Favourite horror films (27/31)
dir. Takashi Miike
Favourite horror films (27/31)
dir. Takashi Miike
TASK 001: ABILITIES
power negation & physical immobilization: through physical contact, rin is able to nullify the abilities of her opponent and/or render them immobile. she typically wields her ability with the help of her BONE WHIPS — long, thin slips of silk fabric spun with her hair and structured by cartilage.
VISUALIZATION. although a simple physical touch is enough to employ her ability, rin prefers to use her bone whips. they are long, white slips of fabric that have been woven with her hair. she typically wields two — one in each hand. cartilage (from her own body) is used to give the fabric more structure, and all along the edge of the fabric, rib bone has been carved into tiny needle-like spikes that can attach onto the victim’s skin. the bone whips, when in use, give the appearance of a spider spinning its web.
POWER NEGATION. requires physical contact with the opponent. continuous contact is optimal, although a single touch can also suffice. the amount of time this ability can be used within depends on the mental strength and age of the opponent — vampires with stronger control mentally (usually older in age) are able to shake off rin’s negation more quickly. power negation can be a gamble — there is no clear cut indication of how long it will last, and the ability takes a mental drain on her; overuse can lead to inability for her own gift.
PHYSICAL IMMOBILIZATION. physical immobilization can be employed either to the entire body of her opponent or locally (to a specific body part she is in contact with; commonly by use of her bone whips). similar to power negation, a single touch is enough, although continuous contact is preferred. physical immobilization wears on her physically, although it is less volatile than power negation.
SPECIALIZATION. as rin’s abilities require physical contact, they are limited to short range combat. she uses her bone whip to make up for this — as it was constructed with her own hair and bone, contact with the whip acts the same as physical contact with her hands. each strand of fabric measures 1.9m in length and 20cm wide. the whips also allow her to concentrate her abilities. if the bone needles on the edge of the fabric penetrate her opponent’s skin, it becomes easier to use her abilities on them — especially when it comes to physical immobilization upon an isolated body part.
FUNCTION. rin serves (ironically) as an enforcer for the house of spider. under her mother, she punishes and, if necessary, takes out those that have wronged the house. however, due to the unpredictable nature of her abilities, she prefers to fight without her abilities.
INSPIRED BY. silk & ribbon dancing.
Summary: Pain. Betrayal. Murder. A friendship blackened by jealousy and resentment. When someone is threatening the lives of all his friends, Steve Rogers has to decide what’s more important: saving someone from his past, or saving his entire future.
Word count: 3165
Warnings: This one is a doozy guys. Hospitals, needles, knives, guns/implications of shooting, blood, amputation, torture, brainwashing, self harm, death wish, so much angst. It hurt me to write this one. PLEASE let me know if I missed anything I should have tagged. I did my best to catch them all.
A/N: This is probably going to be the longest chapter and was honestly the most painful for me to write. But it’s important to understand what Bucky went through to get to where we’re going. I’m sorry in advance. HUGE thank you to @morningstar-joy for beta reading. If you’d like to be added to any of my open taglists, click here!
Those were the first things Bucky could comprehend when he woke up.
Where am I? he thought, shivering against the cold. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened since…
He remembered the fight with Steve. The anger that lingered until their mission on the train. And then he fell. Someone must have found him and brought him here, but who? And where was here? How had he survived? Blinding pain shot through his left shoulder and Bucky groaned, gritting his teeth and forcing his eyes open. Bile rose in his throat as he looked down and realized with horror that his left arm was gone. His heart hammered in his chest and his breathing sped up as he attempted to move his remaining arm, only to find it was strapped to the bed. He looked down and saw he was in a hospital bed, and he was belted securely to it. A small feeling of calm permeated his fear and he glanced around and took in his surroundings. He was in a hospital. He was safe. Even with his arm gone, the people here would take care of him.
But why was it so dark? And where were the windows? This wasn’t like any army hospital he’d ever seen, and he’d seen some of the grimiest and dirtiest ones they had to offer. Just then, a doctor entered the room, with a soldier close behind. The sight of them didn’t do anything to calm the rising fear in Bucky. As they approached him, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his muscles tensed, desperate to run but held too tightly in place.
“He’s awake,” the doctor said, picking up a clipboard. “We can begin.” Their accent was thick and sent off alarm bells in Bucky’s head. He turned and glanced over at the soldier. Maybe if he could figure out which regiment he was with, Bucky could convince them to get him back to the Commandos. His eyes raked over the soldier’s uniform, and his stomach dropped when he found the HYDRA logo staring back at him.
