radar.

you'd watch him from across hallways and excitement would swell in your chest when you found that you'd be walking in opposite directions.

you'd see him coming.

he'd see you.

time would slow as you walked past him.

your heart rate would pick up.

but his eyes would remain forward and time would pick back up again as soon as you were past each other.

all it'd leave you with was the bitter taste of rejection in your mouth and a deep ache of anxiety bubbling in your stomach.

the only thing that sobered you up were the dizzying possibilities.

he hadn't seen you. he hadn't noticed the effort you'd put in.

but eventually, he would.

you don't know what it was that grabbed his attention.

mark was vehemently against introducing you two.

you were at a loss until you realized that you'd just have to try harder.

whenever mark left for the bathroom, you'd made it a mission to swipe mark's phone during study sessions. you'd go through his socials and send yourself screenshots of both his follower count and who he was following.

it was a long tedious progress but eventually, you'd found your boy's account.

thankfully, it was public. which meant the the decoy accounts you'd made to snoop just in case he was private turned out to be a waste of time.

you looked through his followers and did your homework on anyone he showed a particular interest in. you'd even made a list of the usernames of the people who’s posts he interacted with the most.

and soon you became a master of disguise.

you studied them top to bottom.

those that went to the same school were far easier to emulate.

you copied their mannerisms, the way they styled their hair, you changed the cadence of your voice, the way you rolled your r’s. your clothing grew tighter and your slouch was now an exaggerated upbeat gallop as you chased after the object your new affection, hoping one day he'd notice.

. . and the exact moment he looked into your eyes and did a double take. . you did one, too.

it was completely out of surprise before you caught yourself and continued to saunter away from him with butterflies in your stomach: flapping their wings so violently it felt like you'd be swept away.

his attention was the most excitement you'd felt. . in a long time.

and you knew you'd do anything to retain it.

it was a sickly sweet feeling: syrupy, sticky. clogging your vascular system to the point your head swelled. the lack of oxygen only heightened your fantasies.

the attention was addictive and so, so good you found yourself chasing that high all the time. going to extreme lengths to get his attention. even if they’d end up embarrassing you after.

you never allowed yourself to wallow in the feeling of dread that settled in your stomach when you did everything in your power to get his attention, though.

specially whenever it made a smile stretch across his face.

whatever you did faded into the background.

it was all worth it in the end.

something was wrong with mark.

and he needed to get to the root of the problem fast.

he was looking at you. . differently.

he talked to his dad.

nolan had said something about the changing moods having to do with his powers. how being intense and passionate was just in his blood.

he talked to his mom about it. albeit in a more discrete way. he'd never be able to live it down if she'd found out you were making him behave a certain way.

she'd just chalked it up to it being puberty.

mark didn't know who to believe.

he just wanted to stop thinking about you.

his nerves were shot to shit whenever you were near.

senses heightened: you were a fog blanketing his brain until your voice carried with it a technicolor vision.

he could smell you coming like a damn blood hound.

he could hear your pulse while sitting next to you.

something was wrong with mark.

he knew it when his teeth ached when you'd stretched your neck: raised your arms over your head and let out a little sound of pain and discomfort.

something was wrong with mark.

when the day's turned warm and wet. . and your clothing became more revealing.

he could see more of you.

freckles and moles, blemishes and scars, he hadn't noticed before.

he'd follow sweat drops rolling down your skin.

smooth. soft.

he'd held you, once.

when was the last time?

something was wrong with mark.

he'd lay awake at night staring up at the ceiling.

thinking about how you'd looked while you concentrated on a book. while you looked down at your phone. while you listened to music: smiling when a song you liked came on.

your little humming. . but not singing.

never singing.

mark noticed you'd stopped singing in front of him when he started to make fun of you for it.

that, too, was how mark knew something was wrong with him.

the way your moods would shift like tides under a crescent moon whenever he'd said something excited him. he felt pleasure - a violent zap of electricity shooting up and down his spice - watching your eyes light up or darken when he'd say something to you.

about you.

i like your hair today.

light.

you talk so goddamn much.

dark.

i missed you.

light.

your stories take fucking forever.

dark.

something was wrong with him when he found his own mood depended on fantasizing on how he'd make you feel that day.

if he was in a bad mood, seeing you in one, too, was a sure-fire way to make his day a whole lot better.

something was wrong with mark.

when he'd have to smother the sounds he made while imagining you -

something was wrong with him. . when red, hot anger consumed him when one of his friends made a smart quip about your body.

when he couldn't just laugh it off anymore.

something was wrong with mark.

