#eye surgery mention | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snowe-zolynn-rogers · 4 months

Text

The Eclipses Show

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,485 Words

Summary: The Backup wakes up a day after his death and Solar makes a deal with him.

Warnings: Injury, Eye Trauma, Limb Loss, Head Trauma, Cursing, Blood Loss (Oil), Surgery (kinda), Dead Bodies (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 2: The Bitch Came Back

Eclipse gave a pained groan as he woke up, turning onto his side and his claws dug into the padded floor under them, eyes cracking open. Well, one of them opened. His right eye was there, the other was nowhere to be found and the wires were fizzling with sparks of violently disconnected machinery.

His left arm. He couldn’t feel it, but he could see it there. He tried to flex its fingers but, ultimately, it didn’t move. He looked at his body and found he was missing from his right thigh down and his back felt like a train had run him over.

“Oh Jesus fuck.” He heard a voice and looked up at a copy of himself. Wait…the other Eclipse? The nice one? He groaned and pressed his face into the padded floor to wince at the way his rays were bent at uneven angles and some broken off.

He tried to retract his rays to show he was in pain, that he wasn’t going to do anything. God, it was a migraine. Some were broken off and the warped metal slid into his faceplate with a high scratching sound like nails on a chalkboard. Others simply didn’t pull in at all, too warped to do so without breaking his faceplate off entirely.

“Okay. Alright. How the fuck did you survive even?” The other Eclipse asked.

“Dunno.” He answered honestly. “Put me down. Please.” Eclipse told him. He had made it easy, all the other had to do was yank out his wires from the back of his head, which was exposed to him. Maybe step on and crush his circuit board and take out and break his personality chip.

It would be so easy to just kill him and get it over with, but-

“No. Sit up.” The other demanded. Eclipse gave a look back at him and slowly sat up with his right arm as support, shaking with effort that just sitting up was for him right now.

His head pounded and his back throbbed with exposed internal workings, his right leg was stinging with pain and oil loss. He was woozy from the effects his body gave. Loosing oil was like losing blood and warnings were flashing in his eyes that he was within critical damage and his oil was at past critical low levels. He would die if he tried to move one more time probably.

“Look me in my eyes and tell me why I should let you live.” The other demanded of him.

“You shouldn’t.” He immediately told him. This seemed to take the other by surprise a bit.

“Alright. Then you sit still until I give you an oil transfusion.” The other knelt with him, moving his right stump, clamping the oil lines there with a piece of twine, probably what he had on him that would do the job. But it did stop the oil loss.

Eclipse did as the other asked, stayed where he was. Though he was questioning why he was being helped instead of killed and his dead body thrown into the portal to his old dimension for Moon to torment and destroy.

Solar came back with a machine full of a gallon of oil, which he put into an oil line in his right arm with tape over it so the needle wouldn’t simply fall out and leave an extra wound where he was leaking oil.

“Why are you helping me?” Eclipse asked.

“Look. I don’t give a fuck if you’re evil or whatever. I can’t kill you. I physically can’t. I’ll have a nervous breakdown over it and I know it. It would be like killing myself. I am not putting my mental state into that place. So you are gonna fuckin sit here, take your oil replacement, let me fix you, and you are going to be a good person after. Got that? I will fix you and you will behave. Or I will ship you to Moon otherwise. Then you get to beg for mercy he doesn’t have for you.” The other told him.

“Th-Thank you.” Eclipse sat letting the oil fix the detrimental levels in his systems. He simply let the other, maybe he could call him Solar?, look at his injuries and begin to get the parts together to go to Parts & Service.

By the time the oil was in his system, Eclipse felt less deathly sick, less trembly and dizzy with oil loss. Solar? had looked over his exposed internal machinery in his back and had thankfully not found anything damaged. Solar had also replaced his back casing already and calibrated it while the oil was transfusion was running into his system.

“Alright, up you go, hobbles.” Solar demanded him, unhooking the oil transfusion machine and took Eclipse’s right hand, hooking his other hand under Eclipse’s left ribs. Oh…his left arm was a goner of Solar wouldn’t even touch it to support him. So he was losing two limbs today.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna drop ya.” Solar told him, putting Eclipse’s arm over his shoulders and letting himself be used as a can on Eclipse’s right side for his lost right leg. Eclipse winced with walking but Solar must be proving he could still use his left leg on the wait down to Parts & Service.

Eclipse gave a groan as Solar set him into the tube’s chair and put the new white and blue full right leg and a whole black and purple arm into the part machine. He also could see a new green and black faceplate and a pink left eye.

“This might be a little painful, it has to take off the remains of your right leg and left arm to attach the new ones and it’s going to take your rays out.” Solar told him.

“Solar?” Eclipse asked.

“Is that what you’re gonna call me?” Solar asked with a chuckle. “Yeah, what?” Solar asked.

“Can…Can you hold my hand?” Eclipse asked.

“Yeah, fine.” Solar stepped into the tube with him and shut the door, slipping his left hand to hold Eclipse’s right hand in his own. It made Eclipse relax to have someone with him when this process was absolutely terrifying.

He saw the machine begin to do its work, disconnecting his right leg at the hip joint and his left arm at his shoulder joint. He shut his eye tight and tried to focus on the feeling of Solar holding his hand, anything but the searing pain of disconnected limbs.

The tube connected the new limbs and started instantaneous calibration. Eclipse opened his right eye to see the machine descending an arm and taking off his remaining faceplate and rays and he squeezed Solar’s hand as it put his new left eye in and replaced faceplate.

“It’s over. Breathe.” Solar assured him and Eclipse nodded softly, taking a big breath to assure Solar.

“Alright. Let’s get back to the daycare and get you new clothes. You can’t go around with half your clothes basically.” Solar told him.

“Thank you.” Eclipse was a bit shaky on his new leg but he held to Solar’s hand still, letting Solar lead him to the daycare.

