#venereal horror

[nothingenoughao3]

Why we wanna transition to Mad Scientist (or, revulsion and queerness in horror)

(Hi, @ash-eats-film! This is the thing I mentioned!)

Horror has a few baseline emotions it tries to inflict on the audience. This has been written about for decades, most famously by Stephen King, but the baseline elements most writers agree on are as follows.

Dread: Anxiety over what is about to happen

Terror: The fear of what is occurring right this second

Revulsion: Being forced to interact directly with what's happening right now

Black comedy: Being tricked into laughing at either the terror or the revulsion

Horror: The trauma response to what just happened

A great example of this can be seen in The Evil Dead II (YT link that doesn't include the full context, but does have the, uh, money shot). There's the dread of realizing there's something in the root cellar; the terror of when the Deadite pops up in the trapdoor; the combined revulsion and black comedy of Ash jumping on the Deadite's skull/the door, popping out its eyeball which shoots into Bobby Joe's mouth, and then the horror of what just went down rolling over Ash and his current companions.

Often, revulsion and black comedy go hand in hand. That's because they're tension relievers. The revolting thing becomes ridiculous, and you laugh at how ridiculous it is. This lets you settle down in the midst of the gore and death, just slightly, just enough to get through it... so the horror can fully set in for you, too, once it's over.

You also, often, question your own stability if you laugh in the middle of a gross-out horror scene: "Am I sick? Is there something wrong with me for laughing at X?" This is even worse if the villain starts laughing--now you're questioning whether you're IDing with the monster. Are you okay? Is something wrong with you?

Revulsion is often framed as the slutty member of the good, proper, morally-upright brigade of horror. We have a name for folks who seek out gross-out horror--they're gore-hounds, a term that is virtually always pejorative when applied to other people. We call certain types of horror "torture porn" or "gore porn", as though it is inherently sleazy and sexual to rely on this specific emotional reaction. (Note that we don't have "black comedy-porn", or "dread hounds", even though a dread hound sounds really fucking cool.)

Not to go off on a huge tangent, but I think the issue with media that overly relies on revulsion is that it's unbalanced, not that it's bad. A movie that's nothing but dread never has any emotional payoff. A movie that's nothing but terror never lets the audience relax back into their seats and, paradoxically, will become boring (imagine two hours of jumpscares).

So forth and so on: all aspects of horror rely on each other to survive. That includes scenes that make you go "Awww, sick" while nervously cackling.

Here's the thing: in previous generations, revulsion was similarly understood to be an essential part of horror, but what led to a revolted reaction was very different.

Lovecraft (boo this man! BOOOOO) understood the power of revulsion, which was the source of a lot of his strangest and most vivid descriptions. It was also the source of some of his most bigoted ideas working into his stories. The undercurrent of "non-WASPs are evil because they are repulsive" is as pervasive in his work as "the universe is incomprehensibly vast". You kind of can't get around that.

But there's another thing Lovecraft did to generate revulsion. He wrote a number of stories where an unhealthy focus on corpses, graveyards, graverobbing, and the like is, indirectly or directly, associated with sexual perversion. 

How many, you may ask? Off the top of my head, there's "The Loved Dead", "In the Vault", "The Disinterment", "Pickman's Model", The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, "The Hound" and "Herbert West: Re-Animator". All of these tales share certain themes, which don't repeat beat-for-beat in each tale but do overlap:

Male character becomes obsessed with dead bodies--whether that's stealing them, having sex with them, desecrating them, or resurrecting them.

He is comfortable around death and the dead to a degree that is unusual, sometimes explicitly stating that he prefers the smells/sights of death to those of life.

Terms like "fiendish", "hellish", "abnormal" and "perverse" are used to describe him; his gaze towards dead bodies or to experiments may be framed as "leering" or "speculative".

He is frequently a twink; often described as being frail, if not noticeably beautiful; he may recall being mocked for being "bookish" or "weak" as a child.

He is superficially charming in a way that gets him by in polite society, but not long-term nor in-depth.

He often ensnares an otherwise "normal" man to share his obsessions, effectively recruiting him as an assistant... until the "normal" guy realizes he's about to go on the chopping block (or, in at least one story, already was on the chopping block).

Their crimes involve a lot of sneaking around late at night, locked doors, whispering so they don't get caught (or they'll be killed), secretiveness, glee at getting away with it, and frequently, sharing the same living space.

The Unrepentant Evil Dude is often killed at the end of his tale in a way that implies vigilante/mob justice is at hand. 

The other may be allowed to live if he's very sorry and frames the whole story as being the fault of the other guy, or he may die too while affirming his horrible demise as just, even if it terrifies him.

