#graphic imagery cw

[faereun]

molly mccully brown, places i've taken my body / carol rifka brunt, tell the wolves im home / vanni saltarelli / linnea paskow, splitter / @veniennes on tiktok/ john mayer, in the blood / unknown / sarah kay, hand me downs / faereun, amalgamation / unknown

[dollologys]

windswept dreams ... ♥︎

columbina rentry ! credit for the graphics is linked through the biggest graphic (click it !) & please do not remove it .

requested by ; no one .

songs/lyrics used ; all my own stuff !

graphics made by ; @horrorification on tumblr . (please message me if you want to be untagged/never tagged again!)

rentry.net/angelic-s ; definitely not mobile friendly i am scared to look at it on my phone ; only looks good on light mode . i know its not versitile but i saw the graphics and couldn't help myself they are so pretty .

[onejellyfishplease]

SnapDonnie, Containment Breach, Part 4

(First) (Prev)

:D

... Well that's the end of the cold open episode!! for more, please see the masterpost

I hope you all enjoyed this little dally into horror, I know I did!

(Masterpost)

[euphoritooth]

Damn. Pack it up y'all, I'm posting tri-monthly now.. Just kidding. Take my promises with a grain of salt. I have no idea what's next. Believe me, I was trying! The mental image is hardly there most of the time, but her music gets my brain going. Also obligatory Christmas thing I guess.

Lyrics/Theme: A Long, Unfortunate While by Ethel Cain.

[tacticalhimbo]

Soders suffers from the rare condition, Situs Inversus, in which his internal organs are reversed. He received his first heart transplant in 1995 - a procedure that might have involved illegal, black market organ trading. However, being a sacred ICA cow, no formal investigation was made. Intel suggests that Soders is once again dying and right-sided donor hearts are almost impossible to obtain. This, plus the fact that Soders is virtually broke from gambling, gives an indication of why he has chosen to betray ICA and become a mole for Providence. They not only have access to the best medical treatments that money can buy, but they also have the global reach and means to procure an illegal donor heart at short notice. Soders cannot have been on Providence payroll for more than a few weeks. Otherwise, he would have warned them about the hits on their operatives in Italy and Morocco. He was likely turned shortly after the abduction of Thomas Cross from his son's funeral, when Providence realized that someone was using ICA to attack their operatives. Providence has presumably kept files on all ICA board members, in case they would ever need to infiltrate us. This explains why Soders' file was among the shadow client's research in Colorado. Erich Soders is a survivor, plan and simple. Once a formidable assassin, he grew bitter and resentful after his early forced retirement and has now lost all sense of honor. This mission is regrettable, yet necessary. Soders must pay for his treachery and we must draw a line in the sand.

[abby-howard]

So I’ve started doing a series of unsettling drawings based on short prompts, and I’ll be posting them to both twitter and my new horror instagram: filled.with.worms

These are a few of the hopefully less upsetting pieces, since I didn’t wanna fill anybody’s feed with some of the more body-horror-heavy images:

“Watched”

“Stench”

“Milk”

And many more... 

[flimflamfandom]

The Wretched Spilling of Blood - a Nightmare

In which Ivy has a bad dream.

(Content warning - graphic imagery, blood)

-

The hallway was dark.

It was one of the cave halls in the Daisy - usually well lit by electric lights, now barely kept aglow by lanterns. Ivy was barefoot, and the floor of the cave was damp. She didn't know what with. She walked slowly, moving forward and peering out.

"Where...hello?" She called. "Is anyone there?"

"Ivy?"

"...Mitzi!" Mitzi looked stressed - her hair was a mess, her body shook, her heartbeat visible in her neck. She huffed, and held her arm.

"Ivy, you have to leave."

"What...why? What's going on, where are the lights?"

"Please, you just have to leave - Viktor is waiting for you."

"What's going on!?"

"Please, just..." Mitzi heard something. A bang. She scurried away. Ivy called after her. "Wait! What...what are you running from!?"

She ran too fast. She didn't know where Mitzi had even run off to. She headed towards the exit, but got lost in the catacombs of the Daisy. She never got lost before, but it was hard to figure out just what was going on. She walked the same path again and again and-...

"...this is...this is just a dream. Has to be. That hallway doesn't go that way." Ivy nodded. "It's a dre-"

"MISS PEPPER!"

"Rocky!"

"What are you still doing here? How did you escape?"

