#i'm really bad with horror but liminal spaces.... man....

[porcelainseashore]

Kult: The Disappearing Act

Art by @problemsynth

It all began when my dear friend, Cameron, asked if I'd like play in a 1-1 sandbox Kult game with him. I was interested but sluggish, unsure of what I really wanted in a character and long-term campaign. Then, a contemporary circus performance blew me away. It inspired me so much that I not only watched it a second time, I messaged Cameron, "So I have a vague concept maybe..." Cue us chipping away at a Google doc of bullet points, random notes, him sending me personal questions regarding René, like: "Who or what are you most passionate about? / Have you ever hurt another person? Do you feel bad about that?" and more. We fooled around with the Kult tarot, even getting @vampemoqueen involved in reading the spread that I had drawn. From there, we fleshed out a flawed character that I grew to love, discussed dramatic hooks, and built a world of weirdness and dreams set in modern day Montréal. This is the reason why I enjoy the PbtA system in Kult—player and GM create together and both of you are responsible for giving what you take.

Like what I had seen in the show, we wanted to explore the topic of liminal space, a waiting room, transitions and the passage of time in-between, going, going, gone. We are moved by the psyche, the surreal, and the sublime. What does it mean to be human in a Kult setting? How does creativity affect an artist? Does seeing patterns in the life and objects around us restrict or set us free? Oh, and a sprinkling of body horror and dysmorphia please.

René is a 28-year-old circus artist; a Sleeper who is unaware of his own divinity. The stage is where he has honed his craft, respected for his strength and skill. As a trans man, it is also where he feels the most vulnerable yet seen as how he wants to be seen. Co-founding a circus collective with his friends, they create strange little pieces that captivate and unsettle the audience. Certain sequences trigger entryways into places that should not be there. René is enamoured by the world around him. Sometimes he gets distracted by the patterns and shapes in things he cannot explain. Sometimes it overwhelms him. Will he eventually have the potential to manipulate time and space?

I'm excited to see where this journey takes us. We are on the cusp of creating something truly grotesque and beautiful.

Dividers by @rattenprince

[oxymoronictransfem]

Abt me ☆★

I am Mera. My pronouns are she/her. I am an assignment variant transgender woman. I'm 18, yay me.

More abt me ★☆

I like ✎....

witchcraft/tarot・drumming・politics and queer history・alternative subcultures・art・pokemon・video games (especially indie horror and/or open world)・music・liminal spaces・psychology・kink/fetish/BDSM・casual sex・furry/alterhuman spaces・women

Boundaries ✎....

・Absolutely no they/them. Do not refer to me gender neutrally. I am a woman first.

・Do not call me “bro”, “man” or “dude”.

・Do not describe me as an AFAB transfem or as “an AFAB”. You may say I was assigned female at birth or that I am assignment variant.

・I can tell when I'm being treated differently. If you assign different expectations onto me that you wouldn't onto other trans women then frankly piss off. I am not a guest to transfemininity.

・Don't even think about trying to relabel me or my body. Do not try to tell me I'm really non binary, transmasculine, detrans or cisgender. I'd know before you did.

・Anyone can DM me but obviously if it's bad faith you can piss right off.

FUN FACTS ABT ME ✐

・On the spectrum, that evil narcissist, a bit obsessive and probably multiple people. (dx. autism, narcissistic traits, OCD & DID assessment pending.

・Re. DID : Three trans women in our system periodically have managed this blog. You may use she/her for all of us.

・My politics align with many of those of the Black Panther party. I am a womanist Marxist communist revolutionary. I am also very kink & sex-positive.

・Black and Native girl. Caribbean (Jamaica, St. Lucia, Cuba), African (Bantu+) and Indigenous Taíno.

・Former immigrant now citizen

・I am a Pagan/Caney Native religion witch

・I'm on the aroallo spectrum (demiromantic), a femme lesbian and polyamorous.

・My intersex variations are chimerism and hyperandrogenism/hyperestrogenism (depending on how I characterize my sex). I may or may not be a true hermaphrodite.