(One could make an argument that Wilbur Whateley fits into some of these tropes. It's me I'm one)

If this all sounds very gay, Lovecraft probably would have agreed. He had as dim a view of homosexuality as he did on most other things that were Outside The Norm. In other words, we were supposed to see Richard Upton Pickman with his ghouls and think, "Ah, yes, this is a metaphor for queerness", only we were supposed to be revolted by that revelation.

This same attempt at revulsion can be easily read into Victor Frankenstein, and probably more Mad Scientists than I can name offhand (but feel free to in reblogs). Frankenstein's "crimes against nature" were connected to dead bodies as well, and likewise involved a lot of sneaking around, locked doors, and worry about what would happen were he caught with this naked man-thing he's keeping in his dorm. His crime, as with his parody character Herbert West, is creating life outside the bounds of heterosexual cisgender sex. This was meant to revolt readers' sensibilities as much as the whole cutting-up-corpses-and-stitching-them-back-together thing would.

This is why, if we're being honest, "Re-Animator" and "Bride of Re-Animator" are not necessarily gay… they're homophobic. This might be controversial, but stick with me.

I feel like Gordon and Yuzna were tapping into that old-fashioned Revulsion Handbook, including from the source material, which thematically linked Herbert West with queerness. (I'm using "queer" a lot here, but I would personally include trans-friendly readings under that rubric; I'm using "queer" in the analytical sense and not solely in the identity sense.) This means that, ironically, a lot of what we could point to as queer subtext is actually homophobic text.

This is reinforced by the novelization of the first film, written by a homophobe who got Trumpist brainworms later in life. He wanted to make West repulsive to the reader, and therefore, he tried to make West more gay. And IT WORKED. 

To be clear, I'm not accusing anybody, other than the novelist, of being a homophobe. There's a difference between possessing internalized bigoted beliefs which express themselves in writing, versus utilizing tropes originating in bigotry because That's What's Done Around Here. (I can understand why others might not perceive a meaningful difference.) Like the Cuzco lizards, this queerness-as-villainy is definitely a stupid thing ported in from the source material.

I do think that this is why everybody but Our Queen Barbara Crampton seems embarrassed or nonplussed by all the transfags pestering them about fellatio tapes. It's because they don't get why this thing appeals so much to us. It shouldn't. If anything, they should be canceled for having yet another queer-coded villain, along with a number of other plot choices of questionable taste (I'm looking at you, The Head Scene, and I don't like what I see).

Only, uh, it didn't work out that way long-term, did it?

I thank Cronenberg and venereal horror for this, in part. Brutally queer despite not being explicitly gay, venereal horror is what happens when the characters should be revolted, but aren't. 

This kind of thing is horrifying for crossing the line twice: first by being disgusting, then by having characters respond as though it is exciting, or sexually stimulating, or if nothing else, normal. They are perverse. They leer at the dead and the subjects of their experiments. And the disgusting monsters at the center of these narratives are celebrated. Their twisted sexualities are explored with the same brave frankness other filmmakers give to milquetoast cishet missionary nonsense. Their political views are given life and air, and usually, they're right. Their deaths, if they come at all, are framed as tragedies brought on by society's sick rejection of the flesh their brave experimentation.

Cronenberg's the dude who unironically thinks that Shivers (trigger warning for literally everything) has a happy ending. My man David's got subscriptions where others have issues.

Venereal horror has given us a new metaframework for looking at the repulsive, the monstrous, and the problematic and responding to it… differently.

Now here's another thing: Lovecraft likewise provided a structure for embracing the grotesque and the queer.

Pickman, the Decadent artist, paints photorealistic, enormous portraits of ghouls. Literal flesh-eaters. He is fascinated by them, comfortable with them. "Model" heavily implies that Pickman is a ghoul changeling--switched at birth with a human child. This leans into Lovecraft's ideas about heritability being a major source of horror, of course, and seems run of the mill until you get to The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath.

In there, Pickman appears again, but this time as a ghoul. He has cast off his human social shackles and joined the beings he loves, beings who understand him and support him. Kadath is notable in that the ghouls are actually... like... reliable, loyal, and morally good? Carter's opinion pretty much is, "They do eat human corpses and they smell awful, but they're all very nice and want to help me on my quest, so maybe they're not so bad (if not as good as the cat army)".

