#gender horror

[nomsfaultau]

The Lambs Wolves Wear!Philza and Gendered Horror

This is an essay detailing my thoughts on gendered horror in my fic The Lambs Wolves Wear, wherein Philza’s children are replaced by monsters and he’s forced to maintain the mask of a family to survive. And I’d just like to put a disclaimer for tumblr “reading comprehension” dot com that I’m not a raging misogynist that believes men and women are separate species with no experience overlap, but instead observing societal expectations.

Gendered horror is about who is allowed to experience fear. The archetypical example being a final girl, as women are allowed to be emotional and scared and crying when being murdered, but men are often not afforded that. Because of societal pressure to repress their emotions, men are allowed fear but not allowed to show it. Furthermore, gendered horror is about what types of fears are narratively allowed to be done to different genders. This is blatant in topics like sexual violence, but it goes far deeper into the themes horror explored through different genders. Thus, I see merit in examining the types of horror Philza experiences in The Lambs Wolves Wear through a gendered lens, particularly as it pertains to his role as a father. This essay is going to be centered on the traditional Western paradigm of fathers as bread winners/protectors and mothers as nurturers/homekeepers, and how that pertains to gendered horror.

At the start of the story, Philza does not fall cleanly into the false societal dichotomy of father/mother roles. He can’t, given his status as a single parent, forced to provide both physically and emotionally, and excelling at both. Thus, he is in a position to explore horror from both the roles of father and mother within their societal archetypes.

Philza’s story is about the horror of failing to be a father.

Imbedded within the very premise of The Lambs Wolves Wear is Philza’s failure as a father to protect his family from external threats. He has already lost. He could not prevent his children from being taken, either through violence or threat thereof. Finding himself within the archetype of a vengeance hero with a classic slaughtered family, Philza naturally seeks violent retribution as is expected of him. However, it is not something he can deliver. Every second is a constant pounding reminder that he’s both too weak to protect his family and too weak to avenge them. Even worse, as time goes on he finds it increasingly difficult to even want to fulfill this expected violence in a deep betrayal of his missive to protect. Not only is he physically weak, but morally so as well. It’s an incredibly emasculating experience for him.

Second, as the damage the monsters inflict mounts, Philza loses the ability to provide sustenance to his family due to the razed cropland and slaughtered livestock. He is cut off from his work and left without a way to fulfill his family’s needs. This represents a second failure in protecting his family, albeit from a non physical threat. This aspect of fatherhood he weaponizes against the monsters, admitting his insecurities to manipulate them. It is the only grief that Philza is actually allowed to express, becoming an outlet for some of his fear. But not much, because men are expected to be unwavering and shoulder the responsibility without appearing weak. As a father he is not meant to be scared. But Philza spends the entire story so deeply, harrowingly afraid. This is the only place he succeeds as a father, in suppressing his emotions so others don’t know how badly he’s doing.

Still, Philza ultimately fails his duties as a father, unable to provide safety, physical needs, or vengeance.

Philza’s story is about the horror of being a mother.

First, establishing he fills an archetypal female role. While Philza outwardly suppresses emotional displays of fear as is expected from him, as the reader we’re privy to his harrowing terror and imposing sense of helplessness, which means from a narrative standpoint he’s still failing to hide his emotions. This emotional vulnerability is more permitted with women. Next put a check mark next to physical weakness compared to giant hellbeasts and undead armies. While male weakness compared to a foe is often explored given the aforementioned duties of protection, as a man Philza is still expected to try to fight back. He doesn’t. This emphasizes his powerlessness. And lastly, he is expected to preform massive amounts of emotional labor and other duties associated with motherhood. So, he is well positioned to explore certain (societal) aspects of female horror (though obviously not all).