“No…,” he breathed, the beeping of his heart rate monitor speeding up to match the racing he felt in his chest. This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t have him. Not again. HYDRA had already tortured and experimented on him once. He couldn’t take it again. He’d rather die.
Unfortunately for Bucky, the team of doctors that entered the room and surrounded him seemed determined not to let it happen. They worked on him around the clock, sometimes giving him pain medication, sometimes not. His howls of agony seemed to have little influence one way or the other, but it was all Bucky could do. They kept him tightly restrained while they worked on him, ignoring his cries for help.
There was no way to know how long he was strapped to that bed. A day? A week? He had no idea. His room had no windows or even clocks on the walls. The only way he could even tell time had passed was through the changing faces of the doctors that came and went. They poked and prodded at him, taking vial after vial of his blood away only to come back and take more again later. Eventually, they moved on to his shoulder, and Bucky learned what pain truly was. He couldn’t bring himself to look as they worked, despite the overwhelming urge to know what they were doing. The pain was unbearable. Bucky struggled against his restraints and screamed until he could taste blood in his throat. He begged everyone he saw to stop, to let him go or to let him die, but none of them even acknowledged him. They kept at their work, speaking to each other only in languages Bucky couldn’t understand. Tools whirred and tore through him and even though he didn’t want them to see, he couldn’t help the tears that poured from his eyes.
Finally, after what felt like days, they stopped. The sounds of the tools died, but the pain Bucky felt didn’t. It radiated from his shoulder and through his chest, seeming to spread further with every beat of his heart. The doctors stepped back and made way for a group of soldiers to wheel something in. Bucky tried to turn his head and look, but he was too exhausted to focus. He could only lie there as helpless as ever as they attached something to his shoulder. The moment it connected, a fresh wave of searing pain shot through him, eliciting a whimper from his lips. The doctor nearest to him leaned down and released the restraint on his right wrist. Shock passed over Bucky’s face as he looked up at the doctor.
“Go ahead, Sergeant Barnes,” they said. “Take a look.” Bucky looked down and raised his right arm and gasped at what he saw. At the same time he lifted his right arm, a matching arm of shining silver raised beside it. The metallic limb stretched up and connected at his shoulder, replacing the one he’d lost. Bucky shuddered gently as he looked down at his hands, one flesh and one metal, and turned them over together. He winced in pain as his new metal limb moved. It reacted to his wishes just as his other one had, except every twitch of his fingers and every flex of his hand sent lightning bolts of pain dancing along his nerves. The pain brought fresh tears to his eyes, but whether that was from his agony or his trauma, he wasn’t certain.
“What did you do to me?” he whispered, his eyes never leaving his hands. The doctors didn’t answer, they just began speaking in their language again as one of them moved over to strap Bucky back down. He watched him with wide eyes and shook his head, anger rising in him. He wouldn’t let them. Before he could even think, he lashed out with his new metal arm and wrapped his hand around the nearest doctor’s throat. He ignored the pain as he squeezed, and the rest of the room exploded in a flurry of activity. Doctors and soldiers screamed in various languages, pulling themselves and their equipment as far from Bucky as they could. The doctor in his grip thrashed and pushed at the metal limb choking him as Bucky squeezed harder, his mind black with rage. His fingers dug in tighter and as he felt he was about to end the life in his hand, another doctor appeared on his right and shoved a needle into his neck. And everything went dark.
Dreams slipped in and out of Bucky’s mind as he rolled through his drug-induced sleep. Most of them didn’t stay long enough for him to remember, but the pieces of them were all the same. He saw the train he fell from, and the friends he left behind. He saw Steve, clinging to the tattered remains of the train car and watching him plunge to his doom. He could hear voices calling his name but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t call back. When he woke again, he was handcuffed to his bed, and his room was nearly empty. The monstrosity they had attached to his left shoulder was still there, and still causing him unspeakable pain. He wanted it off. He needed it off. Now. He yanked his right arm as hard as he could and was surprised that the handcuffs restraining him snapped like they were made of plastic. He pulled his metal arm free in the same fashion and reached over to dig the fingers of his right hand into the remnants of his left shoulder. He screamed and clawed at the place where metal met flesh, not stopping even as blood began to coat his face. The lone doctor in the room shouted for help and more people streamed in, running toward Bucky and holding him down. He screamed louder and fought them as hard as he could. Two doctors were caught in his grip and flung across the room before another prick of a needle in his neck sent him back into a fitful sleep.