・Therian/Otherkin + Furry

・Rabbit harpy dragon woman

The politics of the people I follow, reblog or like don't always reflect my own.

Some of my older posts may not reflect my current beliefs.

Transfeminism is my primary focus of feminism. Trans women are women and female materially, physically and literally.

[papermatisse]

Don't Look Back || K.JM

† genre: horror

† word count: 2.7k

† warnings: automatonophobia, liminal spaces/warped reality, explicit death scene

† synopsis: one of these mannequins is out of place...

† (a/n): third installment of my spooktober anthology event, but ironically the first story I actually finished! this one is based on this mannequin game I played once where you were being chased by mannequins. at first it was creepy, but as it dragged on, it got kinda funny lol. this one does not get funny ☺️

† taglist: @scuzmunkie @hipsdofangirl @hydroyaksha

anthology | main masterlist

Working in retail is hell on earth, but it's not so bad when you have your best friend to suffer alongside you. Shenanigans between tasks, shared breaks for lunch dates at the food court, inside jokes to keep you going through the shift. One inside joke in particular was in regards to a certain mannequin in the men's section.

"Why is he… hot?" Jennifer asked as the two folded clothes on a shelf situated before said mannequin. (y/n) looked up at the mannequin towering over them, wearing the articles of clothing they were currently dealing with, prompting her to snort at the commentary.

"Only you would point out a mannequin's physical attributes."

"No, I'm serious!" Jennifer pushed in her defense, chuckles bubbling out by the end of her sentence. She raised a hand to the man as she began passionately explaining herself. "He has gentle eyes, and the classic Disney prince smolder! And his hair!"

"It's all painted on!" (y/n) couldn't stop laughing along with her friend, who only seemed to grow even more offended with the ongoing dismissal of her newfound beau.

"You're telling me you've never found a painting so beautiful that it keeps you awake all night thinking about it?" At this interjection, (y/n) grew quiet, knowing she's done exactly that and Jennifer knows that just as well as she does. Nevertheless, (y/n) continued her folding with a dismissive grumble, Jennifer giggling to herself as she did the same.

(y/n) spared a few glances to the mannequin, acknowledging the details Jennifer highlighted. The soft, faded brown of his round painted eyes, the chiseled molding of each of his strong features, the almost Adonis like creation of this seemingly out of place mannequin.

The store was older with a variety of mannequins. Blank ones of varying poses, delicate ones with makeup styles straight from certain decades, many of which were broken or dilapidated in a way. The mannequins on display were, of course, the most put together of the bunch, and this included the mannequin perched atop this men's shirt display.

Since that day, the two would continuously tease each other about him. Snapping photos of him as they pass by to send to the other, faux discussing a boy they met only to reveal it was the mannequin the entire time, or merely the subtle winks and glances that fully conveyed their jesting intentions.

Nevertheless, the mannequin, of which the girls had affectionately nicknamed Suho, remained a permanent fixture of the store, even during remodeling. Instead of tucked away at the back in the men's section, he now stood on a display only a mere few feet in front of the cash registers, facing out towards the customers. With his back facing them, it prompted a few more jokes out of Jennifer, easy bait that they both knew was practically handed to them on a silver platter, but still as funny as ever.

"Hey, are you okay manning the station on your own?" Jennifer asked, nervously glancing up from her phone.

"Of course. Why? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, my mom's car broke down on the highway." She sighed, shooting another text from her phone before looking back to (y/n).

"That's tough. Go ahead, I'll be okay."

"Thank you. I seriously owe you one!" With that, she ran off to the back of the store, leaving (y/n) on her own at the register.

She really did mean it when she said she'd be alright. With only about a half hour left until closing time, and with only a handful more customers remaining, it wasn't anything she couldn't handle.

The air was stuffy and the fluorescent lights above were somewhat irritating. A monotonous pop song that has played about a hundred times today alone droned distantly from the speakers, and without her friend to drown it out, (y/n) was beginning to lose herself to the elements of the store.