The sole thing Philza can provide is emotional comfort, which falls within the traditional motherly role of nurturer. It becomes his only use, stripped of independence from the loss of his livelihood and the strict expectation that he will be a good parent (or else). He is put on a pedestal, expected to have no flaws, to never get angry or frustrated or overwhelmed, to have desires or ambitions outside of a motherly role. The wants of his “children” always comes first, even when it’s destroying him by violating what he needs. His only use is as a mother, and so he must be a perfect one or die. This aligns heavily with classic females roles in fiction (Being thus: Mother, damsel, whore, witch). Mothers in fiction are typically defined exclusively by what they provide for their far more important children, or what they fail to provide through their death. They are not people outside of their defined role. Philza is allowed no identity outside of nurturer.

Where once Philza had a role as a breadwinner, he is quickly stripped of that work, his domain becoming the household. He cannot leave, because why would he need to? That would get in the way of always being present and emotionally available to help his “children”. This cuts Philza off both from his community and from independence, as he is now reliant on the “children” to bring in food and water. Furthermore, the “children” are questionable providers yet Philza doesn’t have any other means of securing resources. This reflects the financial dependence that many women have been trapped in due to societal constraints limiting/forbidding jobs, bank accounts, being single/familyless. With no other option of survival, Philza has to pretend to be in love or be destitute (or murdered). The domestic abuse he experiences is endured because he is utterly dependent on the “people” abusing him, much like many, many, many women. And even should he escape, Philza was a subsistence farmer dependent upon his land, now the territory of the “children”. Razed as it is, it’s still the only means of survival he knew before he was forced to become a stay at home dad. So he stays. Home is a prison, but it is the only way he can survive.

Philza is forced to be responsible for the emotional state of others at the cost of his own mental health, and is expected to be perfect and exclusively dedicated to nurturing. He is controlled through dependence, isolation, the thin veneer of a family unit, and physical intimidation/abuse, which are themes deeply related to the horror of motherhood.

Closing thoughts:

In general media, there is a trend I’ve noticed in one gender adopting the role of another, specifically not in a trans context. A woman adopting a man’s role is empowerment. This is the marvel action girl heroes, the girlbosses, the ‘I learned to fight from my brothers’. But a man adopting a woman’s role is horror. It is the fear of the oppressor that they could be oppressed. Male horror is becoming dependent, the assumption dependence is inherently horrific because it can be abused so readily. And so in male horror, being a final girl is not just the horror of the experience, but of physical and EMOTIONAL weakness. Becoming a final girl -becoming a girl- is an unimaginable horror. If and only if you define womanhood as weak, crying, fragile, dependent, and identity-less outside their singular archetypal role.

The Lambs the Wolves Wear concerns itself with exploring those power inversions, a parent being abused by children, a father discovering the horror of motherhood. And. Well obviously I’m trans, so the message isn’t preventing said gender role transitions (well perhaps dismantling the roles into something healthy each individual decides but! Not the essay for that!). Similarly, children become caretakers for their elderly parents, or become parents themselves. It is a hierarchy that already naturally subverts itself. The horror is not from change, it is from power and lack thereof.

Crucially, as Philza desperately reaches for the vengeance hero archetype, we will likewise explore the horror of trying to maintain the man>woman and parent>child power hierarchy/expectations. The question becomes not forbidding these dynamic shifts, but how to facilitate them. How to REMOVE the horror, remove the abuse of said power dynamics both in their status quo and in their subversions.

So yeah. the gendered horror of Philza Minecraft, everyone.

[howlingblaster]

google "how to bounce back from being 'ladies' by a social work professional who you work closely with and should know better"

[raemoriendi]

okay but what does it say when the only time I identify with my agab is when she’s dead

and not even the traditional “she’s dead and I killed her” because I didn’t, I don’t resent her that way, I don’t know that she’s even totally gone

dead in the sense of when I was thirteen there was Me and then the version of me I wanted to drown in the bathtub. because I was angry, because I wanted to protect her, because I wasn’t sure if that finally meant we’d be free of what people in that fucking place wanted from me

dead in the sense of I felt out of time, out of place, like something had already happened to me and I never got off that operating table when I was twelve and they thought it was cancer

dead in that the only time I felt beautiful was when I looked like I hadn’t seen the sun in years, where my makeup looked like shock from exposure, or like there was blood across my mouth that might even have been mine

dead as in I keep writing stories about women who claw their way out of the grave and don’t quite know what they are now, if they’re even still alive, if they even want to be women anymore because they’re too tired to get the cemetery dirt out of their hair

this weird in-between where people call me “ma’am” at work and I smile like I’m hiding fangs behind my upper lip, tight and not quite real because the masquerade is safer lately, but ugh, having to keep up the sunlight charade is a chore

dead as in “you killed her, and I am the thing that came back in her place” with everything that threatens and promises