The next time he awoke, Bucky was in a different room. It was much larger with darker walls and even more strange-looking equipment. Thick metal restraints pinned his wrists and ankles down and didn’t budge against his struggles.
“Hello, Sergeant Barnes.”
Bucky looked up at the man who addressed him and let his brow furrow in thought. He looked familiar, but Bucky couldn’t quite place him. A white lab coat hung on his short frame and wire-rimmed glasses adorned his round face. He moved toward Bucky and checked the machine beside him.
“My name is Arnim Zola,” he said, writing something down on the clipboard in his hands. “Please excuse the excessive restraints, but after that last episode we needed to ensure the proper precautions were in place.”
“Please,” Bucky whimpered. “Please kill me.”
“Not an option,” Zola said flatly. “You see, the Red Skull is dead. As is Dr. Erskine. That means the only remaining sample of the super soldier serum is what was injected into you. And it is far too valuable to let go to waste.”
“Please…,” Bucky begged again.
“That is not the only unfortunate news I have come to bear,” Zola continued, as though Bucky hadn’t even spoken. “Steve Rogers has also tragically died.” The words cut through Bucky like a knife and sent his heart plummeting in his chest.
“N-No,” he stammered. “He…he can’t be.”
“I’m afraid so,” Zola said. “After your accident on the train, the captain continued with his mission uninterrupted and died after a rather harrowing battle with the Red Skull. He’s being celebrated as somewhat of a hero already.” A twinge of something other than grief prickled in the back of Bucky’s mind as he listened to Zola speak. The doctor smirked slightly, seeming pleased at his reaction, and wrote something else down.
“Statues are already being built in his honor,” he continued. “People have thrown parades. Children don his costume. All anyone in America can talk about is the great war hero Captain America.”
It was jealousy. That was the feeling that was gnawing on Bucky’s brain, behind the loss. Jealousy not that Steve was being praised, but that he was dead. Steve was dead, resting peacefully in a grave while Bucky was being held by HYDRA for a second time, spending every waking second in blinding agony.
“You know,” Zola said after a beat. “He didn’t even come back for your body. He just went on with his mission. Captain Rogers left you in that valley, broken and bleeding, and all alone. Just waiting for us to find you.”
Anger now. It flashed red hot through Bucky and his vision blurred. He tried not to give in to it. He knew what Zola was doing. This was exactly the kind of reaction he was hoping for, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to rob him of that satisfaction. Steve wouldn’t have just left him. Even with the fight they’d had, it wasn’t his way. But then how did HYDRA get to him first? Steve and the other Howling Commandos would have had a decent idea of where the train was when Bucky fell. If he’d wanted to come back for him, he would have. But he didn’t. He left Bucky all alone for HYDRA to claim once more. Doubt and anger still wrestled in his mind as Zola leaned in close and whispered in his ear.
“He could have saved you.”
The rest of their interaction was all a blur to Bucky. Zola wrote some more things down and barked some orders at the doctors in the room before he left. Bucky didn’t even struggle against his bonds when they approached him and pushed something else into his IV, and he slipped into darkness once more.
HYDRA worked tirelessly over the following weeks to repair the parts of Bucky that had been broken in the fall. He pieced together what he could from the snippets he heard in English, and it seemed like they were surprised by how quickly those repairs were happening. Zola in particular seemed both pleased and intrigued by this and ordered a battery of new tests be performed. Bucky soon discovered the kinds of tests he was referring to weren’t going to involve just samples of his blood.
It started small, with tiny pricks of needles around his body that were watched intently until they healed. Once the doctors were satisfied with those results, they moved on to the bigger tools. They carved into his flesh with whatever tools they could find, ignoring his wailing as they recorded the time it took for them to heal. When they were satisfied with one result, they moved on to their next tool; scalpels, knives, varying calibers of bullets, concoctions injected into his veins that burned like fire and sent him into seizures. He was starved and dehydrated to the brink of death, deprived of sleep, subjected to subzero and blazing temperatures all while a team of people watched and took notes. Each experiment was worse than the last, and through them all not one person batted an eye. No matter how much Bucky screamed, cried, or begged for death, not a single one of them lifted a finger to help.
