#empty body

[intotheblackwideopen]

Spook The Horses - Empty Body (2020)

[cubbihue]

I was just looking at you itty bitty FOP au (it's amazing and cool btw)

But one question was floating around my head the entire time I was looking through it

What other things does Changeling Timmy hate/dislikes besides muffins?

Timmy doesn't like celebrating his birthday. His parents never celebrated it at his house, so getting one feels... odd.

Once, his friends tried throwing him a surprise birthday party. At the time, it had been the biggest most exciting thing he'd received! A whole party just for him!!!

But afterwards, Timmy found that he actually... hated the attention he got. Being at the center of everything, having everybody watch as you open presents, covered in silly string and streamers and confetti, where all his opinions mattered above others... No, he'd rather avoid doing that again.

Timmy plans to never tell people about his birthday when he moves to his new location. He doesn't like surprises or sudden noise.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[tategaminu]

I just think she's neat

[digitalsymbiote]

Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

--

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.

[kenchann]

mabu 🍤 ♥ ♠ 🐈

[lucabyte]

times ive drawn loop being used as a reading light: 2

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

Quatre nuits d'un rêveur (Robert Bresson, 1971)

[ohno-the-sun]

More miscellaneous gitm drawings I have forgotten to post

Idea for the last drawing goes to @/gopsnippers they have cursed us all /j

Characters by @/venomous-qwille

[yeonjune]

Yeonjun about the strain he felt while preparing for his debut solo project ✙ "GGUM" MAKING FILM

[queerstudiesnatural]

we don't talk about soulless sam enough like how did that even happen???? castiel explain!!!!!!

[intotheblackwideopen]

Spook The Horses - Empty Body (2020)

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I was just reading up on ink’s faq on comyet’s tumblr and two parts stuck out to me; his rainbow tongue and their tendency to draw outfits on people. and like a quick tw for possible body horror and experimentation for the tongue part I think.

The last one made me think of how I, and a few others, share a HC that killer tends to be more fashion forward than most sanses. that he even starts exploring different outfits and fashion in his good ending with color. I thought it’d be a wonderful idea if it was ink who helped inspire and encourage killer towards that idea.

even if killer decides its ultimately not safe to risk while still held captive by nightmare, i thought itd be rather sweet if his interactions with ink during the darkest periods of killer’s life actually inspires him towards things like self expression and creation—a sense of hope for someone like killer, who has spent his life believing he existed to destroy and be destroyed. and ink seems very good at inspiring others, just by being themself.

my first thought about ink’s tongue, though, created a very vivid scene to me. where like its one of killer’s rare off days, hes exhausted. ink’s sitting nearby, info dumping about an au—killer’s having a hard time keeping track of which one it is today, ink’s words sound like they’re coming from underwater—when a sudden flash of color (hehe) catches his attention.

Rainbow. Inkblot has a fucking rainbow tongue. Killer’s never seen that before!

And before ink knows it their poor tongue is being grabbed between thumb and forefinger and guided out of his mouth by killer and ink’s just like “???” and then killer gives him a dead eyed look and asks, “does this regenerate?” cuz he wants to cut it out and study it lmao.

[nimiana]

House of Atreus Bhaal

Jan Kott, Hamlet and Orestes, tr. Bolesław Taborski / Aeschylus, Agamemnon, tr. Anne Carson / Tracy K. Smith, Ash / Ana Mendieta, Body Tracks / Adriana Varejão, Green Tilework in Live Flesh / Richard Wagner, Persifal, produced by François Girard / @filmnoirsbian, Why Am I Haunted? / @filmnoirsbian, [6 ways to draw a circle on wikihow] / @jrgdrawing-real / Richard Siken, Real Estate

[pumpkinphrog]

Going on a walk + there's a weird ghosrt of a small horse with spring legs floating next to me

[sulfies]

Atlas, when the heavens get too heavy, I hope you finally allow yourself to put them down.

Originally uncencored and tbh it isnt sexual at all but idk tumblrs policy on nudity sooo have random bullshit to hide away… If you want the uncencored, Imma make a ao3 work for it I think :p

[deepdwellingsteamboat]

THE EMPTY MAN 2020・dir. David Prior