This feels like Lovecraft acknowledging that his entire approach of linking queerness, death, and revulsion is fundamentally flawed. Once you become familiar with the repulsive, it becomes not-really-that-repulsive-at-all. You can find beauty in it, and amusement, and love. Pickman embracing his ghoulish nature isn't all that different from Seth Brundle's overall lack of revulsion at his body's transformation. And it's not that different from what a lot of transmasculine folks go through, either.

It's not that transmascs, trans men, and/or transfags don't see what West does as crimes against nature. It's that we're all very fucking tired of being accused of crimes against nature. We're tired of not being able to look at socmed without finding accusations that we're disgusting perverts who sneak around behind closed doors to corrupt innocent, promising people to be our lackeys and partners in crime.

Hell, I refer to my wife as "my partner in crime" not because it's a cute way of acknowledging how well and how much we work together both in life and creativity. It's also because we could have been arrested for our relationship when we got together.

We were illegal.

There was a lot of sneaking around and whispering and trying not to get caught and "what if they call the cops on us if we're clocked". Can I tell my friends about this? Will they reject me or rat me out? Where am I safe? Nowhere. Best to lock the door and then check it again to be sure. Best to be very quiet.

Best to act like a graverobber trying to get their grisly wares back home before good, decent, Christian folk see them.

So when I hear "Blasphemy? Before what God?!", I read it as (whether he's ace or aro, gay or achillean, trans man or transmasc or genderfucked) a queer slogan of defiance, instead of a defense of graverobbing, corpse desecration, and non-consensual resurrection.

We're told we and our bodies are repulsive, so being told that Herbert is also repulsive makes him more relatable. Instead of wondering what the hell's wrong with him for shooting up reagent, we all theorize that it's actually T or has similar effects--because we're all told that T is a toxin that will horribly change and disfigure our bodies. He dresses in a three-piece suit for school, and instead of reading him as a stiff and overly-formal little freak, we assume he's layering up because he hasn't found a hoodie he likes yet. 

He cackles at his horrific creations, and instead of saying "What a fucking freak (anguished)", we say "What a fucking freak (affectionate)" and laugh along with him. Who among us hasn't taken apart our Barbies and tried to combine their parts with the Kens? What is a doll, or a human, but a collection of parts to be rearranged? Haven't we also been told we're freaks for rearranging our own parts?

We've already been told by society at large that we are Herbert West. We're just embracing it, in the proud tradition of venereal horror fans who are not revolted when they ought to be, and I think that's delightful.

[muzzleroars]

(Drawing Mike/V2) Dew it

can't describe what's happened to my brain chemistry

[laireshi]

as @eirenical just got to one of my favourite flashbacks in book 2 i have to share caeden's character journey throughout this trilogy

from:

He thought for a moment, and then pushed the troubling concept aside. Whatever his plans for Licanius, they would have to come after he had dealt with the Lyth. He had no intention of killing himself—or Davian, or anyone else for that matter.

to:

Caeden faced Garadis again. “You mentioned a price?” “Yes. We want you to bind yourself, Tal’kamar,” Garadis said without preamble. “We want you to commit yourself to your own death. Even if you find a way to do what you wish without it, you must agree to end your own life once the other Venerate are dead.” “What?” exclaimed Asha, taking a half step forward in anger. “That’s a preposterous thing to—“ “Done.” Caeden ignored Asha’s look of horror.

who's crying? surely not me.

[angstyarthoe]

Nightcrawler (2015) Dir. Dan Gilroy

10.8.2022

[veneregreca]

Jack Torrance + Annabelle = 💍👰🏻‍♀️❤️

[darkestheir]

happy pride regulus is gay and the horrors love to bother him about it

[fernrisulfr]

Geoff

This one was for a one-shot that sadly got cancelled last minute. Just a fun little concept I’d considered. 

Great Old One Warlock - Half Orc - Guild Merchant

Twenty years ago a bright eyed young Half Orc with only a few copper between him and the streets was desperate for gainful employment, and indeed desperation drives a man to make some foolish choices in life. In this case that choice had a name, cursed though it may be…Customer Service. He'd heard a rumor of a fully licensed Guild that would take anyone regardless of background, education, or prior skills. An offer too good to be true. Aren't they always. Thus he found himself in the unearthly grasp…of the Venerable Ancient Elder-itch Temp Agency, an organization dedicated to providing Warlocks on demand for the short notice needs of any and all Cults or Cosmic Horrors that required their services. At Venerable Ancient their slogan is "With Great Ones Power comes Great Responsibilities…And Savings!)". Every day Geoff has had to meet the demands of some Other Worldly Monstrosity or their followers, sometimes multiple different ones. He hasn't had a raise in twelve years, or a vacation in five. Recently he even had to take a second job just to cover his mortgage payments. Yet years of starring into the yawning maw of eldritch minds takes it's toll, can he even turn back at this point?