I don’t hate her, she doesn’t haunt me, but she lingers. sometimes she possesses me and sometimes she’s separate, a second reflection in my mirror

we’re at peace, even if our house creaks and groans with phantom footsteps

[exilley]

I do sort of wish western anime fans would analyze anime and manga from a framework of japanese historical and cultural context. Specifically a lot of works from the 90s being influenced by the general aimlessness and ennui that a lot of people were experiencing due to the burst in the bubble economy and the national trauma caused by the sarin terrorist attack. I think in interacting with media that’s not local to our sociocultural/sociopolitical sphere it’s easy to forget that it’s influenced and shaped by the same kinds of factors that influence media within our own cultural dome and there ends up being this baseline misalignment of perception between the causative elements of a narrative and viewer interpretation of those elements. It’s a form of death of the author that i think, in some measure, hinders our ability to fully understand/come to terms with creator intent and the full scope of a work’s merits

[mag200]

(me on a first date) and what do you think of the inherent intimacy of surgery? have you considered the love someone must have to put their hands under your skin and hold the most grotesque parts of you and put them back together nicely? is anyone really closer to you than that? we all get uh a little enamored on the surgery table don't we haha. wait come back

[horrorvillaintourney]

HORROR’S NEXT TOP GENDER FINALS: Ellen Ripley (Alien) vs. The Xenomorph (Alien)

PROPAGANDA FOR RIPLEY:

"The character of Ripley was originally meant to be played by a man. also pleaseeee if this competition is a bunch of white guys im going to lose it"

"She is so incredibly butch and cool, she has that butch mechanic thing going on"

"The character was originally going to be a man but Sigourney Weaver killed it at the audition so she was hired and not a single line of dialogue was changed. Also, overall, most of the films leave an implication that gender is not very important to the point of being a practically genderless society. Everyone in these movies is too stressed and too busy working under late, late stage capitalism. My point is that Ellen Ripley is definitely (however unintentionally) agender."

PROPAGANDA FOR THE XENOMORPH:

"Is this a "character"? It's a whole species technically but I think it should count. Anyway I know people like to think about them as female and therefore Girlbosses or whatever and I think that's fine, have fun. However, they are obviously an alien species that doesn't adhere to human ideas of gender- or fit into ideas of binary sex if we wanted to think that way, since they reproduce very differently. I am also thinking about how their (very iconic) design incorporates a lot of sexual elements/imagery, and in that way too they mix-and-match and play around with gender. And again they are just so iconic."

[tanadrin]

Julia Serano backs up with a substantial argument something I have long contended: transvestigators are what you get when people's strict perceptual dichotomy of gender is disrupted, and instead of finding themselves released from the need to foreground gender in their understanding of the world, they flail, desperately struggle to find something to cling to, and collapse into paranoia. They have learned to see the rabbit and the duck, but, in refusing to understand that both are an illusion, they go around insisting all ducks are secretly rabbits and vice-versa.

[biblicallyaccuratemoth]

Ah, yes…Estrogen. Well, you’ve come to the right place, Tumblr is home to Estrogen ministration, you need only unravel its secrets. But where’s an outsider like yourself to begin? Easy, with a bit of Estrogen of your own. Whatever happens, you may think it all a mere bad dream…

[xlatrina]

Show Me

Tags: 16(+)* (*Minor kissing, nothing crazy fr), Gender Neutral Reader (despite canon), Words of Affirmation/Sweet Talk, basically fluff

Not proofread so… hopefully no typos or clunky sentences anywhere lol. Mr. Crawling is being “high-maintenance,” as always, lol. After playing this game for HOURS, I just couldn’t help but crave more content. Buuuutt, given that the game is more or less finished (as far as I understand), I simply had no other choice but to do as writers who play VNs do and WRITE. This is my first “Canon x Reader” fic (well, formally, at least) too, so… please be kind 😅 Anywho, enjoy!

$$$ $$$ $$$

Mr. Crawling leaps into your arms with such speed that the bed smacks into the wall. A shake travels through the room, jostling the single photo hanging from the gray, textured surface. His hair falls against your skin, the bed sinking in a bit as you feel his body drag over your own. Every breath that reaches your face is cool, no thanks to the room you’re in.