"Escape?" Ivy peered at him. "Escape...escape what?"

"I...you didn't-" Rocky shook his head. "Where's the hole?"

"What do you mean!? What's going on?"

"It's Mordecai, he-" Rocky huffed. "I'm talking to a ghost. I'm seeing things, now. This has gotten out of hand, it really has, I-" He huffed. "I have to run...I gotta get out of..." He ran off.

"Ghost?" Ivy kept running. The caves got darker - the lanterns fewer, and the ground more damp - she felt the dampness turn to puddles, turn to ankle deep...something. She wasn't sure what. It felt like water. It was too warm, though.

She kept hearing footsteps behind her, squelching through the damp hallways. She began to run from them, and felt her heart race. She stopped at the entrance of a chamber...

She heard a pained moan - a familiar voice. She headed towards it. "Freckle, is that you? Calvin?"

She saw him, there, clutching his stomach. She swore he didn't own a red sweater like...that...

"Oh, god!" She cried out. "Freckle, what happened!?" She knelt down, and put her hand on his shoulder. He sputtered.

"...is it warm?"

"Is...is what warm?"

"...death...is it cold? Where does it take us?" He looked at Ivy.

"...Calvin, no, no, this isn't-...you're gonna be just fine." She knew this was a nightmare - it had to be, it just had to be. She knelt down, the floor still flooding. Calvin looked up.

"I saw it, you know. I saw you leave."

"Calvin, I...I'm right here!" She held him close, his head clutched to her. "I'm right here, feel me? I'm not gonna leave you..." She smiled, gently, trying to comfort him. She knew it was a dream, she...she knew...

Calvin smiled. "...I wish..." He fell limp. Ivy sat there, looking down, her fur and paws and dress stained with blood.

She heard footsteps in the wet hallway. She looked up. She saw...Mordecai. He looked confused.

"...I thought I'd killed you."

"Why would...you promised you wouldn't." She said.

"I made a lot of promises I didn't keep."

He pointed the gun.

-

"NO!" Ivy shot up, sitting in her bed. She looked around the room, the record player still spinning in the center of a record. She took a few deep breaths. She looked at her hands and fur. "..." They were clean, if a bit matted with the shape of sheets. She scrambled to her phone, and rung Calvin.

"...Hello?"

"Calvin? It's Ivy."

"Ivy, it's...2 in the morning. What do you need?"

"I just...had a bad dream." She said. "I wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh...of course." She heard him grunt and sit up. "What was the dream about?"

Ivy blinked. "Uhm...well, truth be told, I've been having these awful nightmares about...the Daisy."

"Oh?" Calvin sighed. "...me, too. Tell me about it."

"Well..."

[duckgens]

fine I'll draw art for my own fanfic (no one asked for this)

[loganslowdown4]

Remus: The sounds of broken bodies striking the earth intensifies. Screams of agony fill the night. Windshields shatter. Roofs collapse. Streets run crimson with rivers of blood...

Roman: Remus, all I said was the next song in the playlist is ‘It’s Raining Men’, you fucking buzzkill

[gone-below]

When I'm covered in violence will you look at me the same?

Will your eyes still hold wonder and lips utter praise?

[xtragedyxkingx]

I’m always nervous showing my art but thought I’d share this one, it’s not finished but I’m sooo happy with the way it’s coming out. I think it looks so pretty 🥰

[the-spider-bugaboo-archived]

[bvannn]

“Many spirits will retain a connection to their bodies, even after their life has ended. As noted in the ‘Tracking’ section, many ghosts will instinctively try to gasp for breath despite lacking the capability, as they retain the instinct. This becomes less frequent as time passes beyond death, though it is unknown if this is caused by adaptation to their incorporeal form, or due to decomposition of their brain stem. Many ghosts describe numbness in their digits and limbs as time passes, and those with undiscovered corpses are noted to experience this faster than those with proper burials, likely due to decomposition rates. Far more common, especially in older ghosts, subjects will express an itching sensation, described by my friend Mr. Hunt as “the feeling of bugs crawling under your skin and through your organs”. Ghosts with cremated bodies do not express these feelings.” - Vincent Bowdern, Field Guide to Spirits, 1969

[redd956]

What is Shell Shock?

Content Warning

This is a more seriously written piece by this blog, as a reminder that I also run a small history buff blog, and am a person myself who has PTSD, and grew up around both a combination of war veterans and others with PTSD. I cannot repeat that this is a more serious post by my blog.