Once there, Solar threw a pair of black pants and a night cap with white constellations on them and a black shirt and new black and white ruffles. An entirely new outfit. It looked like it was a moon model’s kind of outfit.

“Yeah, we almost had a Star and Sky model here. Turns out Fazbear didn’t like their AIs and wanted to just scrap them. I kept their base models and outfits because I figured maybe I might need em. I’ll probably replace your casing for Star’s later so you match or whatever. Just so they don’t question why you’re here. I can say you just activated for some reason.” Eclipse looked at him with a cringe.

“You really kept two basically dead bodies?” Eclipse scrunched his nose at that.

“It’s not like we don’t already.” Solar gestured upstairs meaning his brothers.

“Oh…” Eclipse realized Solar must not have had an easy separation from that. He decided not to pick at it and simply went to get changed into the outfit.

When Eclipse came back, he saw Solar and his Moon. A temporary panic came over him as he saw Solar’s Moon.

“Eclipse, this is Crescent.” Solar introduced him.

“Hi, extra parasite.” Crescent greeted him.

“Be nice. Please.” Solar sighed.

“What? He is.” Crescent growled. Solar gave a bigger sigh and pinched his nose in annoyance.

There was suddenly a rustling in the ball pit and Solar and Eclipse looked up to see a third Eclipse in the ball pit looking panicked and confused as he looked at Solar and Eclipse.

“And now you have fucking two friends here! Worthless parasite, come get your little child!” Crescent announced angrily.

“Oh fuck.” Solar breathed out.

#sun and moon show #sams #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #the eclipses show au #fnaf eclipse #fnaf solar #fnaf good eclipse #fnaf evil moon #fnaf crescent #snoweywrites #tw injury mention #tw eye trauma mention #tw limb loss mention #tw head trauma mention #tw surgery mention #tw blood loss mention #tw dead body mention

24 notes · View notes

jokerislandgirl32 · 2 months

Text

So I’m Adding Another Fella to the F/O List…

And it’s another Joaquin Phoenix character….Merrill Hess from Signs 2002!

Aside from the fact that Merrill is soooo very handsome and such a talented baseball player (two of the main reasons I’m fawning over him, lol), he’s also a family centered man with such a caring heart and protective and positive attitude. Ahhhh, I can’t help it…I simply love and adore him as a character.

Merrill is kind of an interesting f/o for me because he’s become a character I have periodically returned to every time I experience severe depression/ death in my life. I routinely watch this movie after funerals, after my eye surgeries (well listened since I couldn’t watch), and after having pretty bad depressive spells. This movie/Merrill have helped to reaffirm my faith and strength during these dark times. So, it’s like he’s become something of a ray of sunshine within my life admidst the darkness.

Soooo, I decided why wait, why not go ahead and add him to the f/o list! He’s more of a secondary romantic f/o, kind of like how Grinch is for me, Zach and Arthur are still primary, but Merrill’s invaded my headspace, lol. Sooooo….Added ✅ .

My f/o tag for him will be #merrill my heart 💙

The tag I’m using for any alternative universe fics I may post with him and my s/i will be #swing away sunshine au

My s/i for the Signs Universe is Emmaline Grace Hess #emmmaline grace

And the ship name for Merrill and Emmaline is #merraline

I don’t have too much to say regarding the relationship between Emmaline and Merrill just yet, but this is my most spicy coded selfship aside from the one I have with Zach….hehe.

Selfship Taglist below cut! Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

@snailchans-imaginarium @crunch-crunch-eat-a-bunch @changingcore @bitchywitchheart @stoatsapphic @3qu1us-main @benreillyswife @creativegenius22 @genderqueer-bithing @serenitytodd1234 @mailiow @celestetheseaunicorn @barnesncavill @mayixxxmoon @gui-mauves @evander2511 @bat-anon @kajiiswife

#self ship #selfship #merrill hess #signs 2002 #merrill my heart 💙#swing away sunshine au #emmaline grace #f/o x s/i #new f/o #romantic f/o #tw death mention #tw depression mention #tw funeral #tw eye surgery mention #merraline

12 notes · View notes

whumpshaped · 9 months

Text

Epilogue – Dusk

there u go :) last chappy...

Dollhouse Masterlist

tw major character death, funeral, aftermath of trauma, paranoia, anxiety, police mention, hospital stay, murder mention, alcohol mention, implied past alcohol problems, implied past noncon, lady whump, implied eye gore, aftermath of surgery, past captivity, divorce, estranged family, again it's a lot i tried to get everything i'm sorry if i didn't

They weren’t supposed to be there that day. “It would be a small ceremony,” they’d told them, “it wouldn’t be appropriate. Or good for you.”

Dusk– no, he wasn’t Dusk anymore. He would never be called Dusk ever again. Diell wasted absolutely no time finding a way to be able to get out of the ward in time and take Ginger with him. They both agreed that just spoken accounts of the funeral wouldn’t be enough. They had to see the body be lowered into the goddamn hole and immediately deface the tombstone.

He was fairly sure that Grace and Jonathan’s father played a role in them being able to sneak off as easily as they did. He would never thank the guy, not even in some weird, abstract way, but he was definitely pleased to know that he knew that any doll had more of a right to attend the ceremony than even family members.

They had to leave Pepper in the hospital, to all of their dismay. They were more hurt than the two of them, plus they wouldn’t have been able to see anything anyway. They asked for the most gruesomely detailed retelling of the funeral later, which both Diell and Ginger agreed to provide.

“I hope she’s cremated,” Ginger muttered on their way to the cemetery. “No, actually, I hope she’s not. I want to see that it’s her. If she was cremated, they could totally just put whatever in the urn, and no one would ever know.”

“Don’t even say that, holy shit.” The thought of Grace being alive in the world somewhere was a terrifying one. He had managed to kill her one time, and only because she was unconscious, but maybe that luck wouldn’t last a second round. “I’m sure they’ll bury the whole body. Like, intact. I bet it’ll be open-casket as well, with corpse make-up and all that shit.”

