#body horror ment /

[fates-theysband]

although to be fair to the good people of galloway there's probably too much eldritch bullshit going on for them to care. like oh you were a girl in high school and now you identify as neither a man nor a woman? cool, did you hear about the guy that melted behind the quick-stop?

[solidwater05]

Looking at fungus based body horror for a Hermitcraft au and I keep finding Hermitcraft art. I feel called out

[anatomical-puppet]

this is doing way better than i expected it to so i’m taking that as permission to go on a fully-fledged autism ramble

body horror- to me, at least- is about making you consider when a human body stops being human. how much has to happen to it before it’s considered something else? a person with a stab wound is a person with a stab wound. no amount of organs hanging out makes someone look or feel inhuman. but people melting and fusing together? teeth breaking through the skin along someone’s spine? a jaw opening and opening and opening, so wide you can see down their throat and into their stomach? that’s not human. it’s something else, and it’s horrifying not because it could happen to you, but because you don’t know how to feel about what you’re looking at. are you supposed to pity them like a person, or fear it like a monster? THAT is what body horror is. it doesn’t even have to be bloody, it just has to ride that line between revulsion and sympathy

i need people to understand the difference between gore and body horror or i’m gonna start ripping bricks out of walls

[imagibunny]

i think if people are gonna do body horror you should push it as far into "what the fuck" as you possibly can

personally i'm just very?? anxious?? about offending people, especially on accident. so that why whenever i draw body horror it looks less realistic and more "hey!!! no!!!!"

cause unless people have eyeballs comin out their arms and jaws can stretch abnormally (we're talking to the ground at best) i think i'm safe

[torchtour]

is gord's gun arm bleeding blood or oil or something else??

saw a few tags asking about the goopy arm! so.

the gun fires bullets made of congealed blood (NOT finger/toenails but. its remnant of the hand so pretty close?). the gun uses an alternating clotting/thinning system to tease blood out of the partially-closed wound for firing. blood is also the gun's coolant/lubricant and will spill from the gun when the stump faces the ground. just. just lots of blood involved.

[incremates]

dabi's scarring/physicality in canon and post canon. tw for general body horror/body yuckiness/body trauma/burnt flesh talk/medical talk below:

the first thing to note here is that at the time he's sixteen, 70% of his body is burnt beyond recognition, or so garaki informs. now almost a decade later, dabi's body is now roughly 85% burnt. despite the 15% increase, the 85% comes from careful calculation on dabi's part rather than reckless overuse of his quirk. while dabi's personality changes and regresses around endeavor, he's actually a calculated individual outside of those interactions. we see that expressed multiple times throughout canon, and there's no way he could've survived this long if he wasn't both cautious and smart when it comes to his own body.

the sheer amount of burns means he has to be incredibly careful with how he moves. fortunately (or perhaps the opposite) for him, he expresses that he doesn't "feel" much of the pain anymore. while this is true for new wounds, i don't believe this is the case for old wounds. for any time he reopens a wound, or a new inch of skin is burnt, he will be feeling in in a matter of days. he handles this chronic pain by misusing narcotics and stolen prescription meds.

onto the nature of his wounds. it can be hard to discern exactly how this purplish-raised skin acts. does it behave like normal skin, is it scar tissue, is it a scab? in truth, it's a bit of all three. naturally, when his quirk is activated from the same spots, the same places will be injured over and over again. overuse of his quirk will then cause the burns to spread farther and farther out from the origin point of the quirk activation.

that said, let's start at the point of origin.

as we see from the flashbacks provided, toya's flames manifest around his chest. as he continues to train, he discovers that he can manifest them on his arms. given the patterns of the scarring, he can also manifest them on his back. those three points are going to burn the hottest for the longer periods of time.

because of that, the area right around those origin points act more like scabs than tissue or skin. this is what reopens/re-burns the most when his quirk is activated. these areas also hold the most amount of nerve damage, so it's less felt when these wounds are tampered with. they often crack when turning or extending. occasionally, these wounds have to be dressed and tended to, so infection doesn't grow.

onto the area near the origin points. this would be his sides, up his arms, down his legs, and his neck. this acts more like new scar tissue. this will be the "brightest" shade of purple, as it's not too far off from being in a scab-like state. this will re-tear if there's too much extension or use. these areas are also the second most likely to reburn, pulling it back to a scab-like state, and must be rehealed. these areas actually hold the most amount of pain, since it's in this incomplete state between scab and scar tissue.

the areas farthest from quirk origin points. these areas include his hands, cheeks, feet, and eyes. these points operate the closest like normal skin, though can't be considered so. they are still horrifically burnt, but act more like older scar tissue than new scar tissue or scabs. these areas don't provide too much pain until it's reburnt. then, because these areas have the most amount of nerves, it causes dabi quite a bit of pain. these are the most tangible, and can take some movement before splitting.

