#I’m hideous

[ash-and-starlight]

modern au and esen’s honkers are haunting the instagram feed

[mochiwrites]

“Scar?”

Grian pokes his head around their tower, squinting against the desert sun poking in through the windows. The recently turned red name is nowhere to be found, much to Grian’s confusion.

Things have been quiet since they returned to the desert after taking a few stops around the server. Grian had dropped off some things in a chest, stopping at the lilacs and poppies on his person. The flowers were carefully deposited in a pot before Grian moved to crafting up some more TNT.

Ever since getting back, Scar had been out of sight, and suspiciously quiet.

Grian had only lasted about thirty minutes of TNT crafting before getting up and going to search for his partner.

Which leads him to his current search, walking around the tower to find the red name.

“Scaaar?” he calls out to him, brows furrowing. He checks the main room of the tower before the smaller rooms and upstairs. Still, nothing. It leaves Grian confused and very bewildered. “Where on earth could that mad man be?” he questions.

There’s a bump that comes from above him, and he looks up. Ah.

Grian heads over to the ladder, grabbing the rings and hauling himself up until he reaches the very top of their tower and — Scar is right there, back facing him. Something in Grian relaxes at that, relief filling his lungs like it’s air.

“There you are, Scar. I was starting to wo—”

“Don’t take another step, G.” Scar’s voice comes out in a rush, cutting Grian off before he can move any closer to him.

Grian freezes where he is, words dying on his tongue as his wings snap close to his back. He stares at Scar, specifically at the back of his head, confused. “Okay?” he says. “Are you… alright, Scar?�� There’s a crease between his brows forming, concern settling under his skin.

“Oh me? I’m just peachy! As good as can be, really!” Scar replies, but his voice is too grand, lilt just a bit too high pitched and forced and Grian knows he’s set his mask on.

(The thought of Scar wearing a mask when it’s just the two of them makes Grian’s chest twist.)

“You don’t have to worry about lil ol’ me, Grian. I’ll join you downstairs in a few minutes.” Scar waves him off, and Grian can imagine the way his lips curl into a placating smile. But that won’t work on Grian.

Instead, he takes a slow step forward. “Well when you disappear for an hour while being red it’s a bit concerning,” he replies. He takes another step, and as he closes the distance between himself and Scar, he sees the man stiffen.

“Just needed some fresh air! You know how it is, the air can all hot and stuffy down there!”

“It’s the desert, Scar.” Really, what did he expect?

Scar chuckles, but the sound rings hollow in Grian’s ears, flat. He doesn’t like it. “Right, right! Which is why fresh air is important! It’s not good for the lungs to be inhaling all those dust particles.”

The entire time Scar talks, he doesn’t look at Grian. Not once. He keeps his back to him, never glancing behind him or turning around to meet his eyes. Something that Grian knows is important to Scar when he’s talking to people. He always said managing eye contact and looking at people was a big component in striking deals with them. It’s how he reads them.

Perhaps Scar just doesn’t need to look at him, doesn’t need to read him.

Maybe he’d be more willing to believe that if he didn’t see the tension in Scar’s shoulders.

With a deepened frown, Grian reaches out to Scar, taking hold of his wrist. “Scar,” he says, causing the man to jump when they make contact. “What’s going on?”

Scar feels stiff under Grian’s touch. “What makes you think there’s anything wrong?”

“I’m not stupid,” he huffs, giving Scar’s wrist a soft squeeze, “you haven’t looked at me once.” Look at me, please, look at me.

The red name falls silent, stilling completely. He leaves his wrist in Grian’s grip, skin warm against his fingers. “You sure I can’t spin some fancy words and convince you I’m totally fine?” Scar eventually answers. “Because I am! Completely and totally fine.”

Grian doesn’t believe him. “You’re a bad liar, Scar.” He isn’t, not really. Scar is a master at weaving lies together, spinning the story the way he wants and pulling everyone along for the ride. But in moments like these, where it’s just the two of them, and Scar is trying to convince Grian of something he doesn’t believe, Grian doesn’t fall for it.