“I enjoy you,” He chirps. His head comes to rest in the crook of your neck. The smell of metal fills your nose, and you scowl for a moment before your face relaxes. It’s a smell you'll simply have to get used to, especially now that you’ve promised to be his.

His body ever so slightly warms yours, though the blankets do more of the work. “I enjoy you,” he says again. “You enjoy me?”

“I enjoy you, Mr. Crawling.” You loosely run a hand through his dark hair. Surprisingly, your fingers only get caught about twice, and the small knots aren’t too hard to pull apart.

“You lots enjoy me?” Suddenly, the cold draft flying through hits your neck as Mr. Crawling lifts his head. Though, you never see his eyes: only the growing festers that conveniently disappear right at his bangs. He tenses in your arms, and you’d think the air froze him or something if it weren’t for his soft, whistling breaths. Mustering up a little smile, you cup his face with your hands.

“I lots enjoy you.” He giggles like a little schoolgirl, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Show!” He shouts.

“Huh?”

“I enjoy you, you enjoy me. Am happy lots you come here. I lots enjoy you being together me. You say you lots enjoy me, Ϛօ show!” He bursts each sentence out right after the other, and the bed squeaks from his shifting body as his arms reach around your torso. Show… Ah, that’s what he meant. He wants you to prove it.

For a moment, you frown. How exactly were you supposed to “prove” something like that?

Noticing your face, Mr. Crawling frowns as well. “You ok? No want to do?”

You shake your head and smile reassuringly. “I want to do. I can show you.” This shouldn’t be too hard. In fact, it’ll be easy… so long as Mr. Crawling doesn’t decide to use those sharp teeth of his.

Pulling him forward by his face, you two stare at each other. You focus on Mr. Crawling —first, his gaze, somewhere behind that curtain of hair, and then his lips. They’re ever so slightly purple, just like his cheeks that have become a little warmer while pressed against your palms.

Your eyelids lower as your lips graze his, the small sensation alone sending a shock throughout your body. Is Mr. Crawling feeling the same way? He’s tense all over again. “You ok?” You ask.

Quietly, he responds, “Am ok.”

You close your eyes, breathing in that slightly metallic smell. You exhale, and then pull Mr. Crawling firmly into your kiss. He remains stiff for a while until a muffled sound escapes him. His arms wrap around you tighter. He finally allows his body to fall limp against yours, and just as this happens, you pull back. A little smack bounces through the room. Lying upon your chest, Mr. Crawling drags himself a little closer to your face. Seizing the opportunity, one hand reaches to brush across his hair and the other remains on his cheek. Your thumb rubs against his face in slow, winding circles. Then, you pull his face even closer, catching him into a trap as you lock lips again. Both of you hum contentedly, the sound only accompanied by smacks and the fluorescent light buzzing above. Suckling his bottom lip, you tease him with a strong pull. He sighs into your kiss, and when you finally free him, he chases you.

“… Finished?” He asks. He seems to be pouting a little, already missing the sensation.

“Finished. You now know I enjoy you?” You ask. More or less: do you believe me now?

Mr. Crawling pauses, and then he giggles —much louder than before! He plops his head into the crook of your neck again.

“I know now,” he says. You bring your hand up to join the other in stroking his hair.

The two of you lie together this way for a while, enjoying the silence and the closeness. That is, until you eventually fall asleep and Mr. Crawling leaves your embrace to watch from afar.

[mister-girl]

I wanna be feminine but only in this way:

[adelheidvonschicksal]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ It's Like That *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

You decide to accept Itadori's invitation to the movies. It turns out better than expected.

