#on a scale of calm and collected to completely unhinged

[crimsoncowl]

actually, fuck it, i'm adding harlan ellison (specifically his in performances of AM) to my list of ultron's voice claims

[gamebird]

My daughter is often asking me what I've dreamed and generally, I've forgotten. Long ago I'd kept something of a dream journal, just what was necessary to get to lucid dreaming and then I stopped bothering with the written account. But after/during the divorce process, I lost a lot of the knack of lucid dreaming so I thought I'd revisit it. That, and I can tell her what I dream about. She's old enough I don't think I need to sanitize it very much.

Last night I dreamed my boyfriend had a shell collection (irl he does not) and one of the shells was a sand dollar. It was larger than it should be and surrounded by damp sand in the collection. We turned it over and it had a crab inside it that was very dried out and unhappy about being lost in this collection for years. (and had somehow not died)

I needed to rehydrate it immediately but I didn't want to put it in fresh water. I tried to look up how much salt to put in tap water for an emergency solution for it, but the internet results were so frustratingly vague I had a complete meltdown - ugly crying, screaming, curled in a ball in the chair, unhinged out of proportion to everything.

My boyfriend came over and said something, I don't know what but it was unhelpful. And I screamed at him, "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" and "Leave me alone!" First off, I don't usually tell people to shut up. Secondly, it came out of me like a dialogue box. There was a definite "text" quality to it, appearing in the dream like, "I screamed, 'Shut up-' [etc.]"

He got indignant and started saying that was a triggering phrase for him due to his childhood and stepfather, I was being insensitive, blah, blah, blah, in a calm voice, as I was sobbing hysterically.

I found this offensive. Also, the crab was dying. But I'd used the wrong words, picked the wrong dialogue box, and now the important thing to happen (this is sarcasm) was the stupid fucking lecture about how I'd hurt his feelings and wasn't allowed to do that in a healthy relationship.

At that point I decided the dream sucked and woke myself up to go to the bathroom, blow my nose, and get a grip. So that's the point of lucid dreaming - getting to opt out of dreams that are annoying and unenjoyable.

When I got up for the morning, I tried to google how much salt to put in tap water for an emergency rehydration solution and found the results frustratingly vague (LOL). It wanted to tell me about specific gravity rather than anything I could immediately use with the equipment and supplies I had. Best I got was grams sodium per liter for ocean water, which I could make work by digging out the metric scale and doing a conversion of pints to liters. Instead of having a meltdown, I kissed my boyfriend goodbye and left for work.

[musicallisto]

okay, clara. here's the thing about crackhead energy,,,, it's elusive. for most, it doesn't show up until we let our guard down. i feel like if i were a random person in your classes or if i saw you on the street, it would be far less, but because tumblr is like our bedrooms, and we're all sending deranged text posts into the web (and because i get the vibes you'd be completely unhinged in a group of friends), my assessment is going to be a little high. you're like a solid 6.2. with a range of .5 in either direction. on some days you're more of a 6.7, on others more of a 5.7, and you can rein it in, but you have the energy.

(but now i'm curious,,,, what am i rated at?)

oh, i suppose i should mention, my scale is as follows: 1 — not a crackhead at all. never could be. | 3 — you could be, but too classy. | 5 — crackhead on alternating wednesdays | 8 — you're a crackhead every day of the week except for wednesday | 10 — you are a crackhead. always will be.

✧˖°࿐ okay, that is an honor, because I feel like crackhead energy is one essential quality that I want to possess. and you are absolutely right, I am unhinged in a group of friends, embarrassment who? I don't know her,, I'm here for a good time probably not a long time. all jokes aside, I think 6/7 is a pretty solid assessment? like, I definitely have a calm and collected side, especially when I'm hanging out with people who have more crackhead energy than I do (because someone has to keep them in check), but otherwise I'm pretty solid on the rabid dog scale.

as for you... I think that you look pretty quiet at first glance, or to people you don't know, but you have untapped crackhead potential that is definitely there. especially when you're tired or slightly tipsy, I'd say, and with a group of people you really trust and feel comfortable with. you're the kind of person who drops a comment out of the blue that completely obliterates everyone in the room and everyone stares at you like O.O ???????? and you're either like :D or immediately go back to sleep. the kind who mostly tells other people when they're being too loud but when it's a song you really like playing you'll go all out belting like you're on fucking broadway. for that, I'm gonna go with a 5-5.5. you mostly behave, but sometimes just. go crazy go stupid

[booksbookandmorebooks]

Joe’s New Neighbour Theories.