“Oh, she would never go six feet under without proper make-up. Never.”

Diell was the first to begin laughing, and Ginger followed soon after. The sounds of their joy felt wildly out of place at the enormous gates of the cemetery, but neither of them could find it in their soul to care. They saw people running around in pink instead of black, pink suits, pink dresses, pink ties to match. It was something out of an absurdist horror movie.

They ducked behind some gravestones when they caught a glimpse of the witch mother herself, their excitement suddenly giving way to fear. If Grace was that unhinged, that could only mean two things: either she had surpassed her mother in unhingedness, going on to become the supreme unhinged demon, or she’d learned everything from the even more unhinged woman who came before her. Diell held his breath, hoping with all his heart that it was the former.

When he looked at Ginger’s face, he could tell that the same thoughts and fears were playing on her mind. Maybe this had been a bad idea, and maybe the hospital staff had been correct, and maybe it was embarrassing and weird to be hiding behind the markers of others’ final resting places. Diell glanced at the tombstone that was a couple inches away from his face, squinting to be able to read the name through all that moss.

Sorry, Thomas and Esther Taylor. This is kind of an emergency.

“You think she even knows what we look like?” Ginger whispered.

“No idea. Maybe Grace showed her photos.”

“We should’ve planned further than two sweatshirts with hoods.”

“I’m happy that I even managed to snatch these up. Imagine if we had to come here in dresses or hospital gowns.”

Ginger shivered. “Yeah. Fuck that.”

They spent the entire ceremony huddled behind the headstones, listening to the priest go on about what a loving daughter and sister Grace was, occasionally peeking out to try and get a look at the body. Thankfully, not many people were attending, and Ginger turned to him with a triumphant smile soon enough.

“It’s her. It’s really her!”

“Fucking good. I hope the end to this whole shit isn’t some weird, Jesus-type resurrection.”

“Now you’re just being stupid,” she teased, but placed a dirty hand on top of his, her expression turning deathly serious. “If she moves a muscle, I’ll choke her right back to hell. Yeah?”

She meant it, Diell could tell. There was no condescension in her voice. She wasn’t telling him that he was too paranoid. She sounded exactly like someone who had thought about this before, in excruciating detail, and came to the conclusion that she was willing to risk her own life in exchange for the peace of mind that’d come with feeling Grace’s pulse disappear under her own hands.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, giving her hand a squeeze.

They watched as the crowd started swarming towards the actual grave, and they followed them from a safe distance, pretending to be taking a leisurely walk or something. Diell didn’t even know what their cover story was, honestly. But no one ended up paying them any mind, instead focusing on the wailing mother.

From what Diell could tell, there were no other people from Grace’s close family. Maybe her grandmother? It was hard to tell. It didn’t really matter. He was happy to know that her father decided to spend time with Jonathan in the hospital instead of coming to attend this pretentious display of wealth and ridiculousness.

The casket was slowly lowered into the hole, and both Diell and Ginger were watching it like hawks. No tricks. No ghosts. No vampires, no zombies, no nothing. Grace’s body was dropped down and buried, so deep that there wasn’t a single chance that she could’ve crawled out. Her mother knelt on her grave, weeping like someone out of a tragedy, grabbing handfuls of dirt without a care in whether it’d ruin her expensive-looking, pink gloves.

Diell turned to his friend, briefly pretending he was gonna retch. Ginger had to hide a smile.

They lingered until after everyone else had already left, only competing with Grace’s mother by that point. She had to eventually be escorted out by the police while she kicked and screamed, claiming that they were disrespecting a mother’s right to stay with her beloved, deceased daughter. Ginger rolled her eyes at the argument, finally sauntering over to the grave with Diell in tow.

“So… that’s that,” he said. “She’s gone.”

“I really want to grab a hammer and fuck up the headstone.” Ginger looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes. “One of those big sledgehammers. I want to just… go at it. I want to fucking destroy it.”

“I know.” He carefully pulled her closer, slow enough to give her plenty of chances to push him away if she didn’t want to be touched. But instead of pushing him away, she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his chest.

“It’s so unfair. It’s so unfair. We were there for years, and she just gets to go out like this? And– and then she gets a fucking funeral? And some disgusting, liar priest kissing her ass? What did any of her victims get? The ones who didn’t make it? What did Belle get? Or Sunny? What did the ones I didn’t even know get? What– what the fuck is wrong with people?”

He rubbed circles into her back as he listened, survivor’s guilt, sorrow, and the anguish of injustice eating away at him too. Ginger was right, and it was a horrible feeling to know that neither of them could do a thing to right Grace’s wrongs. They especially couldn’t force her to right them herself, now. She was out, just like that, enjoying her vacation in Barbie hell somewhere.

Ginger took a while to calm down. When she did, Diell gently pushed her away by the shoulders, looking into her puffy, red eyes. “It’s over, Maya,” he whispered, a part of him still scared that he might’ve uttered the magic words too soon.

She couldn’t get a word out before she had to cover her mouth with both hands, attempting to muffle her whimpers. “You fucking asshole,” she choked out, and Diell was worried he might’ve genuinely messed up. “You waited ‘till I was somewhat okay, and then you spring that shit on me? Why are you even bringing up the weird shit I told you during– what’s wrong with you?” She half-heartedly punched his arm, then wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater.

“I– I’m sorry, I–”

She hugged him again, with even more momentum this time, her frail body slamming into his with the power of a three-tonne truck. “I can’t believe you actually remembered something so stupid. You really– you safekept it for me… You really did…”

Diell hesitantly put his arms around her again, waiting for her to change her stance on this again. But she didn’t. The two of them just stood there, right on top of Grace’s grave, in an embrace so tight it probably cracked some ribs.

