HATE MYSELF / LOVE MYSELF

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i’ve moved mary over to multi-muse for the time being, i may come back to this blog but rn this is just easier.  follow her over @ femalehorror

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like or reblog this post if you’re interested in interacting with a horror oc based on a screenplay i’m working on. 

mallory six is a college drop out and bartender, but all her life she’s wanted to be a surgeon.  one night, after serving a pair of twins a few too many drinks, she gets a bright idea: split them in half and sew them together.  show off her skills, in one way or another.  her hands are too shaky for med school. 

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another forced smile.  how many of those had she been giving lately? urban legend? she’s a bit of one herself. at least to some people.  but she’s not about to mention it. not yet anyways.  sure, trying to get a client in the middle of a grocery store was risky, after all she had lance to find her people, she doesn’t need the extra risk.  but something about this guy... she was a little drawn to him. “that’s okay,” she mutters at the half-assed apology. “i would be pissed.”

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please like this post if you want to plot something!! i’ll come to you!

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her face falls flat, glad she doesn’t have to fake the chipper demeanor anymore.  “i just thought we were having a nice conversation,” she admits. she reaches around him to pick up the alcohol he had been stocking, what she actually came here for. “i thought maybe we shared a common interest,” she says over her shoulder.  thought maybe she could get a new client out of him, but she never got her hopes up. 

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@slashcrvictim | plotted starter

she’s at the her apartment, performing a surgery, when there’s a buzz at her door.  she ignores it, wonders for a split second who the hell would want to come see her, before getting back to cutting and sewing.  no distractions.  a surgeon can’t make any mistakes, even if said surgeon does slightly unorthodox procedures for so-called ‘freakish’ clients. she’s forgotten most rules of surgery expect for the most important: nothing else matters if the work is good.  and her work is good.  it’s very good and very prosperous but now she’s thinking too much and is distracted from her patient and before she knows it her door has been flung open.  and she swears she locked it. stupid. it’s ivy, and she’s caught red-handed, quite literally, seeing as how she has this man’s blood on her hands. she opens her mouth but no words come out, no explanation, no nothing. she knows how bad this looks.  no way to talk her way out of it. 

“ivy...” she finally manages to mumble.  

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do you think i’m crazy?

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seeing it up-close, the metallic hand that substituted flesh, she was a little taken aback.  she’s seen some hard core body mod in her day but nothing quite like that. she’s not sure how much of the story she’s heard is actually true, so she decides to tread lightly.  “choice or no choice a self-amputation is pretty incredible. you must be tougher than you look.”

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she’s a little embarrassed at the compliment, guesses that selling her soul for a couple thousand dollars and the ability to apply her makeup like a surgeon paid off if it meant impressing the stereotypical mean girl from high school. “thanks...” another forced chuckle. “you look-- the same as always.” ( which of course means quite beautiful, but she’s not about to admit it. )

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@modiifications PLOTTED A THING !!

❝ I remember you! ❞ She nods, ❝yeah, mostly for your KILLER bitch slap—but like…that’s not a bad thing to be remembered for. What have you been up to? Gotten into any cat fights recently? ❞ She’ll hold her hands out in little faux claws for good measure. She shrugs, ❝I hope so, life’s too short to not pull a bitch’s hair every now and then.❞   

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she practically groans with frustration when she sees the woman.  she definitely remembers her, too.  a stuck-up high school bitch she had a scrap with back in her rebellious days. she feigns a smile, hopes it doesn’t look too forced, and tries to make conversation with her.  she can’t just go around torturing everyone she has a grudge against, now can she? ( she absolutely can, but it was high school.  no need to still be upset, right? ) “ivy... what are you doing here?” a fake laugh. “i haven’t gotten myself into any trouble lately,” she lies. “if that’s what you’re asking.”

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@outrunevil | starter call

everyone in this town had heard of ash williams and his ridiculous stories and his chainsaw hand. needless to say, she was a little impressed by said modification. so when she’s out shopping for Isopropyl alcohol at the s-mart, she doesn’t hesitate to voice her opinion.  “i heard you did the amputation yourself,” she says in a disinterested, cool voice. 

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i’m ready to get the ball rolling on here so go ahead and like this for a starter!! length will vary and i may come to you for plotting!

(it’s a starter call because she’s on the phone get it)

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[slasherheroine-a]

PLOTTED STARTER FOR: @modiifications She doesn’t know how deep the wound is, just that it hurts. She has her hand over it, a poor attempt to stop the bleeding. She thinks she’s going to die here, that maybe all her dumb luck has finally run out. Her breathing is coming out in shallow, heaving breaths. It never really hits you how much you want to LIVE until you’re dying, like she’s remembering all the reasons she’s fought so hard for so long. But Sidney doesn’t think she can fight this.

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after rat bled out, after the shallow attempt to save a life, she swore she would never do what she did that night ever again. decided cosmetic, elective surgery was less draining, less likely to cause her to sob in the shower wearing skimpy lingerie and too much eye makeup. she swore. and after everything that happened, she was sure she hardened her heart enough to walk past any poor unfortunate soul that happened to be dying on the side of the road. she surprises herself when she stops to look closer at the woman’s wound.  surprises herself even more when she begins to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding.  guess she’s not as heartless as she thought. or maybe she can’t stand to see a woman suffer. god knows she’s done enough suffering. 

“shh-- it’s going to be okay,” she says quietly, trying to help the stranger to her feet.  “we have to get you inside.”  if she has any chance of saving her, she needs her tools. 

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don’t you ever devalue what you do, mary.

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i’m ready to get the ball rolling on here so go ahead and like this for a starter!! length will vary and i may come to you for plotting!

(it’s a starter call because she’s on the phone get it)

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@stripshow | plotted starter 

she’s found a use for herself at local strip joints, not the showing her tits kind of job but instead something that the dancers need: someone to make them more beautiful. however they happen to define that, she doesn’t really care.   a number of 3D implants, a lone clitorectomy, complete facial reconstruction, genital mutilation. what have you.  it’s not her job to judge ( she does that silently ) it’s her job to do the surgeries and make enough money to continue living. 

and so she finds herself at little hole in the wall called miss kitty’s and she’s talking to a heavily modified stripper when a different woman catches her eye.  the one dancing on stage. she finds herself entranced in the dance, tuning out her potential client. always fucking up.  

“excuse me,” she says to the woman across from her, making her way to the stage and pulling out a twenty dollar bill.  she tucks it into the dancer’s g-string and waits for her routine to come to an end.  maybe she’ll buy her a drink.