Discreetly out of the corner of her eye, she could see an old woman, bundled up in a dense purple cardigan, carding through the rack of dresses. As far as (y/n) was aware, this was the last customer, and she highly doubted she'd be buying anything from that selection.

She drummed her fingers along the counter, eyes getting lost in its beige void, waiting for her day to end so she could leave this long and tedious shift. Beyond the grainy ambience of the playlist, she listened to the metallic screech of hanger against bar as the woman pushed aside each article of clothing.

Screech.

Screech.

Screech.

It was a cycle of monotony encircling (y/n), in which every element blended together in a jarring cacophony of noise. The woman with her hangers, the next pop song starting up, the low hum of the fluorescent lights above.

But between all of this, an element of surprise somehow managed to slip into the mix. A scrape which sounded so distinct, yet something (y/n) could not pinpoint. It grated upon her ears however, drawing a grimace out of her that had (y/n) immediately glancing up to survey the woman again.

Instead, what she was met with was Suho. More specifically, Suho now fully facing her.

She felt her stomach drop at the sight before her, her jaw falling in a silent gasp as he now faced the cash registers. The positioning of his limbs were all the same, that lifeless and distant stare still directed aimlessly forward.

He was just… turned around.

There was no one here. No one to have moved him at that very moment. The thought rattled her brain, hopelessly attempting to conjure some reason to the almost supernatural display before her, but nothing came to mind. No explanation as to how Suho could have moved.

"Excuse me," a voice startled (y/n) out of her stupor, redirecting her to the customer awaiting service. The old woman. She had chosen her dress.

(y/n) had quickly rung her up, bidding her a good night and thus being condemned once more to a bout of solitude. The fluorescent lights still pulsed above her, the next pop song now well into its playthrough, and Suho was still very much so facing her.

The moment her phone had indicated closing time, (y/n) all but rushed out of the cash register nook, not daring to look back at Suho. She had instead opted to retrieve her phone, quickly texting Jennifer the freaky encounter she'd just had. Though before she could make it very far, however, she patted her pockets, realizing her keys were not there.

In a brief moment of panic, she patted her other pocket, worry shooting through her as she was sure she just had them. That must mean they were dropped by the registers or something.

She sighed, turning around to retrace her steps, though stopping immediately as she stared down the walkway of the store.

In regards to the general layout of the store, carpeted sections of varying genres surrounded the reflective ceramic tiled pathways. Men's section, women's section, children's section. And among those sections were, of course, mannequins. So many mannequins. Mannequins which usually stared forward with a blank canvas of a face.

They do not usually crane their necks to stare at the exact spot you stand in—though that's the reality (y/n) met when she turned around.

Every mannequin in her general vicinity stared at her with those barren faces of theirs, heads all turned in her direction no matter where they stood. The sight had her entire body leap with fright, a brief yelp of shock expelling from her lips as she was greeted by such a sight.

(y/n) took a tentative step forward, eyes nervously bouncing from one figure to the next, monitoring for any movement of the sort, looking out for that telltale scrape of their porcelain-like joints shifting. Yet as she reached the end of the aisle, there was nothing of the sort. No change. They remained staring at the spot she once stood, and as she turned the corner to head back to the register, she felt silly for even toying with the idea of mannequins moving.

As she arrived to the registers, she began rummaging through the various hideaways she could find, coming up empty. The counters were spotless and the drawers contained their usual miscellaneous items tossed in over the years. She began considering other locations to check, and while she stood there in her own thoughts, her eyes naturally wandered up and ahead of her to where Suho usually stood.

Except now, there was no Suho.

(y/n) froze for the umpteenth time tonight, though only for a moment before she rushed over to the now barren spot. And where Suho once stood, there lay her keys, abandoned on his pedestal with no sign of the mannequin.