They didn’t leave the cemetery until the next morning. They didn’t even sleep, – or at least never at the same time, – they just sat on a nearby bench, watching the pile of dirt for any anomalies or paranormal activity. Hell, they wouldn’t have been surprised if Grace’s mother showed up again with candles and chicken blood. When nothing like that happened, they crawled back to the hospital, allowing themselves to be yelled at and sent for an immediate shower and check-ups.

Messed up. It was entirely messed up that it had already been a year. While Diell had been with Grace each day seemed too long, but they also just blurred together. On the day of his escape, he’d been informed that he’d spent fifteen months in that hellhole. He later counted; exactly 477 days. More than a year. He both thought it had been shorter and longer than that, and honestly, he had no idea what to feel about the actual number.

He knew he was the newest acquisition at the time. No other doll had been added to the collection after his kidnapping, which made him the… luckiest? His one year was absolutely nothing compared to what he’d heard the twins say. Eight years… More than eight, even.

Maya had a more difficult time counting, both mentally and from a memory standpoint. At first, she didn’t want to do anything with the data. Her first order of business was to make an appointment with a hairdresser and get rid of her naturally ginger hair, demanding a deep blue to forest green gradient. She’d come home that day to see Diell on the computer, obsessively counting and recounting his days spent in captivity, and she flipped her hair and told him to enjoy being out.

Later that day, Diell saw her checking the calendar app against old newspaper clippings. “I can’t remember when I was taken. Can’t remember the day. I… I even got the year wrong.”

Diell couldn’t even imagine. She had counted and counted, eventually coming up with the final numbers: 5 years and seven months, or 67 months, or 2039 days. They had both stared at the numbers for a very long time.

“I’m so much older now,” she’d whispered. “I’m twenty-six now. I… I was celebrating my twentieth that year.”

That wasn’t the only thing she had to reconcile with. Her disappearance had turned out to be the last nail in the coffin of her parents’ crumbling marriage. After she’d been presumed dead, her mother filed for a divorce. Her childhood home had been sold, and her parents were both in another relationship now, ones she wanted nothing to do with. She didn’t even tell them she had come back, dismissing their calls and slamming the door in her mother's face when she tried to visit.

She was living with Diell instead, in an apartment the two of them had bought with the compensation money they’d been awarded. He was now sitting on the couch, bouncing his leg and trying not to think about tomorrow.

“I invited Tai,” Maya said as she entered the living room. “They said yes, like, immediately. They didn’t even give me the whole ‘Oh, I don’t know, do I wanna hang out with losers?’ talk. I think they're stressed out too.”

Pepper had thought long and hard about the name change situation. They wanted something absolutely deadly and dangerous, but also something that sounded cool. They had browsed a long list of venomous snakes for days, finally settling on Taipan. “If I’d had venom back then, aside from just… insults, then I would’ve been fine. Manifesting or whatever.”

“It's weird,” Diell muttered. “Like, the whole anniversary thing. Just weird. I don’t like it.”

Maya sat down next to him, sighing heavily. “You think the others are also this fucked up from it?”

Diell shrugged. “You think it’s fucked that I don’t even text them anymore?” he asked quietly, the ever-present guilt in his heart throbbing a little more as he said the words. This time, it was Maya who shrugged.

“I don’t either. So either we’re both fucked, or neither of us is.”

They sat there in silence, listening to the clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Each second brought them closer to the dreaded day, increasing their anxiety tenfold.

“Do you also have these… weird fears about it?” Maya whispered. “Like she’ll bust down the front door at midnight?”

“Yeah. Like, ‘haha, time’s up, you got to be free for a year, but now let’s get back to the–’ you know. Back to all that shit.”

Maya nodded without a word. She looked absolutely haunted, and if Diell had to guess, he probably looked similar. “It’s so stupid. I saw her be buried. It’s not like many people come back from the dead.”

“I know. I can’t logic it away either, though. So we’re just stuck with our weird paranoia.” He put his arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her closer. He’d learned early on that Maya would never ask to be comforted like that, but more often than not, she was very appreciative if someone made the decision for her. “But we have each other, right?”

“Yeah, Captain Cheesy.”

Taipan barged in with such force that both others jumped, flinching away from each other as if they’d been caught red-handed. “Stop doing that!” Diell snapped.

“Absolutely not!” They pointed in his vague direction with their cane. “How else would I prove that I’m still a menace?”

Their doll eyes were taken out almost immediately upon arriving at the hospital. Grace had done the sort of job on them that was expected of an amateur with no surgical knowledge or training, and the doctors worked tirelessly to reverse as much of the damage as possible. But before the operation even started, Taipan had been offered two routes they could go with their new prosthetics. Diell naively thought they’d jump on the opportunity to make it as natural as possible; he’d seen some absolutely amazing work on the wall of the private hospital’s ocularist.

Well… They were now rocking two pitch black orbs with realistic stars painted on them, looking like they held all the secrets of the universe behind them.

Maya laughed, jumping up to go and hug them. Diell watched the two of them with a smile, his fear-based irritation melting away. “I’m so glad you came, I need someone to back me up with the music choices.”

“I would never live with someone who refused to acknowledge that his taste is inferior and I should be the only one with party-music privileges.”

“I’m not gonna be bullied in my own home!”

Maya stuck her tongue out at him; as did Tai, without even seeing that she was doing it too. Diell couldn’t stifle a grin.

“Are we ordering pizza?” they asked as they walked over to the couch, plopping down right next to Diell. “There’s this new place that’s just opened, and I’m telling you, neither of you have ever seen cheese with a better pull quality. It’s glorious.”

“I mean, if they have Hawaiian–”

“You’re absolutely disgusting, Diell. I am stealing Maya away.”

Before more insults could’ve been thrown his way, Diell’s phone went off with a notification. Valerie’s name flashed on the screen, and he quickly checked the texts to see if it was something urgent. She probably wasn’t in the best headspace either.

By evening time, all four of them were sitting on the living room floor, eating pepperoni pizza off the coffee table. It was a weird little sleepover, with plenty of laughter and tears both. Sometimes they almost completely forgot about why they had even gathered together like this, and sometimes all they could talk about was Grace and their time spent in her pink little prison.

