#;;content warning: body horror

[dangeroustaintedflawed]

[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

[lorelxlz]

tw // eye pulling and mild body horror

not quite human anymore

[xyl4-4444]

Dj Sour Eyesore doodledump ☣🎧👁️

BONUS!!!

Wip

[theotherhappyplace]

Bookmark design for The Other Happy Place artbook backers!! Making things happen

[dailyhatsune]

have u ever drawn the miku from whats inside by pinocchiop? its one of my fav songs <33 love ur art!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you got guts?

[aphidclan-clangen]

Spiderglade, how many cats are in DarkForest along with you? Or you’re in here alone?

[cydanite]

"You remember that you are a distinct being with a finite form and a mortal body."

!!SPOILERS for the ending of StP!!

Concept sketch for my interpretation of Slay the Princess’s protagonist. I like the canon vagueness of his design, but I came up with a concept I wanted to explore c:

He has 2 pairs of wings, one on his head and one on his back. The "Narrator", in trapping him, clipped his wings and disguised them as hair and a cloak. Best to not to give any reminder that flying out of the woods is even an option.

The smaller pair wrap around his head like hair, the few remaining primaries folding over each other as bangs. On the “thumb” of the wings are birds feel, decoratively chained together. Don’t be fooled into thinking that chain isn’t meant to hold, though.

The larger pair drapes limply off his shoulders like a cloak. It’s fastened by an X shape. You know the one, when people are lazy with drawing medieval clothing (myself included) we use it as a closure, a formless cross drawstring. You don’t question it when you see it. You wouldn’t suspect it’s two massive metal staples puncturing his flesh.

He can’t see his wings for what they are, so he doesn't feel through them. Not until he can manage to remember...

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(also i wrote a snippet hehe)

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The Narrator: The pain is threefold.

First comes stiffness, an ancient ache creeping in from the edge of your perception.

Awareness of this newfound sensation latches on to your mind and pulls, quickly fracturing into a sprawling map of new body parts.

It’s your hair. It hurts, in ways hair shouldn't be able to hurt. Every fiber protests against you despite being just hair mere moments ago.

The fabric of your cloak betrays you as well. You're inescapably aware of the space you now take up. New, itching, uncomfortable, ugly sensations form all down your back.

Voice of the Hero: It's like we just regained blood circulation there. We're being stabbed a thousand times over.

The Narrator: It doesn't end there. Injuries that previously gone unnoticed now make themselves known. You recall running sharp fingers through your hair. Only now can you feel the dried blood. You would've taken better care of that cloak if you'd known it was made up of you.

Voice of the Hero: But what's happening to us?

The Narrator: The web of pain maps out its shape. Two pairs of feathered wings become part of your body once again.

Voice of the Hero: 'Once again'... having wings makes sense, I suppose. But how could we have forgotten this? It seems so inescapable now.

The Narrator: But as you go to reign motor over your limbs once again, the third pain rears it’s ugly head… cold, harsh metal digs into your flesh.

It pins your limbs in their poses. A tiny set of cuffs pull small wings taught around the circumference of your head.

The closure of your "cape" is two enormous staples, staked through your flesh and clamped down hard. There's no blood here, the wound long since healed.

...Who or whatever did this to you, it was never intended to be removed.

Voice of the Hero: Maybe we should keep more vigilant in the future. If we can't trust our own body... I don't want to think about it more than we have to.

[90scully]

THE FLY (1986) dir. David Cronenberg

[happyk44]

Nico grabbing an enemy by the wrist before they can strike down on him and it would be easy to steal the life from the pulse beneath his fingertips, turn the air in their lungs into his own, but there's a myriad of fighters around him and one life isn't going to power him enough to blast away them all when he's already so tired as it is. He wishes he was bigger, stronger.

He squeezes his hand tight around the wrist he holds back. It shatters. Their sword clatters to the ground. It's not a human noise they make - well, it is, they're human.

Until they aren't. Until boney spikes rip through their clothes, emerging sharp and dangerous from their spine. He squeezes harder. The skin around their skull ripples, like bugs crawling underneath. Then bursts blood and spit and flesh as their jaw unhooks. Teeth pitter-patter onto the ground as larger, sharper, whiter fangs emerge violently in their place.

Their face splits just above the nose as another jaw grows around their eyes, as their esophagus snaps and elongates upwards, as blood and flesh and viscera pour like an unholy flood, arms tearing, legs cracking, flesh hanging off bloody bone, nothing but a monster left behind.

Nothing but a nightmare.

