average shark cultist

i like fish

[sharggggg]

hey hi im shark, i go by he/they/it and i like media and vidya games

horrorbuff and professionally obsessed with sharks

ive never used this website before so please be patient lolol

art by @/ghostpeppermint on twt

[sharggggg]

Both the Chisel and the Marble

Do I exist to anyone. It feels like there’s nothing outside of this cove I’ve made for myself, this disgusting room coated in inches of dust and memorabilia of a time long lost to everyone but its proud owner. It should be fucking simple to understand that not calling out to anyone as a way of affirming someone’s value is inversely a way of shutting out the world to feed your own agenda, but yet the concept is just so perverse and attractive to observe and judge everyone around you out of desperate pettiness.

My dog was put down what feels like a long time ago and Cooper will be arriving there soon at the crisp age of 49 in dog years, bigger dogs often live shorter lives in comparison to their dwarfed sisters. I wish the same applied to people (I guess it does in a way) just so I can escape this mortal coil of a prison as soon as possible. It really hurts to know learn that you’ve been doing something your whole life, that over a decade ago I was equally attracted to the concept of a permanent solution to a temporary conflict.

As usual my bottled emotions have led to unsavory outbursts with this being the form of accidental self mutilation of my one good right arm. I saw a face in today garbage, not mocking or even antagonizing. The face was indescribable I understood the expression with great intimacy, one of forgiveness and pity. It was the same expression I gave when she was crying on my floor. I pummeled it until I was pulled from my episode by the shredded remains of my epidermis among the broken shards of bottles hiding in the black bag like a temple’s domestic security measure, my hand was used for war and thus was punished for it. Let the record know that I deeply loathe the writer of this series with enough venom to drown the sorry village you call a social circle.

I’m sorry I’m such a child. I’m sorry that I’m like this. I’m sorry that I’ve been such a loser. Please don’t forgive me for anything ever. Enact your vengeance on my tender flesh. Please.

Stop apologizing, you weak and worthless sorry individual. The coach never plays. Stuck in the past and never in the present, no wonder you’re all alone playing house with a bunch of half remembered flash backs. Pick yourself up and talk to a professional already, even if the worse happens at least you’ll be a danger to no one ever again.

We’re running in circles, I’ve been raving about the same issues for nearly a year now. It’s never going to get better if you don’t find some other foundation to build your house on, it may even be better than this.

[pablo--costa]

Limbus company and why I love the Spider house intervallo.

[buingu]

[goryhorroor]

“2000s horror movies had to adapt rapidly in the new decade. by 2005, the horror genre was as popular as ever. horror films routinely topped the box office, yielding an above-average gross on below-average costs. it seems that audiences wanted a good, group scare as a form of escapism.”

[sharggggg]

Am I In Control?

I’m glad the internally I’m a coward, who knows what I’m capable of if I wasn’t so hooked up on worry what other people think sometimes, worried about how it might not only just harm me but everyone else, I’ve already done enough of that. I try to convince myself that I don’t actually like the fantasies I indulge in when I’m stuck daydreaming over a crucial education, what if I can’t take the smell? What if I actually am squeamish and the texture of meat will make me regret it all? But sometimes, sometimes I want to go elbow deep. In the meat. I want the viscous tissue to stain the hair on my arms, I want to feel the small pinches that happen when you’ve neglected the ectoplasm enough for it to dry on your hair. I dream internally that it tastes delicious like rancid chicken, the worst meal you’ve ever had. Succulent, deliciously sweet, rot. Like discharge, I want to see the black oily fuel expand and retract between my fingertips like watching a fish breathe out of the water. I wish I wasn’t so prone to nosebleeds as a child, so desensitized to the sight of a massacre as my mother looked at me in horror with my big and wide pearly whites. Oh wow, Deja vu.

I keep thinking about that night, that one night that haunts me every time I have one of these nights. The kind that you’d 100% try to go back to and fix if you were given a method of doing so like a Time Machine. There’s not a shred of doubt in my mind that I had really been the worst kind of person that night, worse than anything I’ve ever done. I was a bad friend. The signs were there for years and I stood around like an idiot, like I always do, like I’m doing right now. I wish I called some kind of wellness check, a hospital of sorts, maybe a psychiatrist? I guess you ended up getting one any way, why won’t that event ever leave me? Why does it haunt me so, worse than anything else. Why I haven’t I told not a single soul about it. Maybe it’s because it’s something I’ve grown to regret the most, even if I was just a stupid kid. Was I even a kid? Is this an excuse for my actions? How old do you have to be to be exempt from ignorance. Is she even a factor or is it a mange of time, the gap between discovery.

