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@rydr--system
They call me... Yellow Skinned Wacky Man! But I prefer...The Creeper
☺ semi-selective ☺ oc, crossover, multiverse friendly ☺ modified broad-canon + original interpretation ☺ past-tense paragraph roleplay ☺ adult themes, violence, dark subject matter ☺ dissociative identity disorder portrayal ☺ follows from @zigg--muses
✧ info ✧ tags ✧ touchstones ✧ playlist (jack) ✧ playlist (creeper) ✧ rules ✧
TRIGGER WARNING: domestic abuse, body horror, gore, drug abuse
Where do you carry your pain?
your heart.
you have loved, and been hurt. your heart is tired, but cannot grow calloused...
your heart.
you have loved, and been hurt. your heart is tired, but cannot grow calloused...
tagged by :: @sanguine-salvation (ty!) tagging :: anyone who wants to do this -- tag me!
I didn’t know that when my mother died, her grave would be dug in my body.
::Verse: They of the Bay:: a melody for a love unsung @rydr--system... (x)
This bridge could never leave them alone, could it?
Their eyes widened, bright and icy blue in the shade of the evening, that same salty breeze ached in their nose. The wind caught their feathers too heavy, too fast, too desperate. Their lungs lurched in their chest and crushed at their heart as they beat their wings as fast as they could, every muscle suddenly tearing at itself to wake up faster.
Falling.
They had heard the commotion. What was the difference this time? Gotham was full of awful noises and voices, they were numb and empty to it now. And yet...
Falling. No? No, their heart ached at the sounds coming from that awful bridge. Of course. The scar on their cheek burned at even thinking about their rotten home away from home.
But they listened tonight, and the scream hit them. No, they knew that voice like a knife in the ribs. Their heart thundered in their chest on stupid, stupid animal instinct, some dumb zombie part of them that lurched out like an ugly cough.
Falling.
The flailing black shape, all arms and legs and the smell of bruises and blood, crashed into their arms and claws as they slammed him out of his impending death. WhatareyoudoingwhatareyoudoingJackwhatareyoudoingJack?
"Ngh!" They winced and grunted under their own momentum. The sound of wind and wing as the caught themself and tried to bear a new weight far too quickly, then wrapped about themself and Jack as they landed hard into the sand and stone of a small shore along the Kane Sound.
He'd made some poor choices in his life. Eating week old leftovers? That was one of them. Dating Vera Sweet? That was definitely one of them. But crossing the mob for the sake of his career? That was probably the worse choice he'd made in some time.
Cold metal pressed against his head as the gunman threatened him. "Come on, hot shot. Move it." He was forced to climb out of the car, his hands tied behind his back. Blue eyes darted all around him to try and absorb the location through the gaps in his burlap hood. It was...windy. And cold.
His body ached with fresh and old bruises, and the blood from his earlier beatdown still clung to his clothes, nose, and mouth. He was ready to take a rest, but not the kind that he was certain his captors had in mind.
The hood was ripped off with a yank, revealing the open bay to him. He nearly toppled backward, but was pushed to stay right up at the edge by the gunman. "Sionis says 'Have a safe trip,' dirtbag." And with those final words, his bruised and battered body was kicked over the edge. His feet slipped out from under him, and then he was there. Falling. To his death. The screams came naturally with that knowledge.
Then... He wasn't falling anymore. He met with a hard grunt against a pair of arms. At first, his mind assumed it would have been Superman, or even Batman coming to his rescue, but then he heard the distinct flutter of feathers.
His eyes opened, and he took in the blurry, confusing sight around him. "W-What!?" he let out, unable to process the vision. And there was the ground to answer him. He was enveloped in wings as the impact came, saving him from any of the rougher chunks of rock or glass left amidst the sands. After a moment of dizziness, he pushed himself up, his head pushing some feathers out of the way. "Okay... Okay... I'm not dead. But..." He looked back at his savior, trying to take in a better view of them.
ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜsᴛᴏɴᴇs: jack
My Muse as a teenager
Some Plants Eat Meat And That Is Okay
#0fe602 | #126f1e | #f74b35 | #dd3559 | #ffad09
You know what. You know who.
He knows where you are and he sees what you do.
Cry and holler, oh boo-hoo-hoo.
When you hear him laughing, you know he's coming for you.
He creeps... and he creeps... And he eats all the little creeps!