Appearance: 6′2. 167 lbs. Skin green, eyes grey, hair also grey and thinning. Not fully bald, but very much on it’s way out. Makes up for it with an excellent beard which mask nicely with his tusks. The thousand yard stare and eyebags of a person who’s been in Customer Service for 20 years. Small scars from work mishaps. Dons a gambeson to protect his otherwise very clean cut (but standard) garb underneath. Wields a staff with a crystal ball on the end he uses to communicate with whatever Eldritch being he’s on call for presently. 

[zelastarry]

Survivor under the Nightmare

A short story about a survivor of a hellish ambush in a dark fantasy world. What path does she take?

Edith whispered and babbled as her heart pounded with deathly intensity. She rested against a cave’s maw, pressed between the cold, damp darkness and the shadowy, perilous forest. All she had left was her bloody knife, a few silver pieces, and her tattered clothing. “I escaped.”  Edith repeated as she clutched her bloodied clothing. “I can’t believe I lost them.” She still felt the tug of the demons that clawed…

[vampfishh]

no dynamic like cult leader and their right hand. it’ll forever be my favorite. i want to be a powerful charismatic force who’s loved by all but loved by you the MOST and only you are allowed to see my venerable side because i know it won’t get in the way of your complete and total worship of me. im a big picture ideas kinda person and you’re better at details so you work silently to make all my dreams come true and i reward you by fucking you so hard every night and telling you how you’re my favorite. with all my grandstanding im actually a little squeamish when it comes to getting violent with anyone (besides you) but your total devotion to me means that you jump at the chance to violently and dramatically put an end to any dissent, mostly to earn my attention and affection. i want to see the disgust and horror on your face whenever anyone hints at the fact i might not be a god worthy of this kind of worship as if that’s the most ridiculous and blasphemous thing anyone could say. it’s just good and i like it very much.

[lockedtombmemes]

I don't think I have ever felt for a character quite what I feel for Harrowhark Nonagesimus.

she's a creep, she's a weirdo, she's my blorbo, she's a tiny rat, she's disgusting, she's such a fucking bitch, she's baby, she's a product of abuse and veneration, she's a shaky shitty little dog, I want her to be happy, I want her to feel safe, I want her to kill God, I want her to scream and scream into the abyss, I want her to look into the face of the horrors that made her and be unafraid, I want her to eat an entire fruit

[mymainwastoocluttered]

The Key to My Heart (Vice Housewardens + Floyd)

Reader has a secret she keeps locked in her chest. He knows he has her pure, full love when she gives him the key

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Many people asked for more of this, so I shall deliver!

In this house, Ruggie is a Vice Housewarden, end of discussion. Also also, replaced Ortho (which I also consider a Vice Housewarden) with Floyd, but might write Ortho in his own little post so people can avoid it if they so wish. Maybe. I don't wanna say I will write it cuz we don't make promises we might not keep in this house.

A bit, uh, macabre. Little bit of body horror. If you know Pirates of the Caribbean... Yeah. That.

—<3<3<3

— Trey

Trey has always been the Normal One™, and he's well aware of it. He's by no means "normal", but compared to the idiosyncratic friendships he keeps in his life, he's definitely the most sensible. The less extra, as Cater would say.

So his reaction to his girlfriend's secret is quite understandable. No amount of Chen'ya's shenanigans, Riddle's rules, Ace and Deuce's plots and Cater's trendy adventures could've prepared him for it.

He freezes, eyes glued to the beating heart inside the chest, and can't help but splutter.

"Why me?"

"Who else, then?"

Being the "normal one" also means being boring by comparison. Uninteresting. Bland. Compared to all the personalities present in NRC—from strong to eccentric—Trey is not as interesting, not as good.

But she thinks he's good enough to hold the literal key to her heart.

And being "normal" now has become his greatest advantage, for who would bother with a common boy like him enough to wonder what is the key he carries on his neck, so close to his own heart?

—<3<3<3

— Ruggie

"Babe, not to freak you out, but there's a smell of living flesh and old blood in your room."

"... It's my heart."

"... What?"

His girlfriend pulls him to her bed, and he allows her to manhandle him until he's sitting on the soft mattress. To say the least, he did not expect the scent of flesh when she invited him to her room. Part of him wondered if she needs help to bury a body or something. Maybe her first year friends finally made her snap.

"Ohh, fancy," he whistles when she comes back with a very beautiful chest made of wood and metal. The smell gets stronger. "Please don't tell me you killed Grim and that's the body we need to bury, because that's a way too unique date idea."