Hello lovelies, i’m back again with, shock horror another ‘YOU’ inspired post because quite honestly I haven’t been able to stop thinking this show since i finished it a few weeks back. So today i’m here to bring you a quick list of who i believe could be Joe’s new neighbour, spoiler alert, the one that we are introduced to at the end of season two. I have also included my own personal theory below, just for my own spin on things. 

If any of your views differ please let me know below!

 Beck.

Now when looking online I found this to be a big fan favourite but sadly that is just what I think this theory is, a fan favourite. While I do follow the whole eastenders death (you never really accept anyone's really dead until you see a body and can identify it yourself. Anyone that watches it will remember how many times Dirty den came back to life, lord give me strength) I just don’t think that this would be logical or even a good idea from show runners, beck is a part of Joe’s past, of which has helped form him into the unhinged murder we know today, Beck was needed to help kick start his decline from sanity in season one and to establish the kind of person he is to force him to face her would be completely pointless at this stage as we can already see he is haunted by her throughout season 2, there would be no shock value to their interaction not to mention that we have also seen another past girlfriend come back from the dead very recently and would be just a cheap story telling tactic in my opinion.

Dr. Nicky's wife.

Now this is a theory that really peaked my interest. While we can assume through Dr. Nickys conversation with forty at the prison, his altercation and affair with Beck in season one wouldn’t of been the first time he had been unfaithful to his wife and from his reaction when talking about it, seeing his self hatred and disgust we can rather safely assume his wife was most probably aware of these dealing and has continued to take him back due to her strong feelings for him, her strong sense of denial and family,the pressure to keep the family together trope. But I think it would be such an interesting twist if regardless of all this his wife still blames Joe for ruining her perfect family image and is driven mad by her need for revenge. Which lets be honest, would not be a hard task as joe has never seen her and would be completely unaware of her appearance making him a very easy target for her mad plan. Especially if she is aware of Joes insatiable need to be loved and accepted thus making it very easy for an attractive woman to manipulate him.

Forty’s friend or family member.

We all remember the very intense scene where forty begins to connect the dots in regards to who Joe really is and his tarnished dark past, but due to everything we know about forty's loud personality his habit of majorly over sharing and his insane need for attention, I don’t think it would be completely ridiculous to assume he had most likely shared his findings with a friend or family member before confronting Joe. so when he turns up dead and is pinned for all of Joe’s crimes it wouldn’t take a genius to put two and two together and figure out what happened especially with this persons previous ‘dirt’ on Joe.

Forty's mother.

This is one of my own theories i thought would be an interesting take on the shows plot. 

I’m not sure if anyone else picked up on the very strange vibes coming from loves mother at the end where her and love are stood together on the door step waving at Joe, yes I am fully aware she has just lost her child BUT maybe, just maybe, due to their uncomfortably close relationship forty could of shared these findings with his mother and in light of fortys death could of inspired her to create this very long and malicious trap set for joe, lulling him into a false sense of security to take him down once and for all, the perfect revenge for her child's death. When we look at loves past and unhinged view of justice it wouldn't be that much of a stretch. Whats that saying again...

 ‘’the apple doesn't fall far from the tree’’ 

Joe’s mother.

Another widely accepted theory I saw cropping up over and over again was that this neighbour could be Joe’s mother. Which is another theory not completely out of the question. It has been set up very cleverly by the shows creators if this is the case, we have been introduced to her numerous times through a variety of flashbacks and throw away comments from Joe. It wouldn’t be a stretch to consider that while beginning to obsess over his mother and his child hood in the last season he has managed to track her down (as we never saw an official ending or death to his mothers story) manipulate his way into her town and community to fuel this new sick kind of obsession with how to worm his way back into her life. Although I feel like a mother, once faced with her estranged child would feel some sort of connection even on a very small scale, a familiar feeling or even just a sense he is more than a random stranger. Who knows, if she has a new life, husband and family we might see Joe’s temper stem from a different catalyst and be fuelled by his anger at being replaced and forgotten by his mother.

My personal theory:

My own theory is based around the mother idea but I believe that it wont be his real mother, now bare with me while I explain.

