#yourlocalmissingtexture

Bare-bones pinned bc I needed to update it. Might spruce up later

Names I use: Tobias, Toby, Tobi

Pronouns: she/he/they/it, all interchangeably

Cool stuff I like: the horror genre & scary/spooky stuff in general, fantasy creatures, paranormal phenomenon, religion & mythology, Minecraft (the game itself idk about smps), LGBTQIA+/queer community (faves: flag vexillology & detailed anecdotes about gender), worldbuilding, biology, arts & crafts (Kandi my beloved), organizing & making lists, yapping

Misc. details:

Most concise way to explain my queerness is that I’m bi-demisexual & genderfluid

I don’t entirely feel human so feel free to refer to me as you might a zombie, a shadow person, or a monster in general (you might find some stuff related to this under my #gender envy tag)

Best way to describe my spiritual beliefs is eclectic soft poly-pantheist

There’s definitely something up with my brain but I don’t know what

Like abandoned buildings and photos taken with old tech? Me too!! Reblogs of this nature are under the tag #peeling paint

What if raggedy shoes but gay???

Flags/colors from top to bottom, shoe lacing method used is sawtooth

Trans pride flag with a black and brown bead on either side (representing deceased queer folks and queer folks if color, respectively)

6 stripe rainbow

Genderfluid

Symbolic of one of my main long term interests (brown and green for zombies) and one of the guys in my head (lavender and white). Unintentionally almost the same colors as the genderqueer flag

How curious that you should find me, and I you,

Out here amidst the barren white!

I offer you refuge, dear friend, if just for a while,

And my home on this great expanse,

And, if you so allow and desire,

I bid you take my hand in yours,

But forgive me, the warmth of my flesh

Gazing into the abyss, you bite your lip playfully, flirting with knives and rot and empty veins, yet you tremble as the abyss stares back with hopeful predatory eyes and salivating jaws, asking “do you speak truly of your lust, oh delicacy?”

Intent and shame are poor defense, and guilt could never scrub clean those crimson claws if it wanted, nor polish the bones beneath them or purify your intact pounding heart.

And where now was that goodness once conjured by your name? Had it too abandoned you? In what ditch did that angel now lay, or was there ever one that accompanied you? Would you have heeded the warnings? It doesn’t matter. You belonged to the abyss before you could speak.

What did you expect would happen anyway, Little Red, playing in these woods? Did you think yourself immune? So smart and well-behaved, yet here you are, teasing wolves, sinking stomach. The maws are famished, bottomless, yet you can still escape if you run.

So why then, grave as your circumstance, cold as your blood,

Introducing: Cecilia/Lamare!

Cecilia Perrot was born in 1330 in France and was surrendered to a monastery due to her parents being unable to care for her. She saw the onset of the Hundred Years War and petitioned St. Michael frequently.

When the Black Death swept through her area in 1348, she and her convent did what they were able to help the sick but to no avail. Frustrated, she left the convent and took on a masculine disguise so that she could work as a plague doctor outside of the monastery (which was proving to be more like a death house than a hospital). She felt better being “freelance” so to speak but still felt guilty and afraid. If these were the end times, she worried she’d be denied entry to heaven because she failed so thoroughly: as a convent sister, as a doctor, and as a woman.

During one intense bout of prayer she had a vision of St. Michael and St. Raphael, who praised her efforts but also let her know that her work would kill her. They assured her that if she kept up what she was doing that she was basically guaranteed entry into heaven.

Seems peachy, right? Well…

Enter Lamare (true name Lahar-harah), a demon*. He is rather small and weak physically and resembles a stereotypical goat-legs-and-horns demon, but his psychic and magical abilities are profound. He was lurking around France at the time, leeching energy from people who mistook him for a grotesque (gargoyle minus the water spout!) or who fell under his influence of persuasion.

One day Cecilia finds him and while initially frightened feels compelled to interact with him without invoking the name of Jesus. She felt she could bring him to the light. For all her brightness in her mind and all the kindness in her heart, this was unfortunately part of Lamare’s plan. He waited until she was especially close and vulnerable before he made his move and possessed her, pushing her soul into the depths of her psyche and leaving him to pilot her body.

Before he wasn’t very capable of interacting with the physical world, but now he had a body! A former nun’s body, even! How ironic! He’d make good use of it, keeping it alive far longer than a body was meant to last via his powers.

While in her stolen body, he enjoyed intentionally botching surgeries, dental procedures, embalmings, and anything else that involved the corruption of the flesh. Thanks to his abilities, however, he was never reprimanded. He also took classes in Oxford in 1503, ventured across the ocean to watch the American Civil War unfold, and researched poison dart frogs in the Amazon while the French Revolution was ongoing.

During all of this, Cecilia grew distant from reality at first. The violence and sadism wore heavily on her conscious, as did the general knowledge that her trusting a demon got her into this mess to begin with. No way she was going to heaven now. At points she felt she got some kind of pleasure from the cruelty she was forced to partake in, which worsened her guilt significantly. But she remained hopeful, deep down. Hopeful she’d be able to be herself again someday. Hopeful that maybe God would have mercy on her for her grave mistake and that those she watched slip away by her own distant hand would forgive her as well, perhaps.

Oh also Cecilia is agender. She still uses she/her pronouns and likes being called Cecil sometimes. Lamare is masc and uses he/him. Do not call him Lammy.

Burnout

Hollow praise echoes

Through this cavernous sphere of influence.

“Your work is appreciated,”

Yet it doesn’t last but a few hours,

Destroyed by blind marching,

Marred by ignorant hands.

What redemption comes of work is fleeting,

Siphoned immediately to an uncaring system.

The remnants, I’m told, are adequate,

But I know better.

The system grinds on, its cogs rusted,

Screws loosened, sensors uncalibrated,

Archaic and out of date.

“All sectors OK,” say the motherboard,