#once again the answer probably lies somewhere in the fickle beast of 'common sense'

[vixvigil]

using this post to respond to tags on a reblogged post that themselves were a response to my tags, because my rambling was far too long for that format and i don't want to be a menace in op's notes

unless you want to read circular rambling about the elusive nature of body horror, ignore this

the post:

my tags:

#i don’t want to obfuscate the very real and important point here#about both the societal and individual perceptions of disability and illness#but at the same time. imo you could say this about pretty much all body horror#because fundamentally you can’t really draw a line between something purely conceptual#and something starkly real when it comes to horror. bodily or otherwise#the reality is grossly fantastical and the fantasy is morbidly grounded#it’s the interplay between the two that makes horror effective#the boundary is removed. there is no difference#the reality of the body is frequently horrific. so any fantastical exploration is automatically grounded in something#someone will always have a connecting lived experience#one persons body horror will always be another persons mundanity#there’s undoubtedly an examination to make of the everyday experiences of disabled people being broadly and carelessly labelled body horror#and of the very real damage that that does#but at the same time. there will always be overlap because you cannot separate body horror as a genre from the reality of the body#body horror and mundanity are not mutually exclusive#horror at large is a genre reliant on framing and perception#the horror is in the eye of the beholder#and reality. mundanity. is much the same#i think i'm losing the thread of what i'm saying#and that's without even touching on the relationship between the individual perception of horror and the cultural perception of horror#god. horror is so crazy#whatever. maybe i’ll come back to it sometime#my perspective of this is undoubtedly skewed somewhat by my own lived experiences of 'body horror'#but yeah. great post op 👍#hope its clear that all this is intended as a continuation and not as a contradiction#text

@nakiteers tags:

#< prev#not really a refute of what you said but more an alternative reading of OPs text and societal issues#i hear you and thats valid#but imo. it feels like OP was more talking about when people TW body horror on like... people with prosthetics#ive seen TW body horror comments on that one tiktok perso with a glass eye prosthetic#if your really unlucky you can even see them on educational vids on periods#endometriosis isnt body horror its just a treatable condition that causes pain and problems#i feel the line /has/ to be “is incredibly grotesque and unnatural” bc otherwise you get people with bad acne being tagged as bodyhorror#there has to be a line somewhere. its not grey on both ends#my worse body horror experience was an improper IV saline drip into my muscle which caused a bump that stuck around for a day#and it was so viscerally disturbing that i still struggle with IVs because i have this sneaking suspicion that#my skin will warp around the liquid and stay there. its not logical but its in my brain now#but i dont think things like that should be labeled as horror#personal feelings and societal/ community labels are worlds apart#that guy who died from radiation slowly? thats body horror to pretty much everyone#pregnancy? thats body horror to me but i will fight on the side that that shouldnt be labeled horror publicly#if its a thing that happens on the daily it needs education and care; not stigma and avoidance bc its “horror”#cancer sucks but calling it “body horror” is going to make educational content come across very differently.#and some people might just say “i dont like horror/i cant handle horror” and then purposely avoid learning about others#vent in tags

i agree! honestly i was more-so revelling in the spiral of thought that the post sent me into, than directly and specifically exploring the post itself and the point it makes, because when i tried to draw that all important line in my head, i was unable to do so without contradicting the premise of the original post, the premise that I absolutely agree with, and i found that fascinating.

especially when i then tried to use my own experiences to rationalise and ground things in a concrete situation and found that that only complicated things more.

i’ve lived through gradually losing 80% of my skin; for over a year more of my body was open wound than not. i've had full body radiation burns on top of those open wounds when a treatment to help regrow my skin went wrong. i’ve experienced itching so profound that it lead me to partially skin my own hand twice before the age 18. i’ve lived with nerve endings so fucked by longstanding wounds that water felt like acid. i’ve spent months, feverish, wrapped in a blood-soaked sheet finding comfort in imagining being burned alive, because that was the only way i could imagine an end to the pain and the itching—at the very least it would’ve been over quicker.

it lasted for so long, and i grew so accustomed to looking at my body and seeing only wounds, that even now seeing skin on my body feels unfamiliar to me. i’d forgotten what i looked like with skin. to this day it surprises me sometimes when i catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and see skin in place of wound.

is that body horror? to someone, probably. to many? maybe, who's to say. to me? i’m not sure.

it was certainly horrific, but it was also mundane. it was my everyday life for a period. i was used to it. following the original post to the letter, is calling that scenario body horror therefore wrong? after all, it was just how i was living. that's where my initial tags were coming from in regards to horror and mundanity not being mutually exclusive.

if we abstract it, ignore the perspective mundanity of the situation, could the state of my body at the time be considered ‘body horror’? I'm not sure there’s necessarily a concise or constant answer to that either.