When their torture of Bucky’s body went too far and he needed time between tests, HYDRA turned to tormenting his mind. He was sedated just enough for them to move him safely to another room where he was strapped to a chair facing a single screen. There, he was forced to watch newsreel after newsreel of Steve’s accomplishments. They spoke to him while he watched, telling him how many people celebrated Steve, how history books already bore his name, and how not a single recounting of his successes mentioned Bucky. At first, Zola was there, speaking the words as he watched. But after a while, Bucky didn’t know how long, a woman took his place. The voice was different, but the words stayed the same.
“You should be resting. Like Steve is.”
“This rusted-out hovel is your home now.”
“The year you were born, that they carved into your tombstone.”
“You’ll never see the sunrise again.”
“Be useful to us or you’ll burn.”
“Nine men under Steve Rogers’ command.”
“He was supposed to be harmless. A show pony.”
Возвращение на родину-Homecoming
“You’re never going back.”
“Only one of his men died.”
Товарный вагон-Freight car
“He could have saved you.”
He tried so hard to fight it. He tried to keep his mind his own and not let HYDRA take anything else from him. He was Bucky Barnes. A soldier. A brother. A friend. He couldn’t let HYDRA win. Every night before he slept, Bucky repeated his name over and over, almost like a prayer. But when he finally let sleep take him, he was plagued by the same dreams. Giant statues of Steve carved from marble and gold with mourners gathered at their bases. They leave flowers and offerings for the slain soldier, crying tears for a man they never knew. None of them notice Bucky within the crowd, lying broken and helpless on the snow-covered ground. He begs them for help but none of them even notice. They step over him to get to Steve’s monuments and lament over the life of their treasured captain. Before he wakes every morning, his eyes meet the likeness of Steve, and the statue turns to him and repeats the same words.
“He could have saved you.”
Try as he might, there was no fighting the anger and resentment that grew as Bucky’s time with HYDRA wore on. Steve was the reason he was here, being subjected to the worst hell he could imagine. If he’d listened to Bucky and Gabe, the mission would have been successful, and Bucky would be home in Brooklyn with his family. But he hadn’t. So here Bucky was, a plaything for HYDRA’s scientists. He stopped fighting when they moved him from room to room. He stopped screaming when they found new ways to test his limits. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Nobody was coming to save him. Everyone thought him dead, all because Steve left him where he fell. There was no way to tell how long his torment lasted. Days turned to weeks. Weeks to months. Then years. And decades. When they were satisfied they knew as much as they could learn about his body, Bucky was forced to train for hours at a time, mastering not only every weapon that was placed before him but hand-to-hand combat and a handful of languages as well. He was taught how to blend into a crowd, how to gain access to even the most secure facilities, and how to take a life in the most efficient way possible and leave no trace behind. As time wore on, Bucky lost more of himself. Small things went first. He could remember he had a sister. But what was her name? He knew he’d been in the Army. Or was it the Air Force? There was something important about New York, wasn’t there? What was his name again? He forgot almost everything he’d ever known, but when he closed his eyes at night, he always saw the same face. A blonde-haired man with a blinding smile that he felt nothing but the deepest contempt for.
Eventually, HYDRA realized they had done all they could and decided to put their weapon on ice.
“We’ll wake him up when we need him,” he heard someone say.
And they did. He was frozen and reawakened and frozen again dozens of times over the years, pulled from his sleep for whatever mission HYDRA needed him for. The faces of the people he reported to were never the same, but the words they used always were. They readied him and aimed him at target after target, and like a good weapon, he never missed. A president. An inventor and his wife. A scientist protected by a vaguely familiar-looking redhead. All of them fell once he had them in his sights. He never asked any questions. Even when the faces of his targets seemed to always transform into the same blonde-haired man from his dreams as they died. Questions wouldn’t do him any good anyway. He doubted there was anyone alive that could tell him why he fantasized about killing a man whose name he’d long forgotten.
But as he took aim at the target who’d slipped through his fingers earlier that day, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone who might be able to tell him why that blonde man was walking into the apartment he had his rifle aimed at.
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“Please bring experiment 015 to the Hummingbird Room, please.”
“Alright Lunacy. Remember...It’s only a quick test and then you can go outside and play with all the other kiddos, okay?”
“....you said that before, but then papa got mad at me for playing with the other kids.”
“Papa isn’t going to find out this time, okay? Just do your best in the testing and it’ll be over before you know it.”
