THE DOOR OPENS. And the doctor enters. A room with only one door, one way out. It seems like this was a special room, one not as clinical as the rest of the basement, lined with the familiar insanity of this pale city. His madness, in the form of cut out faces, from magazines- posters, their features such as lips, noses, eyes, and bodies arranged in a frenzied mess of stitched together faces. The collage sprawls even to the floor. And the mirror man, he sits with his mirrors in a chair by the door, a marker in hand, beginning to place dots along his cheekbones.
Until one of his mirrors capture movement. “ Hi! ” The happy greeting is sharp, sudden, almost like an alarm beeping. His mirror, and head, turns instantly to try to catch what it saw moving, reflecting the only visible part of their face so far-- a magnified, rapidly searching green eye. He goes quiet a moment, watching, listening. Then, more of his ill-fitting, chipper voice.
“ Well... aren’t you going to say hello back? ”
The creature turns it’s neck towards the side, hand resting on his hip thinking. Depending on the mirror he did catch glimpses of the sky. Mostly clouds that cover the sky, buildings or even trees covering the view to have the creature unable to see anything. At most the creature seen more then their fair share of dust or mirrors cracked from being tossed aside.
Eventually the creature tilts its neck down and softly shakes it from side to side.
Open hand wiping at a non existing brow then closing it. ‘ forget ‘
Six sat comfortably ---or as comfortable as one could get on the cold ground of the maw, her knees curled to her chest. She was taking a break after a long chase with a certain janitor, exhausted and wishing she could just be rid of this place faster.
"You aren't enough." It was a stone cold truth. The words that left the humans mouth were as sharp and cut as deep as the blade in their hands. Pale flesh painted with sweat, tears, cuts and bruises and dust ― - clothes torn, hair matted, cheeks flushed and eyes wild; red. Their lips wore no smile, but instead were a thing line, as if speaking a litany known only between them, the skeleton, and the tile floors of the judgement hall. "You were never enough." Finally, a grin. "YOU NEVER WILL BE."
Shatter Him
〔Ω〕:: вeнιnd a ѕмιle ::
*(It’s not Frisk. It’s not Frisk. It’s not F r i s k. His mind supplies these, trying to calm the rattling that’s begun deep in his core. Those words, the ones he’s heard so easily slip from the lips of another. They cut him deeper than any knife could ever.)
*(Not enough. Worthless. Defective. G a r b a g e.)
*(But, he can’t break down here, not now. Not… openly. His sockets close briefly, and despite the way his shoulders want to shake he just gives them a little shrug. A jerk motion that he smoothes out best he can, and opens only one eye. Red eyes, not Frisk. They had sepia, maple, brown, brown, brown eyes. Not red. Never red. His grin feels pasted on, fake and unnatural. But, he holds it. And chuckles. Just to spite the d e m o n wearing his kid’s skin.)
“B e t ’ c h a w i s h t h a t ‘ d w o r k , d o n ‘ t y a?”
*(Never alluding to anyone that it had. His motions were still just as fast, but he was getting reckless. Instead, he does the only thing he c a n do to make it stop. The ground below rumbles, and bones jut upwards; they can dodge if they want but… He flings a barrage at them after that. Leaving no open spaces, uncaring of how much it takes from him.)
“D o n ‘ t t a l k l i k e y o u ‘ r e t h e m.”
*(–please. i already know they all deserve better than me. i just want them b a c k. i just want my f a m i l y alive. i don’t care how many times i have to suffer or die.)
*(If he had his way, he would spitefully keep count of every affliction he’d been given; if just to fuel his anger. A sick, yet somehow necessary maintenance of hatred. But, in his more innocent years… Trauma was not so easily handled and packaged away as fuel for the fire. Namely, the heinous actions taken shortly after his creation.)
*(He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why he doesn’t understand, he just … knows he doesn’t. Not in those exactly words, but … the lack is there. It’s enough. The first thing he sees should’ve been light, but the moment he’s conscious enough to feel; there’s P A I N. And he doesn’t understand why it hurts. What’s causing the hurt. These questions are merely flickers of feelings in-between throes of agony.)
*(What was happening? He didn’t know. Forcing his eyes open only made it hurt more, and whatever minuscule glances he managed to get only revealed something white suspended above him. And multiple hands moving. He didn’t know what either were, but everytime the hands moved; his eyes shot open and liquid magic gathered uselessly in his sockets and dribbled inwards. That, he didn’t understand either. Not understanding as it slipped down the inside of his skull and bubbled out from the joint connection between his spine and it.)
*(He wanted it to stop, even without knowing what stop meant yet. So, he does the only vocalization he can—the only one everything instinctively knows without being taught. He screams. Only for a pair of hands to swiftly silence him with a balled up cloth shoved unkindly into his mouth. It muffles him, and fear latches onto him in icy tendrils. He doesn’t understand what it means to be afraid, having no words to attach to it. Feelings were unknown to him, and it seemed the only figure in there besides him—one he was currently unaware of due to being constantly distracted by every prod and poke—wasn’t going to bother explaining them.)