Without sparing another thought, (y/n) grabbed her keys and booked it for the backroom. Her feet slammed against the tiles beneath here, breath already heaving as she barreled down the long aisle of mannequins whom she ignored at all costs. She didn't care where they were looking. She didn't care if they were even still sitting there. All she knew was that she needed to get out of there as soon as humanly possible.

She yanked open the door to the backrooms. The walkways between the different storage areas and facilities of the store, and the only way to get to the back where she was parked. The fluorescent lighting here was more sparse than that of the store inside, bringing a repetitive pattern of lit spots alongside dimmed ones down the gray walled corridors which seemed to stretch as far as the eye can see.

Why was the corridor so long? Was it always this long?

Why was she out of breath? How long has she been running down this corridor?

She suddenly came tumbling to the floor, gasping as her body collapsed onto the concrete floors of the backrooms. She lay there for a moment in shock, gasping for air, wincing at the scrapes now lining her hands and forearms. A grimace slipped out of her as she pushed herself up, the sound of her weak voice reverberating off the endless labyrinth she had found herself in.

There was only the sound of her huffing and puffing as she attempted to regain herself. And then there was a sound of porcelain dragging against the floor.

With a gasp, (y/n) whirled around. He was a distance away, though still as clear as day. Standing beneath one of the fluorescent light fixtures from above.

Suho.

His expression was unchanged, as was his pose. He just… stood there. Staring at her. Yet even with his painted, stoic face, (y/n) could feel… contempt. Disdain. Like he meant her harm, and would do so at all costs.

She whimpered beneath his glower and quickly staggered to her feet, turning around to keep running down the corridor, though the moment she had stopped looking at him, the sound returned. And when she looked back at him, he was in the ray of darkness between the light he had just stood in and that of the next.

He was approaching her.

A sense of dread washed over her as the realization struck, and hot tears began pouring down her face in endless streams. With one last ditch effort, (y/n) turned and dashed down the corridor, arms swinging rapidly back and forth as her numb legs carried her as quickly as they could, purely fueled off the adrenaline which coursed through her feeble body. Blood pumped through her ears, and the sound of her pulse and her labored breathing masked whatever sounds may have transpired behind her.

She couldn't turn back. She knew turning back was certain death. And at this point, she realized that something was wrong with her surroundings. Something was wrong with the corridor. But there was no time to dwell. There was no time to rest. The moment she stopped running would be her final moment alive.

As if a miracle, the door to the outside finally came into her vision, right at the end of the corridor as it usually is. A smile twitched at the corner of her lips as she booked it for the exit, slamming her body into the dense slab of metal, though screaming in agony as she was met with resistance. She pushed again, pressing at the release, yet it didn't budge.

A screech tore at her throat, fear and rage broiling within her as she repeatedly slammed her fists at the door, begging for anyone to perhaps hear her desperation—her final moments. Yet as the sounds of her yells fizzled into that of sobs, she knew there was nothing more to be done.

In the suffocating silence of the dimly lit corridor, she found herself weakly sliding down the door, trembling breaths and quiet tears coming out shallow and broken. She had hit a deadend, and there was no way of escape. No hope left in her to even believe in any righteous intervention of the sort.

The scraping sound of porcelain drew nearer, and she finally looked up at what was coming for her.

He dragged himself forward, gliding across the cement in a smooth and unhindered manner. His lifeless eyes and unnerving smile continued to penetrate forward, straight ahead at the door, and somehow the lack of attention directly on her struck more terror into her. Inch by inch, he drew closer and closer, fading in and out of the beams of light until he had finally reached the patch of light directly before he'd be where she stood.

And then he stopped. He stood there. Unmoving.

(y/n) felt her hands scrambling for something, reaching out as far as she could from where she lay, hoping to find something she could as a weapon. Though she came up empty with only her set of keys trembling in her hands. She clutched them between her fingers, each key protruding forth like a set of claws, and she cradled her only defense to her chest, waiting for his next move.

It had grown deathly silent for moment, her breath hitched at her throat, and she quaked upon herself in whole body tremors.