. . or so he thought.

because he'd later find out. .

. . no.

something was wrong with you.

all of a sudden: mark was the one double texting.

triple texting.

mark was the one asking if he could hang out. . and when the fuck did he ever need permission?

mark was the one seeking you out.

something was wrong with you.

and he needed to get to root of the problem.

he picked his brain apart in an attempt to figure out what it was. you couldn't be under any stress. you looked fine. better than fine.

you looked happy.

fucking elated.

to the point where mark couldn't affect your moods anymore.

mark wanted to know what the fuck you were so happy about.

why the fuck you were so happy when he was falling apart at the seams. when his world was crashing down.

and there you were, completely fucking oblivious.

mark had always been curious.

and so, he went to see you.

the two of you were in your room.

you'd excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

and mark started looking.

you were predictable.

he knew where you kept your journal. despite how many times he'd found it and read it aloud - holding it above his head whenever you tried to snatch it away - he'd always managed to figure out your next hiding place.

it was easier that way.

he pretended he didn't know where it was.

you pretended to have some privacy.

he pretended not to know every single, minute, insignificant detail of your life.

of your thoughts.

thank fuck you were still so naive.

thank fuck for dairies.

he'd found it in a box under your bed.

and after flipping to the page with the freshest set of ink. . he'd found out what your problem was.

you'd found a boy who'd made your heart go

thump.

thump.

thump.

[mjtheartist04]

✿𝓡𝓲𝓴𝓪 𝓗𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓪✿

༻❀𝓘𝓷𝓯𝓸 𝓑𝓮𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓒𝓾𝓽❀༺

Name: Rika Hinata.

Age: 16.

Gender: Female - She/Her.

Race: Asian + Hispanic.

Height: 5’7.32” (171 cm).

Affiliation: Demon Slayer/ Demon Slayer Corps.

Rank: Hinoe.

Breathing Style: Blaze Breathing - Derived From Flame Breathing.

Personality: ISFJ, Caring, hardworking, independent, perceptive, Understanding, protective. Rika is a kind girl by heart, who looks for peace within herself and wishes to be strong enough to protect others and is always there looking out for them, worrying about their well beings. She greatly admires and looks up to the hashiras and her close comrades, very respectful towards them. However, Despite her kindhearted nature, she is a tough girl and she likes to keep most things to herself, putting up walls whenever she’s feeling down or upset, very private about her personal life and her trauma and how it impacted her. can be a bit intimidating when angry, just as long as you don’t say anything bad to those she is close with, she is quick to defend them, she won’t be afraid to put you into your place. she can be quite protective, and can sometimes be a bit patronising at times.

⋆⁺‧₊☽𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂☾₊‧⁺⋆

At the age of ten years old, rika had been taken under the care of sakonji urokodaki, after being discovered in the woods by giyuu tomioka. Bleeding and Unconscious.

Rikas childhood was shattered when a demon invaded and attacked her home, where her parents were both killed, fighting for their lives and in a desperate attempt to protect their daughter. The demon had tried to get to her, but with her quick speed, she out ran him and ran out into the dark woods, fleeing into the late night, driven by both determination and terror until dawn. Having her to pass out due to exhaustion.

After being saved, it was from there she discovered about the demon slayer corps. Right then and there, she wanted to be trained and to become a demon slayer. A goal to become strong enough to shield others from harm, to bring peace to those she protects…So, She trained for two years under urokodakis guidance. within those two years, she looked up to both mister urokodaki and giyuu, forming a close bond with the two…

At the age of 13, she participated the final selection, driven by her promise to herself and officially became a demon slayer. Standing tall and ready to face whatever lies ahead with her heart set on protecting others against the horrors that once shattered her peace. She can't let the same thing happen again and she’ll push herself intensely To ensure that no one else suffers the same fate and experience the pain she felt.