"No, silly!" She laughs, but there hardly any amusement in it, which he takes as his cue to take things seriously. "This... Is something I hope you'll guard with your life."

She takes a key from around her neck and uses it to open the chest. Ruggie doesn't need to look at the inside of the chest for much, the smell and the beating attacking his senses so strongly that his eyes do not feel the need to see it for more than a miser second, choosing instead to focus on her face.

"This is my heart. If it stops beating, I die."

Then she grabs one of his hands and places there the key to the chest, closing his fingers on it. She doesn't need to say anything more.

Ruggie will guard the key with everything he is.

—<3<3<3

— Jade

Jade has heard many stories from human sailors, for they were one scarier than the other, one more interesting than the other. He had long grown tired of the exciting tales of hunting and curses of his people, and the romance genre never picked much his attention.

But the undecipherable horrors the humans whispered under their breaths when the nights were so dark, sky and sea became one? The angst they'd murmur in veneration, leaning on each other as if their own hearts were being ripped apart by the pale moonlight?

Now those were entertaining.

Sadly, since Jade could not choose which tales to listen, for no human ever knew the twin terrors lurking under the waves, sometimes he'd lose the gamble and sit through some loathed love story.

Though he quite liked the one about the Captain who fell in love with a Sea Goddess. Secretly, he always wondered how that man could be so foolish to forget the nature of the one he fell for, the nature he fell for, and how the Sea Goddess felt with the knowledge that he didn't love her, but having her, and took his own heart when he was denied.

But today, as his lover presents to him an intricate key to an intricate chest, he finds himself wondering how could the Sea Goddess not understand the utter devotion of a man who loved so desperately that the only way for the pain to stop was to take out his own heart and doom himself to eternity?

How could the Sea Goddess not answer that love in kind, when Jade himself feels like this had been the reason behind his entire existence up to this point?

Then again, the Captain did not give the Sea Goddess his key.

A pity, truly, that neither will ever understand Jade's feelings.

—<3<3<3

— Jamil

For a brief moment, a million plans go through Jamil's brain. It's impossible for him not to plan, not the scheme, not to strategize. His whole life has been nothing but.

And now, there's something even more important than his life at stakes.

To Jamil, the gift of trust and his lover's heart.

He takes the key from her hands in reverence, like he's receiving a gift from a divinity, however this is ten times better.

To humanity, the gift of free will.

Though he guesses it's not a gift when she took his own heart—metaphorically—in exchange.

But it certainly is still a blessing, one he shall carry with him at all times, and cherish at every breath, and if allowed, buried for eternity with it, to make sure he'll be able to care for it even in his next lives.

—<3<3<3

— Rook

For the first time in ages, Rook is absolutely stunned into silence.

He has known about the chest ever since the mysterious girl appeared with it in hands at Orientation. And many times he had tried to figure out what secrets it holds, to no avail as his dear Trickster is—appropriately—very tricky when she wants to.

The wait is paid off when she, after months of courting and dating, finally opens the chest to him.

Due to his incredible ears, he's aware that it holds something that beats like a heart.

He did not expect it to actually be a heart.

Remembering the tale of the evil stepmother who asked for her loyal servant to bring her the heart of her hated stepdaughter in a box, he can't help but wonder how this whole situation came to be. He does not ask. One lock at a time.

The key will be the last thing he'll wear in life, and the first thing he'll wear in death, that he promises.

—<3<3<3

— Lilia

Sometimes, Lilia muses with his buttons, humanity is capable of feats no magic could replicate.

There is a monologue inside him, one that frankly has never stopped ever since his first meeting with a human, in a voice he can't recognize anymore, though he can tell it's not any of his, carrying scary words like ephemeral and inevitable.

One that gets louder whenever he finally stops by himself, one that makes an effort to haunt his dreams whenever he's away from his lover, one that he's not sure he can ever be rid of. One he's not sure he will want to be rid off when the last period is placed at the end of her last sentence.

One that stutters and hushes for the first time in millennia when the chest is open and his eyes feast on the fragility of flesh.

One that begins to avoid her name like the key now dangling from his neck burned it from its repertoire.

A feat not all of his magic ever managed.

—<3<3<3

— Floyd

Floyd actually takes the heart out of the coffin, holding it in gentle hands. He commits to memory the feel of it, the weight of it, the smell of it.

Weren't he so afraid of hurting it with his teeth, he might've licked it to make sure all his senses would be able to recognize the heart of his most loved.

