I think when people describe dark hallways or all-grey office cubicles as “liminal,” they’re using it as a synonym for creepy, which is not really accurate. What’s being reached for is a sense of dislocation, of being in a place that is not meant for you or is otherwise hostile to you in some way. “Liminal” is limited in its ability to describe those feelings, because the word is typically meant to refer to a place that exists only to get you somewhere else (like an airport, for example, or an interstate highway). “Liminal” isn’t synonymous with “a place of horror,” but I think it’s become that in the tumblr lexicon.
I think a much more robust term for what people are trying to describe is ontological (in)security. Ontological security in geographic scholarship means “a confidence that the world exists as it appears to be.” To give a very basic example, there are handles on doors because the function of a door is to act as a gateway to another space, and the handle is there to open that gateway. You trust that doors with handles are meant to be open and stepped through, and you also trust that door handles will always be placed at a standing person’s waist height - if you’ve ever seen a character try to open a door that leads nowhere in a story, it’s playing with your ontological security. Likewise, you see a flight of stairs and understand implicitly that it exists to facilitate pedestrian traffic to and from a specific place. It’s not a place to have a party with your friends, and you wouldn’t think to go to a stairwell to socialise.
To be ontologically insecure, on the other hand, is to exist in a place that is built for purposes that are not available to you. This is most commonly used in disability scholarship to refer to inaccessible entrances or stairwells - these things exist for able-bodied people only, and the structure of the built environment is now acting as a mechanism to divide people into groups who can use the space and groups who cannot. This is part of the way that ableism essentialises disability, which is then reproduced in the built environment - urban structures are taken as neutral, and if you can’t navigate them effectively, something is wrong with you individually (which of course is not true).
But this idea can be deployed for a variety of contexts - suburbs once built for the wealthy car-driving middle class typically do not have sidewalks in them. And now in many places in North America, suburbs are being inhabited by much poorer families (who are much less likely to own a vehicle), who are being driven out of the city core because now that same wealthy middle class has decided a condo is more fashionable than a detached house. This leaves people to live in places that aren’t built “for them,” to walk in the middle of roads or on lawns because there’s no space for them to walk, forcing them into hostile situations to either be hit by cars or yelled at by neighbours for walking on their grass. These spaces produce ontological insecurity, a sense that you are inhabiting a place that is not meant for you, and because of this you are frequently made less safe as a result.
This is where the critique that cities are structurally ableist, or racist, or misogynistic comes from. Urban environments are usually built by the ruling class, whose interests and aesthetic sensibilities get reproduced in the roads they build and houses they erect, and if you don’t happen to fit the profile of the ruling class (ie most people), some parts of a city are always going to be less safe for you. This is why in extremely spread-out, low density cities (LA for example), public transit is difficult to implement on a structural level (on top of all the political pushback), because these spaces are structured in such a way to be hostile to certain modes of travel or behaviour (eg any mode of transit that isn’t a car). They are built for a specific ideal archetype of person, and if you don’t fit into that, you’re much less safe and much less secure.
So if you want to use this in fantasy settings or horror or whatever, you need to approach the built environment as a historical process the same way that a government or law is. Office spaces are not “liminal,” but they can be sites of horror because their physical structure compels certain modes of social behaviour, and trying to work against that grain can make you feel “out of place” - i.e., ontologically insecure.
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hi hello bad rewritten poem-ish. drops it and runs
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drenched in scarlet yet to be spilled,
your hands shake. more than his. you’re scared.
it’s stupid, really, isn’t it? to be so scared for such a man. there’s nothing special about him,
no reason you should care whether he lives or dies,
other than the fact he is the sun.
son.
sun.
there's no difference, not anymore.
there is a thin line drawn in blood between devotion and obsession,
loyalty and love,
and you should not cross it. you should not want to cross it.
a fat bead of sweat rolls down his temple as he cries out. he is shaking. he is dying.
let him. it would be better that way, wouldn’t it?
better to watch as his skin pales, his limbs go limp, his cries fall silent.
better to watch as those constellations you have found etched onto every inch of his skin,
engraved into his skull, tattooed over his heart, finally blink out.
leave him. either he will not live to see the dawn break,
or he will be the dawn breaking, or he is only hours away from killing
the last shard of hope that the dawn has left to spear the endless night with.
there is no going back now.
you have found a pretty monster to pledge yourself to, haven’t you?
golden curls, fanned out on the pillow. like a halo. like he’s gone already.
but you can see the blood caked under his fingernails still,
you can hear the screams of those he has butchered. those you have butchered, you
idiot, why didn’t you stop him? it’s because you’re a loyal little bitch, isn’t it?
you always come back when he calls you to heel. you are the one with the teeth,
tearing and biting and ripping a blood-soaked path to empire for him to walk.
you could kill him.
put a stop to all this. it would be a mercy, really - he’s already half-dead.