This post will contain graphic description, images and links to potentially graphic imagery, talks of historical ableism, war, and extreme variants of PTSD & related phenomena. I will also go in heavy detail about the historical and modern day disregards for men's health, suicide, and sexism against men

Shell-Shock was both a psychological and physical phenomena, which its term was coined during WW1, that is now more so synonymously used with PTSD despite technically being different.

To fully understand what shell-shock was, it is important to acknowledge the lack of understanding and compassion towards the disabled and mentally changed that persisted throughout history. It is also important to acknowledge that despite the phenomena being finally noted during WW1 it has existed since ancient times, and even been mentioned so under many different names.

Shell-shock became the men's hysteria of war. The terminology was created by British soldiers fighting in WW1.

Images of Soldiers Throughout History Experiencing Shell Shock

British Soldier WW1

American Soldier during Vietnam/United States War

Canadian Soldier during WW2

German Soldiers during WW2

Description + Effects

Anything along these lines was Shell Shock

Panic Attacks

Adrenaline Surges

Inability to Walk

Inability to Talk

Selective Mutism

Hysteria

Paralysis

Fear

Inability to Sleep

Fight, Flight, Fawn, Freeze

Hypersensitivity

Amnesia

Lack of Self Control

Nightmares

Anything related to traumatic or PTSD responses

And many more

What is it today?

We mostly know today Shell Shock as PTSD, since many of it's documentation and history would show it to be so. However Shell Shock isn't just PTSD, it can also be...

Brain Injury

CSR (Combat Stress Reaction)

Selective Mutism

Conversion Disorders

Dissociative Fugue

Major Stress Responses

Other English Names

Soldier's Heart

Combat Fatigue

War Neurosis

Male Hysteria

Two-Thousand Mile Stare

"If Followed Them Home"

During WW1 the phenomena seemingly took the world by storm out of nowhere. Something was infecting the men in combat, and was infecting them quickly. Shell Shock was coined, and at the time no one truly understood or knew the cause. Everyone understood that it's existence was real, and that something through war caused it, but from there everyone was at a lost.

One popular belief of the time was that the brutality of new age weapons, such as artillery was to blame, hence the name Shell [Artillery Ammunition]- Shock [Shocking/Surprise].

However the views about became even more confusing, but not any more lenient or fair, when the soldiers came home, and with them shell shock followed. And no matter what anyone did, it never fully left them.

Wives and families were frightened by the men they knew. The men who were now leaping out of bed in the night, screaming bloody murder uncontrollably, freezing up into poses of terror, with not a move able to stop them.

Hospitals filled with men unable to speak, or walk. This plague of PTSD and other traumatic caused disorders helped us gain much of our understanding today on how what this was/is, and how to deal with it. Unfortunately that would be a long time...

Cowardice, Invalids, Hysteria

What happened to soldiers who experienced shell shock during combat, back in their reserves, even when they returned home. Well... nothing good.

Those who were suddenly struck by shell shock were viewed as cowards, effeminate men taken by a the feminine disorder of hysteria, infected men who were contributing to a growing pool of disabled invalids. These men were expected to recover themselves, snap out it, and continue the duty of war. Shell shock was no excuse for deserting, betrayal, and inaction. Not of all these thoughts were mutual, especially among soldiers, as many who had witnessed the horrors and were beginning to develop PTSD themselves understood where the notions of shell shock were coming from.

At the time becoming disabled was wasting all the potential and respect you deserved in society. Hysteria was a term overall used at the time to describe most disorders or psychological reactions, and those experiencing it often went through brutal unhelpful treatment. The disabled were viewed to be below the abled, no matter how much of the "normal" they retained.

For men to act this way?! It was outrageous to the people of the time, and continued to be for a long time...

Men

As much today as we press for the matters unique to many gender identities, we often to forget that despite men having an upper hand in most notions, their cards still aren't completely fair. The problem isn't fully lying in masculinity, but instead what we as a society view to be the proper masculine way and how masculine peoples should achieve that.

Historically it was viewed effeminate to experience many types of mental illnesses, or responses, and this included shell shock. Men were expected to be stoic, and unresponsive to such things, because of this the treatment and plans to prevent soldiers in and out of battle from crumbling to it were often heinous. This included forceful return or encouragement to go back to the frontlines, execution for desertion, and more.