The hallway felt like a long hallway. The kind that was just an never-ending kind. You could walk and walk, just keep walking and there was just no end. She remembers when walking down this hallway, no matter HOW many times she walked it she always felt a wave of nervousness, fear, and hatred toward everyone in this facility. Except for HER. She was the only one in this damned place that did her best. The only one who treated her to some delicious sweets.
The moon child would enter a room. The only room for her where the glass surrounding her played as mirrors, but cameras for those on the other side to look in. She couldn’t see them, but they could see her. She’d be told to sit on the chair and the chair would lean back to where she was then on her back. They stick needles, sharp objects into her skin, and so much more. Even for someone monstrous as her with her fast regenerative healing EVERYTHING is painful. Lunacy screams, cries, and she’s tried breaking free on multiple occasions.
Eventually things are calmed. The people who were once in the room running tests on this child are out of the room. People on the other side circled in a corner, holding a small meeting, discussing what other tests needs to be done on this child.
Kachina watches this in silence. She watches perched on top a tree, red eyes watching those child ones looking right up at her. This child sees her, but says nothing. Instead, when the child looks to her side, she acknowledges someone else standing right there.
“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with them talking about all the other tests I can endure?” Lunacy sits up, but doesn’t move from the reclined seat. The little needle markings and injuries has already been healed, but the little girl still rubs at the sore spots.
CLARKE GRIFFIN WEEK 2021 ⇢ DAY 3: Favorite Trait -- Self-Sacrificing
I bear it, so they don’t have to.
you look for size 5 yarn. you only have size 6. they have no labels. what size are they? you only have size 4.
you have needles of all sizes. you have 3.75mm, 5mm, 6mm, 6.5mm, and 8mm. you do not have 8mm knitting needles, you never did. you decide to use 6.5mm needles. you do not have 6.5mm needles. the packaging reads "6.5mm" but the needles read "8mm." you have 2 8mm needles and 1 6.5mm needle. where did it come from? why is the packaging wrong?
you have 3.75mm and 5mm needles. you are using 6.5mm needles. you do not have any needles.
the yarn is a size 7.
They’re gonna shake you to the bone! >:]
Some Halloween themed bench trio fanart! :D I hope you like it!
[commissions are opened! Check the pinned message]
Tw// mentions of sh and needles
So Thursday I have a consultation and potentially fitting for the implant (lil bar in my arm to stop crotch goblins making home in my uterus and to hopefully stop my horrific my painful periods).
One problem my left arm. Has a fair few barcodes. And they aren’t gonna fade in time. And I know they will need to put it in my less dominant arm. But like… no I can’t have them seeing that they will call my parents.
Well another issue. I’m not scared of needles. Injections make me feel weird but not scared. However this isn’t just any needle it’s decently big so that’s making me slightly anxious.
Any advice/things to help?
I have to go in for a blood test today and I’m not looking forward to it at all. I’m required to fast, and I need to request they lie me down beforehand ‘cause I’ll faint otherwise, and it always makes me feel awful. ;_;
I also drew a Quintesson to indulge my hunger for making weird and scary things.
In the AU I'm fiddling with the Quintesson are the ones who created and wield Mnemosurgery the best (and also know how to handle its dangerous effects better) just a little context.
I gave Mitchie a gift today. After they gave me all of those thoughtful mementos and joined me for that wonderfully romantic dinner, I thought it was time to make a major move- something big and flashy, but still very personal. It would show off my not-so-newly cultivated creative side, express just how much I care about them, and would snap them out of their delusional attachment to the knock-off. It was a tall order, but of course, I managed to do all three :)
D.S.: Okay Mitchie! I'm all done with the finishing touches. Are you ready for your surprise?
K.E.W.K.: I don't want anything you have to give me. I told you, I just want to see Sal!
D.S.: Don't be like that, I worked really hard on this... oh! Bring your laptop, you're going to want it when we get in there.
D.S.: C'mon, you'll see ;)
I unlocked their chain from the bed, and they followed me to the door of the bedroom. Before I unlocked it, I prepared them for the big reveal.
D.S.: So, before you go in there, keep in mind I didn't have a ton of time to set it all up, and I didn't have all the supplies I wanted for it, so I did the best I could with what I had already... that being said, I am really proud of this piece! It's some of my best work, considering.
K.E.W.K.: Whatever. Just show me your stupid 'piece' and get it over with.
... you're gonna let me see him after I look at it, right...?