I repeat this sentiment a lot that I hope I’m haunting someone and I think maybe that’s just a very petty yet often ignored cry for help to be remembered in some way, all of this started because I wanted to be seen the way I see myself and that became a self fulfilling prophesy in a way. Sometimes I worry I’m going to fall into older, more damaging habits. That someday I’m going to get in my car with binoculars and get myself into deep shit. I don’t know. I sound so fucking weird.

No one will understand it, no one will, and I both hope it stays like that and yet yearn that it will change. I want to love and understand as deeply as possible but I also just want to, do something really permanent. Am I bad? Am I an animal like I say I am? How do I get better if I am. Even if real atonement exists there’s no way the sentencing is ever going to leave the mind of the guilty.

They’re going to put down Cayman next week, it’s been a long time coming, far too long I’ll say. Poor bitch has been suffering for long enough and yet I’m the only one person who can see it, not like anyone in this house listens to me. To them I’m a smart alec mouthpiece of the leftist agenda, no one confides in me or wants to hear what I actually have to say. It’s become a running joke to them that I can recognize every time they’re feeding my dogs poison, they snide and ignore me when I start a conversation, I’m shrugged off like I’m not even in the room. I feel like I haven’t been properly seen in a very, very long time. I’m losing myself every day. Please someone, find me. Find me please. I need this. Someone please just fucking look at me, grab my face and never let go please just fucking see me, call me something, anything. Please please please.

Please acknowledge me before I make you.

[sharggggg]

Back Then When I Was Younger

I used to drink my own blood a lot due to my several bouts of nose bleeding, some kind of allergy thing or something. That sweet red ichor was so all-consuming and hypnotizing like a portal to hell; I remember the big smile I had on my face when my mom looked at me in horror as I had caked the entirety of the bathroom sink with my own tissue. That’s where it began, the scared look. I liked the scared look. Recognition. Forced confrontation of something directly in front of you. Forced confrontation of me, recognition of me. You saw me as an abject horror.

It definitely didn’t get better since then.

Yesterday I’d bombed the hell out of my chemistry exam enough to make myself go for a walk around campus, there was more people than usual because of some kind of sports event happening on the field. I was forced to confront my own kind of horror, that I craved to do something really really bad again. It’d began with hunger, but I’d already eaten. What was I craving? My saliva glands were swelling like a pregnant dam holding back a flood, my eyes were wild like a starved thing. My memory kept going back to a handful of images and nothing else, meat.

We used to go to this Korean BBQ place monthly I think, it was a shitty idea but I always went with the safest option because that’s the kind of hermit crab that I am. The marbled meat. Sweet and rich flesh. Fattened to perfection. There was an article I read that the diet of the human population had reduced human limbs to something akin to well marbled steaks, nothing from the extravagant world could compare to them. I kept thinking about Them. The both of them. All three of them. What if all five of them were in a room. Is this objectification, am I being gross again? I don’t know. My head was pulsing, it hurt like hell. I was holding it while walking around the park like I was struggling to carry a wedding cake, my glasses crashed onto the pavement enough times to look like a lame gag.

It was nothing new, I’ve been fantasizing about gulping down sweet metallic nectar for months now. Plans to do it always rose and fell upon remembering that I no longer had the privacy I once was so accustomed to, everyone would see, and I was so terrified of botching it again. Digging too deep. The flesh stares back. I would pour it into a mug brought over from my aunt’s house and savor each mole of a molecule like it was the last drop of water on Earth. Did I used to do this as a kid too? Did I get nosebleeds on purpose to taste it just one more time? God what is wrong with me.

Why am I so gross? Why couldn’t I stop myself from thinking about something so disgusting, it’s so gross! It wasn’t even romantic anymore, romance requires a party of two. This was gluttony. Pictures of pig-like kings and low-income neighbors with acne dotting their potbellies came to mind as I tried to rid myself of this train of thought. Why, why, why? Why am I so gross?

God what I’d do to have a connection that close again, not my previous relationships but literally that amount of closeness. I want to feel that hand tease the inside of my ribcage, cut me open like a blanket and use me. Take something from me.

The only victim of abuse as of late has been my poor Terry the Blahaj, I just tore another hole in him an hour ago because I remembered something or other. I still feel guilty about it, guilt so dearly that I began stroking him like back when I’d confide with my dogs. I’m sorry Terry. I’m sorry Cayman and Cooper. I’m sorry I do this. I’m just glad they can’t talk so I can at least pretend they hold some kind of anger or vendetta against me, hearing some kind of forgiveness or acceptance of my flaws would only break me again.