Then his finger twitched. A sickening crack like breaking bones, yet he remained perfectly intact. Merely his finger was in a different position. And then his hand. And then his arm. Each followed by that resounding snap as he shifted in a broken and robotic manner. She watched with bated breath and trembling gasps as Suho began ambling forward once more in this terrifyingly decrepit manner, limbs contorting all while those cracks continued to resonate in the atmosphere surrounding her.

Her heart pounded hopelessly against her chest, utter fear squeezing at her throat with a vice like grip. There was no way of escaping. No way to evade the sinister presence creeping towards her with this impenetrable persistence.

As Suho drew nearer, this unsettling sensation washed over, as if the air around her had grown thick with pure malevolence all but emanating off him, suffocating her with endless dread and despair. She felt a presence unlike anything she'd felt before. Something more than just the lifeless form that stood before her.

Suho stood where her feet lay, limbs still jerking sporadically. And in the midst of these jolts, his head finally snapped down to where she lay, prompting her to press even further into the door. A loud and fearful gasp ripped out of (y/n) as Suho collapsed onto his knees, crawling up her body on all fours as she all but begged for mercy—desperate and incomprehensible mumbles while her trembling hands which gripped her keys fell limply to her side.

The cold, icy touch of his porcelain fingers grazed her hot skin, stretching along the planes of her neck, light as they encircled her throat before suddenly clenching with a furious might. Panic suddenly encompassed her as her airways became obstructed, her hands flailing up and grasping at his arms, nails scraping against him, though sliding off with no effect whatsoever. Meanwhile, his fingers constricted against her throat, their stone-like surface burrowing into her skin and drawing warm blood which trickled down her body as black spots began blurring her vision.

His force was unrelenting, all the while staring down at her with those soft brown painted eyes and that charming smiling, the last sight she saw before she finally faded away.

[infwctednyacifier]

Acid wanted an intro but since he (& every other headmate) doesn’t front, I’ll write it for him and try my best to imitate him & with help from him via communication through shared emotions. Acid was formerly Delta.

“ And I’m just a teenage dirtbag , baby . ”

🔪 my name's Acid.

🔪 i use the same labels as Zach so I'm transmasc n achillean n masc-gn + poly. I use he/it/zi/xe/thon/ae/rot & refer to me as a man or a thing or a wolf. Also looking 4 partners, preferably masc idc if ur a system, just don't b a dick to us or b anti things we support.

🔪 i'm now a year younger than the body but u have 2 treat me the same as Zach even though we're a year apart.

🔪 my style is grunge or smth. I might dress up all girly n pink or sum shit just 4 partners tho. I'll probably dress skimpy/femboy when we get more freedom.

🔪 i like FNAF n horror (but I'ma scaredy cat) n i really like slashers. I also like liminal spaces and Zach's room which I'll call mine cuz am basically him at 12. I also rlly love Minecraft n itsjim (YouTuber).

🔪 b4 u interact, u should kno that I sh n hav sh scars from my wrists 2 my shoulders n basically contain all the bad parts of Zach's already shit mental health.

🔪 i also partially contain hypersexuality w Zach so I might be overly sexual idk be warnes ig

🔪 i'm really jealous n desperate 4 partners so if ur 13-15 then message us 2 see if we're compatible.

🔪 i don't rlly hav a typing quirk other than not fully spelling stuff n maybe adding w's n leetspeak (numbers 4 letters)

🔪 these r my faceclaims

[vinxwatches]

watching good omen season 1

ep 1 pilot

haven't seen a lot of it, mostly that people like it, that it's made by people people really like and that it's gay (or at least people make it gay) so you know, good pick for me. and i just watched to animations/animatics on youtube with bad endings and bad endings fuck me up, so hopefully this is happier. intro is a fucking banger. also god has a fem voice? nice. accurate skin colour for the earliest humans. not surprised, but appreciated. making fun of theology and great banter? i love it.

ominous picnic basket. oh... actually quite biblically fitting it seems. i REALLY hope they don't expect me to remember these names too well. many of the characters seem fun though.