It croons at him. The soul beneath is twisted, ugly, beautiful, spread thin across their new body, new bones, like the veins of their now still and battered heart. It pulses like the lungs torn by their feet once did.

The world has silenced itself in the emergence of Nico's new pet. He squeezes the new wrist, the bone firm and clean beneath his touch.

"Defend me," he whispers.

It croons again, shuffling back on four feet. The world quakes as it turns. The world shivers as it regards them, predator to prey, standing larger than them all, and far more dangerous as they ever recalled it to once be.

And the world screams when it lunges.

[nozomi-mats]

17th shard commission done back in 2021! Ishar’s Cryptic.

[okkos-ferrum]

EDIT: SO SORRY ABT NOT TAGGING TW!! CONTENT WARNING FOR POTENTIAL GORE AND BODY HORROR

"The conductor, but not of his own life"

Teehee this piece was fun color wise

Green/blue lightning indicates vile while gray's in all orange and reds, representing carmen

[togglesbloggle]

I get nightmares, sometimes.

I know specifically where they come from. Second grade. My elementary school would gather kids up in the cafeteria and read some short-ish book to a large-ish crowd. I don't know why they did it that way instead of the classroom; it might have been some kind of after-school activity instead of during normal hours. The circumstances are pretty vague to me, this long after the fact.

I don't remember the title of this particular story either, or any of the names of the characters, most of it's long since lost in the fog. I was probably a bit bored for most of the reading. The book was a pretty generic little thing, until it wasn't. There was this caterpillar, it wanted to be a butterfly, a convenient and kid-friendly shorthand for overcoming obstacles to self-actualization through friendship and wisdom. One of the more common allegories out there.

But anyway, what made it weird was, the author decided that the catharsis of becoming a butterfly was a bit too straightforward to carry the climax of the story all on its own. So instead, most of the other bugs- the ones, I have to assume, that represented the forces of conformity and social pressure, or whatever- all became envious of the butterfly's ability to reach the sky (or sun?). When they saw the beautiful butterfly soaring through the air, in a rage they all started climbing on top of one another, and forming a big teeming pile of bugs, each one trying to get just a little bit higher, demanding to touch the sky just like the butterfly did. It became a giant, squirming mass, larger and larger until the inevitable occurred, the bugs at the bottom of this horrific mass were crushed, and the entire thing collapsed to its inevitable doom. The butterfly, armed with wings of its own, flew onward to the sky.

It's a little hard to pinpoint exactly what these nightmares are about, in a symbolic sense. They're about the anxieties of social conformity and peer pressure, certainly; my recurring fears of being molded by the community around me in to compliant and useful forms without consideration for my own happiness. But they're also about hierarchies and the meaning of social power, and even about conformist pressures in epistemic and ontological frames. It sort of slips from one analogy to another, untethered. It's a basal, animal fear that gets carried forward to many walks of life, both practical and philosophical, one that takes the particular form it does just because that story happened to be the first thing to hit this fault-line of mine at the right angle and crystalize my fears in to something I could understand.

On those nights when I find myself trapped in that pile, buried under the weight of hundreds of bodies, forced to crush the victims below me and claw my way through the airless, squirming heat and death of it all, the analogies don't really matter so much. Sometimes the beings around me are humans, sometimes they're all bugs, sometimes I am too, but always it's just about the simple, awful terror of living in that world of flesh. Things that might once have been fellow-travelers, trapped underneath and above and on every side with no room to move. When the agonizing pressure bearing down on you drives through your body without interruption, and you become an instrument that empowers and transmits that same violence to the animals that you're crawling over, with no relief from the pain except to drag somebody down from above you and get just a bit higher. Suffocating, always suffocating, gasping hot breaths where nothing's left to breathe.

But it is very potent grist for any number of metaphors, that's why I keep dreaming the damned thing. And it's not at all uncommon to be moving through my normal, waking life and find myself in circumstances that trigger this fear. I can always feel it coming on with that vague sense of suffocation, usually even before I understand consciously that I've found myself in one of those situations.

Being in the crowd at a sports stadium will usually get me pretty bad, of course. Driving in traffic does it sometimes, a little. But the merely physical crowds are pretty tolerable in the short term. Being at a protest or political rally is much worse; chanting with a crowd is more likely to trigger these nightmares than just cheering with one, because chants are semantic. More buy-in, you see? You have to conform with your ideas as well as your body.