Throughout the whole of season 2 we begin to see Joe's already unhinged mind begin to unravel further, he is being haunted by the ghosts of his past, we see his methodical plans when encountering victims disappear as he seems frantic rather than the calm collected Joe we know, we see him break down in needle therapy with one of loves friends and begin to weep uncontrollably while repeating very telling and oddly open mantras to himself and so many other very out of character actions and reactions, all of this I believe is to help set up the biggest theme in season 3. The undoing of Joe. 

I think we will see him begin to obsess over a woman who will most probably share very basic similarities with his mother (as any middle ages woman in the suburbs would) yet when its revealed she will be a complete stranger to Joe. we will see him project the feelings of betrayal hurt and abandonment on to this poor unsuspecting woman, and maybe begin this odd Norman Bates style fantasy and be driven not by the need to romance or sustain a relationship with this woman, but to force himself into her life, seeking acceptance. Although it is Joe, so nothings really off limits with this guy lets be honest.

We even see Joe and a friend having a conversation about marrying their own mothers in season 2 i mean come on!  Talk about blatant mommy issues, wow.

 But there we go a little collection of theories about who the next victim will be in season 3! I hope you enjoyed this post and ill see you next time!

[alex-sunstrike]

Assault

Sylphrena wandered over to the muster area on the Shattered World, face mask in hand as she heard the various taskmasters call out names assigning hunters to forward groups. Numerous elves moved about as they found their groups and began to prepare themselves.  “Sylphrena Sunstrike, Group seven, report to Artelas Blazefury,” called out one, the woman nodding her acknowledgement and stepping towards where this group was. A dozen with her, the hunters all fell into a loose semi-circle as they checked their weapons and gear, prepping for the assault. The men and woman all seemed to be in a perpetual state of scowling, baring teeth at one another, or standing apart from the rest.

One, a tall kaldorei man, stood in the center looking the group over with a stern expression on his face. He was scaled, roughly so, as his horns curled up and around his ears. Dark hair fell in curtains around his face, and the dim glow of fel could be seen from behind his blindfold. Deep purple tattoos cut harsh angles across his body, and he seemed to eschew even pauldrons or bracers for protection, simply wearing long, dark trousers that fell just past his knees. Upon his back he carried two wicked warglaives, and with inspection, Sylphrena noted the Void leaking off them through violet etchings throughout the blades.

“Our last has joined us. Good. We’re going to be assaulting a Legion Soul Engine near a place called the Antoran Wastes. The assault is going to coincide with an effort by the draenei lead by Velen using some secret weapon. We will divide their attention as much as possible to allow for a full scale invasion force to reach the surface.” The kaldorei paused, looking at Sylphrena. “Lady Sunstrike will be our eyes when we cross. Venar and Lonath, you will accompany her. Malanoch, you are in charge of first aid. The rest of you, focus on killing as many demons as you can.” The hunters nodded and murmured various affirmatives. “We move in thirty. Better piss now, you won’t get a chance for a while.” Sylphrena looked at each of the hunters in turn, when two approached her, both sin’dorei males. One inclined his head.

“My lady...I am Venar. This one is Lonath.” Syl nodded at each in turn.

“Just Syl, please. Have you two ever done forward scouting?” She’d cross her arms, as she studied both at length. Venar was one of the ‘lucky’ ones, if she could guess, his mutations relatively tame. His horns shot straight up through blond hair, cut short and his skin was immaculate save for the deep crimson tattoos that spiraled over his exposed torso. His companion was anything but the handsome figure the man commanded. Lonath stood a half a hand shorter than the other man, scales covering thick arms, spikes and spines poking through. His tattoos were intricate knotted patterns that covered the arms, a sky blue in color. He wore a leather jerkin, covering his broad chest. Their faces had just a hint of resemblance between each other. Hmm...Shame we don’t have more time...These lads look as though they would be very....satisfying. Kalyra’s voice purred low in the huntress’ mind, and Syl was quick to banish it.

“Only once, my--Syl. We prefer the front lines more.”  Sylphrena scowled, between the demon’s voice and the fact that once again, the command structure of the Illidari saw fit to give her green hunters in reconnaissance.

“Alright well, I’m gonna give you the down and dirty version. We do not engage as much as we possibly can. We need to get troop counts, movements, fortifications, and more. We can’t do that if we have Legion right on our ass trying to kill us. You stay low, you move when I tell you where I tell you, and we’ll come out of this on the other side, got it?” The men nodded, both grim. Syl huffed then looked between them. “Brothers?” Lonath looked up, then nodded, Venar speaking up.