my body was almost entirely open wounds; warnings are often out on pictures of alarming injuries, does it become wrong to do that if the wound is longstanding? or, if not dictated, perhaps by context?

of course, context always matters, but is the line we’re talking about here more dependent on the context than content? because in my mind that’s an entirely separate line. in this situation if the line is contextual it is no longer concrete, and thus ceases to function.

to continue we must find another Known factor within the situation. so it goes:

i know that, when i could wear clothes again, i was careful about how i dressed for a long time, how much of myself I covered. i was almost permanently bandaged, i wore turtlenecks, long sleeves, gloves through summer etc, both for my own mental comfort and for the comfort of others. i knew i had the potential to make people uncomfortable, that the state of my body was unusual, alarming, and, to some, potentially horrific. should i have had to worry about the perception of others? maybe, maybe not. regardless, most people do not enjoy seeing open wounds, the response is visceral, and i don’t think that’s ever going to change.

for years after i was still careful, and remain so, to a degree, because of the scarring i’m left with. i'm lucky, a lot of my scarring isn’t hugely visible. in most larger areas it’s more of a textural shift, a change in the way the hair grows, a shadow, etc—nothing that would be particularly alarming to most people—and most of the scarring that was once more starkly visible has faded significantly over time, but i'm still mindful of them situationally.

is it odd that i consider myself, and am considered by others, ‘lucky’ because my scarring is less immediately visible than it could’ve been? certainly it says something about the way we view scars. so is scarring horrific? does it depend on the severity? can scars be considered body horror?

i don’t think my scarring is body horror, nor do i think scarring in general is, nevertheless i can understand being disturbed by what it represents.

so, still using my situation as an example, if a body more wound than skin can, depending on context, be considered body horror, but that same body healed, covered in the resulting scars cannot, does that mean the line between ‘potentially body horror’ and ‘definitely not body horror’ is dependent on how healed the wound is? because that presents its own issue, as the healing process obviously isn't binary. so what is it dependent on? must the wound still be wet?

the more you try to draw a line the less you're able to. i don't have a good answer. i just find it interesting to think about.

in my initial tags i did definitely lean-in to considering fictional and fantastical body horror and how that connects to reality, as opposed to remaining exclusively within the realm how people view and interact with others, but i think the dilemma remains whether or not art and fiction are considered at all.

while, again, i agree with both the original post and your tags, the subject can't escape the underlying central conflict: that 'body horror' cannot really be explicitly defined.

the defining factor you mention of being 'incredibly grotesque and unnatural', while seemingly straightforward and sensible, renders all real situations and states of the body as incapable of being considered body horror, as everything in reality is part of nature, and thus natural. but of course, plenty of things in life can be considered body horror; you mention dying of radiation poisoning – certainly a classic example of something pretty much universally considered 'body horror' – but it's still natural phenomenon, so while undeniably grotesque, it would still be excluded by that definition.

so, if we cannot use 'unnatural' as a defining factor, what do we use in it's place? anomalous? abnormal? twisted? odd? warped? peculiar? brutal? bizarre? each possible substitute comes with it's own issues, its own contradictions.

body horror escapes definition. we know it, we feel it, but we can't really put any meaningful constraints on it without excluding things that we think are body horror, or including things that we think are not. hence my original, very simplistic, 'anti-conclusion' of sorts, that the horror is in the eye of the beholder. which admittedly is less of an answer to the underlying philosophical quandary of where and how to draw the line, than an acceptance of the impossibility of doing so.

the original post is true and the point it makes is correct and worth learning from and acting upon. extrapolating from its premise, to action it we must draw a line, but by it's very nature (and even the conceit of the post) the line cannot be drawn. yet this contradiction does not negate the reality of the original sentiment.

the real coherent, useful takeaway is simply what remains at the heart of it: oh my god can everyone please just be normal about disabled people and their bodies please i'm begging

[our-elven-lady-of-chaos]

You are my Home Ch 4

The days quickly fell into a somewhat normal routine.  Wake up.  Light breakfast. Quick warm-up, then weapons practice with the Lady Lysandra.  Lunch.  A brief nap, or some quiet time to read in peace, whichever the day called for.  Seider practice, with Lysandra again.  Dinner was usually just him, Lys, and his brother, although at least once a week they made a point to sit down together as a team.

Once dinner was over, sometimes he discussed books with Lys, both magical texts and fictional works,  and sometimes they just sat and watched shows on the big glowing screen the mortals referred to as a ‘television’.  So far his favorite show was the one about a sarcastic, ornery doctor with a limp, who liked solving puzzles.  