His hair is green and his eyes are mean.
He's shaggy and he's yellow, and when he gets you...
Boy oh boy... will you ever bellow!
All little boys better take care! Be good... Or beware...
THE CREEPER...
Viktor didn't retreat.
Even as Jack's words crawled over them like slimy little slugs, riling up such a frustration! How dare he. How dare he, why can't he see, he does see, all he sees is the weak sorry creature, pathetic, crawling along with nothing in them, just like before— I'm not. Stop. He knows. He sees. Why can't he see. Stop... seeing like that...
They grit their teeth and leaned forward, pulling the chains and buckles deliberately as taut as they would go, the duck cloth straining under their pressure. They glared at the guard, "I'm not done talking yet. I do get my time, don't I?" Their voice lilted into a saccharine sigh, then slowly their face creaked into a smile as the guard only narrowed his eyes. Not a new look. They knew he was only playing nice for the 'cameras', like they always did. Pretty on the outside, so pretty and clean and proper, and just as rotten inside as everything else. Things would go back to normal soon.
There was a beat of silence before once more their attentions landed sharply on Jack. And for a flicker, just a brief little moment, their frown... sank a little. The ice of their eyes melted. "... Is that what you want? To know I'm still human?" It was a bitter, cold word that meant so little. "... I am. I still bleed. Just like anyone else. But that's it." Their face shifted softer, though they didn't really feel it.
Laughter in their ears, alcohol on their tongue, the warmth of his eyes. Gone. "I bleed, I cut, I free. There's nothing else left, I have n..." they shook their head. 'It makes you human.' Makes you weak. Hurt. Crying on the hood of the car, angry and sad and broken, looking up at blurry stars through tears after they had to play pretty for his cameras all day at the church. "No. That's not what you want, is it?"
... Jack wanted something they couldn't give him. Of course. Yes, that made sense. He wanted that, not them. And if they weren't that, he wanted to leave them. Didn't he? Hurt. Hurts.
They smiled, but there was no joy. It was just this empty, tired thing full of teeth and silence on their face. If he wanted to leave, they would make it easy. "... I could give you what you need, though." Their eyes flickered to the guard slyly, knowingly. "It'd be quick, I promise. Maybe... a pen dug into your carotid artery?" They leaned their head to the side, showing off the edge of their neck peeking out from over the collar. The skin, rubbed raw from the collar and their movement, and the red enamel pen by Jack's hand the only shocks of color in the sterile blue room.
"I can feel your blood on my hands, your weight in my arms, isn't there some part of you that finally wants to just rest? Because it never stops... does it? All that pain... I've had to watch it in your eyes for so long." Their tone was strange, split, fighting over itself in eerie quiet. "... Do you think this will stop hurting after you leave this room?" Maybe. Maybe they could be forgotten so easily, just like everyone else had forgotten them before.
A splinter in the glass, their fingertips bleeding through.
There was something there, past the purpose. Viktor's hesitation in proclaiming otherwise was a dead giveaway.
Then came the threats.
He felt the stinging in their words, and saw the painful fury behind their eyes. He couldn't be shocked, really. No, what really got to him was that Viktor seemed to know just what direction the conversation was going to take, given Jack's line of questions, and they hated it. Back an animal into the corner of their pen and eventually they're bound to bite. That was precisely what Viktor was trying to do with their viscerally descriptive wishes.
Jack leaned in, which no doubt gave the guard behind him a heart attack as he heard the jostling of kevlar and tactical gear from that direction. He remembered that pained young soul sitting next to him on cold Gotham nights to watch the stars and clouds in the sky in hopes of escaping the pain of their lives. That loneliness that was inside both of them -- that they shared -- was still in their spirit. "I've seen your pain or a long time, too. And, to me? It doesn't look like the deaths have alleviated any of it." His eyes tensed into a narrow squint for a moment before he said, "I think you know that deep down your purpose isn't as pure and simple as you'd like it to be."
However, he saw the rubbed raw skin under Viktor's collar, and sympathy began to dampen the icy cold distance growing in his chest. Even past the threats, and the violence, and the killing, there was a person there, and it was possible Arkham wasn't exactly treating them humanely.
It was shown more plainly to him as the guard pulled him back by the shoulder and stepped in, drawing a stun baton from his belt and snapping out, "Back off, Zsasz!" He jabbed the stun baton forth into Zsasz's collarbone to push them back. "Interview is over. I told the warden this was a bad idea."