“Yeah, we were Sunfury together, then became Illidari together.” The woman nodded, offering the men a smile.

“Well, keep an eye out for each other, alright? I know you guys probably already do, but you know. Family should stick together.” She would clap each on their shoulder. “Now go finish your prep. We’ve got a mission to complete.” The men nodded, then offered the barest of smiles before moving off to a spot between themselves. Sylphrena would look over the remaining hunters in her group. A few of the kaldorei were praying to Elune nearby, while one of their number rummaged through a pack full of tinctures and bandages. Her raven hair was tied back, very short horns barely discernible against her locks. Her tattoos were vibrant green that contrasted her violet skin sharply, akin to thorny vines that crept down her right arm only. Every now and again she had added a splash of red resembling budding roses. Her left arm was a mangled mass of burned flesh and fel cracks. Sylphrena approached, arms behind her back as she clasped one of her wrists. “Malanoch?”

“What do you want ‘my Lady’?” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm as she shot a glance at Sylphrena.

“Just...checking on everyone.”

“That’s my job. Stop trying to take my job!” Malanoch snarled as she grasped her pack of supplies, pulling it away like a greedy goblin. Sylphrena raised a brow, then held her hands up, taking a few steps back.

“Alright...Go ahead and do your job. I won’t try to steal it.” As the woman turned to walk away from the unhinged medic, she collided right into Artelas, her face pressed against the man’s chest. She could feel the heat of the fel within him, and she quickly backed away. “Apologies Sir, I didn’t see you there.”

The man looked down on her, easily three heads taller than the sin’dorei. “You come highly recommended for scouting Lady Sunstrike.” His voice rumbled like stones down a mountainside. “These hunters are in your hands just as much as they are mine. We cannot afford mistakes on the other side. You will need to be more...aware of your surroundings.”

Sylphrena gulped, then laughed nervously. “I’m always aware, Sir. Don’t you worry.” Her lips thinned as she found her resolve, though, speaking firmly as she stared back up at the man. “I won’t let you down. I’m not someone who doesn’t take my job seriously.” The kaldorei stood silent for a long moment, contemplating, before nodding.

“Very well. You may wish to take this moment to collect your thoughts, and deal with anything else that needs doing. We assemble in fifteen.” He would step away, moving towards Malanoch, sitting next to her. The two would begin to converse casually between themselves, the female seeming much more at ease around their leader.

Sylphrena would spend the next fifteen minutes in quiet contemplation, sitting on a stony outcropping overlooking one of the fel lakes of Mardum. Her thoughts wandered, worrying after Alexandyr and his mission. His relationship. She thought of Nee and her concern for what would happen to the woman if she did not return. She even thought of Alareda and how disappointed she would be should Sylphrena fall. Minutes before the muster, a horn sounded, echoing through the dread cliffs and valleys that made up Mardum.

The woman stood and brushed herself off, heading towards the portal grounds. Twelve units there were, each made up of a dozen of the Illidari’s finest warriors, scouts and tacticians. Shivarra filed out of the yawning maw of a nearby cave, paring off for each of the squads.  The huntress tried to calm her nerves, taking several deep breaths as she put her face mask on, and patter her equipment down one final time. To her left and to her right each Illidari prepared themselves for what was to come, some uttering prayers to Elune or the Light, others rocking back and forth on their heels as they sought to calm their nerves. Several others stood firmly, hands gripped on their weapons as they awaited the final word. One of the high ranking warlords stepped forth to address the assembled hunters.

“Illidari!” called out the sin’dorei, his voice smooth, even with the undertones that echoed his words. “You stand on the precipice, ready to begin the assault you were made for. Argus is before us. You will bring the Legion to its knees before this day is done. Suffer well!” The assembled Illidari would raise weapons, glaives and swords, axes and daggers, shouting to the Nether. Sylphrena raised her weapons to the sky as well, crying out, “For the Illidari!” She never completely bought into the identity of the order, preferring to stand apart where she could, but in this moment pride swelled within her. Her family was around her, ready to do what they were made for.

The Shivarra began to twist magics, warping and tearing reality as portals began to form. Sylphrena reached down and grabbed her face mask, securing it in place as the portals yawned open, a rush of wind flowing past the hunters as distance was made irrelevant. Sylphrena’s group dashed forward, Artelas leading the charge. As they passed the threshold, Sylphrena was hit with a sudden cold. The Antoran Wastes greeted them harshly, the heat and familiarity of Mardum at their backs.