“When you can actually see, when you can actually get out and see the outside world, and know you’re not there– I imagine that’s different. I’m sure it was so different for Bora.”

Maya was saying the words out loud, so Tai could also know what the conversation was about. Valerie had an easier time talking to them one on one; when a little group of them were together like this, it was easier to have someone translate as she signed.

“But for me, all I had for the past years were sounds and scents. And touch. And Bora felt the same out here as he did back there. I just couldn’t stand it. He kept making me feel like I was still there.”

“Are you okay now, though? With us?” Diell asked, and Val nodded.

“Yeah.” She paused a little. “It’s different with everyone else. I don’t even understand how Bora could put aside his trauma to try and help me. It must’ve taken so much. Me leaving was the best decision for both of us, even if he was upset at the time.”

Diell glanced at Maya, wondering whether she felt the same way. Their ‘relationship’ at Grace’s place didn’t last more than maybe a couple months, and never went further than a kiss on the cheek or a peck on the lips. It wasn’t really comparable to what Val had talked about at the hospital. Still, he couldn’t help but hope he wasn’t going to lose his best friend.

“I fully get that. And you gotta put yourself first, right? That’s just how it is.” Tai felt around for another slice, and Diell quickly put one on their plate for them. “I’m sure he has plenty of people’s support from within Jonathan’s little group. And outside of that, too.”

“I’m sure as well.” Maya put a gentle hand on Val’s knee. “It’s not your responsibility to nurse others back to health when you’re still working on yourself. We’ve all been through a lot. You get out, you do the best you can– it’s all you can do.”

The conversations fizzled out as they inched closer and closer to midnight. They were all either deathly still or fidgeting constantly, no inbetween. Diell and Maya were staring at the clock, giving quiet reminders of time’s passage. It was like the most fucked up New Year’s Eve party.

“One minute.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Twenty.”

“Ten.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

Diell held his breath, and with how quiet the room had gotten, he assumed everyone else did too. He thought about that day from exactly a year ago; stabbing Grace, the feeling of blood sticking to his hands, the sun’s blinding light outside, the sirens of the ambulance and police cars, the bumpy road leading to the hospital. The funeral. Jonathan taking in some of his friends, giving them all a second chance at life, the first of which his sister had taken away beforehand.

“Happy anniversary?” Tai tried, half-jokingly, breaking the spell.

“Well, I’m fucking happy,” Maya said confidently, and Diell knew he was the only one who saw the tears shining in her eyes as she did so. He pretended not to.

Through the open windows, they could hear all the street noise; cars coming and going, groups of intoxicated teenagers having a fun time, dogs barking at nothing. The world didn’t end at midnight. Grace didn’t show up to take them all back.

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” Diell suggested. “I’m– Okay, I know it’s not very popular with you two to admit to having a shit time, but I’m honestly exhausted from all that stupid anxiety.”

“Maybe we’ll start admitting to it in this new year.” Maya playfully shoved him a little. “Go to sleep, grandpa. We’ll keep it down.”

Diell smiled, then went to take a long, very hot shower after saying his good nights. It was comforting to be able to do it alone, even if he sometimes still felt Grace’s hands on his naked body, scrubbing him down without a care, like he wasn’t even human. He avoided looking in the mirror when he got out, knowing that all he would see in it this late at night were blonde strands of hair and soulless blue eyes.

He didn’t fall asleep for a long time, still just lying there by the time Maya came to crawl into bed with him. He turned towards her, noting the distinct scent of alcohol. “Maya?”

She hummed. “What?”

“You didn’t drink too much, did you?”

“No such thing as too much. Not on the anniversary of your kidnapper’s death.”

He scooted a little closer, pulling her into a hug. “Yeah, there is. And I’m so happy you didn’t overshoot this time.”

A whole year had passed. Instead of Ginger, Maya was now crying in his arms. They had different problems, even if none of them felt less serious than the ones from before. She wasn’t passed out on the floor, only slurring her words a little.

It would be okay. It would all be okay, in the end.

taglist: @whumpsday @lonesome--hunter @reblogging-whump @panic-and-chaos @kim-poce @uwu-scraptrappy @mikaelaix @whumpinggrounds @hidden-dreamland @the-scrapegoat @whumplr-reader @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpinthepot @devourerofcheesecake

32 notes · View notes

sysig · 24 days

Photo

One better (Patreon)

#Doodles #SCII #Helix #ZEX #Blood #I knew going into this and it was still so distressing :'0 #Who needs plot twists when you can create such an intense sense of Dread #Probably doesn't help that I read this At Night In the Dark lol - actual shivers #Gods this was a hard scene to read - there have been several instances of my face hurting from furrowing my brow so hard haha #The way that ''Doctor'' is written is So skillful - I'm so impressed by everyone's prose and quirks and syntax!#Not to mention when he breaks character in a later scene to apologize for taking a bit to move the scene along haha <3 Play!!#It really does speak to just how much skill and effort is put into everything <3 It's so well done all the way around!!#Anyway to the actual scene at hand lol ow :') Drawing blood is always fun but I wish it wasn't his ;u;#Ugh the way he takes the surgeries is so well written - fear of course but a kind of stoic suffering as much as he's able to -#Until it comes to his eye #Ugh the /break/ of it all he goes from so eloquent - almost snarky and silly! Still trying to find an out make peace do /something/#It all goes completely out the window he's so /reduced/ and nothing hurts worse than that ughughugh #For all his intelligence and wit and prior successes and charm and just - everything that makes him /him/ to be dissolved into abject fear #It's so sad ;; And so well done <3 #And he still holds enough of himself to know what he'd be losing wegh it's so sad!! He's so defined by his vision as most VUX are it's fjdsl #Zelnick is already gone by this point but I wanted to throw him in for extra sad flavour :')#Plus - I've mentioned his post-Op was one of the ones from the gallery that Actively kills me every time I look at it #Can you imagine my heartbreak to find out that he didn't have his Captain to comfort him after this in actuality? That he was fully alone?#''Are we home? Is it over?'' ''N...not yet'' - The Absolute Devastation of realizing that Never Was not really #Just tear my heart out why don't you ugh I'm fully bleeding out 💔#That last one is actually meant to be Max but it's open to interpretation :)#I think it's such a waste that his eye was just disposed of! Someone else could've used that (lol)#I do think there's something to the idea of seeing what used to be a part of your body elsewhere - like the Leftovers!#Even just keeping as a memento tho - a trophy - insult to injury but literally #Just points to no one being special and nothing being sacred I suppose