“Should’ve known it wouldn’t work on you,” Scar mutters, shaking his head. “You’re too good, G.”

“I’m just good at seeing through you,” Grian retorts. He squeezes Scar’s wrist again. “Now will you please just stop avoiding my quest—”

Scar cuts him off again, but this time it’s face him. His red eyes stare into Grian’s green ones, and Grian freezes where he stands. There’s a sad and solemn smile on Scar’s face, and when he speaks, his voice makes Grian ache, “I’m hideous, G.”

“What?” Grian breathes, staring at him with confusion. He’s still holding Scar’s wrist. “What are you on about?”

“Just look at me!” Scar exclaims, face twisting with conflict. “I’m all red now! And my skin is gray! I’m like a — a walking corpse!” His eyes drop to the ground as he hangs his head, and Grian can’t help but imagine an upset puppy. Maybe the comparison isn’t too far off. “I’m completely hideous, Grian. How can you even stand to look at me?” I didn’t want you to see me like this.

Grian stares at him, attempting to process what Scar has just told him and— no. This sort of look on Scar is all kinds of wrong. It just doesn’t suit him. It doesn’t belong on him. Grian certainly doesn’t like it. Not when… not when Scar is one of the most handsome men he’s ever met. Red or otherwise.

He swallows thickly, feeling his hands start to shake with slight nerves as he lets go of Scar’s wrist. “No. You’re not.” He speaks with finality, leaving no room for Scar to argue with him. “You are not hideous, Scar.”

Grian takes a breath.

And then he reaches out to cup his hands around Scar’s face. The man obviously startles at the sudden touch, wide red eyes lifting to meet Grian’s. His mouth is open in shock, a little ‘o’ forming. He stares, caught off guard.

“Far from it, actually. And you hardly look like a corpse, certainly not cold like one.” Grian stares at Scar as he says it. “I happen to quite enjoy the way you look, actually. Your eyes are—” he stops himself, trying to fight down his embarrassment. He already knows that Scar won’t let him live this down after he says it. He’s never going to hear the end of it. But he’s doing this for Scar. For Scar. “Your eyes are… pretty. I like the shade of red.”

Scar sucks in a short little breath, and Grian can feel his face start to warm. “You… think my eyes are pretty?” he asks, sounding a little breathless.

Embarrassed, Grian slowly nods.

There’s a matching blush that rises to Scar’s cheeks now, and his hands lift to take gentle hold of Grian’s wrists. His touch is soft, kind. He keeps Grian’s hands on his face, leaning into the touch.

“You aren’t afraid of me?” Scar quietly questions him, hesitant and fearful of the answer.

“Out of everyone Scar, I have the least reason to fear you,” Grian answers, lifting a brow. “You’re leading around a bee on a lead, for crying out loud! And you’re attached to a llama.”

“And an avian,” Scar mutters so quietly under his breath that Grian nearly misses it. “But I’m… I’m red now. You should be afraid of me.”

Grian shakes his head, trying to ignore how warm his face is. How Scar’s own face mirrors his. “I’m not. If anything I’m afraid for you.” Scar can die at any moment now and that’d be it. He’d be gone. Slipping right out of Grian’s grasp like grains of sand.

“Oh,” Scar says, and Grian thinks he could laugh. It isn’t often he renders Scar speechless.

He sees Scar relax then, watching the way he leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together. Grian doesn’t let go of his face, and Scar doesn’t let go of his wrists.

“You like my eyes,” Scar mumbles, something giddy in his voice as he speaks.

“Yeah,” Grian admits quietly. “There’s a bit about you I like.”

A wide smile splits Scar’s face, and he’s beaming at Grian, and Grian knows his words will come back to bite him. Scar likes teasing him with them, unfortunately.

“No take backs!” Scar exclaims, lifting his head up to grin at him, and Grian can’t help his amused little huff.