I hope you all hate me, it makes me feel a lot better.

[sharggggg]

I’m fucking disgusting.

[sharggggg]

Back Then When I Was Younger

I used to drink my own blood a lot due to my several bouts of nose bleeding, some kind of allergy thing or something. That sweet red ichor was so all-consuming and hypnotizing like a portal to hell; I remember the big smile I had on my face when my mom looked at me in horror as I had caked the entirety of the bathroom sink with my own tissue. That’s where it began, the scared look. I liked the scared look. Recognition. Forced confrontation of something directly in front of you. Forced confrontation of me, recognition of me. You saw me as an abject horror.

It definitely didn’t get better since then.

Yesterday I’d bombed the hell out of my chemistry exam enough to make myself go for a walk around campus, there was more people than usual because of some kind of sports event happening on the field. I was forced to confront my own kind of horror, that I craved to do something really really bad again. It’d began with hunger, but I’d already eaten. What was I craving? My saliva glands were swelling like a pregnant dam holding back a flood, my eyes were wild like a starved thing. My memory kept going back to a handful of images and nothing else, meat.

We used to go to this Korean BBQ place monthly I think, it was a shitty idea but I always went with the safest option because that’s the kind of hermit crab that I am. The marbled meat. Sweet and rich flesh. Fattened to perfection. There was an article I read that the diet of the human population had reduced human limbs to something akin to well marbled steaks, nothing from the extravagant world could compare to them. I kept thinking about Them. The both of them. All three of them. What if all five of them were in a room. Is this objectification, am I being gross again? I don’t know. My head was pulsing, it hurt like hell. I was holding it while walking around the park like I was struggling to carry a wedding cake, my glasses crashed onto the pavement enough times to look like a lame gag.

It was nothing new, I’ve been fantasizing about gulping down sweet metallic nectar for months now. Plans to do it always rose and fell upon remembering that I no longer had the privacy I once was so accustomed to, everyone would see, and I was so terrified of botching it again. Digging too deep. The flesh stares back. I would pour it into a mug brought over from my aunt’s house and savor each mole of a molecule like it was the last drop of water on Earth. Did I used to do this as a kid too? Did I get nosebleeds on purpose to taste it just one more time? God what is wrong with me.

Why am I so gross? Why couldn’t I stop myself from thinking about something so disgusting, it’s so gross! It wasn’t even romantic anymore, romance requires a party of two. This was gluttony. Pictures of pig-like kings and low-income neighbors with acne dotting their potbellies came to mind as I tried to rid myself of this train of thought. Why, why, why? Why am I so gross?

God what I’d do to have a connection that close again, not my previous relationships but literally that amount of closeness. I want to feel that hand tease the inside of my ribcage, cut me open like a blanket and use me. Take something from me.

The only victim of abuse as of late has been my poor Terry the Blahaj, I just tore another hole in him an hour ago because I remembered something or other. I still feel guilty about it, guilt so dearly that I began stroking him like back when I’d confide with my dogs. I’m sorry Terry. I’m sorry Cayman and Cooper. I’m sorry I do this. I’m just glad they can’t talk so I can at least pretend they hold some kind of anger or vendetta against me, hearing some kind of forgiveness or acceptance of my flaws would only break me again.

I hope you all hate me, it makes me feel a lot better.

[sharggggg]

Comedy works in Threes

Been too focused on real life to tackle my emotional issues again, the only pros to this is that I now have maybe enough money to begin therapy again and yet I’ll never feel comfortable enough at home to participate in it, it’s truly become a full house here.

Do you know exhausting it is to be so important to so many people’s lives despite how little it means to you, you do things only for the sake of your own interests and everyone suddenly worships you. My family thinks I’m well-adjusted, just a busy bee, so mature! They don’t know how rotted my mind, how I lust at the idea of cutting these arms open and chugging their contents after funneling them into what used to be my favorite mug. Favorite mug. I used to have a favorite mug didn’t I? Front row seats to its funeral with no fanfare. It was a shark, very typical of me.

Am I even real? Do I exist to someone outside of the internet and these halls? I hope I’m haunting someone, it feels like the only way I exist these days, I’m a rumor. Beware of the towering thing that wanders. The Grafton Monster is what I am, fear my noxious pores!!