It's there in more abstract ways as well. If I'm in a chat group or social community that brings in an applause light (or shared enemy) that is meant to unify everybody and create a sense of shared identity using public consensus, it can get a little hard to breathe; I sometimes have to go hide in a private room during dinner parties, when they go in the wrong direction. I've avoided employment in big, mission-statement-y corporations my whole life, for much the same reason.

I know that there are people who find a great deal of joy and meaning in this stuff, in being a part of social movements and organizations larger than themselves. I don't mean to say anything objective about such preferences, this isn't even really about my considered opinions so much as the animal parts of me. But man, the animal in me is so frightened sometimes. So much of our world seems to be made of these ziggurats of flesh, teeming piles of human life all trying to reach for something divine by crushing the souls below.

I have, I think, mostly avoided the worst failure states of contrarianism; better not to let the crows dictate my opinions at all, even by inversion. And actually I do better living in large cities than you might expect. Modern city life is 'dense' in the sense that you're often near a few people at a time, but not often to the point of actually restricting movement. Merely having a loud upstairs neighbor doesn't trigger my phobias at all, and it's usually pretty trivial to have basic personal space; I suppose I might struggle in places like Manhattan or Tokyo, though. It's a marked part of my life, but not a disabling one.

And like I said, this isn't a philosophical or a moral stance per se, though it's clearly part of the 'state of nature' that's upstream of my ideological commitments. Mostly, I'm writing this out because I think a lot of people tend to be annoyed by the kind of separatism I reach for reflexively, and treat it like a threat or a form of dissent. Which I guess it sort of is; I and people like me are pretty bad at forming coalitions and doing that kind of important work in the polis. But still, I'm hoping that my nightmares can do a little bit of good on that front, by providing vivid and terrible imagery to help others understand subjectively what it's like instead of just rounding it off to an easy-to-dismiss "Reddit bro" or whatever Type Of Guy is common parlance on the internet at the time.

And I guess, also, I'd like to help communicate something of the beauty of the alternative- of being the butterfly, I mean. And to the extent that it's possible, to communicate the urgency that I feel in chasing tools and institutional patterns that can help people to build their own wings and fly through the open air. There are things that help us rise under our own power as individuals, without victims. Curiosity, creativity, patience, mutual appreciation; so many kinds of strength that don't demand sacrifices. And the greatest of these, I think, is the pursuit of truth, and the sincere desire to understand the structure and consistency of the world around us.

Failing all else, during this election season please have a little patience for those of us who fall silent or slip away instead of lending our voices to the chanting of the crowds, or who seem to care more about picking apart ideas instead of organizing around them, or who otherwise never seem to miss an opportunity to make ourselves the odd one out. There's power in numbers, and this is a moment when power is desperately needed; but I don't think you can touch the sky that way. The higher goals, the things that will allow us to transcend our present difficulties outright and to achieve something really great, are too far away and too alien to reach merely by stacking bodies or echoing the doctrines of the present. Hope comes as a stranger, and we need hope right now for the same reasons that we need power.

[phlurrii]

Okay so, vote went out, ya’ll were in an overwhelming yes, and thus here it it! The “what if” horror scenario with a synergy crystal! See the end for some notes!

Also!

Massive content warning for blood, gore, intense body horror, impalement, disturbing art, extreme malnourishment, gaping eyeholes, all around horror funky stuff, DO NOT click read more if any of the above is not your thing. Please enjoy your day ;D

You have been warned.

So! Hope you all enjoyed, this is a bit old, as I find my early mewtwos attempts to be the scariest part of this lmao; but overall let’s get into the meat and potatoes! My thoughts on how a synergy stone would affect an ancient mew is they would be able to fight it consistently to some degree, not alot, but enough to do as the last photo implies. Force their physical body into extreme illness/malnutrition. This is due to the idea that a synergy stone infected AM would be low key unstoppable and not good for the planet, thus I found it much more interesting if Meau is able to fight it enough to avoid eating/drinking in order to have their body deteriorate enough that the stone wouldn’t be able to harness its power as much as time goes on! Though the first couple months would be carnage untold probably… eventually it devolves into the above and is less damaging and just… scary X3 anywho, horrors fun ain’t it?

[joowee-feftynn]

serial designation "P", codename Pink! (pink diamond but shes a drone that murders idk)

alt of her without the thigh highs because i liked how it looked also (i didn't know the "thigh highs" were just how the girl drone legs were like while designing her okay)

[theotherhappyplace]

"Hello! Hello are you there? I just wanted to say congratulations! It's so great that it's finally happening!"🦋🦋🦋