“No take backs,” he agrees, nodding. Scar is smiling at him like he’s hung the sun, and the attention makes Grian want to squirm. Instead, he fondly rolls his eyes and uses his grip on Scar’s face to pull him down. He brushes their lips together. “You’re not hideous,” he mumbles against them. “And if I ever hear you say that again I’ll beat you with my wing.”

Scar laughs quietly, nodding. “Aye aye, Captain Grian. Next time I’ll think about how pretty you think my eyes are instead,” he teases, but Grian gets the underlying message. Thank you.

“You better,” is all Grian says before catching Scar’s lips in a proper kiss. Scar is more than happy to lean into it, one of his hands slipping around Grian’s waist. “Red or not you’re still Scar,” Grian tells them when they pull apart for air.

Scar looks at him with wide, adoring and grateful eyes. Grian hardly gets a second to catch his breath before Scar’s lips are on his again.

[cloud-based-and-rainpilled]

For David Tennant’s next role, he’s embodying a closeted preteen testing the gay waters with fuck ugly corporate-approved K-Mart hoodies

[gjdraws]

the best cutters in the outfit you say?

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Pov u think ur an ugly, bloodthirsty monster but ur husband is a simp and would happily spend hours every day reminding u how beautiful u are

[paganminiskirt]

I love reading your analyzing of Coyle. I wondered if you had any thoughts on his sexuality? (I mean I have a damn spread sheet myself, but you're so much better at words and really great at psychoanalyzing lol). I've described him as being "the straightest gay man I've ever seen" to a few people now and eventually the "get" it.

(CW: discussions of canon typical sexual and racial violence, slavery, internalized homophobia, domestic violence and femicide. One of the linked videos also discusses fascism using disturbing transphobic rhetoric as an example.)

Thank you for your kind words, it’s really nice to know my ramblings are resonating with someone! Discussion should be allowed to emerge naturally, but I think much of the debate that arose from the revelation of Coyle’s character was removed from the context of the oppressed groups being commented on by the text. I say that mainly in reference to people of color, since the KKK represents a cultural trauma which is inextricably attached to blackness, but the statement applies to queer people as well. That very Klan was almost extinguished in the 1870s until it was revitalized half a century later by a film, of all things: media is obviously important. There’s much more that can be, and to an extent needs to be, said about this story beyond rehashing “it is/is not okay to hornypost about this” ad nauseam.

So let’s get this out of the way: I think Coyle was deliberately being written as queer. The ethics of incorporating LGBT characters in a setting so obsessed with the grotesque are questionable (you can read more perspectives on that here and here,) but I think there was intention behind the decision to depict him this way, whether it's "good representation" or not.

One of his defining traits is that he habitually deploys lewd, effeminate language to intimidate and dehumanize his victims: “alluring piglet,” “honey,” “beautiful/sexy b*tch,” “darling,” “sweet, ripe young things" and the like. You could argue that is solely a degradation tactic rather than a direct indicator of his sexual preference, and he does seem to do it primarily to scare you. But a big part of the horror in Kill the Snitch is that Coyle is very unembarrassed about how much pleasure he gets out of subjecting you to that degradation. (“You lick my boot, maybe I let you up.”) The innuendo he taunts the Reagents with is unaffected by their gender presentation, and The Snitch is a fixed character presented as a cis man who Coyle treats with just as much aggressive leeriness. From there, it's difficult to interpret him as straight. 

And since Coyle is one of the main villains of the game, I think I would be remiss if I argued that his bi/pansexuality is a thematically insignificant byproduct of his broader characterization as a sadist. That conclusion certainly presents itself: even if his queerness is loudly implied, it isn’t commented on directly by the text the way other aspects of his character are, like racism and uxoricide. The closest we get to a clear, unmistakable identification of his sexuality comes in the form of his aforementioned attitude towards The Snitch. 

While the Reagents are interchangeable grunts, The Oogie Boogie Man Snitch is Coyle's own prisoner, and as such we witness him compound the usual routine of sexualized cruelty with repeated assertions of possession, calling him things like “toy” “mine” and “property” to emphasize a sense of ownership. He comes completely undone when the Reagents electrocute him to death, exploding into thwarted, miserable rage like a kid watching their sandcastle get kicked to shit (“No! FUCKING NO! He was mine!”) and throwing out all of his beliefs at once as this jumbled, fascistic mess; “anarchist pinko fucks” this and “country’s going to shit” that.