Once he's done, he places it back in the chest. Then he closes it, holding the chest in his hands until he's sure it locked properly.

Taking the key from its keyhole, he gives his girlfriend a look, who nods at him with a tender smile. His own heart beats together with hers, and he presses the cold metal of the key over it to remind it of its owner and its duty.

"Good thing the key is small enough to swallow, just in case."

"What–? Don't swallow the key, dummy!"

Floyd only laughs, pulling her to his lap and squeezing her in his arms.

This key and this person will never be taken from him, he'll make damn sure of it.

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

I want to write a meta on Stede Bonnet of Our Flag Means Death and internalized homophobia. A lot of this is going to be a rehash of something I said to an anon back in october of 2022 but I feel like it deserves to be put out without rancid anon takes attached.

Our Flag Means Death as a show is trying to do a deconstruction of toxic masculinity. I feel very comfortable in saying that seeing as David Jenkins had "A lot of what we're taught about what it means to be a man is wrong" and a show about gay men with a thesis like that is necessarily also deconstructing homophobia, even if it doesn't center homophobia, which ofmd does not, it keeps it in just out of frame at all times, because it prefers to center queer joy. However that doesn't mean it's not there and I want to talk about the one place where it exists that I feel like people don't really touch on.

Stede is a character that comes from a background of wealth, of rigid adherence to social norms that he was never able to fully fit into. There are rules for what men do and what women do and those rules must be obeyed and Stede learns this the hard way, by getting tied in a boat and having things thrown at him for picking flowers. By being bullied relentlessly for being soft and weak. Under such conditions you can’t not internalize those rules.

Stede also is very insecure, in episode 2 it's established that he struggles with feelings of inadequacy. A lot of Stede’s guilt comes from his inability to preform the roles of husband and father, roles which were thrust upon him without his consent and stand in opposition to his identity as a gay man, at least in the 1700s. Stede considers himself a coward for his inability to preform these rolls. Stede is unable to forgive himself for being unable to fit into the heterosexual expectations that society as placed on him.

Blackbeard is also a hypermasculine figure. A role that Ed finds himself unable to fit into. That’s why Ed and Stede seem to be in the same place when they first meet. They’re both trying to break out of these rigid boxes that have been forced upon them. Blackbeard is less heterosexual, more specific, but it’s still a distinctly male expectation which is tied up in cultural ideals about masculinity, especially non-white masculinity. And the whole show Izzy, a gender conforming character who seems to go out of his way to talk down to any man he perceives as even a little bit soft, is trying to force Ed into it, and when he tries to imply that Ed isn’t Blackbeard enough he does it by emasculating him

Ed is open, at least when he's made to feel like he's in a safe environment, about not wanting to be blackbeard anymore. Stede suggests retirement and provides him space to experiment with reinventing himself, but at the end of the day Stede doesn't believe him because Stede venerates Blackbeard as one of the most fearsome pirates of all time (something I expect to be a large point of contention between them in the next season). When Ed finally shakes off his captaincy and tries to leave Blackbeard behind for good Stede ends up blaming himself for it, because he perceives Ed's desire to leave a role that is hurting him behind as him being ruined, the same way Stede perceives his own failure as a husband and father as an inherently corrosive thing.

Unpacking Chauncey's speech in season 1 episode 10 and why Stede agrees with it is fundamental here. Gay people have been for centuries been portrayed as corrupting influences trying to convert people to our lifestyle. We've been portrayed as horror villains. Our sex is portrayed as defilement. We're accused of being groomers who want to corrupt others to our way of life, we're accused of recruiting. This is one of the more classic homophobic tropes. So when Chauncy says you're a monster who defiles beautiful things there is venom and oppression behind it. And Stede agrees to it because he does believe himself to have corrupted Ed away from being Blackbeard into being kind of a pansy like Stede. And that he defiled his family by leaving despite it being what he needed to do.

And so his reaction to this is to shove himself back into the closet and try to be Mary's husband again.

I'm not passing moral judgement on Stede, it's just difficult to interpret the show without seeing the subtextual journey of overcoming internalized homophobia that Stede goes on.

[diana-thyme]

Greek Gods 101: Melinoe

Melinoe is a goddess of ghosts and offerings to the dead. Excluding the universal offerings, some common offerings include:

Figures or Depictions of Bats

Figures or Depictions of Butterflies

Figures or Depictions of “Bad” Animals (Bugs, Black Cats, Etc.)