Pairing: Itadori x GN!Reader

CW: Fluff, SFW, hand holding, potential friends to lovers, it's technically a date 💕

“Do you guys want to see Human Earthworm 4 with me?”

The three of you minus Itadori, who posed the question, share a lukewarm look. You’re on the edge of the shopping district, trying to decide what to do after your mission, if anything, and that’s the first idea that floats out amongst the group. 

“What’s it about?” Nobara asks.

After Itadori explains the horror romance, there’s even less enthusiasm amongst the group to watch the movie with him. Sensing this, he ups the bargain.

“I’ll pay.”

You wince when you see Fushiguro pull out his phone. “I don’t really have the energy to sit through a movie,” he excuses himself, fingers going a mile a minute to escape the situation of friendship for today. “I’m going home.”

Your broody classmate holds his ringing phone to his ear and briefly glances at Nobara.

“I’m going to hit up the shops," she responds to his silent question.

Megumi leaves the three of you behind in no time flat. Nobara only stays behind long enough to ask if you want to go shopping with her. While you normally love to go with her and are in dire need of new shoes, you notice a lonely sullen shadow building over your slit-cheeked classmate and throw up an apologetic smile to her. 

“I think I’ll go with Itadori-kun today.”

You miss the way his head perks up as you wave her off. Before you have a chance to collect your thoughts, Itadori is already on top of you, his fists drawn in front of him excitedly and chestnut irises filled with happy stars.

“You’re going to love it,” he tells you. It’s cute how he nearly shakes with excitement, you can even hear it growing in his voice and shining in his eyes. “It’s such a good series! I mean, I know it sounded weird, but it’s so much better on screen that— forget any of what I said, you gotta see for yourself!”

He wastes no time taking off in the direction of the theatre, and you jog to keep up with the speed of the Tiger of the West. It isn’t until he notices you lagging behind that he slows up to grab your hand and pull you with him.

“Come on, come on, we don’t want to miss the opening.”

“Is this one of those movies where I need to see the first three to know what’s going on?”

“Well, there’s a few returning characters, like Dr. Richter, but I can fill you in on the important stuff so don’t worry.”

When you get to the theatre, Itadori immediately jumps in the ticket line, huffing in relief when there are still seats available. You begin to pull out your wallet but pause when he hands you a pink paper ticket.

“I told you it’s on me,” he reminds you before going down the line and ordering a large popcorn, two drinks, and beating you to grab a packet of candy that you were staring at for two seconds too long. 

He hands the bag of sweets to the cashier to scan. “And this please,” he asks before handing the candy to you. 

“That’s okay,” you tell him, but he laughs it off.

“It’s fine. That’s your favorite, right?”

You shyly nod and hold onto the envelope of overpriced candy like it’s the most precious thing in the world causing the cashier to smile at you as she finishes preparing your items.

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” she comments. 

You squeak quietly at her comment, crumpling your candy in surprise. It’s not a big deal she mistook you as a couple, it’s not like Itadori was someone you didn’t like after all, and it’s not like there was any need to correct her but you didn’t know if he felt the same way about the situation. 

Curiously, you look at him, waiting for him to make the decision on the matter. Surprisingly, he blurts out a quick and happy, “Thanks!” before moving on to fill his drink.

As you watch him, you fight the urge to ask why he didn’t correct her; and when you notice that he’s way more interested in finding the right theater, you decide he must have said it because it wasn't worth a fuss.

The two of you get seats at the back of the theater, and you shift over people carefully to avoid falling into Itadori’s back as you find your seats. You can finally relax as he sets the bucket of popcorn on the armrest between you.

Soon enough, the movie begins to play.

It starts off like every normal horror movie. A mad scientist, a hapless victim, and an escape followed by a romantic subplot of the human earthworm discovering that the woman he met indeed loves him even if he is a worm. 

That’s about as much as you can keep up with. There are too many easter eggs that keep flying over your head and too many callbacks to the previous movies in the series. Itadori does his best to try to help you whenever you whisper questions at him; but eventually, you’re too distracted by the couple in front of you making out to pay attention to the movie.