Perhaps the most telling line about their dynamic is this one: “Jesus Christ you look like my second wife, you know that? Spittin' image. Woman got me 'bout as hot as Missouri asphalt.” The only time we see how Coyle interacts with people on an even playing field is in the files, when it’s mentioned that he killed two of his fellow soldiers when serving in the army & brutalized a murkoff agent interviewing him. The social dominance he has over people like The Snitch and his wives seems to be the only way he’s capable of conducting interpersonal relationships on a vaguely emotional level. Otherization, fuckability, and the need for corrective shame/subordination are all intertwined in Coyle's head, muddling together to form his notion of natural hierarchy: one which is incoherent, self-serving, and more about appearances than anything else. (“I know what you did. I just need to hear you say it.”)

And the importance placed on appearances isn’t just something that Leland happens to believe. In the era when this game takes place, the electric chair was at peak popularity as a form of “humane” capital punishment: in reality, it was a callous technological repackaging of the methods of execution which came before it, namely the (distinctly racialized) hanging/lynching. These methods were designed to reinforce social hierarchy by staging voyeuristic displays of dehumanization, and were levied with particular barbarism against people of color. There’s a catalog of horror stories I could insert here about white supremacy and the electric chair, but that’s another post entirely. What I want to establish is that:

A. It's easy to interpret The Snitch’s execution (and the Reagent’s forced participation in it) as a symbolic enforcement of Murkoff’s construction of social dominance, akin to capital punishment or lynching/state sponsored terrorism. B. Men like Coyle were categorically responsible for orchestrating executions like the one in the game, and the fact that he gets so angry and addled about it even though he’s ostensibly a follower of their doctrine speaks to the nature of his ideology. 

Though a lot of real world topics get touched on by Coyle's dialogue, it certainly isn’t 100% down-to-earth social critique. Many of his lines invite you to laugh at him (“It's hurtful when you disrespect the badge. I have feelings, too”/”Ain't you slicker'n a can of mashed assholes”) and his crimes themselves are, at times, overblown and ridiculous. He's a caricature of institutional violence and injustice, not a straight faced example of it. No, the realistic part of Coyle’s storyline is how the power structures of 1950s America both protected him from consequences and deliberately encouraged him to degenerate. I’ve alluded to this before: it’s one of my favorite things about Trials.

He was sent to military school because of his violent tendencies and joined the marines to avoid investigation after killing his first wife, but once he had the Police Department to shield him his behavior escalated in severity so much so that it attracted the attention of an even worse organization. The process was Military School → Ku Klux Klan → Marines → Police Department → Murkoff. This facet of the story was always there, but the newly released comic really hammers in the point, that Coyle - infantile, nonsensical, vulgarly abusive and utterly unworthy of authority - was never a barely tolerated outlier or a well kept secret within the systems he budded up from. The files directly attach his klan involvement to police work even as he's described as a “good cop:” because there were no good cops in Blackwell, because good cops aren’t real. US Law Enforcement can be traced back to early southern slave patrols, they've had a handshake agreement with the Klan for decades, and you need look no further than the recent Minneapolis Police Department exposé to see how they operate in the modern world - and this game is set sixty years before 2023. Horrifying, yeah?

Understanding cops themselves to be fundamentally immoral and unjust, by the time we meet him in the game, Coyle isn’t even a competent cop in terms of his willingness to enact unjust aims. Yes he is brutal, yes he is racist, yes he clings to the childish, cowardly belief in immutable superiority found in actual modern fascists - but the ouroboros of psychosexual issues driving him to behave the way he does take precedence over his purported devotion to any belief system, to such a degree that he isn’t even acting in explicit defense of an institution anymore. That job, to defend the current institution, is what the Reagents are being trained for: the same ones he deems subhuman and, most tellingly, “perverted.”