Bones

Figures or Depictions of Ghosts

Figures or Depictions of Graveyards or Gravestones

Salt

Records or Depictions of Nightmares or Fears

For devotional acts, some activities that can be done for her include:

Visiting Cemeteries

Visiting Crossroads

Walking at Night (If Safe)

Shadow Work

Venerating Your Ancestors

Watching Horror Movies/Reading Horror Books

Learning About Local Supernatural Lore

Learning About the Process of Death

Talking to Local Spirits

She is celebrated in 1 (?) Athenian holiday:

Genesios, maybe

[angstyarthoe]

Ruby Sparks (2013) Dir. Jonathan Dayton, Valerie Faris

4.8.2022

[m1d-45]

Heheehee would love to see venti post-imposter au like that one u did for zhongli...I love guilt >:)))) and thank u, u r amazing!!!!

unnamed poem, unnamed bard

a/n: wrote a whole poem for this. hope you enjoy <3

-> warnings: reader is dead. reader is a literal corpse and is described and referred to as such. major spoilers for mondstat archon quest, the most microscopic spoilers for liyue archon quest.

-> lowercase intended!

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie

< masterlist >

‘the creator is the highest god across every nation.’

seven sets of eyes stared at the body in front of them, at the arrow shot through it’s throat. several other wounds crossed the body, but none were as lethal as the first.

‘they have created everything, from the clouds-‘

angry gray rippled across the sky, thunder crackling in the distance. the storm had been brewing all day, and now the reason why was clear.

‘-to the air-‘

wind howled and cried, whipping through hair and pulling at clothes. one of the ties around venti’s braids had been ripped away, the hair beginning to unravel in the gale. still, even as nahida clutched at focalor’s cloak to stay standing—poor girl, she’d been trying to convince her—the clothes on the corpse were still.

‘-to the earth beneath our feet.’

blood seeped into the ground below, shimmering even in the dim light filtering through the clouds. the brick pattern below had shining blue for grout, blood tracing a spiderweb out.

‘they are only to be adored with the highest of veneration.’

thin hands shook around the handle of a bow, painted nails digging into the grip. barbatos’ eyes are wide, teal, unblinking gaze staring at the body as if it would magically come back to life. as if it would reach, pull out the arrow, as if it would sit up and chide him for behaving so rashly. it doesn’t.

‘after all…’

amber eyes search for purple, then red, black gloves tightening around the geo lord’s weapon. he was not without sin, having also participated in the chase—none were truly pure, none truly deserved any form of forgiveness except for maybe nahida.

‘it is they to which we owe our lives.’

seven chests heaved with a variety of emotions—adrenaline, contrition, horror—but an eighth was oddly regular. blank, lifeless eyes, matching the color of the ones on the corpse, curved with a smile. well done! they cheered, silent pride shining in the dim light.

‘they are stronger than steel.’

“who are you?”

the gritted voice of the pyro archon shattered the fragile silence.

“me?”

‘brighter than the sun.’

the false god put a hand to their chest, the fake shock on their face not hiding their glee. “well, i’m your god, aren’t i?”

‘with their iron-strong will,’

six hands tightened on weapons. one set let go of cloth, small stature still brimming with anger.

‘eons long work begun.’

new blood stained the dirt, red instead of divine blue. the fake’s body jerked, elemental reactions dancing across their skin as their body fell to the floor. superconduct burned out their eyes, overload locked up their lungs, quicken sped up the rate at which blood flowed from their veins. frozen pinned their still-twitching body to floor as they slowly died.

the gods almost wished that it had taken them longer to die. they certainly didn’t deserve a quick death.

‘they forged the valleys and plains.’

seven voices united by the covered body of their god, undivided by worldly squabbles. grudges and bitterness fell away, if only for now, seven heads bowed on seven sets of knees. even nahida, innocent as she was, had knelt alongside them here. seven prayers were lifted on seven tongues, some wavering, all weak. the scenery did little to distract when they knew they had slaughtered it’s maker.

‘mountains shaped, clouds retained.’

the burial was silent, only the sound of dirt against dirt breaking the solemn air. shimmering jade rose from the earth, obsidian lettering carving out their sin. seven were too weak to continue standing, seven sets of tears beginning to fall. seven asked for forgiveness.

‘as night turned to day turned to night again,’

none would receive it.