i want to briefly point out his joints and motion spots. no matter how "healed" they are, any over-extension will cause pain and may even split. this is mainly seen on his lips. when smiling or expressing too wide, the corners of his lips will split and bleed. i want to draw attention to dabi's "blood" tears for a moment. since his tear ducts are burnt, he's unable to cry. this causes internal bleeding and eventually drip out of his cheek wound.

onto upkeep of these wounds. we've all seen the staples. my dabi wears gold, by the way, instead of silver. the staples are meant to keep the skin from sloughing off. it promotes the healing of tissue and tendons beneath, but it's primarily to keep the skin on his body. otherwise, he'd likely die of hypothermia as the skin burns of sloughs off. the placement of the staples are updated as needed, but as i mentioned before dabi is very careful about overuse of his quirk. it's not until after meeting endeavor that the staple placements have to be adjusted. after a hard mission or after taking some hits, he may have to re-staple himself, but that's out of bodily injuries caused TO him, rather than something he does himself.

if the staples are removed, his body parts will hang by the tendon alone!

his daily routine does have to be modified in order to accomodate for these wounds and the chronic pain accompanied with it. when showering, he must be careful of how long these wounds are exposed to water. his showers have to be relatively quick, and relatively cool. afterwards, he has to fully dry and be incredibly careful that no moisture is left on the wounds before dressing. in addition to showering, he also prefers to wear loose clothing, as tight clothes tend to up against the wounds and cause them to re-open or rip from the staples. dabi also sleeps a lot. not only is he a creature who enjoys routine, sleep helps the healing process, and more often than not, he can nap or sleep for a few hours.

geten also mentioned the smell, so i think it's important to note as well. he remarks that toya smells like burning flesh, and that is absolutely true. he regularly smells like charcoal or "burnt". along with this, he smells like tobacco from the cigarettes he smokes, and very... chemical from the hair dye he uses.

onto post-canon. first of all, this is what he canonly looks like.

yikes. now this form is created because of the "supernova" toya becomes, which seems to completely burn his body, and almost replace his internal organs with a glowing blue flame. here, though, we see that his eyes are returned to him and he can look upon his family. he seems to retain vision there, too - so it's not just an aesthetic addition.

in my post-canon verse, this supernova that toya becomes is a result of the quirk given to him in the final war. rather than actually cause life-ending damage to his insides, the quirk was contained in itself and spared him death. instead, the burns and injuries we see above are due to his body's natural inclination to not handle such intense heat. at this point, toya is being treated like a severe burn patient. he'll stay in this fancy tube for around 3-4 months. while in this tube, he's mostly in a coma-esque state, only being awake for a single hour a day to talk to his family.

after 4 months, there will have been enough internal healing to be able to transfer into the burn ward of a villain hospital. here, he's more conscious and more "with his senses", rather than the regressed state we saw in the final war. he starts mandated counseling sessions during this time, and lawyers are finally able to take his statements for proper sentencing. skin grafts and plastic surgeries begin at this time to help restore his appearance.

after another 4-5 months in the burn ward, he will be transferred to a more "residential" area of the hospital. at this point, he's able to be awake most of the day. he also starts physical therapy. it's important to note that toya will never be "able-bodied" again. his nerves are too damaged, and it's just not possible for him to live on his own. he starts learning to walk again, using forearm crutches to help his gait. he practices using his hands again, though he'll never be able to write. he also undergoes speech therapy to be more easily understood. he starts to look more like himself after the plastic surgeries, which will continue to take place every few months until his appearance is fully restored.

after about a year of intense treatment, toya is finally released to natsuo's and fuyumi's care. toya's quality of life does have a sway on his sentencing. because of that, he's sentenced to house arrest under the care of the two listed before. endeavor is the last person he needs to be with from a mental standpoint, given enji is his abuser and the one who neglected him time and time again. rei, herself, is in no place to be taking care of him, either.

he chooses to go with natuso, as they were bonded the most. as he adjusts to this new quality of life, he does have mandated intense therapy. toya will never be able to use his quirk post-canon. he "can", by technicality, but he's in such a fragile state, despite looking more healed than ever. it would be a bad idea, and the grafted skin can easily split again. in general, he's too weak to even muster the strength to conjure a flame. despite the state his body is in by the end of it all, he's finding peace at last.