7 notes · View notes

paintpanic · 2 years

Photo

not sure what drove me to make this

#kirby series #adeleine #ribbon kirby #waddle dee #hospital mention #surgery mention #mild body horror?? maybe #ask 2 tag #eye contact #shitpost

224 notes · View notes

wouldntyou-liketoknow · 2 months

Text

When a Tomb Becomes a Womb (Part 2: Honeymoon)

Here it is: the continuation of my first LF fic! (If you’d like to check that one out, just go here.)

(Disclaimer: While I agree that Creature doesn’t really need an actual name to be a great character, I still decided to give him a headcanon name—which is Callum, since I think it would fit him—just because this entire story is from his perspective. Mentioning his “true,” pre-death name just seems logical. Neither of the characters in this story belong to me. Lisa Swallows and The Creature are the property of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody.)

(Trigger Warnings: electrocution, insects, implied murder/death, implied violence, gore/blood, mentions of fire, scars, body horror, eye horror, dismemberment/mutilation, surgery, coughing fits. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

With its size and structure, the tanning bed had been miraculously perfect for resurrection. The electric currents it produced could be guided throughout its user’s entire body; the chances were better when multiple parts were zapped at once. Then, those parts could essentially act as moving gears, working together to carry the reanimation process along.

None of that really mattered anymore, since the tanning bed was as good as scrap metal by now. And even if it somehow wasn’t, Callum doubted he would’ve been able to retrieve it.

Callum found himself in the master bathroom, pacing the floor in small circles as he gazed down at all the things he’d organized on the baby-blue-tinted countertop.

A day had passed since he’d claimed this house for himself and his beloved. He’d spent it searching through each and every room. No wall was left unchecked, no piece of furniture was left unmoved, no drawer was left unopened. The prey he’d chosen to stalk: electronics.

During Callum’s initial life, electricity was still in its infancy. A primary example was the name Faraday making its rounds in newspapers, as well as the concept of a horrible execution device. If memory served, it had been inspired by a dental chair, of all things—and judging by Lisa’s pessimistic contemplations, that idea had apparently found success.

All of the progress he’d gotten to see for the past couple weeks. . .part of Callum wished he’d been alive to see the beginning development of that progress. Yes, it made adjustment difficult, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fascinating.

Then again, he had to consider The Butterfly Effect. If he’d survived the day of his premature death, he’d likely never have gotten the freak second chance to be with Lisa.

He’d heard some people compare death to a very deep, dreamless sleep.

Bodies and souls were separate things, after all; the notion of dying could potentially be seen as something similar to a snake shedding its skin. Once the soul departed to wherever it was supposed to go, the body could simply rest, silently feeding the earth from its burial site.

Perhaps that was how it worked for others, but it had absolutely not been the case for him. He had no idea why, and he doubted he’d ever be able to understand.

Yes, he wasn’t truly alive; he’d never, never be an example of anything natural.

Yes, he’d grown accustomed to his organs feeling like they were filled with sulfur instead of blood.

But now that there was air in his lungs and light in his eyes and feeling in his bones again. . .

Even if he’d learned to adapt to it all, his grave would be horrible to go back to.

If amputees could feel the phantom sensations of their lost limbs, then what was there to say that dead people couldn’t feel the phantom sensations of anything and everything?

Though his brain hadn’t been active until that fateful night, Callum had still learned one thing: numbness was, without a single shadow of a doubt, its own type of pain.

For centuries, he’d been encased by cold, by darkness, by rot, by staring eyes and splintering voices and gibbering mouths and raw suffocating nothingness. . .

And Lisa had freed him from it.

He would go through it all again if he knew she’d eventually come along to coax him back.

He wouldn’t, however, make Lisa wait through any torture like that for as long as he did.

So far, Callum hadn’t found anything similar to the tanning bed. (He supposed the inner mechanisms of the car he’d taken could be used, but he’d still categorized it as a last resort.) What he had found was a plethora of smaller devices. If it had shiny casing, buttons, a cord, or a plug, it was an option.

He could only recognize a precious few thanks to Lisa—such as a blow-dryer. She’d used one on him during that first night, sometime after she’d helped him wash off the eons worth of slime and rot. The noise it made was aggravating, but there was no doubting how nice a stream of warm air had felt on his scalp. Many of the other appliances were. . .strange, at least from his perspective.

One that particularly stood out was some kind of mask. A dull shade of beige, it seemed to be made of plastic, shiny and hard and cold to the touch.

A pair of opal-shaped holes formed eyes; vague impressions of brows above them and lips below a hollow triangle that imitated a nose. (Callum couldn’t see the reasoning for those impressions to be there—they did absolutely nothing to convey emotion.)

Three flexible straps were attached near the top of the mask; one at the center of the forehead, and one for each temple. A coiled cord protruded from its chin, connecting it to a little rectangular battery adorned by two tiny buttons and a red dial before continuing on and ending in a plug.

Callum chewed at his lip as he raised the mask up, turning it in his hands. It was even more disturbing on the inside. A total of twenty-six tiny, metallic contacts glinted in the dim, having been drilled into a specific pattern to rest against each and every part of the wearer’s face.