Scaring people isn’t fun anymore when you’re the only person in on the joke. I spoke to a professor during lockdown at my campus, was a real fun. His voice was so shaky and he audibly gulped when I spoke in the weird way that I do. Didn’t even realize it was the first time I’ve spoke that day.

Spoken. Speak. Talk to. Will someone talk to me? No no no, you’re still in confinement like Hannibal. The skin hasn’t even been pulled from between your teeth and you ask for what, a connection? That privilege was lost long ago buddy. Keep whoring yourself out, you’ll find the right one next time. Well what if there isn’t a next time? What if it never happens? What if I’m never accepted anywhere? Dogs aren’t allowed in doors. I’m a bad dog. I’m a bad dog. I’m a bad dog.

Bad dogs go to sleep. For a long time. Why are my dogs being put to sleep? They were so good, the best of dogs. Why can’t I be put to sleep in their place? Oh dear, your gray muzzle and mud mottled fur, why are you leaving me, please don’t leave me. You’re the only thing that’s real to me, please please stop dying just stop it. Stop dying. You’re leaving me aren’t you? This is on purpose! You’re dying because. No.

You’re dying because nothing lasts forever. You’re dying and yet you still love me. I wish I wasn’t real. I wish I just like those other cryptids, just urban legends. I don’t want to be real anymore.

[sharggggg]

I just realized a terribly cruel irony. No one has bothered to check on me in months, just like how I’d been too cowardly to call anyone to help. Once you get the joke it’s just too funny to ignore, I’ve always hated the concept of manifest fate but maybe. Maybe the universe is laughing with me too, at me. I wish I was important enough to laugh with. Maybe that ball of gas has never considered the fact that I’m tired of laughing. I want to stop laughing now.

[sharggggg]

Comedy works in Threes

Been too focused on real life to tackle my emotional issues again, the only pros to this is that I now have maybe enough money to begin therapy again and yet I’ll never feel comfortable enough at home to participate in it, it’s truly become a full house here.

Do you know exhausting it is to be so important to so many people’s lives despite how little it means to you, you do things only for the sake of your own interests and everyone suddenly worships you. My family thinks I’m well-adjusted, just a busy bee, so mature! They don’t know how rotted my mind, how I lust at the idea of cutting these arms open and chugging their contents after funneling them into what used to be my favorite mug. Favorite mug. I used to have a favorite mug didn’t I? Front row seats to its funeral with no fanfare. It was a shark, very typical of me.

Am I even real? Do I exist to someone outside of the internet and these halls? I hope I’m haunting someone, it feels like the only way I exist these days, I’m a rumor. Beware of the towering thing that wanders. The Grafton Monster is what I am, fear my noxious pores!!

Scaring people isn’t fun anymore when you’re the only person in on the joke. I spoke to a professor during lockdown at my campus, was a real fun. His voice was so shaky and he audibly gulped when I spoke in the weird way that I do. Didn’t even realize it was the first time I’ve spoke that day.

Spoken. Speak. Talk to. Will someone talk to me? No no no, you’re still in confinement like Hannibal. The skin hasn’t even been pulled from between your teeth and you ask for what, a connection? That privilege was lost long ago buddy. Keep whoring yourself out, you’ll find the right one next time. Well what if there isn’t a next time? What if it never happens? What if I’m never accepted anywhere? Dogs aren’t allowed in doors. I’m a bad dog. I’m a bad dog. I’m a bad dog.

Bad dogs go to sleep. For a long time. Why are my dogs being put to sleep? They were so good, the best of dogs. Why can’t I be put to sleep in their place? Oh dear, your gray muzzle and mud mottled fur, why are you leaving me, please don’t leave me. You’re the only thing that’s real to me, please please stop dying just stop it. Stop dying. You’re leaving me aren’t you? This is on purpose! You’re dying because. No.

You’re dying because nothing lasts forever. You’re dying and yet you still love me. I wish I wasn’t real. I wish I just like those other cryptids, just urban legends. I don’t want to be real anymore.

[sharggggg]

[anajudraws]

࿔🌸

[candydream16]

the new episode was like if those my little pony gore animations were canon

[messthisbless]

I just wanna be part of your symphony~

this is them post game I believe

[sharggggg]

Please let me rid myself of this mottled skin, I don’t want to remain in these confines any longer. The chains that bind me to my filth refuse to tear as they dig deeper into my already brown and festering wounds, the rope now dyed a sickly beige viscera and tissue.

Why won’t you let me leave? I want to learn my lesson, let me go. LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO

Please.

[windsandstar]

[meiratheghost]

mother and daughter bonding