It’s so obnoxiously grotesque, their arms wrapping around each other and a soft moan every so often that’s drowned out by the guttural sounds of the earthworm children. You can’t really believe they’d do that in public, and why did they have to be so close to you out of all people?

Itadori looks at you and then finally catches on to what’s making you squirm. When he does, a faint hint of red starts to coat across his nose, and he becomes equally uncomfortable. 

Deciding to make it a little better for the both of you, you nudge him then make a silly disgusted face with your tongue stuck out to mimic a gag. You’re rewarded with a snicker from him and his own silly face in turn, and it makes the awkwardness of it a little easier to take as you try to focus back on the movie.

It’s another half hour in before you wonder exactly how the hell are they still going at it. 

“Society really needs to bring shame back,” you think before a warm breath hits your ear and fans down your jaw. 

You nearly jump before the smooth sounds of Itadori’s voice greet you. 

“So, that guy—” he begins but you’re way too focused on how close he leaned into you this time, how low the timbre of his voice goes to keep from disturbing those around you. It makes your feet curl in your shoes and your breath catch in your chest when his shoulder connects with your arm.

You feel heightened to his presence and the heat of him so close. It wasn’t like this earlier, but your heart is racing and your skin tickles the more he whispers. You think he’s so close that he could almost kiss your earlobe. 

It’s a path that you didn’t know you had in your mind, and it leaves you rattled as the smallest brush of pink hair hits your skin as he straightens back up and reaches for another handful of popcorn. 

Every time he touches your arm after to get your attention or your hand scoops by his in the popcorn bucket, you start to become flustered and jittery like a child after too much sugar. 

It lasts until the movie reaches its apex.

There’s a combined scream that fills the theatre, and you tense at the splatter of blood hitting the camera, leaving the few remains of your popcorn scattered across the floor as you unwittingly knock it over and squeeze Itadori’s hand tight. 

Your fingers slot with his and your fingertips bury against his palm, and it’s the only thing keeping you from bursting into a scream. 

When the lights flash back on, you notice how pink his hand looks under your tense hold and mumble out an apology. 

“Oh, that?” he asks followed by the same charming laugh as always. “It was pretty funny. You should’ve seen your face, like a blowfish,” he comments, teasingly mocking your blow-eyed expression as everyone around you begins to exit. “I never took you for a scaredy-cat.”

“You’re one to talk. You screamed in my ear at least a dozen times,” you remind him as the two of you also make your way towards the exit doors. “Sounded like you were on fire.”

“Don’t say fire in a theatre!” he scolds with a hiss.

“You said it louder.”

“To remind you not to say it!” 

You giggle at how offended he sounds as you break out into the light of the late afternoon. You walk with Itadori back to your pickup spot on the edge of the shopping district. It’s surprisingly quiet especially considering who you’re with, and it makes you worry a bit. 

You thought Itadori would be more excited after watching the film and practically forcing you to run 500m dash to get there, but he’s barely said two words about it since leaving the theatre, briefly mentioning how he’s still glad they used a real costume for the main earthworm instead of CGI.

But since leaving, his mood seems to have dampened. You thought about bringing something up from the movie, but you couldn’t really catch more than a few bloody scenes and a little evil monologuing from Dr. Richter outside the moments when Itadori would have your attention, with his voice in your ear or his hand excitedly clasping around your wrist each time he enthusiastically info-dumped a scene to you.

“Hey, um,” he begins piquing your interest. He seems to lose his nerve when you catch his eye; his gaze flutters to his feet before nervously picking back up to glimpse at your face but only for a few seconds. “Thanks for coming with me.”

You smile. “Don’t mention it. It was…different.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees but he still seems down. 

“Itadori-kun? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah…It’s just…I could tell you didn’t really like the movie. I mean I knew from the start it wasn’t really your thing. You and Nobara usually like to shop together more than watch horror movies. But still—” he breathes in deep, a shy color blossoming across his face. “It’s been a while since it felt like I did something normal, so it was really nice having someone to come with me. I appreciate it.”