The scream of a fel mortar would be their first indication that things were not going to go as planned. The massive ball of fire would collide to the left of the portal into the blackened ground of Argus, flame splashing outward and threatening to wash over the unit. The hunters crested a small rise in the valley, and many stopped looking outward in awe. Azeroth loomed, blue and pure on the horizon. The Illidari would not have time to take in the view, however, as ranks of demons began to close on them, pushing up the rise from the opposite end. Thick, muscle-bound felguards formed the van with felhounds at their sides, snarling as their slavering maws dripped onto the dead ground beneath them, tentacles moving too and fro as they sought to find a source of magic to latch onto.. Wrathguards came around to the flanks seeking to box the hunters in. Even as the demons surrounded them, mortar rounds coasted through the sky. As they lobbed downwards, they would smash into the ground behind the hunters, where the portal began to close. The only way through was forward.

Artelas didn’t spare a moment as the demons pressed in. Glaives in hand, he leapt into the front ranks, taking two felguard in the throats and cutting their heads free, even as he shouted. “Fight or die! For Lord Illidan! For AZEROTH!” The other hunters began to form a circle, demons crashing against their lines, but not causing them to buckle. Sylphrena settled between Venar to her left and Artelas on her right, her felflame blades clashing with demon forged steel and hide. For every demon she cut down, two more seemed to replace it. We’re in trouble if we don’t break through soon. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind that there was a shout to her left.

“VENAR, DUCK!” Syl’s attention shot left as she saw the felhound latch scaly tendrils into the sin’dorei. Time seemed to slow as the man’s face twisted in surprise and pain, before the hound’s jaws closed around his neck, twisting and ripping his throat out. Lonath’s anguished cries filled the air as his brother’s body crumpled, hitting the charred earth. The scaled demon hunter tossed aside weapons, screaming as his body grew and twisted, the man seizing power from his inner demon to metamorphose, scales thickening, and razor sharp claws sliding forth. Lonath dove onto the felhound, pulling it free of the still warm corpse of his brother and with a mighty roar ripped the demon in two. Felblood would bathe the ground, and as Lonath threw the halves of the hound at approaching demons, three felhounds latched themselves onto the demon hunter from his exposed flank, draining him of his magic.

Sylphrena lunged forward to pull a felhound free of Lonath when her head wrenched back. Hair unfurled from her bun as the felguard’s fingers knotted themselves in her tresses. Sylphrena let out a cry of pain, flailing her arms back, striking thick skin with the hilts of her weapons as the felguard let out a guttural laugh. With desperation, Sylphrena twisted her grip on one of her weapons, bringing it behind her head and swiping upward. Hair became mixed with blood as she cut free, the demon’s fingers falling with her locks upon the ground. With a howl, the felguard staggered back a step. The huntress wasted no time, spinning around and swiping both of her blades through the demon’s abdomen, organs slipping free and hitting the ground with a sickening schlop, felblood spraying outward and sizzling against the woman’s armor, skin and scales. The felguard dropped to it’s knees, a hand reaching in vain for its organs as Sylphrena viciously drove both blades up past the demon’s ribs, tearing into it’s heart. As the demon fell to the side, Sylphrena brought her blades to bear again, frenetically stabbing the corpse. A hand would wrap around the woman’s arm, pulling her up and away from the demon, and Sylphrena spun about, nearly stabbing Artelas. The man’s lips thinned as he pointed out past the demons.

“Go! Get to the first rally point! Return to Mardum and tell them it was a---” The man’s words were cut short as a ball of felflame collided into him, blistering heat searing Sylphrena’s skin as she was thrown back by the explosion, deafened and blinded. Several long moments would pass as the woman struggled to remember how to breath. The explosion blew a chunk of her face mask off, exposing part of her face, cut and bloodied. She groaned even as she rolled over, her sight flickering in and out as she tried to gain a handle on it. A wrathguard came into view briefly, and struck the huntress’ pauldron. The demonsteel cracked, then shattered after repeated blows. Syl stood, ears ringing still as she sluggishly parried blow after blow, before one found its way past her guard, stabbing through her left bicep. Sylphrena screamed, the blade blooming searing pain as she dropped the blade she held with that arm. The woman gathered the fel within her, pooling it in her right hand as she reached up to the wrathguard’s chest, releasing the volatile energy with explosive force, punch a hole through the demon’s chest. The wrathguard went limp, falling backward. Sylphrena pulled the blade free of her arm, and surveyed the field of battle.