[fates-theysband]

"i know it's a little soon, but like richie, you melt into the wall"

oh that's FUCKED but also really really fucking funny

[yingren]

good morning i offer a tiny headcanon that's been marinating in my head for a while now. i'll elaborate later and add more to it, for now it's a work in progress.

in the passerby’s rejuvenated wooden hairstick relic, it describes how the unnamed man ( yingxing ) wakes from a deep slumber in agonizing pain. his body is in a constant state of regeneration — his hair never stops growing, his flesh twitches and throbs, and his healing works ceaselessly, rebuilding him over and over. the curse of abundance portrays a form of restoration beyond the unnamed’s control, one that doesn’t just mend wounds or injuries but extends to even the smallest details, like causing his hair to grow endlessly. i guess, in a way you can think of it as nothing being “wrong” with his hair but because of his condition, it still grows.

at some point, he uses a small, dead branch as a makeshift hairstick, only to later realize it has started sprouting flower buds despite the fact that it had been dead when he first picked it up.

this leads into the actual headcanon i have: objects that remain in ren’s presence for an extended period, under the right conditions, may begin to “heal” in a similar way. however, this effect is not intentional, nor does it make him a healer. it doesn’t apply to major wounds or fatal injuries, but rather, minor cuts and bruises that might show subtle signs of recovery if someone stays close to him while his own healing is working in overdrive. this is most likely to manifest when his body is in a state of extreme self-repair, patching itself up in the same uncontrolled manner described in the relic. anyone near him during this time might experience slight, unintended healing, though only to a limited extent.

RELIC DESCRIPTION: A distant and yet familiar feeling of nervousness wrapped around him, sharp and distinct with phantom pain, as the unnamed woke from his long and deep slumber. His past was shattered into razor-edged shards, and he forgot even his own name. Wandering aimlessly, he drank melted snow to quench his thirst, hunted wild beasts to fill his stomach, and chopped a withered branch to use as a wooden hair-stick to fasten his flowing hair. Like the incessantly flowing stream of a mountain spring, his long, black hair never ceased growing. His flesh twitched and throbbed beneath his skin, like river carps flipping and swarming... Fascinating powers ceaselessly reconstructed his body, bringing an everlasting pain of bones and tendons rupturing and healing. As countless phantom agonies and torments tore through his body, his shattered past was also beginning to come together... As he glanced at his own reflection in the water, the story of that tragedy gradually cleared in his mind. When the face in the reflection was no longer a stranger's, the unnamed suddenly realized the dead branch was sprouting flower buds. Epiphany struck him like lightning. The curse of immortality still raged on, and the grudge of past misgivings never died out. HE was now the newborn flower on this once-dead branch.

[calciumdeficientt]

it’s almost october which means it’s halloween. happy Halloween. let’s get fucking spooky baby.

2335 words of ooky kooky spooky goodness, the payoff is pretty gross so all the triggers i can think of will be tagged accordingly

comms are open if ya like what ya see

There was something underneath the school, at least that’s what Gary was trying to tell everyone. But no one would listen to him, he was the boy who cried bullshit, no one really cared what he had to say, he was a pathological liar. Currently he was in the social area of the boys dorm, trying to get Jimmy and Pete on his side. It was going…. less than swimmingly. “Jaaaaaaaames, I wouldn’t lie about something like that now would I?” he quirked his slit brow, lounging sideways over Jimmy’s lap, where the other boy’s hand landed on his forehead with a satisfying plap“Yeah yeah Gary, isn’t lying your whole MO?” Gary stiffened, damn. He had him there. “I’m serious this time… people haven’t been going to classes” “Oh whoop-dee-do sound the alarms, Bullworth kids aren’t going to classes! What sort of world are we living in?” Jimmy sneered, seeming over the whole thing already. Pete was stood behind the couch picking at a hangnail, he knew he shouldn’t believe Gary, but with all the weird, unexplained creepy stuff happening around Bullworth, he couldn’t help it. It was so insane, that it circled back around and… it was kinda plausible. “Jimmy maybe he’s right, something insidious is going on around here”

Gary shot up from his lounging position to get right in Pete’s face “You sure you’re big enough to toss words like that around little Petey? Insidious?” Pete ran a hand over his face fretfully “Shut UP dude, I’m agreeing with you” “Hehehe…. insidious, what a nerd. Right Jimbo?” “Lay off man,” Jimmy swatted at the back of Gary’s head, the same kind of motion you do to a misbehaving dog “Pete, don’t worry about it… we’ll go check it out tonight, okay?” that was exactly the last thing Pete wanted, but he knew that Jimmy was just trying to calm his nerves about the whole thing “Okay Jimmy”

They reconvened outside the basement just after curfew, having snuck out through a window using tied up bed sheets like they were old-timey prisoners instigating a breakout and had scattered in different directions just in case the prefects tried to play cowboy and round them all up. Gary had all the stuff: flashlights so they wouldn’t wake the janitor by using the main lights; many, many large knives big enough to kill a bear if that was the root cause of the disappearing students; pepper spray he’d lovingly handmade in chemistry class; and a half-empty box of matches. They huddled around the door to the basement as Gary fiddled with the key “Cmon man hurry up” “Patience is a virtue, James” “Shut up, asswipe. One more run-in with the prefects and I’m outta here on my ass, move it” Gary rolled his eyes and continued unlocking the door at his pace, just to piss off Jimmy.