D.S.: Oh, you won't have to wait until after.
D.S.: Whew! Oooh, I'm so excited...~ Okay, okay, breathe, Sally...
I took a deep breath and swung the door open for them. Just like when I served them that amazing dinner, they were completely blown away when they saw it.
D.S.: Ta-da~ I call it, 'The Knock-Off Messiah'
....sooo? Whadaya think? Do you-
They tried to run to it. I stepped on their chain and stopped them just short of reaching it, then tugged them back toward me.
D.S.: Hey! No touching the artwork, mister! It took me forever to get it just right-
K.E.W.K.: SHUT UP!! LET ME GO, I HAVE TO GET HIM DOWN FROM THERE!
D.S.: I don't think you're gonna be able to get your toy down without a hammer to pry out those nails... I'll tell you what- once you're done with your goretober prompt for the day, I'll let you borrow mine. Deal?
K.E.W.K.: What the fuck are you talking about?! How the hell do you expect me to draw something for you right now?!
K.E.W.K.: You think this shit is funny? You sick fucking prick, I can't fucking believe you did this!!
D.S.: No, no, I'm not laughing at you, Mitchie... I'm laughing because you said [chuckling] 'hell' [laughing] and it reminded me... I forgot to tell you yesterday! [laughing] oh man... So, when I was making dinner for you, your Chatty Cathy was making this huge fuss after I snipped off its toes, right? So, that gave me the idea to make tongue the main course because I was sick of hearing it complain, and as I was getting everything ready to start cutting it out and clean it, the thing asks me, [mocking] 'Is this hell? Is this my punishment for failing everyone? I'm in Hell, aren't I...' [cackling] It actually thinks its in literal hell. How funny is that? I guess I really lived up to my nickname, huh mitchie? ;)
D.S.: [chuckling] Anyway, I was hoping this would inspire you! You inspired me to make it, after all~
K.E.W.K.: How? How could I have possibly inspired you to do this to him?
D.S,: Well, you seem to like drawing me looking pretty christ-like. I think it's super flattering, but the knock off ruined your fun before you could get to any of the gritty stuff. I wanted to give you a little push to motivate you to draw that kind of thing, anyway.
If I draw him, you'll let me get him down, right?
D.S.: Sure, if you really want to.
Mitchie sat down and quickly started sketching. They drew some scribbles and looked like they were getting ready to call it good, but they kept noticing all the little details I'd included, and couldn't resist adding them in themselves. After about half an hour had passed, they started asking me questions about my piece.
K.E.W.K.: ...Why does he have the eye mask on if he can't see anymore?
D.S.: I thought it was fitting- the symbolism of the rabbit, the role reversal between you at the beginning and it now, how it looks kinda like the blindfold I wore when I was first executed... and that eye socket is looking pretty nasty right now. Lots of like, discharge and stuff. Sure, the classic biblical paintings have plenty of blood, but they're never gory. Gotta fit the vibe, y'know?
K.E.W.K.: Yeah, that's true... What's with the duct tape?
D.S.: It's been a consistent theme- it's the bondage that kept you prisoner, that you and the copy used in your little kinky roleplay, and what I've been using on you both during our little play sessions... Plus it kept trying to rip its hands from the boards, and you can only hammer them down again so many times before they start to fall apart like tissue paper.
K.E.W.K.: What about his mouth? Why did you sew it shut? He can't talk anymore...
D.S.: Oh, an Anon suggested it and I thought I'd throw it in there. And yes, he technically can't talk, but he can still make some really weird creepy noises and I just really didn't want to deal with all that.
They drew for another couple hours. We chatted on and off, but mostly just sat together in a comfortable silence, taking in the view. They showed me their drawing when they were done, and asked my opinion for the first time.
D.S.: I think that looks pretty damn good, Mitchie. The best one you've done so far this month, though your proportions are still kind of wonky... but it's progress :)
K.E.W.K.: .... Thanks...
D.S.: Of course, Mitchie. So, you wanna get your doll down and take it to bed?
They got up and approached my art to look at it up close. They stared at it for a very long time, taking it all in, but didn't speak.
D.S.: ...Do you want the hammer? I can go get it for you.
They started to sniffle, then cry, then bawl. They sobbed openly in front of the cross, their face in their hands.
D.S.: Aww, Mitchie, don't cry.... what's wrong?
K.E.W.K.: I..... [sobbing] I don't.....