Jack Ryder was definitely one of the reporters she liked working with more than others. No microphone in her face, no waiting for her to mess up. Just respectable, easier to talk to. She could appreciate that. Kara took his hand, pulling herself up to her feet. "Thanks." She brushed herself off and assessed the damage she caused. "There's an alien who hates Superman out causing trouble. He saw the crest and decided I was good enough." She said, possibly a little to nonchalantly. The shrug didn't help that. "I'd definitely get everyone out of here, but this isn't a city wide evac guy, you know?"
Jack looked over his shoulder and toward the other reporters, who were already working on clearing debris to reach their belongings at their desks. One thing about Metropolis reporters had over Gotham reporters was just how orderly and calm they were about things like an alien crashing into their newsroom. It happened a lot more often around here.
He nodded his head and looked back to Supergirl, a humorous smirk on his face as he said, "No problem. We know the drill. Just uh... Get the bad guy, alright?" he winked and gave a small, playful salute to her, then walked over to help an older editor up to her feet.
He would wait until everyone was leaving through the emergency exits to slip out into an alleyway. With no one around, and dust obscuring clear view of him, he reached up and touched his wrist, the hypnotic trigger to bring forth the other one in their little system. "Alright... Time to hand over the reigns."
The world went dark and blurry, and as he slipped back into the headspace, Creeper leapt out from the mental closet and to the front. The transformation took seconds, and the yellow-skinned maniac from Gotham came crawling out from the plumes of settling dust.
With a loud cackle, it leapt up onto the rooftops, aiming to get a good look at the surroundings and hopefully spot the super Jack had seen just earlier.
what soft romance cliché are you?
because i love you!
passionate; you are the heated moment of an argument. when the person you care for has done something outrageously stupid or dangerous. all of your pent up emotions that you've kept inside of you come bursting out: "beCAUSE I LOVE YOU!" how could they be so dense. how could YOU be so dense. you've loved each other this whole time. your love tends to be strong, and loud. sometimes it might be hard for you to express your feelings but you let people know that they are cared for. you're also hot. good for you.
tagged by :: @babydxhl tagging :: Anyone who wants to do it! Tag me!
It was being observed under glass. That's all they'd been doing lately, wasn't it? Being watched, observed, picked apart, drawn and quartered and scribbled into little notes at the bottom of a page.
But those were the doctors.
Jack felt like looking through a window with a crack in it. Even just the tiniest weight on one side would split it in two, but their hands and Jack's would— could— only ever press at the same time, forever keeping it up and in one piece.
It took a minute or two of their brain buzzing and their eyes poring over his face and trying to latch onto every little twitch of his face, every flicker of his eyes. And then the world was cold again. And they were staring at him, and he into them.
It bit at their throat, so no words came out.
There was a silence both of them understood, but this time Jack broke it. And their blood turned sour under their skin as he drew it out with six tiny simple words. How dare he. They knew this game. The doctor played it too, but so much more clumsily.
They narrowed their eyes an clenched their jaw. "Children..." they winced, and they steadied themself as they chose their words. "The small zombies... they are... not my priority. It's... not fair that I must have one, but... they are too small to be trapped into the cycle. It is... inevitable that they will be, yes, of course, but I must focus on those who suffer most first..." They leaned forward sharply, too fast, the chains rattled loudly and the guard stepped up quickly behind Jack. Itches, itches, itches.
"Hey! Settle down!" The guard spat in clear anger at the mention of children clearly cutting himself off in front of a reporter to keep what he really wanted to say secret. His face had become more and more irritated over the minutes.
"What do you think you are doing, Jack? What are you looking for? Do you think that makes me unkind? Do you think it's cruel of me to wait, knowing what will become of them!?" Cruel, selfish, weak! "Or do you think that makes me weak."
Now he'd gotten something. Struck a nerve somewhere deep. He didn't budge at the sudden lurch in his direction, meeting Zsasz's eyes with a sympathetic stare. He studied them more like one would look at an injured person suffering and in pain.
That's really what it was, in the end. A suffering human being hurting others in hopes that the pain would stop some day. Maybe with enough tally marks, there would be no more space for weakness and humanity. No more of the mundane agony of dark emotions. Behind all of that self-mutilated armor was his old friend. He could see them still in there, in those icy blue eyes.