Of Artelas, nothing but ash remained, Malanoch desperately clawing through the blacked dirt, trying to collect their leader’s remains. Lonath was surrounded by demons, closing around him blades clashing against his scaly exterior. The remaining hunters were either dead or dying. This is it. This is where I die. Sylphrena dropped to her knees, gripping her limp arm. She looked to the world looming in the sky; her home. The planet’s alignment allowed her to see Quel’thalas peeking between clouds. Sylphrena smiled as she looked to Azeroth, peace settling over her.

As she resigned herself to her fate, a streak of light passed overhead. Sylphrena looked upwards, the light appearing as a golden vessel, much like what Tempest Keep looked like. Felflame covered the vessel and it sailed low overhead past the valley, a rush of wind blowing past the battle. The vessel thundered overhead as it passed, and a burst of light shot from one side, impacting the ground with a loud crash. A large pod like structure had fallen from the vessel, and crystal walls shot outward, several draenei pouring forth from the pod. The Light surrounded them in such a way that Sylphrena had not seen in a draenei before. The demons turned their focus from the three remaining Illidari to face these new combatants. As Sylphrena tried to stand and rejoin the fight, her world went black, and she collapsed into the dirt, unconsciousness overtaking her.

[powerproofgirl]

Writing horror is weird: you’re basically inviting strangers to listen as, for hours, you try to scare the hell out of them. And best case scenario, when you’re finished with them, they’ll anxiously await the next time they can pay for the privilege of being scared by you. Honestly, the whole thing sounds like some cultish mind-control . . . horror story. Or like people waiting in line for a roller coaster with “death” in its name.

In horror, storytelling’s golden rule—“if you get their attention, you better have something to say”—goes niche: if you get their attention, you better send chills down their spine. And let’s face it. We’ve all seen Silence of the Lambs. Pennywise has been revived. Hell, a new generation of kids is growing up on Goosebumps and, now, Five Nights at Freddy’s. And then there’s the news. Suffice it to say, your average modern consumer of American media is a little jaded to the same-ole, same-ole scare tactics.

To build an effective horror story—or a thriller, suspense, fantasy/sci-fi, or nongenre literary story with horror elements—it’s important to know how you want to scare your readers, what your main characters are supposed to evoke in one another, and how your basic approach to content should reflect those goals.

What Type of Fear?: Looking at the Hero-Villain Relationship

What exactly do you want your readers to feel? Should they be set on edge/nervous about the unknown? Terrified of how a known diabolical horror will be applied this time, to Character X? Afraid of time running out? Incrementally and subtly terrorized by a force that reveals its destruction in spread-out scenes and with stealth? Scared of a person, creature, or force that seems so completely unhinged that the worst of the worst is practically guaranteed?

If you don’t find the answers coming easily, it may help to refocus on two of the main pieces of any good pulse-pounder: the protagonist and antagonist. In horror, as in other genres, their relationship boils down to what they bring out in one another. In one of the most prominent classic examples of this relationship, the villain finds the hero to be a worthy opponent—a challenge—and escalates instances of violence and terror to “play with” the hero. The hero, in turn, has to manifest a heretofore untapped level of courage, often being cornered into moments of hellish introspection along the way. (As exemplified by one duo that, even as they have played Genre Twister over the years, dabbling in everything from slapstick comedy to slick action to dark thriller, have maintained that basic dynamic: Batman and the Joker.)

In horror, there’s one basic stipulation that goes with their dynamic, whatever precisely it is: the villain should want to scare the hero—and the hero should be scared. It’s very hard to make your reader feel any fear if the protagonist doesn’t. Literary Psychology 101: your protagonist is your reader’s proxy. So . . . well, if that dude isn’t worried, why should I be?

But what type of fear? And what kind of courage does the hero need to push through?

If the hero-villain dance is one of maleficent versus benevolent genius, the hero may be terrified that an equal-to-or-greater-than mind is working for the dark side. And may need to unearth a courageous self-trust and the ability to stay calm in the face of battlefield chaos. If the baddie is a repugnant fanged troop from the army of the undead, the hero’s courage doesn’t necessarily need subtle psychological flavor (though it can certainly be fun to inject unexpected intricacy into a zombie/werewolf/vampire/etc. story); these heroes need the basic courage to confront creatures that can kill them, quickly and nastily.

Should You Go for Gore?