of course the american politician says bs like "a regular y chromosome son". which i'm sure has not been tested as you 1: don't know the gender yet. 2: phenotype does not denote genotype.

i wonder who and how they'll figure out who has the wrong baby. "i don't recall what horror of history we had a lunch over, but i do recall what we had." the BEST dynamic.

will they even figure out they got the wrong one? ok, i know that working with an actual 5 year old would be a nightmare... but that kid is like 12.

well done making both heaven and hell look like shit. do you want grime overpopulating or empty, liminal, office spaces?

brilliant end of episode 1.

ep 2 the book

damn the forces of hell are so bloody rude and evil. and so many quick jokes.

question: what are the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse supposed to be in christianity? both biblically and in modern belief? they are separate from devils and angels.

i love a witch that also uses an ipad in her rituals.

"sorry, right number" seriously the humour in this show is so brilliant. i really hope the story is able to match it.

ep 3 hard times

a black knight shrugging is way too funny. i love these two. just two old friends helping each other out, it's just that that's diametrically opposing one another. the angel doing some tempting, the demon some miracles. and upper management doesn't care.

awh, they are just so cute together.

excuse me you are playing intro now? 28 minutes in? that's not an intro. that's a bloody intermission!

they really succeed at making heaving seem so extremely bad. extremely wide shot or extreme close-up. it's so incredibly uncomfortable.

the prime minister has a nice flat chested fucker in his bed.... good for him if he's not cheating.

"mend it all"/"end it all" whispers. really neat.

ep 4 saturday morning funtime

of course he was condemned for nothing more then asking questions.

ah, they got rid of pestilence to replace them with pollution. it's a good change, but feels pretty pre 2020.

oh no, i find his death so sad. he had a love, why kill him? i know the apocalypse is coming but still.

i still really hope that the presidents son turns out to be trans to just break the things he said at the start. then again it wouldn't really work as it's not the kids he said it about. idk, i guess i hope of screen son turns out to be trans to spite the person that'll never know... yea i'm holding out hope for something that doesn't matter.

azi being send to heaving is SO bad. his bookshop possibly burning down is emotionally worse. it was going to be the last episode of the day. but i started watching because i couldn't deal with bad endings, so i guess i'll have to watch one more.

ep 5 the doomsday option

Azi going full rogue (finally).

man that's the most obvious cold reading ever.

the guard reads a neil gaymen book. cute.

sir... your car is... more then a little on fire.

ep 6 the very last day of the rest of their lives

are we doing a flash back episode for the last episode of the season?

oh, please let him rebuild the car just like i want the bookshop rebuild?

the way to defeat the end of the world is to believe and stand (and i hope work) for a world that wouldn't end. a bit on the nose but very nice.

and of course with Terry Pratched being involved death is not to be defeated, just not hastened along.

a kid not doing the one thing they were supposed to do.... there's a trans/gay message in there. also That's Just What Kids Do! you wanted an 11 year old to do what they were told? that's the first part of the problem.

for a TV series that's a pretty good satan. oh that is SO clever. kind of time fucking, but not really so long as you never introduce time travel so it's only true from now on. oh, is it a nicer ending then i though? YES IT IS! \o/

it "ends" as it starts: with a garden and an apple. ok, make it more explicit why don't you.

oh, you subtle bastards. i love it. other scene's now make more sense too, oh how i love it.

ok, yea it makes sense people go wild over this as it's really bloody great.

[angieflynns]

I finally got around to finishing the Backrooms episode of American Horror Stories.

As someone who had spent time in a very liminal space seeming area directly before watching the episode and also knew I was mainly watching it because I love Michael Imperioli, I was so worried it was going to be kind of dumb, but I was slightly surprised.

I do think the concept of liminal spaces as a sort of purgatory for people who have transgressed societal norms (aka. lying about committing murder) is kind of dumb, especially with Daniel finding that video that quickly and being able to immediately get in contact with a stranger and see him in person in prison, and I kind of hated how they made that guy seem like an Autistic stereotype, but also I find it weird that the same type of purgatory exists for a reckless driver and a man who purposefully killed his son because he probably hated him.