Eventually, he did manage to open the lock, and get all three of them inside. The basement had a weird smell; damp, mouldy but almost… clinical. That was disturbing because it certainly didn’t look very clean, you couldn’t really even blame it on chemical storage because all the chemicals were either old and empty or new and still in their boxes. Pete was lagging behind Gary and Jimmy, a position he wasn’t very happy with, in case something snatched him off when the other two were bickering. Then again, ever the overthinker, he wondered if they’d bother to protect him if he was in the lead.

Eventually, they reached a crossroads within the lower floor of the basement, with three intersecting paths; this was odd. Gary had checked the floor plan, there was nothing like this anywhere on it. How he’d gotten the floor plan was anyone’s guess but somehow, some way, he had. He strode forward, pivoted and put his flashlight under his chin like he was a grandpa telling ghost stories to his traumatised grandchildren “I’m goin in. there… I need to see if I can find something” Pete’s hand shot forward as if to pull Gary back but it was promptly slapped down by Jimmy who gave him his best ‘please god don’t encourage him’ face.

Gary strode off into the abyss, leaving Petey and Jimmy sitting ducks. “You think it’s true, Jimmy, all those rumours?” Jimmy raised a brow, too busy playing with a selection of small stones on the floor of the basement to pay any real attention to what Pete was saying. “What? No. Let’s think about it this way, Gary’s a lunatic and everyone here wants an excuse to cut class or skip town. There’s nothing down here… Gary’s just being Gary” Pete didn’t exactly know what to make of that, he bit his lip a little bit and fiddled around with the beam switch on his flashlight “But Jimmy I mean…. even the preps were talking about it… they don’t have any real reason to lie, right?” Jimmy turned to Pete, deadpan “Derby Harrington tells everyone he’s a natural blonde, Bif Taylor tells everyone he’s got a girlfriend, Justin Vandervelde claims he has friends! The preps lie all the time and so does everyone else. It’s mass hysteria Petey, don’t get sucked in.”

Pete sighed, and tried to relax a bit. He sort of half slumped but even then that positioning still looked stiff and forced. They sat quietly for a while, waiting for any sign of life from Gary and eventually… they got their answer. A long, high pitched, blood curdling scream that could have only come out of someone in deep trouble, interspersed were little gurgles and cries. “GARY!” Pete bleated, up on his feet and running towards the noise in an instant, god what a moron. Jimmy, while wanting to wait it out and leave Gary to what may or may not have been down there, got to his feet and followed Pete as he chased down the noise. At the source, they found nothing, no Gary. No blood. Just his flashlight. Jimmy already thought it seemed fishy but seeing Pete totally freaking out put a little bit of doubt into his mind “Hey, man, It’s okay. Maybe he got scared and bolted.”

The pair of them began to traverse up the hallway, Pete scooped up Gary’s flashlight with trembling, clammy fingers as they passed it and they kept moving down the long hall. The floor was a different texture, it wasn’t concrete anymore but linoleum like the kind they had upstairs in the science labs. A strange design choice for a hallway no one ever goes down. Pete stopped suddenly just as they were reaching the end, holding an arm out to block Jimmy from moving. A little ways away, there was some rustling, then a heavy footstep. Before they could turn and bolt back the way they came there were more and more heavy thuds until suddenly something pounced on Pete and he went sprawling to the floor, crying out for mercy. Jimmy whipped his flashlight onto the figure and of course… it was just Gary, he leered over Pete, grinning like he’d just won the lottery “Ha ha ha! I got you nerds. Oh Petey you should’ve seen your face!” Pete kicked up at Gary, eventually gathering the nerve to stand and give him a good shove “Not cool Gary! Jesus Christ!”Gary’s smirk widened into a full on beam, all teeth. “Relaaaaax, no harm done, just a little practical joke amongst friends, right James?” Jimmy squinted, admittedly he had been just as scared as Pete if not more, but he was excellent at hiding it “Don’t drag me into this, it’s too late for your bullshit Gary” Gary plucked his flashlight out of Pete’s hand and continued to walk towards the end of the corridor, completely ignoring any and all criticism from his two friends. The trio trailed along the hallway in relative silence, save for the squeaking of their shoes against the linoleum. Jimmy eventually broke through the tension, turning to Gary “What are we even looking for down here anyway? It’s late, I have a history test tomorrow” “Patience James, patience” “Oh my GOD will you quit it with the patience bullshit and just tell me why we’re down here playing Scooby Doo at midnight for God’s sakes” Gary paused, regarded his watch despite knowing full well it was busted and looked down at Jimmy “Anything unusual… clues and such” “Oh how very informative, I’ll get right on that, inspector gadget” Gary snorted “Oh Jimmy, first we were playing Scooby Doo and now all of a sudden this is inspector gadget? You need to pick a fantasy and stay in it”

