#genderterror

For October, we are going to try to do flash reviews. These are a little bit different than our more in-depth reviews.

You'd submit reviews for horror movies (or other media like books/music) and their queer subtext (1k-1.5k words) and we pay $10 a pop. We'd ultimately like to publish 2 a week for October.

You would directly email us your submission (as opposed to a pitch) and we would say yes/no, pay you, and then post it!

Creator of GenderTerror.com (@itsGenderTerror) and recent contributor, Lucian Clark, sits down with Shriya to discuss their piece, "The Bag" and the importance of LGBTQ+ narratives and creators in the horror genre.

You can find Lucian’s book here, and their Gaymer X interview here.

Monsters Out of the Closet is a podcast that features horror and horror-adjacent fiction and art created by LGBTQ+ artists.

We are still currently seeking submissions for our 2019 episodes—be sure to check out our updated themes.

my short horror comic Nan Ka Aru is live on GenderTerror right now!

(via fleshdresses)

See the rest of this incredible piece by @kmclaude over on GenderTerror!!

Image contains nudity and gore!

“Do you want to add a mystery key?” The screen on the key machine asked.

Anita brushed a lock of jet black hair behind her ear and shrugged. It never hurt to have too many spare keys. The machine whirled back to life depositing another heavily against the rest. Anita reached down shoving the others into her pocket, and paused at the mystery key. It didn’t look like any key she’d ever seen before. The blade extended out twice the length and ended in a set of teeth on either side. Three loops entwined around the bronze bow and along its base a name had been engraved: Wainwright.

“Well, I guess they weren’t kidding about the mystery part.”

Just then, the buzz of her phone reminded her why she needed keys in the first place.

“Hey baby. Yeah, I got the keys. Be home soon,” she answered.

The gravel driveway crunched underneath the car as Anita pulled up. Sasha sat on the porch steps with an exasperated expression on her face. Before Anita could get out of the car, Sasha was already mid explanation.

“ – stuck in the door. And then I tried to use tweezers, ‘cause I’ve heard that works, and then the tweezers just shoved it even further in. Why isn’t everything just voice activated already?! I hate keys!”

Anita smiled, sat down, and silenced her briefly with a kiss, “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not! This is the third one in a month. A month!!” Sasha ranted, “I’m cursed. I have a key curse, Annie. Don’t give me anymore… Oh! This one is cute!”

Are you a queer writer? Do you write horror stories? We want you!

GenderTerror is a queer horror website that focuses on content made by and for queer people! We feature art, stories, interviews, reviews, and much more.

In honor of NaNoWriMo2017, we are spending all of Novemeber focusing on writing!

The best part? We PAY! Looking for submissions between 2,000-2,500 at $0.01 a word.

We only pay for exclusive stories but that doesn’t mean we won’t take previously published ones.

GenderTerror: Contact Us!

(via “The Corners”)

The well worn path: the dirt and the ground and the sun and the sky and my feet following the path, onward, onward. The mist was so heavy it looked like the rest of the world hadn’t loaded yet. All I could see were trees, and the path. Even the sky was white, the sun itself not strong enough to cut through the gloom. And so I walked down the path, my backpack heavy, my brow furrowed despite the lack of sun, and things moved in shadows all around. Only rabbits, I thought (or maybe said). Only rabbits, despite knowing that bears roamed these woods. Nothing but shadows, stray noises.

I was walking down the path, my feet rough, almost cut, from the constant barrage of sharp rocks and twigs. The soles of my shoes as thin as the skin between my fingers. Still I pressed on. Day was coming — fully, finally — and with it, the sun. The rest of the world would fill in and I finally would be able to breathe easy. I had my backpack, filled with clothes and water, my cell phone — beaten and old, reliable though uncharged. I was walking down the railroad tracks, to the sea, but now I was… I won’t say I was lost but near it. After the tracks crossed a highway, I stopped following them. I tried to stay parallel, following along the side of the highway — not daring to come out of the forest. Then the tracks faded to white and I was here. Somewhere.

Somewhere near me I could hear a brook. Water flows… water flows towards the ocean. I thought I heard that. I followed that for awhile but now, now I’ve lost my babbling brook. The highway, with its infrequent roar of cars, was lost. All I had to guide me was my gut, and a well worn path through the trees.