take that pillow. smother him. he’ll smother himself if you won’t,
drowning under the weight of his own ambition.
hurry up and do it! you wouldn’t have to see his eyes, then,
and his pleading would be muffled, and you wouldn’t have to hear
as he chokes on his honeyed words,
unfulfilled promises too sweet, sticking in his throat.
but you can’t. can you? because you love him.
i’ll say it if you won’t. you love him, because who wouldn’t?
he’s perfect, isn’t he? or maybe you're just blind. blind and weak,
bound to crumble at the slightest touch of his hand, the gentlest word, the softest command.
weak. poison in your mind.
your hands grip his wrists as he thrashes, muscles spasming,
yelling wordlessly. and then your fingers are down his throat, his teeth biting into your skin
as you try to stop his own tongue from suffocating him. this is the closest you’ll ever get,
something inside you realises. the closest you’ll get to being inside him.
and you want to kill that part of you, kill it dead because you are not so depraved, are you,
to be thinking such things at a time like this?
but you are.
you are a savage at heart. at least, that's what they say.
a beast at his command, a monster born backward, clawing its way up from the dirt.
you will always be his dog,
nothing more, nothing less. left begging for scraps
as he sets his sights on greater things than you.
he coughs around your hand and you feel him hack up blood,
coating your fingers with the stuff. lick it. it's the closest you'll get to tasting him.
and that way there will be a part of him in you forever. if he is the sun
you are his moon, his mirror, his shade, a pale reflection of his grandeur.
you stare at the blood on your fingers and wonder how the son of a god could be so fragile,
so human.
even gods cannot escape their flesh unless you eat it for them.
and he has eaten, yes, he has already eaten,
picked dry the bones of a dictator and vomited forth a half-digested image of the divine.
just a taste. he won't mind.
a finger pressed to your lips. the tang of iron. blood of heroes, blood of tyrants,
blood of kings.
his breathing softens, eyes opening, pale and blue and scared,
and there is an ache in your chest that you cannot quite place.
he says your name, a prayer whispered from his lips, and you shatter.
weak.
he does not love you, not like you love him. but he needs you.
and that is close enough, isn't it?
so you hold his hands, small and mortal, and the dawn does not break. not today.
today, it dies, a little more than a hundred metres away from you,
speared on its own sword and gushing lifeblood onto hands forever unclean.
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ohmygd I have to liveblog the Xiaolu reaction to the RW&RB trailer because hawlehtashdl;fkajsdljf
it's a completely no-background reaction; we're literally going to get his unfiltered homophobia. I mean I'm joking, I don't think he's homophobic But You Never Know.
he hopes it's going to be a fantasy where "there's a hero with a big sword and a villain with a big sword and they have a legendary battle". The bullet comments are right: 笑死我了。
Also I checked out the below comments and xiaolu seems to have found it confusing but The People are defending it because "trailers for movies based off books often make more sense after reading the book" and they all loved the book, election drama and all???? My earlier assessment that the American political catharsis is key to the book's popularity was completely wrong I guess.
His guess is that Alex and Henry are "models for a male magazine" alk;sjdf
WTF HE RECOGNIZED BUCKINGHAM PALACE ON SIGHT???? "I know this room." ???? I don't think this is just Normal for British people??
He said it's a fking stripper cake. I see it.
He can also recognize the crosses/ribbons/symbol thingys of the British knighthood orders on sight... he was in the military though allegedly so that kinda makes sense? The one Henry is wearing is the Order of St. Stanislav.
He's infodumping on the Order of St. Stanislav right now. Apparently it was the lowest Russian Order, originally Polish, discontinued in 1917. Henry is wearing the old Polish version because the eagles are white. He put an image comparison onscreen and it's not a perfect match but I see it.
"'To convince the world [they're] actually friends' - oooooh, I see, so basically. Are they gay?" YES. LET'S GO. He figured it out 45 seconds in (yes I had to pull of the trailer separately to figure that out for this post no one will read). He thinks they're trying to convince the press they're not together rather than not enemies, but close enough.
He's critiquing their unrealistic ability to get around security and I translated one of the bullet comments to "the bodyguards also ship it" haha.
Xiaolu is not homophobic 💪💪💪 he says "the filmmakers are underestimating how majority of people don't care about someone being gay" and like tbh this is just repeating history with Heartstopper and Love, Simon -- all these gay books get adapted 5 years after release and then the Climate of Homophobia and Queerness is just not the same but the filmmakers don't change it because it's integral to the plot and so they come off as awkward.
top comment agrees with xiaolu's final assessment (dismissive) but follows: "But if it can add the son of the Russian president, the son of the French president, and a mysterious boy from the big eastern country as the second part, I will call it a masterpiece." First reply is "Hetalia" and I can't tell if the countries were chosen in reference to a Hetalia poly ship or just random. tbh I like the vibes of the chosen countries tho hahaha.
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