There's something about his explanation that makes your heart hurt. He hasn’t been a sorcerer that long yet; and coming from being a normal kid to the world you were born into was probably scarier than you all could understand. 

“It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it! I just couldn’t really follow the story between that annoying couple smacking the whole time, and I felt like I barely follow anything at all!” you reason with him, but he still has that kicked puppy look on his face. 

You sigh with soft empathy before offering him a reassuring smile.

“Hey, Itadori-kun, you know I think I’d like to come back and see it again with you. After we watch the first three movies of course."

He gives you a curious look, his eyebrows raised with disbelief. 

“Really?”

You give a cute and short nod. “Mhm! I can’t really give it a fair chance if I haven’t seen the ones leading up to it. Besides, I want to know why Dr. Richter was trying to kidnap the baby H.E.s in the first place? Couldn’t he make more Enhanced H.E.s from the DNA left from the original experiment victim like he did at the beginning of the movie?” 

It’s like you open the skies back over him when your words sink in, and he moves so happily, speaks so fully, and it makes you happy to see him simply be happy. 

“They explain it so good in the third movie,” he says, unable to hold in his excitement. “I know a great site, it has subtitles and everything, and a special director’s cut at the end of the second movie.”

You laugh. “Sounds good!”

“We should pick up some more snacks; the original is actually pretty long,” he warns and starts to lead you towards the convenience store. Your smile only breaks when you feel the tug on your arm and look down to notice his hand still fastened around yours. 

You freeze, feeling your face warm a bit when you realize he’s probably been holding it since before you left the theater. This makes him pause and turn towards you.

Softly, he calls your name and asks if you’re okay, making you drop your head bashfully.

“Oh, it’s nothing really but you’re still holding my hand,” you point out.

Itadori looks down between the two of you and confirms that his fingers are still locked with yours, a comfortable fit.  

“Huh, oh, I guess I am,” he states matter-of-factly before he blushes. “Oh, it’s probably all gross and oily right? Yuck.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not actually,” you correct, making no move to force him to let go because you honestly don’t want him to stop this good feeling pouring from him into you through the simple act. 

Your soft expression makes his cheeks warm for a different reason this time. 

“Oh, well, w-we should probably hurry,” he stammers out, and your hand tightens around his hand just a little bit more as you agree and find the closest convenience store to prepare for your first movie night. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Nobara stops outside the convenience store, hand to the glass as she stalks back and forth, trying to catch glimpses down the aisle. 

She could have sworn she just saw the two of you walk in from the other side of the street, and she was going to come to say hi – partially to ask how the movie went and partially to make Itadori carry her shopping bags if the two of you were done – that was before she noticed how close the two of you looked.

Weirdly close. 

When she finally catches you in the foggy glass, hand in hand, looking at the mini gacha inside the store, she gasps and quickly shuffles her bags around in search of her phone. 

Kugisaki quickly scrolls through her contacts, impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for the line to pick up.

“Fushiguro get here quick,” she harshly whispers into the device.

There’s a lazy voice on the other end asking what she wants, and she vaguely explains the situation to be met with resistance.

“Well then have Ijichi drop you off again! What do you mean ‘No’?" she growls. "Shut up and listen to me. They just went into 7/11. Ugh. Fine, fine, I’m sending you some pictures,” she argues. 

Kugisaki quickly starts to snap some pictures through the glass and frantically sends them off before bringing the phone back to her ear.

“That’s what I’m saying so hurry up and get here! Yes, it’s like that!” 

[lilacxquartz]

part 17 of 19 of kinktober: trapped

pyramid head x gn!reader

plot: while exploring the town, you find yourself incapacitated in the worst possible position — themes: warning for non con, dark smut, gender neutral reader, size difference, monster fucking, horror, gender neutral smut — w.c: 700ish

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

You were incapacitated.

Trapped in between the barely pried open iron bars, providing just big enough of a gap for your upper body to squeeze through and then… stall. In a way, it was humiliating, but in another sense, it was also terrifying because existing within the town as a whole was a death sentence in its own right. From one little miscalculation—you had potentially doomed yourself.