Despite the lack of sharp edges, the display still reminded Callum of an iron maiden. (Yet another thing Lisa had surprised him with before. The fact that some musical group had named themselves after a torture device was even more confusing than musicians performing under a title like The Cure.)

As questionable as it was, this mask was something of a godsend.

Lisa’s entire body needed repairs, yes, but her head obviously had to be the first. Callum couldn’t be efficient with the process until Lisa’s brain, her voice, her eyes were all active again.

And what better way to guide electric impulses into those areas than with something that could literally cover her face?

With that in mind, Callum took a deep breath and strode out of the bathroom, his shadow quickly stretching across the room and over the bed.

Over Lisa’s still, silent form.

He reached down to adjust some of the bandages. When the majority of her face was exposed, he gently slipped the mask onto her, his hands visibly shaking.

(In all honestly, the melted, burnt mess of her skin was preferable to the mask’s blank, lifeless expression.)

Once the straps were secure, Callum fidgeted with the mask’s cord, engaging in a staring contest with the power outlet that just so happened to be right next to the nightstand.

Of course, the smaller devices wouldn’t be enough on their own. Even if he were to use them all at once, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to generate the same amount of power as the tanning bed had.

Fortunately, it seemed he’d already stumbled onto a solution for that. Quite by accident.

With each electric product he discovered, he’d known that there was a chance of it not working. He’d also known that there was really only one way to test out the effectiveness of the appliances.

Considering how every single wall in this house had a socket or two to offer, the testing hadn’t taken much time at all.

It took even less time for Callum to realize that whoever had organized the wiring in these walls was either fishing for an insurance scam, or was just some special kind of idiot.

No matter what product he was plugging (or unplugging, even) in or which outlet he was using for the connection, the result was the same: an astoundingly powerful shock that tore its way up his arm.

Though Callum’s pain receptors were still only semi-functional, the electric jolts had left him momentarily out of breath and doubled-over with a burning, pummeling sensation coiling around in his stomach.

It had felt similar to the tanning bed’s currents. Not exactly the same, but similar enough.

And similar enough was all he and Lisa needed right now.

So, he turned the red dial to the highest setting offered, using such force that it was a wonder he didn’t crush it between his fingers.

And he rammed the mask’s plug into the wall socket.

A few large sparks immediately flew out, only to vanish in the air after half a second or so.

Just like a lightning bolt.

Something inside the battery began to hum and buzz.

Dots of pale light began flickering in the mask’s plastic forehead, its cheekbones, its chin. The glow moved in a specific, repeating pattern, getting brighter and brighter each time.

Those metal contacts on the inside. . .they were sending pulses of electricity into Lisa’s skin.

They were working.

They were working a little too well, in fact.

They were giving an output that was too fast, too strong.

For a living person, at least.

For an undead person, however. . .

Callum kept a vice-like grip around the battery as the shock crawled up his arm and around his neck. It hurt more than it had during his initial test, but he barely even flinched. His focus was firmly locked on Lisa, because he needed to see what this did to her.

Because she was his wife.

Because she deserved to come back.

Because she.

Was.

Starting.

To.

Twitch.

Her head jerked back and forth. The mask rattled and shook in time with her movements, but it stayed on her face. Violent shudders raced through her neck and shoulders. Most of them died halfway through the journey of her chest, but a few were stubborn enough to slither down her arms, to make her fingers curl.

Callum wasn’t sure how much time the process truly took, but when thin columns of smoke began rising from the mask’s eye-holes, he knew he had to stop it. He never looked away from Lisa as he wrenched the plug out of the wall, as he dropped the battery on the comforter, as he leaned down to pull the mask off of her—

And froze in place, just barely able to feel the way his mouth dropped open.

The skin on Lisa’s face. . .it wasn’t the same as before. It was still covered in scars and blisters, but those scars and blisters suddenly looked much smaller, less deep. The angry, biting red hue had transitioned to dull shade of pink. It still looked painful, yes, but in a way that suggested recovery might be possible.

Lisa’s lips quivered, dry skin stretching (and breaking in a few areas) as a tiny, strangled gasp drifted into the air. More followed it at odd, uncertain intervals. It was absolutely not what anyone in their right mind could call steady breathing. . .but it was there, plain as day.

Callum’s cold hands were suddenly clasped around his head; one over his mouth, the other raking at his temple. An itchy, somewhat ticklish sensation filled his eyes as one tear after another streamed down his face.

He’d done it.

He’d actually done it.

He’d woken Lisa up!

He automatically wanted to hold her, to gather her up in his arms and spin her around in a circle and, and, and. . .

He couldn’t, and he knew he couldn’t. Right now, she was too fragile for him to do anything like that.

But she wouldn’t stay too fragile. Not as long as he kept going.

For now, however, all he could manage was to stand and stare and shiver and silently weep.

___

The keening screech of a kettle drilled into Callum’s ears, nearly making him lose his grip on the knife. He straightened his back, mentally cursing himself for trying to juggle two things at once. Especially considering how important today’s mission was.

He was at the stove in an instant, disengaging the burner and sliding an oven mitt over one hand. The clouds of steam felt nice against his face as he poured the freshly-boiled water into the colorful mugs he’d found in the kitchen’s highest cabinet. Afterward, he fetched a box of tea bags from that same cabinet and deposited one in each cup.

He wasn’t quite sure if Lisa could process solid food quite yet, but she’d been taking water and other beverages just fine. Too bad there wasn’t any chocolate-flavored milk in this house; she seemed to really like that, what with how she’d insisted that he try for himself back at her former home.

As the tea began steeping, his focus returned to the head on the dining room table.

The left eyeball was already out and waiting in a glass of clean water.

The right one, however, was much more stubborn with removal.

Honestly, it was surprising that Callum hadn’t accidentally punctured it with all the trouble it had been giving him so far. He supposed he could take an eye from his other victim, whose head was still in the back of the freezer, but he was determined to make this one cooperate. After all, the head he’d been working on had grayish-blue eyes.