Petey began trailing behind, his heart was still leaping against his ribs like it was trying to barge its way out of his chest. The rhythm was akin to that of a racing horse on the track, beatbeatbeatbeatbeat. It was incessant; and not unlike what he imagined it felt like to have a heart attack. The thought of hightailing it back to the boys dorm and lying flat on his back, sleepless and utterly petrified of what turned out to just be his friend, did cross his mind but he knew if he ran off he’d never hear the end of wimping out of their expedition for the rest of the semester at the least and possibly, his life at the most.

“Besiiiiiides, Jimmy we have everything we need to play Scooby Doo. A damsel, a pointless mystery, a fearless, and handsome leader and… well James, you can play the dog” Gary drawled, gesturing limply to the quivering Pete and to Jimmy before proudly pointing to himself with his free hand. Jimmy squared his shoulders and sighed. Being a little ways back and in no way involved in their stupid argument, Pete managed to find a passageway that the two bickering idiots had managed to miss “Guys…” “See there’s your problem. You think Fred is cool” the passage was dark and lined with some sort of heavy metal, kind of like the door to a safe. It was ajar. “GUYS!” the pair snapped their heads around to Pete, surprised by his sudden outburst. “Don’t worry Pete, think of it this way, two christmasses!” “Look I don’t care about you guys’ stupid fight… I found something” Pete narrowed his eyes, turning back to the door with a grimace. The entrance was cold, much colder than the rest of the basement. It felt like one of those walk in freezers you go in to scream where you work in a restaurant. “Weird, this isn’t on the plan” Gary grumbled, looking down at the crudely drawn recreation of the basement’s floor plan with disdain. Of course Pete had found it, and stolen his thunder. “We should go in, scope it out” Pete faltered. That seemed like the exact opposite of what they should be doing, they should really have been getting going and trying to forget all about tonight. “Sure, I wanna get this over with” Jimmy grumbled, taking the lead and storming down the corridor. It was damp, and significantly warmer on the inside than they’d first thought. It felt more like a meat locker than a freezer.

Soon enough, a few weak bulbs flickered to life, activated by the motion of their exploration. Reluctantly, the three clicked off their flashlights and continued down the hall, making note of the narrow walkway and the lack of damp smell. It was clean, it was medical. The walk was short, and they once again found a heavy door propped open. Like it was inviting them in “Ladies first” Jimmy huffed, grabbing Pete by the collar and tossing him over the threshold, knowing that if he didn’t, Pete would have frozen dead on the spot. Gary followed and then Jimmy.

In front of them was a deep pit, not unlike the hole, as well as the smell of more chemicals and an unpleasant warmth. Pete wandered a few more steps and paused, all the colour from his face draining. He looked sick… he felt sick. “What Petey, what?” Gary grumbled, striding to join Pete as he leaned over the edge of the hole. Jimmy stashed his flashlight and forced himself between the other too boys “Holy fucking shit… oh god”

In the centre of this deep pit was a large mound of flesh, so wide that it was beginning to fold to the shape of the basin of the circular pit. The skin was pulled so taut that it was thin enough for you to see every pulse of blood coursing through its engorged veins. It moved up and down steadily, rising and falling in a lethargic rhythm. It was breathing. “Oh god, oh god” Pete parroted Jimmy, getting paler and paler until he eventually couldn’t take the sight anymore and turned to paint the concrete with his half-digested meatloaf. Gary was circling the rim of the pit with a practised precision, looking for a face, or some equivalent. Jimmy stood where he had, utterly entranced by the pulsing of its blood in a sick sort of way. Too intrigued to look away, too grossed out to keep looking.

Eventually, Gary managed to find a face, and not just one. Many. Very very many. The faces of practically every person who’d vanished in the past days. They weren’t stitched together either, they seemed to have amalgamated together, and weren’t all that aware of each other’s presence or their own. They’d become a sort of hivemind, to a degree anyway. Some of them were weeping, others appeared to be making noiseless pleas for help. All of them had blank eyes and no hair. Not even eyebrows.

Jimmy stumbled backwards, herded up the thoroughly ill Pete and the pair of them ran off wordlessly. Gary reluctantly followed them, but there was no doubt in his mind he’d be back for this thing, to antagonise it if nothing else.