*(But, it wasn’t the worst. Not yet. There’s a surge of white hot anguish would flood him next, unable to understand the newly introduced implement piercing the white thing. Somehow, amid the pangs of suffering, he came to wonder if that white thing was part of him. But, whenever the thought would come, a wave of pain would push it back. He was nearly delirious by then, almost feeding back into unconsciousness yet something barred him from falling back into blessed darkness. Almost as if he needed to be conscious for this, more things he didn’t understand nor want.)
*(The jabbing pain finally fell away, and he was left a wreck of quaking bones and with blue magic drool saturating the cloth and dribbling down his chin. He forces his sockets open, briefly, a glimpse of the white thing—that by this time he was almost sure was his white thing—covered in strange strings with flat things on them. He doesn’t bother to try and understand, he’s too tired and nothing makes sense. Not even the concept of sense itself. His sockets close and he drifts…)
*(An unknown amount of time passes—not that a concept of time is even present for him—before his sockets open and he finds himself able to look around this time. It’s not bright this time, or at the very least he doesn’t shy away from it. The gag is still there, but it feels less wet. It doesn’t cross his mind that it might’ve been removed when he was out; it wouldn’t. He simply finds his attention captured by the room.)
*(For a moment, before pain reclaims his senses. It’s not as intense as before, painful yes… But, discomfort more so. Descriptions he doesn’t yet have, but he knows he can still look despite this. It’s… dreary, dark. He doesn’t have those words, but he knows he doesn’t like it. His eyes close at a sudden pang of particularly potent discomfort, and he stays that way; dizzy and the concept of free seems so far away. It’s just a feeling; the word means nothing to him now. He doesn’t feel like he should be stuck like this.)
*(The person—whom he just now catches sight of and the resulting fear grips him—moves about with tiny clicks. The noise doesn’t make sense, but they look at him and he quivers. The white thing quivers, and next he hears is static and it terrifies him. He doesn’t understand, and it’s scary. He doesn’t understand that either. Nor does he understand how his thoughts suddenly cut off when that person leans over him quickly and a jabbing pain cycles through him. And then he feels numb… And he drifts again…)
*(He’s slower to wake this time, stubbornly clinging to the ignorance that blissful cold dark gives. He doesn’t want the light. It hurts, it’s nothing but pain and discomfort and fear for him. He tries to ignore it, return back; but the discomfort reels him back. He tries to express his want for it to stop again, but the cloth prevents it. He doesn’t try again, lethargic and simply wanting to drift away again. That must’ve been something wrong, even if he doesn’t yet know what the difference between wrong and right is.)
*(The same jabbing pain from before slams into him full force, and his sockets water again, unpleasantly dripping back into his skull. There’s no sloshing—the person must’ve cleaned out the other tears—but his white thing ripples at the feeling. It hadn’t done that before, and he doesn’t understand much of it. It’s come to approach truth that he and his white thing are connected, but the words meaning is lost on him. All he knows is that it’s his.)
*(He doesn’t stay conscious for the entire process this time, drifting and out in waves, only barely aware of anything at any time now. The person’s clicks, the other strange sounds; he feels separate from them and the pain that skims the surface of his delirium. He goes under fully after another few minutes and stays down for a good while…)
*(He wakes up knowing nothing, a strange blank space and a sore discomfort in his … What? He sees the white thing float, and the strangest sense of familiarity bubbles up. His? Was it his? It seemed to be. He hears clicks, and looks up; and flinches a bit. The person holds up large, hole-filled hands. A floating pair join them, and even through his fear, he is curious. He tries to reach out, and falters; but the hands catch him and deposit him back on the table. He understands none of this, but he’s consumed with a desire to at least know who this person is.)
“☜✌☝☜☼ ✌☼☜☠❄ ✡⚐🕆”
*(The person approaches, and he shakily reaches again, bones clicking; and one of the floating hands catch his smaller one. While he doesn’t understand, this action appeases him and he stills completely; large pupils lifting from the hands to the other’s face. He grins, doesn’t understand why he does, but it feels nice.)
*(He can’t speak back, doesn’t yet know how. But, he can tell that name is for him and that the other one is this person. He knows who they are now. He doesn’t know the word or reason… But, he thinks he likes them.)
Grimmjow or Shinji or Urahara !! Aaaand Bunnymund or Pitch? OH AND STEVE ROGERS
Take a whack at it
Oh shit you got two on my top five Bleach characters in one guess??? Color me Surprised and Pleased.(The other three in the top five are Mayuri, Kenpachi, and Nnoitra)Unfortunately, you didn’t do quite so well on the other two fandoms.