˚ʚ♡𝓕𝓾𝓷 𝓕𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓼!♡ɞ˚

-She was trained on using water breathing and that was originally gonna be her combat style. but when she met Rengoku and saw him practicing flame breathing, it piqued her interest, and asked him if he could train her, and he agreed. quickly the two formed a strong sibling bond overtime. During those training times, is when she creates Blaze Breathing, to suit her more and her combat skills.

- she still knows water breathing and uses it every now and then.

- Rika is a fast runner and a bit flexible.

- She’s actually a very good cook! Happily helps aoi at the butterfly estate with cooking meals.

- She has cold hands and her body temperature is mostly on the slightly cooler side.

- Tends to get bashful when praised or complimented.

- Melonpan is her favorite food + Pinapples and anything spicy!

- She smells like lavender and freesias, with a hint of sweetness.

- On her free time she likes to Draw/Paint!

- She LOVES tulips.

- She has strong hearing.

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[blood-teeth]

E N T E R T H E L A B Y R I N T H

In the Labyrinth, they talk of gods.

They whisper between their fingers and sweeten their breath with the tales of titans of old who once stood so tall that a single breath would cause earth-tremors, their steps reshaping the ground trod beneath them. Their fingers were the tools that smoothed the mountains into points, shaped and carved the ridges and valleys in between. If you hike far enough, one woman claims, if you travel to a point where the oxygen is thin and your vision blacks, you can make out a partial print against the mountainside. You can run your own fingers along its length and still feel the titan’s warmth as if his palm were pressed right against yours.

The woman says, It is a thing of worship. It is a thing of devotion.

In the Labyrinth, they ask you to make your body anew before the King of the High Hills. They say that you are alive because you must suffer for the life and love of the Lord, that you must open your body and let him lick along your flesh so that he may taste the endlessness of his perpetual reign.

In the Labyrinth, there is no escape from his touch.

“You have a heavy burden upon you,” the headmaster was saying, teeth and eyes all a glitter under the amber cast candles. “I am not unsympathetic to the arduous path ahead of you—but please understand that this suffering must be experienced for the longevity of the king, for the beautiful life ahead of him. Only he is the one who can shed mortality and raise to the gods, because he is the only one strong enough, courageous enough, to count the cost of living forever. You must succeed where others have failed. You, this class, this is our last chance to mend what has been made broken. You must. You must.”

The Mouths of Elysium is a dark-academia fantasy created with Twine where your choices matter to the story. You live inside the Labyrinth, a maze that hates to become known with walls and paths that change every hour. The center of the Labyrinth sits a university that has been there since the beginning of time; its only purpose is to recruit students who can solve the puzzle of life, who can create an elixir that would allow the King of the High Hills to live past the length of forever. Failure means a fate worse than death.

You are one of those students.

Althea Callaghan - You know her in death. She has been the taste of rot against your tongue, the anger and hurt in your palms. You see the nice, beautiful lines of her teeth and become a creature of grief unfolding unto yourself. Debase yourself with the fervent want of her. Bend at your waist and beg for forgiveness.

You hate her. You want to watch her bleed. She feels the exact same about you, but what she doesn't know is that every waking moment of your life is dedicated to her.

The Princess/Prince - The forgotten child of the throne. The 405th child of His glorious reign. Divinity runs through their veins, the heir to so much power, but they will never see themselves rule the unforgiving landscape of the Labyrinth. Their fate is to die and be buried amongst the endless graves of their dead brothers and sisters. They must do this so the King may live forever.

A fully customizable MC including gender, appearance, and sexuality

A landscape of horror. A landscape that hates you and everyone who might try to understand it. Go beyond the walls and be witness to a reality worse than death

Key choices that will influence your game and experience. Will you succeed or fail?

Learn what it means to be forgiven. Learn what it means to suffer. Become devotion. Become loyalty. Make your body anew before the King of the High Hills

DEMO (updated 6/10/24)