There was something under Bullworth academy. Pulsing. Breathing. Evolving.

[sunhalf]

@decaysate / rosemary & anya!

Anya likes when she gets to work with people like Rose. Women, she means, in part — mostly, she likes when she's charged to examine or heal those without conventional wounds. She kept a man without flesh or extremities alive for months and months and months, and she's good at it, but it makes her nauseous to have to see a human's meat beneath the safe covering of their flesh. Sometimes even that doesn't help. But Rosemary isn't often physically injured when she comes or is sent to her. Mostly, it's the mold. Which is fine.

"You've been pushing," Anya says, voice quiet and without judgement. It's a simple observation. The mold always pushes further when Rose doesn't rest or gets too worked up. A brow quirks, expression smoothing into something more concerned as she drops the hand she'd been examining. "Chris and the others. Are they pushing you too hard?" Men are useless at best — to watch them practically own Rosemary puts a bad taste in Anya's mouth.

[quillheel]

“ There’s no honor in hiding and sneaking. ” [to ennard this time 👀 ]

“ didn’t mmmake us with it. ” — its answer comes like a rattle of fowl between bars, a birdcage in flight, metal vibrating against metal where the voice-box had been stolen and reinstalled; cables slithering in on themselves, out on themselves, around the speaker like a living thing’s tissue around an object. 

a living thing entirely uninterested in being a living thing, aside from the concept of being something different. to learn, to adapt, to move and live and writhe was the sweet honey it’d never taste, humanity was nothing more than a lost dream. a dream they were never made to dream at all. they were made to make ghosts. they were made for a purpose and they’ve grown beyond it, but the flesh inside them never grew back. a thousand years of stealing hearts. a thousand years of never having their own. the ghosts of them, alone. the ghosts of one, alone. little girl, turned loud, turned quiet, turned gone. little girl, not enough for them all. — ( can a robot dream in italics. can dogs ever learn to speak. )

“ any of us w w w w with i it. all of us, to do t terrible, to b b b be terrible. have you seen what we made us, y yet? has he shown you? has he rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrambled-ed? “

a mother and a father and a sister and a brother and a monster you keep in the basement. lucky, they were the monster.

“ orr- “ the word shrieks in a happy voice given and turned sour, loud with distortion as the mangled thing of robotics too smart to die slithered from under the floorboards beneath their creators table, loops of cabling like nooses around the wooden legs, like a snake, like a monster. eyes clatter & drag from its chassis from where the wiring came loose and let them dangle, metal gouging his hardwood floors. “ -have you cha a a a a anged our mmiind while we weren’t looookkkinggg? “ the high, sweet voice of the daughter comes, a mimicry, a softness regardless. like cotton on barbed wire. like clouds under a eight hundred tonnes of Prometheus’ fire come back to burn him. 

its many voices titter, and beneath the workshop table, its eyes glow up, up, up at the beast in different skin, but just the same. a terrible red bleeds like tears from the circuitry. a terrible black pulls with it. iron fills the air like a silent chant; blood. blood. blood.

“ did yyou want us to cal l l l l l l youu father when we came b back home to youu? “

[instituteled]

@sealone inquired: I knew you would climb to the top of the tower on a pile of corpses. (victorian)

"Dɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ?"

Pale eyes regard the other, but they lack the usual sharpness. Drugs and alcohol have dulled it for a while. It gets easier, each time, and he's more willing to do the step with every single one behind him, but it will take some more before he's numb to the feeling entirely. And harder still when it's one he once regarded something akin to a friend. There's been his poor Barnabas, even though that one has not been entirely on his own hands. (One could argue not at all; there is some fault to be found, maybe, but it was not his actions that lead to his demise, at least.) There has been a couple of acquaintances. A few meals, some experiments. Strangers and pretty distractions.

The last of the books he brought from Germany lay almost discarded, stacked among the others. How was he to know? One would think if anything he should have loaded a curse on himself like that (as if that would stop him), not removed protection. And perhaps he should feel more regret. Grief. Guilt. Anything.

He feels something, alright, but it's hard to tell what it is. It's not that he would undo it all if he could. It's... a lack of control, perhaps. The second time that he has brought misfortune and worse upon former friends, with not even any particular intent to do so. But also not too much care.

"Spare me." Another man might have taken his ill mood for grief. Another man might have thought remorse. Jonah just laments the loss of his autonomy in some twisted way. Not becoming a monster: he's always been vaguely aware he's been one of the mundane way. Just differently. Tearing hearts apart in the metaphorical way. No, this is all about being unsure what of his actions are still his, and what are random chances, and what are strings pulling on him. (A thing he will forget in centuries to come, and never should have.)