In regards to Daniel as a character, I'm going to try to speak outside my personal bias and basically not comment on Michael's acting as a result. But anyway, the thing I found pretty interesting about the character is that we start out thinking we're supposed to like this guy because he's the main character and then by the episode end we're basically like "Wow, yeah he's basically just like every other Hollywood rich white guy who only cares about himself." Shifting the viewers into that mindset really helped us be okay with Daniel's fate.

The settings were for the most part pretty creepy and they managed to capture most of the elements I'd say make a liminal space, but the final waiting room one was kind of anti-climactic. I mean I absolutely get why they put him there because that probably would be hell for someone like Daniel, but coming off of the scene with the Red Woman who was genuinely so creepy that I had to look up what the actress really looks like to reassure myself and then just putting him in a waiting room was less than climactic.

Overall, I still think the concept/storyline was a little bad and at times a wee bit campy, but it was still creepy and I honestly think I'd still find it creepy even if someone different was playing Daniel. Although I am going to take this moment to bring in my bias and state why I do think Michael Imperioli is great in the role; another actor might not be able to so thoroughly capture facial expressions.

[wildflowercryptid]

this liminal playlist that i'm listening to rn is making me get all introspective about liminal spaces and how captivating i find them...

[the-four-humors]

Pinned Post

Wright | 34 years old | Trans man | He/him only | Gay

🔞 Please do not follow me if you're a minor 🔞

🔮 This is nominally a personal blog, but I don't really like posting about my personal life much anymore. Now it's mostly an aesthetic blog, but not for any particular curated look. You can likely expect to find:

Synthwave/Vaporwave

Y2K

Abandoned buildings

Liminal spaces

Horror

💉 I am gay, trans masc, and disabled. I don't usually post about these topics, but when I do I can get quite heated. I believe that trans men face their own unique form of transphobia (proposed terms have been transmisandry and transandrophobia). I don't consider myself cpunk but mostly because I don't know much about it. TERFs and Anti-SJWs are not tolerated here (and if you have an anti-SJW blog in the 2020s you're peak cringe).

🐈 I have pets and I like posting pics of them! Their tags are:

percy catson and the olympians - Percy, M orange tabby, 10 years old. Sweetest old man and the light of my life.

mija gatita - Mija, F calico tabby, 6 years old. Raised her from a kitten, she's a daddy's girl and knows it.

i need a tag for chiquita - Chiquita, F Chihuahua/miniature Pinscher mix. Nervous little animal with so much love in her heart.

creature feature mick jagger - Jagger, M medium hair black cat, 1 year old. Newest edition to the family, gremlin supreme.

🌴 I have some sideblogs. They are:

@squishclops - Business art blog

@dyscrasia-eucrasia - Personal art blog

@cerillosvillage - Flight Rising blog

@heiserosandhesapollo - Poetry/writing blog

@somewheredownthesidewalk - Photography blog

@batmanbeyondreviews - Defunct, but an archive of the year I watched every episode of Batman Beyond

🦑 I fully admit I'm not super social. Typically I don't directly interact with people if I don't know them through Flight Rising. Also, while I have some subjects I care about and check up on blogs dedicated to them, I don't have the mental fortitude to see serious stuff on my dash all the time. So if I've shown up in your notes a lot but don't follow you, that is why!

💀 I'm really bad about tagging things. I try my best to tag gore and flashing gifs but don't keep up much on anything else. I probably won't be able to tag things on request, sorry!