D.S.: Shh, shhh.... it's alright... what is it? You can tell me. It's just us two here....
[sobbing] I can't.....! I can't do this anymore! [sobbing] I can't keep doing this.... I....
D.S.: What is it? What can't you do?
K.E.W.K.: I can't stand doing this! I can't keep pretending, I'm so tired... I'm so fucking tired of lying and putting up with shit and being so nice all the time just because I feel guilty about how other people will feel!! .... I..... that's not really who I am. I... [sobbing] I'm so awful.... I'm a bad person and nobody knows it but me...
D.S.: I know.
D.S.: I know. You showed everyone that last November.... but your fun got ruined then, too... by the knock-off.
D.S.: You had a lot of fun, right? Torturing it? Making it squirm and cry and beg you to stop? It excited you, didn't it? I read all your posts, you can't lie to me. :)
D.S.: I know you, Mitchie. I understand you on a level that this thing could never dream of... that's why I've been showing you how much fun it is to indulge that side of yourself. It was holding you back, but I won't. I never will. I promise.
....he... was a lot different, after you split.... I can admit that. I thought that I had broken him, and that he just needed time to recover, but even after almost a year, it's... he's just.... not what I thought I was getting, you know? I had all these fantasies that I indulged in before, but lucky me got to experience the 'real thing', and it's....
D.S.: ...Go on, be honest, you know I'm not gonna judge....
K.E.W.K.: ... It's boring. It's nothing like I wanted it to be, but we went through all this shit and then made up, and everybody was rooting for us and saw all the fucked up shit I did to him and they had all these expectations for how I would fix it... I had to pick up the pieces and keep him around, or people would hate me.... I was hoping this vacation would help spark something between us again and I wouldn't be so goddamn miserable, but I was over here faking it the whole time so I wouldn't get cancelled... and now I'm stuck taking care of him for the rest of my life? Fuck that!!
D.S.: [cackling] See? Doesn't it feel good to say that stuff out loud?
K.E.W.K.: .... you know what, it really does? [laughing]
D.S.: I knew it [laughing] You don't need to be ashamed of who you are anymore. You never did! You don't have to lie, or be nice, or settle for putting up with that cheap, brainless copy of me for another minute. You can leave all that here, and you can do all the things you've been fantasizing about, but were too afraid to do until now, because I'm here. I want to help you be free, Mitchie. You won't have a care in the world, and you'll never ever have to feel guilty about anything you do ever again....
Will you let me do that for you?
Yeah, I will.
But first, let's get this thing down and get some rubbing alcohol in that eye socket..... We don't want it croaking on us before the 31st, right? :3
D.S.: There's the Mitch I know and love! [chuckling] I'll go get that hammer and the first aid kit....~ :)
TW: EYE STRAIN, BLOOD, NEEDLES, AND PINS
I’m not very good with death. I don’t mean that I fear it, in fact the ambiguity of “after” doesn’t bother me much. If we all wake up and have breakfast with Jesus that would be stellar. If we go into a calming void, so be it. What I have an issue with is the before. When your body and mind become deteriorated, what’s left to express the soul? What’s left to sit and be.
It’s the just before that makes me quake. It’s like the tensing just before a needle goes in. It’s the slow green gradient that covers the sky before a tornado. The weary knowledge that this cannot be stopped, and yet there’s that time to brace. Not knowing quite how far the needle will go in, or when the funnel will touch down.
Judgement or reincarnation are at least some form of catharsis. The Great Bracing. That I can’t stand
Part Two of my Spooky’s Jumpscare Mansion/Six the Musical crossover for Halloween
just uhhh had my blood drawn for the first time. it wasn’t awful but it wasn’t great
The experiments began when he was 4, just a few months after Amara and Jesse divorced. Alucard was just playing around with a few toys of his and having fun, when Jesse decided to take him to his lab for the first time.. it was exciting for Alucard! He's never been to his dad's lab before, and had always wanted to go in it! He was so happy, so happy and curious-.. but of course, that bit of happiness didn't last long; He was screaming, crying and kicking around.. he never liked needles, he always cried whenever a doctor tried putting a needle in him but most of the time, he had his mom to comfort him as he cried.
This time, he didn't, he had no one to comfort him as he cried. By the time the experiment was done, he was a sobbing and screaming mess, and he was terrified of even being touched.
(I don't have a sense of smell. Please inform me if there is a smell that fits here)