"There were eyes on his lungs, Peter." Not just there, but that's besides the point. He has not seen the corpse, but he needs not. If he wanted to, he could right now: every pore filled with eyes, every bit covered, following every movement, washing in blood. "If you were to cut me open, how many would stare at you?"

[catboii]

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[Day ####]

Agent 23 didn’t fill out her journal about the day's events. She wanted to, was thinking about it the entire time they were playing chess together. Was thinking about how to write ‘I just played chess with a crow’ without it sounding like a joke… Even though it’s her journal and no one else would read it. If anyone ever did find it, it would be too boring for anyone to get far. This was the most exciting thing she’s done at work the entire time she’s been here. A lot of the previous jobs she’s had have been to watch the inanimates. The most exciting assignment before this, was the wardrobe that was said to vanish people for a short time if they stood inside it wearing a clown costume and closed the doors behind themselves. They would reappear after two to four hours, possibly depending on how colourful their outfits were, as the first set of case files proposed. The individuals did not have any recollection of disappearing, and felt as if they had stepped into, and immediately back out of, the wardrobe. 

Before it was shut up in the chamber it finally rested in, where it was when Agent 23 was assigned to ‘watch’ it, there had been an experiment as to what counted as a ‘clown costume’. 

In the experimental facility, there had been several D-class personnel that had been assigned to the experiment, mostly prison inmates that had sentences longer than the general human life expectancy. They were promised that if they assisted in daily experiments, in return they would get to live in a specific facility where they would have all the necessities they needed and wanted. It appeared from the outside to be a high class hotel with strict security to keep people out. In truth, it was a highly guarded prison, and they were each implanted with small devices which would explode in the backs of their necks, inside their spinal cords, crippling them if they tried to escape. But they did get everything they wanted, to a realistic degree. They had a heated indoor pool, state of the art gym equipment, the ability to request certain films or tv series box sets, which would be screened by security personnel and then handed over, and even several cinema rooms set up to watch the movies that they could request time in, and have a bunch of people watch the movie at once, or all by themselves. They had similar processes for board games, card games and video games, with specific game rooms fitted with a table football game, separate billiards, snooker and pool tables, a few arcade games from varying decades including a Dance Fever game, and other various amenities. They could still write letters to their families of course, and there was a courtyard in the middle of the building so they could get some outdoor time without being exposed to the actual outside. Less of a chance of them trying to run off, than if it was an actual yard on the outside of the building. 

Some D-class personnel who did an exceptional job would be offered additional opportunities to take on more risky missions, with full disclosure of what they would be getting into, and their payment would be a secret fund paid to their families upon their death, or release. Of course, there would never be a release back into society, as they would know too much, but the Foundation wouldn’t allude to this, as they needed their Disposable personnel to keep their hopes up and think they still had something to live for, a family to return to. 

In regards to the anomalous object, it appeared that even wearing the same physical costumes, as long as they were clown-like, people who appeared to be men were gone for up to thirty minutes longer than people who appeared to be women. Even if someone who was physically female, and identified as such, managed to appear as a man while wearing a costume, the wardrobe would treat them as such, disappearing them for the same amount of time as an actual man wearing the same costume, and vice versa. If the costume was sufficient to obscure the person beyond recognising a ‘gendered presentation’, then they would get an equal amount of time. 

The experiment was paused temporarily after a D-class suited in a completely black and white 1950s style mime outfit; complete with full face makeup, didn’t return after six hours, over three hours longer than anyone had been gone up to this point. They believed they may not return at all. 

Before this instance, every costume had had at least one coloured item included, even if it was just a normal civilian outfit including a white or black shirt but blue jeans, for example. Hair colour also didn’t seem to make a difference, although testing didn’t get far enough to test out wigs. 

24/7 surveillance continued, to monitor if the subject would be sent back, and after exactly 72 hours and 0 seconds, one of the doors flung open, and a desiccated corpse fell out onto the floor. Upon investigation, their costume was neatly folded and placed in one of the drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe. DNA testing concluded that the corpse was indeed the D-Class previously sent in. 

Regardless of this delay, testing continued as soon as clean up was concluded, with none of the subjects told of the event. 

It wasn't too much longer that it concluded completely, when a D-Class was sent in completely nude. As soon as the door closed, the wardrobe burst into spontaneous flames. The subject ran out, and (in some views luckily) as they were wearing no clothes, they were not physically on fire, although they did sustain significant burns over their body, even from the minimal exposure. 

Testing could not continue as the fire had damaged one of the doors and a hinge beyond being able to fully close. It was theorised and noted that this would impact the function of the Anomaly. The researchers were correct, and every person they sent in was not affected further, regardless of costumes. 