[serabiet]

I hear you're accepting asks about Strange County, so would you mind sharing some facts about your version of Nervous Subject? Maybe do a five-facts meme for him if it's easier for you that way, or just write whatever you feel worth sharing - I'm not picky, as long as I get to learn more about the intriguing man in the long black coat. :) (also, this probably goes without saying, but I'm utterly in love with your blog and pics. Please never stop doing what you do! <3)

Heyooo! Thank you so much and thanks for this ask! <3

This interpretation of Nervous as the Man in the Long Black Coat came to be after I watched the Dust Devil, a 1992 movie that’s not super well-known, but pretty memorable desert gothic horror with beautiful cinematography. It was the first movie in ages I had to rewatch the next day, look up what was going on locally at the time of making the film for context, and I just got a crazy buzz from it in general! Then I put on Bob Dylan (only I ended up preferring Mark Lanegan’s cover of the song as Nervous’s theme), and Nervous started to turn into the Nameless Man who flickers into existence only to fade out after he’s done what he came to do. Murder Ballads, gothic romance and horror, Sergio Leone’s westerns, all these things I love were factoring in. I also definitely pulled some juice from Stephen King’s Black Tower series, the Stand, and other works that involve his malevolent many-names-yet-no-true-name trickster being in black.

I have to give a shout-out to @emperorofthedark for how she’s spun him in her sim stories as well. Her dark and beautiful interpretations of the premades that taste like ash and metal are a major ingredient in what I’m cooking up.

With these as inspiration, his canonical heritage and (lack of) personality points, he’s a neat fit for one of my favorite concepts: the cruel not-quite-human who hears someone exhausted and lost calling to him, seduces, and then destroys them. It’s a ridiculous reach when you first think of Nervous Subject and add the word seduction there, but I can’t help but dig it a lot :D

[there’s a read-more under this that doesn’t seem to be working on mobile?]

In Strange County’s setting, he’s not a person living in town and greeting neighbors at the grocery store. No one knows (or remembers, if they’ve met him) he exists. People just disappear into the desert sometimes, leaving behind grieving and confused family members who don’t know he was involved. There is no closure or catharsis for the living, just melancholic sunsets and eventually, faded memories. His victims in the past have included Lyla Grunt, Annie Howell, and town’s previous sheriff. Olive’s the only one who knows who or what her ‘son’ is, but she’s not much of a gossip or a team player. She has other things on her mind anyway, what with not being entirely sure if she herself is dead or alive. Not that anyone would remember what she says, or having talked to her at all either.

Strangetown is Nervous’s playground. With the military abandoning its desert base, it’s slowly dying out, and turning into a liminal space where everyone feels out of place and surreal. Exactly as he likes it.

I’m not sure yet what bone he has to pick with the Beakers – other than the issue’s root will be inspired by the canon set-up – but he’s to blame for the couple’s disappearance, which is the catalyst that kicks up my story. He’s tied to the land, so maybe Loki dug too deep into the soil trying to compete with the Curious brothers’ research, and unwittingly summoned him. We’ll see.

As for his connection with Lilith, the sad sack of a gothic horror heroine? They go back almost a decade, even if Lilith doesn’t remember it. She ran away from home as a teen and ended up missing for years, only to come back changed. Her then-boyfriend Dirk knew where she was hiding at the beginning, but soon lost contact as well. After that, no one knew. Lilith came back a melancholic insomniac claiming a convenient amnesia, with an endless sense of homelessness, and abnormally good intuition when it comes to other people even if she can’t seem to relate or connect to all that many of them. Allegra’s one of the few exceptions.

The missing years did something to Lilith: she can walk the line, the foggy places. In Strangetown for some reason – besides Ophelia – she seems to be one of the very few people who can consistently remember the existence of 13 Dead End Lane and its lady. The house, like Nervous and Olive, both exists and at the same time, doesn’t. Back when Ophelia still lived in it, the house stood more firmly in this reality.

Well, that’s something about Nervous (and other characters) in my game! He’s definitely the antagonist of the story, and while not really a big bad, he does have a mean streak. Put plainly, he is death because his father is, and that makes him just part of the cycle instead of an opponent to beat. I’m fond of what he’s turning out to be in my game, and I hope I’ll be able to bring out enough nuance writing him in this light. Again, thanks for asking, I enjoyed talking about the demon dude! 8-))))