‘their last creation made, to their own world they ascend.’

grass and flowers were quick to grow over the unsettled dirt, risking quick uprooting for the chance to get closer. seven hearts burned. seven souls screamed.

drinks hit their tables with loud bangs. ‘who are you, bard?” a man called. ‘where have you heard such things?’

barbatos was the first to flee, unable to bear feeling their aura so long after their death. his wide wings flapped erratically, all of his usual grace lost as tears blurred his vision. the cuffs of his shirt clung to his skin, droplets of blue already staining to matter how hard he tried to scrub it out. it refused to even smudge.

he tucked his wings in and dove, barely even trying to slow his fall once he got closer to the ground, not feeling the pain in his feet. he stumbled once, twice, then collapsed at the foot of his own anemo statue.

the boy laughed, the teal on his nails matching the mirth in his eyes.

barbatos’ chest heaved, the air he commands abandoning him in his time of need. the peaceful breeze of windrise couldn’t hide the uneven beats of his heart, the cool stone behind him not soothing the burn on his face. he could see them, the golden chains of his crimes, already encircling his arms. the fingers that pulled the string stiffened with shining rings, too tight to be comfortable, his opposite palm already beginning to glow. some scrap of his consciousness mourned how it would affect his ability to play, to drink, to move, the unforgiving chains binding his actions.

the larger majority mourned his god.

‘you can call me venti.’

[cowboymater]

controversial opinion maybe:

I KNOW. i know. hear me out

i saw a couple edits on tiktok of mcspirk to soldier poet king and like. i’m not putting anyone on blast but good lord some of those choices made my head hurt. it’s taken me a couple days to synthesize my reasoning for the superior choice (as pictured above), but here goes:

the problem with assigning characters to soldier poet king comes when you take it at face value, flattening the paradigm to angry-sad-tired or violent-artsy-authoritative. if we want to get down to the root of it, the song is based on the threefold office of christ as priest (soldier), prophet (poet), and king. like i’m not christian, but on a textual level it gives us context: the concept that as prophet jesus gave us counsel and words of wisdom, as priest he sacrificed himself to redeem us, and as king he provides for, defends, and forgives us

maybe the most famous priest/prophet/king (& thus soldier/poet/king) allegory in all of literature is frodo, gandalf, and aragorn. frodo bears the burden, though he wishes he did not need to; gandalf offers words of wisdom and mercy; aragorn is a born leader, on the front lines with sword in hand, ready to die with his men if he must

KING: capt. james t. kirk is the easiest one to place. it is a burden and a privilege, an honor and a horror to have the lives of so many depend upon you to make the right call under fire. he makes the call. he leads the landing parties, he puts himself at the head of the charge because by god he is not about to send his men into a battle he wouldn’t fight himself. he leads—with heart when he can, steel when he must—and people follow him. bones and spock are always right behind because they believe in what he believes in, and more than that they believe in him

POET: bones serves as kirk’s emotional sounding board, his moral peer review. he lends an ear, and the word of an old country doctor who’s seen much and understands more. man has ascended to the heavens, to hurtling through the void in a glorified tin can, and it would be no great hardship to forget that our place in the universe is not that of higher life—we are not as quasi-gods, moving pieces on the great three-dimensional chessboard, but flesh and blood, and we must attend to each other. bones tempers the pure logos and rationality offered by spock; he offers grounding in this age of technology that wrinkles the fabric of reality, offers the kind of emotional intellect that cannot be taught, and has always been sorely needed

SOLDIER: this is the one where you really get tripped up by surface-level analysis. yes, spock is reserved and collected. yes, vulcans are pacifists (as you may recall, so are hobbits, and yet frodo remains the soldier in allegory)

the thing about vulcans, though, is that despite the vegan pacifism, they are warriors. it’s tangled up in their history and their DNA. the koon-ut-kal-if-fee survived through centuries of analytical dogma for a reason; even now, they cannot wholly escape their inheritance of violence. their forefathers ran the sands of vulcan green with blood. they venerate logic and condemn emotionality so that they will not

your average high-achieving vulcan, probably on the path to kolinahr, commits their lifetime to the pursuit of knowledge at the vulcan science academy. it’s a measured, rational decision. a controlled environment, where there will never be any logical reason to resort to violence

spock joins starfleet

he joins starfleet, and pursues knowledge in the vast unknowable universe. there is reason for violence, frequently. and sure, the purpose of their mission is peaceful. it’s true that spock would rather resolution be reached without force. but a soldier needs not want to be a soldier. he only needs go to war

when it comes down to blows, he will match them. he makes the sacrifice play, jumps on the grenade, goes into the radiation-soaked engineering room alone. it’s only logical, after all

spock is there to pick apart the universe, unravel the threads of logic until it all makes sense. bones is there to stitch it up. kirk is the hand that holds it all steady, the gravitational field that binds the people of the enterprise to their purpose. soldier-poet-king, commander-doctor-captain. it’s a story old as dirt, and we’ll keep telling it, i think

edit: my bad vulcans have. green blood