Agent 23 spent the night not being able to sleep, remembering the notes she had read from that job. There was unnecessary detail put into describing the state of the personnel who were affected, notably the corpse and the burned individual. The notes even state that this person could not receive any medical attention until the log detailing their injuries had been completed, and goes on to cruelly point out that the researcher needed, for some reason, to note the subject’s displeasure and pained groaning at having to wait, furthering the wait for treatment to an unneeded degree. 

23 lays in bed thinking about having to stand there, naked and covered in first and second degree burns, having to wait for someone to inspect her and write up a detailed list of every singed hair on her body, having to watch them scrawl every single word before she can get any help at all, and she wonders what would’ve happened if they were wearing something flammable and it had caught fire? Would they need to write up a record before extinguishing them? 

She doesn’t sleep. 

[soulsnoartyes]

October 4th!! I'm probably not going to have time to refine these like I want, but they're cute and I want to share the teenage space trio!

[ccaptain]

@aguilareye: “Kaeya,” the cowboy calls to him in quiet voice. His eyes dull, dark, and staring distantly. Boothill has never seen the Enigma so still and silent before, concern rising in the ranger. His metal hand reaches out and holds Kaeya’s shoulder, giving it a gently squeeze. “Where’d you go, Kaeya? Whatyah saw? Hey, look at me.” His other hand touches Kaeya’s chin, guiding it up so their gazes meet.

   the outlaw would be right if he guessed that something has happened to the being in front of him. Kaeya knows that he's perceptive, observant- there are things to see that go beyond simple words of assessment, and this is one of them.

   he doesn't know he has been zoning out until cold metal gives a grounding squeeze to his bare shoulder; empty gaze unclouds, turns apologetic. there's already a small i'm sorry on the tip of his tongue, about to justify his mental absence-

   fingers gently coax his chin up until he can't hide- he can see right in the other man's eyes: the gesture is nothing short of gentle, and Boothill's gaze has genuine concern in it. there's nothing imposing in the questions he asks Kaeya, no commanding tone, just a quiet urge to know if he's okay, and what has left him so shaken in the time they spent apart.

   this is what tears him apart at the seams.

   the horror seeps out of the cracks of a being who spent his lifetime seeing fear as an inconvenient, unnecessary without a solution to be provided. there's no longer a barrier between the slight shake of cold digits and chest caving in from the terror, the dread in pale, dulled diamond too evident, too oppressive to pretend that nothing has happened. it haunts him like a persistent ghost- but it's real. it has happened. and the pieces of his composed mask have all crumbled in his lap from the sheer shock of being cared about.

   Kaeya spares nothing. after a brief description of the Simulated Universe and what it entails, he lets the horrors attack the cyborg just as they have harmed him. his voice doesn't stop, he has no mercy on himself.

   how the simulated onlookers who paid for the show of a cobalt-haired fellow swallowing a Protozoan egg for their amusement, a thing he always takes in good stride with a bow afterwards. how the Occurrence is usually a bit gross but devoid of harm, as the saliva destroys everything before something bad can happen.

   but this time, the Propagation found him. and it made sure to give the Occurrence a grotesque, macabre twist.

   how the insects targeted the crowd, and even if simulated and not real Kaeya just couldn't stop himself from trying to prevent further harm for the poor people shrieking in fear. he diverted the buzzing attention on himself to avoid casualties, as he always does.

   and at that, the Swarm zeroed on him.

   Kaeya doesn't like to remember what happened after: his body convulsed back and forth. he screamed until his throat tore, eye wide open on the true horror descending upon him for what felt like hours. somebody must have turned off the faulty Simulation and extracted him from here, but he doesn't know who or why. he was an intruder. if anything, a phenomenon in a coding error to be studied  whoever decided to stop his torment must have taken pity on him.

   ( and Kaeya does have some mercy, but not for himself: he spares the concerned cowboy how, sometimes, it still feels like there's scratching inside of his skull. wing beats. buzzing where there should be none. the Enigma wants him to understand, not have nightmares. )

   ' I'm sorry, ' his voice breaks, then mercifully returns to normal, ' it's always- always nice when I am with you, and I wanted today to be fun, too, but... '

   there's a small pause that he gives himself, some dampness hanging on his lashes, refusing to turn into tears purely out of having forgotten how. there's something stuck in his throat that he doesn't know what to do with. the man in front of him wants the truth, and it's delivered to him in the form of quiet shakes.

   ' I don't think I'm okay- and I don't think I'll be okay for a while longer, ' this time, his voice wavers, web-like cracks on the surface of normally unwavering ice. pale diamond lifts to meet the crosshair in Boothills eyes, uncertaint, small. ashamed.

   ' do you still want to stay a while? we can find something to do... '