You tried to dislodge yourself again but the bars were too narrowly placed and you couldn’t push or pull yourself neither back nor forth and in doing so, you only found yourself more stuck than before. Panic quickly swept through your being in violent waves, abandoning all sense of rationality in favour of a hurried escape but nothing was working—but then finally, you heard it—the all too familiar scrape of metal, the thud of staggering footsteps—oh no, no, no… he was here.

You turned your head slightly back to just about catch a glimpse of him filling out the doorway, blocking all gaps of light that otherwise cut into the cell. In an attempt to avoid your flesh likely meeting the blade, you strove to push yourself forward, to at least nullify his efforts to strike you down… but then something else followed suit.

You froze as you felt his calloused hands brush around the soft contours of your exposed flesh; his fingers breaching the torn fabric and tearing away the cloth from the skin, readily exposing you to him. You remained statued in place as you feared for the worst, unable to quite comprehend what he was actually doing to you; almost delicately feeling you up—pushing—spreading your legs apart, ripping away at anything that acted as a barrier between you and him.

You tensed as you quickly understood what was following suit; feeling the tip of something very obvious poke against your most vulnerable parts. You writhed around and squirmed under his grip like a fish out of water, only to remain caught and hooked in his presence, feeling him drive into you in a near hungry pursuit. You gritted your teeth as you felt him force himself inside of you, feeling overwhelmed by his monstrous length that completely filled you out to the brim.

With shuddering, quaking cries, you softly wept as he continued to take in his brutal girth, feeling his cock slide in and out of your insides and stretch you out beyond a recoverable limit. With an unforgiving pace, Pyramid Head continued to hilt himself into your core, feverishly bucking into your body as a radiating, almost scalding pain akin to searing agony settled within the confines of your form. Of course however, he showed you no mercy, pounding into you with a near primal fervour; his hips slamming against your behind with each sawing motion.

Somehow, he grew needier as he continued to violate you—his fingernails digging bleeding crescents into the soft peaks of your ass, kneading against the cushioned skin and spreading you open as far as you could physically handle. It was as if he was trying to force you to accommodate the entire capacity of his impossible length, taking advantage of the limiting position, knowing that you couldn’t just pull yourself away.

Nearing his impending climax; his movements soon became more erratic and maybe even sloppy. He leaned his towering form closer wherever he could press against your bare back—causing the iron bars to crack open further—growling out heated breaths that rolled hot down your spine. Each passing thrust caused for you to shake, prompting you to involuntarily roll your eyes to the back of your head and perhaps even see stars from just how overwhelming it all truly was.

Just as you were about to pass out however, the monster finally came undone with one final violent rut of his stuttering hips. You gasped as you felt a stream of hot oozing warmth fill your senses to such an extent that your stomach nearly bulged from his pent up release.

Thinking it was all over, you tried to close your eyes to recover—but then you were promptly taken out of the cell, readily carried around like a rag doll, to be used and paraded around per each of his passing whims.

In a way you were thankful that he wasn’t going to end you outright.

But then you realised what your life was about to become and that much had otherwise terrified you.

Not quite a mercy after all and worse yet, rather a sentence in the hell you found yourself in.

[katabay]

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KNIGHT...

the visual inspiration for this was a combination of Frederic William Burton's Meeting on the Turret Stairs and also Bernardo Cavallino's The vision of St. Dominic receiving the Rosary from the Virgin

this was supposed to be just a one off illustration to get the thoughts out of my system, but then I started thinking about medieval politics and warfare and plagues and a castle and home as both a place of refuge, a prison, and a tomb, so perhaps they will end up as ex voto characters as well.

you may say, hey! that rosary looks like it has too many beads! it's a fifteen decade rosary, probably. dominicans are really into marian devotions. it works out.

also. spiral style stair cases. oh boy. it was that unexpectedly more difficult than I originally thought it would be to draw. the more I think about it, the less I understand them, even though I had a million photos of the stairs in front of me while I was drawing it.

⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!

⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

[euphoric-mars]

✞ there will be blood! ✞

[mostly-funnytwittertweets]