It’s an age-old issue in horror and genres that incorporate horror elements: Do you need blood and guts to sell the fear? And for that matter, does going gore actually make readers’ fear spike, or does it just make them squeamish? For some, revulsion and fear may be sibling emotions; for others, gore is off-putting enough to be a deal-breaker.

When you’ve figured out what you want to make your readers feel, your overall approach to shiver-stirring content should unfold naturally:

If you intend a given nemesis to be repulsive, so that readers—and other characters—experience a distinctly visceral aversion, let your readers see him shed blood, hear him dragging his feet through puddles of it, feel him retrieving tools of the trade from the body remains tiling his basement. Engaging and offending the senses paves a steady path to repulsion.

If the horror vibe you’re going for is more psychological, gore isn’t necessary. Actually, not just “not necessary.” In these cases, gore is typically a distraction; use of it beyond the infrequent and well-thought-out variety can lead to an inconsistent tone that undermines your story.

Questions to Build a Bloodcurdling Bad Guy

What would positively ice one’s spine in real life won’t necessarily make a ripple in fiction; even if your villain is slaying strangers with a machete . . . well, the horror and oddball horror/comedy worlds have both seen plenty o’ machete killers. What makes this one different? What makes this one somebody you wouldn’t simply run from in the real world—where, let’s face it, we’d all run from threats of a much slighter scale than burly folk with big knives—but someone who stalks your peace of mind right through your suspended disbelief?

If you have created an engrossing world with believable characters and a setting that fascinates, you can rely on those very elements to convince your reader the bad guy is BAD.

Ask yourself these questions:

How does the bartender react to your villain sitting down for a drink? (Rushing to get it even when the place is packed; dropping the ice scoop; responding with a halting stutter even when the villain’s own words seem, on the surface, pleasant, etc.)

If the villain’s family and/or friends are part of the story, how do they react? Family breeds familiarity and motherhood tends to breed overlooking even heinous flaws. Is your villain so fearsome that his mother’s hand shakes when she cuts a slice of pie for him, their dialogue stilted from caution on her part and passive threats on his?

How do strangers react to your villain? If you need to convey some grotesque deformity or scar, it can be effective—before you ever describe it—to show a stranger turning around to see the villain and gasping. Recoiling. But even if the villain wears no visible mark of evil, others could still sense something’s off and start toeing the line, breathing more deeply, checking around the room to make sure their loved ones and prized possessions are accounted for.

Is there someone in the villain’s life who is not afraid? In Red Dragon, Francis Dolarhyde/The Tooth Fairy/The Great Red Dragon gives a variety of characters a variety of reasons to quiver before him, but his romantic interest, and blind coworker, Reba McClane never fears him. Is there a character who has good reason to miss what makes your villain fearsome? If so, it can serve as a powerful contrast, and deepen characterization by hinting at how things may have been different if it weren’t for a certain feature the world can’t look past but this one character can. Better still, this can allow you to gradually escalate circumstances to the point that even Character X becomes terrified of the villain—not only showing how vile the villain has become, and how hope for redemption has been lost, but also provoking in the villain an unprecedented degree of rage and vengeance.

How do others act when the villain “does her thing”? Regardless of whether your villain uses a hook, sword, gun, or more everyday and subtle weapon to effect destruction, there’s a moment when the villain starts doing that thing via which she’s earned her reputation, and how people react is important. Think not so much in terms of standard movie-screen reactions (running, crying, pleading, etc.) but in sudden contrasts of character (grown-ups wetting their pants, the resident tough guy cowering, people who have just been fighting over a civil dispute suddenly helping each other take cover) and extreme self-protective measures in which the frightened character risks—even welcomes—lesser injury (getting splinters under one’s fingernails from scratching the wood floor while being dragged away; jumping from an absurd height and breaking one’s legs; rushing into a forest, a cave, the hideout of a vicious gang, etc., for comparative safety).

By asking yourself these questions, you’ll help establish your villain as a truly terrifying presence that rings in the memories of horror fans for years to come.

An experienced book editor can assist you in making your scary characters their most frightsome, your hero believably brave, and your surrounding characters and settings conducive to punching up the fear. Contact me at editor@powerproofgirl.com or via the web form on this site for a consultation and sample edit regarding your novel, nonfiction book, short story or poetry collection, or shorter work.

How to Scare Your Readers: Writing Effective Horror Writing horror is weird: you’re basically inviting strangers to listen as, for hours, you try to scare the hell out of them.