He was more concerned about the guard behind him getting worked up. The guards at Arkham were known by the press as 'GCPD rejects'. Often times they were made up of ex-police officers who had been asked to quietly step down from their rank behind the thin blue line. He gave the man a glance to try and quell that fury for a bit longer. He as on to something. Just press a little more.
"I think it makes you human." He knit his brow and sat back up straight, letting a small exhale slip past his lips. "I think there's something still left in you telling you that life has a purpose beyond death. That's the harder thing for you to accept."
"So I have an idea that may or may not involve some explosives and a rubber chicken, are you in?"
"Sounds like a job for the Yellow Skinned Wacky Man and his trusty ally, Purple Dressed Jabby Gal!"
For a moment, it was a strange, muddled mix of predatory and longing in Viktor's eyes as Jack wriggled under the discomfort of their words. He wanted this whole engagement done and over with. Chewing his lip, straightening his back, the coldness creeping over his face. He wanted them done and over with, didn't he?
Their eyes narrowed every so slightly at his. They wanted to see something in there. They knew they wouldn't, because they couldn't, right? But with him... they wanted to. Stupid. Weak. Selfish. Zombie. Stupid, stupid, stupidSTOP. Please... Stupid, weak.
The words simmer in the air before Viktor drew back with a tepid, distancing irritation at that little question. Investigating. Yes. Jack was digging, prying, trying to lead them into a corner he deemed appropriate. Like any other interviewee. "You haven't seen it." They wrinkled their nose in offense, and a glint of their teeth showed. "I. Did."
Patience. Patience. Even as they tried to sound more 'gentle', their voice still cut through their teeth. "I... can't... blame you. Like I said, no one wants to see it. Even I had to be forced to see it when I would have just died that night like any other aimless, emptied zombie. I suppose that would have been easier, haa, but... haha, it just isn't easy, is it? Nothing is... and I'll never forget how it felt. It scared me more than anything ever had in my life, but... I needed to see it. It was for the better." Right? They wanted to see that understanding in his eyes. A man, their runaway friend, who valued truth.
See me.
Their face suddenly hardened. The gentle clinking of chains pulling against the restraint chair slithered through the air between them. "... I wanted to live once, too, Jack. Look where it got me. Do you really think I'm so selfish that I'd do this just for me? If I did, I wouldn't bear their weight on my skin. I wouldn't bother sparing them the suffering that rots in them, I wouldn't look in their eyes and promise them they will never be forgotten."
The air felt too cold on their face when they finally stopped, both their hurt and their offense written in every inch of their expression all at once. There was another pause and a steadying breath. See me.
Make it make sense. Listen to me.
Jack leaned in as Zsasz leaned back, lacing his fingers against the tabletop and watching with somewhat squinted eyes. Every micro-expression and pause and sigh caught his attention, with all of them stacking up to betray whatever guard Zsasz was trying to keep up. Not to mention that they were avoiding answering the question. A clear tell that the answer was too hard or too painful to say. Proof that there was avoidance of a truth waiting to be proven to their mind and heart.
There was a chance.
Jack knit his brows and shook his head as the next plight was thrown his way. Living was the hard part, wasn't it? After so much pain, all Viktor wanted was some sort of release from the agony of living a hollow, empty life. He couldn't claim he didn't sympathize. It was sick, wasn't it? To sympathize with a serial killer who had claimed the lives of dozens. But he knew that through that experience on the bridge blossomed the idea that they could help. In the end, that was what they were trying to do.
he let out a little sigh, adjusting his glasses with a newfound softness in his gaze. If only he could shake that idea to its core, perhaps he could jostle some reality back into Viktor's perspective. He didn't bother to press for an actual answer to his previous questions. It was clear Viktor believed they were doing something right, and it was time to make them question it. "... Why don't you kill children, Viktor?" he asked bluntly, as if to shake Viktor back down from the tree they were climbing.
What are your thoughts on Analog Horror?
I feel The Mandela Catologue would be more your speed.
"I feel like I've been part of enough Analog Horror on my own, but it's an interesting storytelling format. Might write a script for one sometime. I'll be sure to check that Mandela Catalogue series out."
// having a power outage tomorrow, so I won't be able to do replies until the evening jsyk!
Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby (1938) dir. Howard Hawks