It wasn't unusual for soldiers to commit suicide during battle, and after returning home. Toxic ideals of masculinity, mixed with Abrahamic ideals on suicide, shunned these men for their actions after death. On the side of the west veterans were hailed as heroes, until nearing the late fifties, were the tones began to shift. In the 60s era of the United States, veterans began to be viewed poorly, and a fight for their benefits needed to begin.

The problem itself isn't within masculinity. Without masculinity there would be a lot of importance and good lost. Instead it is what we promote as important and tie to masculinity. Masculinity is important to all those who represent in one way or another, it is fathers abiding for their families in masculine roles, it is in much of the history of mlm, it is men healing their self esteem through athleticism, it is transmen appealing as masculine as possible to fight back that dysphoria.

To this day men's mental health isn't taken seriously. Breaking everything down to the nitty-gritty in statistics, the demographic that commits suicide the most is cisgender heterosexual Caucasian men. In 2020 alone in the United States 69.68% of suicides where white men.

There is a growing mental health crisis for everyone, but we cannot ignore that there is a significant problem in men's mental health. It is effeminate, non-masculine, to ask for help. We as a society need to make asking for help, seeking medical aid, and working on one's mental health as something not related to gender identity at all.

Thank you for somehow reading this long ass post!

Videos

Historical archive footage of soldiers with shell shock

This video is really interesting, well researched, but sad

Suicide Statistic from American Foundation of Suicide Prevention

[skxllbxnny]

angst... prompt?? scenario?? idea? something.

tw for graphic violence, blood

YES I KNOW ITS IN ALL LOWERCASE SHHH IM TIRED AND DONT WANNA FIX IT :(

  the town usually was a friendly place. a home to many, and welcomed visitors with open arms. but... there was one acception.

  there was a man— if you could even call him that— that nobody dared look at. nobody greeted him, or even acknowledged when he tried to say something. as years went by, he only grew more hated. and he hated everyone right back.

  one day, someone waved at him. and smiled. smiled? at him? no, that wasn't... he was seeing things, surely. he scoffed, and kept walking. but that person... they followed him. talked with him. seemingly acting friendly.

  this... filled him with rage. he hated feeling like he was being pitied. he hated being mocked. made a fool of. he yelled at the person to go away, leave him alone. reluctantly, they complied.

  however, this persisted for days. weeks. no matter what he did, they just kept appearing again, with some pitiful excuse to try and appear friendly, some stupid mockery of a joke, or some story that didn't make any sense and only served to distract him. every time, he would yell at them to leave just a little harsher.

  he hated being pushed to the dirt like this. he hated how they laughed at him, how they always wanted to bother him. he wanted them to leave him alone, just like everyone else. he couldn't stand the humiliation.

  one day, the monster led them towards a secluded area, where nobody could hear them. they were too busy telling a stupid story to notice the rage growing inside of him. he snapped, punching them in the throat and stepping on their chest to keep them down as they gasped for air, suddenly afraid.

  afraid. like everyone else. the monster pushed his foot down onto their ribs until he heard a faint snap, causing them to start coughing up blood as it pierced their lungs.

  "say it. tell me that you hate me." the monster suddenly roared, not letting up on his foot.

  "i.... don't...." they replied, wheezing their words out.

  this just angered him more. "YES YOU DO. YOU ALWAYS HAVE. YOU'RE JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE." his voice boomed, seemingly ripped from his throat, a mixture of blind rage and sorrow.

  they coughed some more. "i... n..never hated... you." they finally spat out, their voice weak. pathetic. small.

  "then what? what did you bother me for?! pity? to make a mockery of me? was that it? am i nothing more to you than the dirt under your shoes?!" he barked out again, growing increasingly furious at his confusion.

  he watched as they seemed to try and gulp as much air as they could, sobbing quietly. every pained wince only annoyed him further, wanting them to just shut up. he hated every cough, every wheeze, all the blood staining his shoes. finally, they took one big, shaky breath, tears streaming down their face, blood dribbling down their chin, and... smiled. smiled up at him.

  "i... i loved you."

  they slumped against the ground with a pained noise, ribs having been completely collapsed. he stared at them for a long while, staring at the stains on his shoe, staring at their eyes as the life left them.

  "....what?"

[percentstardust]

endless muse aesthetics | carrie white

the wasted years. the wasted youth. the pretty lies. the ugly truth.