Loki took much joy in solving life’s mysteries as well.  Mostly he was adjusting well to the Midgardian way of life, although there were a few minor hiccups along the way, like the time when he dumped a whole bottle of Dawn into the dishwasher and the entire kitchen became a magical wonderland of soapy bubbles and inconspicuous tripping hazards, the infamous microwave incident, for which there were tally marks on the wall for how many times both he and his brother had caused the small appliance to explode (Thor was at three to Loki’s one), or his general disregard of normal clothing in favor of expensive designer suits or whatever he brought with him from Asgard.  Most of the time they allowed him this small comfort of home; as long as he wasn’t wandering the streets looking like he belonged in a renaissance faire, the team tended not to question it.

After a month or so of Loki gradually settling in amongst Midgard’s Greatest Heroes, he was surprised to find that it was the Man of Iron, of all people, who was the first to warm up to him.  It all started when Stark had asked him to give him a hand in the lab with something or other on one of the days where Lys was out taking care of business elsewhere, much too busy to babysit the wayward god.  Much to his surprise, Loki was actually pretty useful to have around, or at least when he was given enough mental stimulation to not lose interest and resort to what Thor referred to as “Small Mischiefs” around the tower.  When that happened, Loki generally got to everyone but Bruce, Nat, and Lysandra.  Bruce, because the god was still (mildly) fearful of the green rage monster, after his previous trip to Midgard, but mostly they got along and just gave one another a large berthe.  Natasha he had formed some strange sort of truce with based almost entirely on respect, and the knowledge that she would totally kick his ass if he set so much as his pinky toe in her room.  And Lysandra...Lys was a different story altogether.  It could have been the fact that his mother had brought him up to be more respectful to women than that,  the fact that he knew very well that he wasn’t the only seider wielder in the tower and a fight between the two of them could end badly, or perhaps it was because he was slowly developing...feelings for her, perhaps?  Or was it just the sort of caring that came from being friends?  He couldn’t say.

It was some time shortly after this that Stark had agreed that Loki had earned his first supervised trip out of the tower.  Lys had received a note on a rolled up piece of parchment, delivered by a cat, of all things.  It was a large black cat with a single white splotch on its chest, tenderly dubbed “Smudge”.  He wasn’t quite sure how the cat had gotten into the tower in the first place, with both Jarvis and the massive elevator system clearly being obstacles for the portly feline, but he merely looked on as Lysandra gave him a good sized hunk of cooked chicken breast from the refrigerator, then deftly penned a new note for him in some odd dialect of the fae tongue and sent him on his way.  And then the cat just up and disappeared.  Just. Like. That!

Loki’s mouth hung open in shock.  Even in Asgard, which was a much more magical realm than most of Midgard ever had been even centuries ago, they did not have cats that could do that.  Or any mundane ground-dwelling beast that had some underlying seider abilities, especially one that was typically seen as a common housepet.

“Umm...Lysandra?  What just happened?”  Loki finally managed to sputter out.  “I know the people of Midgard used to rely on birds as a method of relaying messages, but a magical disappearing cat?”

Lysandra looked up after scanning the note once more.  “The fae still rely on cats, much like the goddess Freya, yes?”

“Well yes but...are there really still traces of the fae here?  I thought my fa….Odin and King Oberon agreed to lock them up in Faerie, in the Nevernever centuries ago.”

“As I’ve told you before, there is a thriving underground magical community, but most of them are probably half breeds or cast-offs at best nowadays.  The pathways were closed long ago, so the bloodlines got pretty diluted, you know?”

Loki nodded, stroking his chin absentmindedly as he pondered a thought.  Norns, how he wished he was still at his full strength so that he could dive head first into this mystery, but he was wise enough to know that the fae were fickle creatures at best, and on his own he would get nowhere. Or worse, in a world of pain.  Trouble he could handle, hell it was something he took great joy in instigating.   He was practically the god of it, for Odin’s sake!  But the fae were a dangerous lot, even for the silver tongued liesmith himself.

Lys gave him a small smile, seemingly reading his mind.  “I know you’re just itching to get out of here.  Come on, Tony already gave the OK for you to come with me today while I run a few errands.”

He looked taken aback for a moment, but this was soon overtaken by glee once he overcame the initial shock.  Not quite the typical malicious glee that most probably (mistakenly) associated with him, but more akin to that of a housecat finally being released into the yard to terrorize the local wildlife, or a dog stealing a cheeseburger from an unsuspecting hand and devouring it in one bite.  Loki was a creature of chaos, and thusly had to exercise that muscle every so often, for the good of everyone else in the tower.