The exact same color as Lisa’s eyes had once been.

Lisa. . .she’d been making a little more progress with each day.

He’d had to use the other devices on different sections of her body, but that mask had proven the most efficient. A full week still had yet to pass, and her face was already so recognizable. True, her skin was sickly pale, and her eye sockets were dark and sunken, but she was clearly in less pain than she had been with the burn scars.

She was still unable to walk, and her voice was a long way from returning, but she’d regained plenty of control over her upper-half. She could pivot her waist, move her arms, nod or shake her head, open her eyes—

Well. She could somewhat open her eyes.

But then, she didn’t exactly have eyes anymore.

Just last night, she’d tried to; it’d taken a gut-wrenching amount of effort, judging by how tightly she’d held Callum’s hand throughout the process. Tears had been pouring down her features by the time she finally managed to reveal a pair of oily, half-melted clots of jelly mixed with blood.

There was no doubting how the tears had made things worse. Callum shuddered at the thought of how much they must have stung and burned. . .

Callum chewed his lip as he sat back down, a smaller, thinner tool now in his grasp.

Lisa would see again. He’d make sure of it.

The right eyelid had already been sliced off (it would’ve just gotten in the way otherwise), and the eye itself was bulging from its socket in a less-than-natural way.

He was almost there. It just needed a little more prodding.

So, he slipped the blade into that tiny gap of space that the tear duct offered. He spent what felt like ten minutes maneuvering it around the eye, having to keep his movements painfully slow to avoid cutting its outer muscles.

Eventually, something further inside gave way under the sharp edge, and with a sickening pop! the ocular organ slid out, its now partially severed nerve keeping it from rolling.

Callum ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat, a relieved smile gracing his features as he dabbed blood away with a clean cloth before moving the right eye to join its counterpart.

He returned to the kitchen, making sure to wash his hands before he threw the spent tea bags away and raised one of the mugs to his lips.

As excited as he was to be one step closer, he was still reasonably nervous.

Nervousness meant stress, and stress meant more of a chance for him to botch Lisa’s eye procedure. Tea, on the other hand, meant stress-relief, so of course he had to drink some before he went on with his task.

. . .Or, he would have, if not for the pain that was suddenly wracking his throat on the first sip.

There was no strong-yet-muted tang like he’d been expecting.

There was only scalding, searing.

As though he’d tried to take a drink directly from the kettle.

Callum pitched forward, just barely catching himself on the counter as he gasped and choked.

The mug itself—which was now several tiny, jagged pieces in a steaming puddle on the floor— had felt pleasantly warm.

Nothing at all to foreshadow how the inside of Callum’s throat now felt like it was melting.

His vision grew blurry. Both his eyes and nostrils burned.

He found himself leaning over the sink, clawing at the faucet and then all but shoving his head under it as cold water began flowing out. After a long, long moment, the heat died down.

The pain, however, did not.

Callum still couldn’t breathe, still felt like the flesh within his neck was being torn.

And now there was pushing, squeezing, squirming. . !

Something solid manifested in his mouth, which gaped like a fish without his consent. He was forced to heave and retch, screwing his eyes shut as that something fell into the sink with a light, anticlimactic thunk.

After that, his airway was finally cleared.

His jaw ached like no other, his throat was still raw from all the abuse, but he could breathe again.

It took all the strength he had to not collapse onto his knees.

His sore eyes drifted open just in time to see a small horde of worms, beetles, slugs and centipedes frantically writhing against the sink’s shiny material, likely suffering from the sudden light and wondering where the comfort of their tunnel had gone.

“Goddamn sons of bitches,” Callum muttered after one last gag, scowling as he turned the faucet back on and washed the insects down the drain.

Then, he nearly ripped the faucet’s handle right out as he stopped the water.

“W-what. . .what in the name of. . .” His voice was weak and shaky. (Reasonably so. He hadn’t spoken for the last two-hundred years, after all.)

His voice.

HIS VOICE. . .

A few minutes later, he was striding through the door to the new bedroom, pushing it shut with his shoe as both of his hands were occupied with Lisa’s tea as well as the glass of her soon-to-be eyes. He cleared his throat to announce himself, just as he’d done for the past few days.

In response, Lisa shifted on the bed, slowly turning her head toward the noise. She offered a light hum of her own, and while she usually just did this to greet him, the remnants of her vocals were laced with worry. No way she couldn’t have heard the cacophony downstairs.

Callum took a deep breath, grinning in a way that would’ve made the Cheshire Cat proud as he announced, “It was just a little accident, Lisa. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

He watched as Lisa went stiff, as her limited breathing caught in her throat. He quickened his pace toward the bed, setting his cargo down on the nightstand. Lisa was reaching for him now, trying to open her eyes, the shock on her face quickly morphing into a smile that was equal parts joy and disbelief.

Callum took her hand in his, stooping down to give her a delicate hug. She gingerly wrapped her arms around him.

Sopping wet laughter came pouring out through his lips.

“Lisa. . .Lisa. . !”

The eye procedure could wait for a few more minutes.

Right now, the most important order of business was to show Lisa the voice she’d never heard while still alive.

Perhaps it could be considered a gift.

@radisyn @mblume125 @upstartgeek @paper-cuts-and-fresh-bruises @queenofcandys @magpierose753 @therulerofallpotatos @blue-spider-official @chofisaquino @strangewerewolf @alienbactria @aphroditeinarms @weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral @scootis-the-scoot. @cherryycocaine @sammispook @creepycrow31 @allthesecottoncandyskies @that-random-assassin @shelf-life-of-the-party @big-sad-world @lisascreatures @we-were-d3stined-t0-expl0de @artnormal @cr-0-wsworld @bllops-world @night-writer-writer @bunnygirlgracesworld @occasional-trash @a-live-wire @babi-gir @secretly-larry-daley @fawns-things @confused-hufflepuff-screaming

7 notes · View notes