One thing that makes Coyle’s whole presence in Kill The Snitch  so surreal and disorienting is how manufactured and aimless his job as The Snitch’s defender really is. The man play acts an interrogation of someone who will never see trial, referencing vice squads, courts and elections that are nowhere to be found in the Sinyala facility - even though a different line of his mentions how they “don’t favor courts in these parts.” So, he’s directly contradicting himself. When the Snitch dies, he goes “NO! NO! I'll never... God DAMNIT,” not even finishing his own sentence about what it is he apparently needed The Snitch for.

The man obviously thinks otherwise, but he’s a make-believe cop, a test dummy for trainees to be pitted against ala shencomix’s professional hater. Though nowhere near as disenfranchised, Coyle is a puppet in Murkoff’s trials as much as the Reagents are, all his nasty, grandiose rhetoric ultimately amounting to hot air: and unlike the Reagents, this does not end with him being reborn. He lacks the overarching purpose of eventual service to a greater cause that they have.

And therein lies the self-destroying prophecy inherent to his understanding of reality. You can argue that Coyle is aware (subconsciously or otherwise) that there exists the potential for him to be otherized, and by extension subordinated, for an immutable part of himself which is directly attached to his sexuality and masculinity. I’d be surprised if he wasn't, considering how loudly the prejudices of the culture he arose from are relayed to the audience. The fear that comes from that knowledge gives birth to an obsession with categorism, shame, and “justice:” which he rationalizes as an immutable aspect of reality by connecting it with the natural phenomenon of lightning. (“I used to stand in a storm and watch the lightning strike the plains and I would think, "well there you go." That's justice. Sometimes the finger of God reaches down and touches you. But you never know which finger it is you're gonna get.”)

This leads to violence which he is constantly rewarded for: and because it’s the only viable outlet he has for exercising those very issues which he was trying to avoid confronting in the first place… he overindulges. Loses all interest in presenting the rhetoric coherently, in favor of chasing the immediate release that cruelty provides with ever-increasing vigor. (Funny how he calls the Reagents “dope addicted” too. Mr. Sony VPL strikes again!)

But in the end, Coyle is worthless. He’s a tool, designed to be overcome. It's a similarly symbolic, utilitarian role to that of The Snitch, which potentially feeds into his perverse sense of protectiveness over him, but the people who are coming out the other end of this with a job to do in the real world are the Reagents. People he looks down on, people he terrorizes, people he’s so desperate to bend to his will. He’s like... white chauvinism revealed as senseless, small and disgusting, condemned to chase its own tail & buckle under its own weight no matter how hard it shakes it's fist at the sky. 

And in a series so fixated on delusion and the disintegration of the self, the nugget of reality within that was thrilling to see on screen. 10/10, would cringe at again.

[tchaikovskaya]

Enduring horrors beyond comprehension (being a renter and trying to balance the real cost of spending your own money to somewhat improve the apt/house that you don’t own and won’t ultimately keep, vs the abstract cost of having to live with and look at shit that is functionally or aesthetically horrible in your daily life)

[iamfabiloz]

small holofang doodle 🫡

[unhingedlesbear]

Meat dogs are sooooo cute and aesthetic 💖💖💕💞✨✨ I gave them lil flower crowns lil pookies🥺🥺cute little dogs🥰🥰soooo prosthetic😍

[artschoolglasses]

If you use mods in video games that make characters look younger, remove wrinkles, smooth out skin, make them thinner… etc, etc…I hate you. 🙃

[asteroidaffection]

spot the difference

[subarashiihibi]

My new desk came today !!!🥹🫶 I finally got space on my walls to hang up my roppi poster and… that one…

[lynxfrost13]

Man for some reason the “not living up to my potential” in terms of my art is really hitting today which is stupid.

Hey brain you know that art is a forever journey and that it’s okay to grow and learn and not be perfect right???

[cannedbeefaroni]

i might have already said this but burt fabelman in lingerie 🔥🔥🔥🔥 i would explode everywhere

He doesn’t understand the appeal of sexy costume lingerie