She led him through the bustling streets, pausing momentarily to wave at the spider-kid Tony had recently “adopted”.  Loki had trouble keeping up between the unfamiliar miasma that came with such an overcrowded city and even stranger architecture, but was more than pleased when Lys finally relented and grabbed his hand as to not get separated from him.  While he wasn’t pleased to have been forced into more “plebeian” midgardian attire - dark jeans and a t-shirt that would have been much more suited to Stark’s closet, at least the sunglasses and leather jacket weren’t half bad.  The infernal device around his wrist, however….

Eventually the pair reached a darker corner of the city that gave off an eerie aura.  Well, eerie to any non-magic user, but it was really just one huge confusion spell meant to keep the mortals from sticking their noses into places they didn’t belong.  Lysandra produced a bag of piskie dust from somewhere in her bag, which she used to draw a series of runes on the wall to open the dimensional gate.  Upon finishing, she wiped the excess dust off on her jeans, then touched the amethyst stone on her ring to the center of the circle created by the glowing fae script.  The doorway suddenly lit up, etched in a pure white light.

“This way,” she instructed, reaching out to take his hand to cement their connection as was necessary with a non-magical companion, but she drew it back when she remembered who she was with.  Loki grabbed hold of it anyways.  “I take no offense,” he said with his signature smirk.

Loki’s eyes immediately widened once they were on the other side.  For starters, the space the underground market occupied was huge, and although he had somewhat anticipated that, it was still a bit of a shock once he actually saw it.  It was much like the outdoor markets on Asgard, except the patrons were decidedly less humanoid in appearance, and magic was everywhere.  Girls with green skin and leaves in their hair sold tonics, salves, and herbs with magical properties.  Dwarves boasted about the strength and durability of their wares, and haggled for precious elvish silver.  Piskies flitted about, chattering noisily in the ears of anyone who would listen, much like mosquitos.  

“Hurry up, slowpoke!”  Lys bade him with a laugh.  “We’ll have time to shop later, I have to meet up with a friend first, and I can’t just leave you here unattended.”

Loki huffed in annoyance.  “I’m not a child.  I’m over a thousand years old, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes, yes, you’re older than me by two centuries or so,”  Lys remarked.  “But, as a rule, I trust most of the fae here less than you, and that’s saying something, Mister God-of-Lies.”

Loki wore a broad grin on his face as they traipsed the rest of the way to the stall she was looking for.  He was slightly confused as to why so many of them bowed or curtsied as they passed by - sure he was a prince and all, but of a completely different realm, and there were few who knew of his presence or status even in these parts.  He’d have to ask Lys about it later, or perhaps her friend, as he didn’t think she’d give him a straight answer on the matter.  She was rather secretive of her past, although she had let down enough of her glamour to reveal a pair of perfectly pointed ears and sharper facial features.

“Are we being followed?,” he asked Lys at one point.

Lysandra merely shrugged at the thought.  “Nah, if anything it’s just the piskies.  If they get too close to your hair, just swat them away.”

Loki nodded mutely.  

“We are the two most powerful magical beings this side of the divide.  Trust me, no one’s gonna be stupid enough to mess with us, unless they have a death wish.  We literally radiate power - the fae can sense that.”

While he had assumed it would be a stall they were looking for, much like the other vendors, of course her mysterious contact would have enough wealth to have an actual building to conduct whatever sort of business happened in New York’s underbelly.  

The bell on the door jingled when she opened it, alerting its occupants to their arrival.  Lys gave an approving nod to Smudge, who had taken his place on a shelf that gave him a good vantage point to guard the door.  Loki quickly noted that there were nearly a dozen other cats in various shapes and colors lounging in different corners of the room - no surface was off limits.  And, what’s more, a good bit of the furniture seemed almost child sized, perhaps to suit the differing size in fae clientele?

“Hey Soren!  I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend along this time,” Lysandra called out by means of greeting.

A massive stack of books walked towards them.  Well, in comparison to the one who was carrying them, at least.

“You bring that overly muscular prince again?” it spoke.  “You’re responsible for whatever he breaks.”

Loki laughed.  “That does sound like Thor.”

Soren set his stack down on a low lying coffee table to get a better look at the new visitor, wiping off his monocle with one paw before replacing it over one eye.  While he most closely resembled a Maine Coon, he stood a little over three feet tall on two legs, and wore a pair of leather boots and a bowtie in addition to the eyepiece.  His long twisted whiskers and thick coat made him look old and wise, although his age was a guess as with most of the fae.

Loki squinted to make sure he was seeing everything correctly, before turning to Lysandra, gaping like a fish.  Surely cats could not walk and talk, unless…

Soren chuckled.  “I’m a cait sith, my dear boy.”

I hope this was well worth the wait!  Please let me know how I’m doing, if you want a link to my AO3 page if you like that format better for comments, ect.  I don’t bite.