Dipper Pines (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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deercountry2021-12-01 02:19 am
ghostharasser) wrote in deercountry2021-12-01 02:19 am
Entry tags:
Are we not brave enough? [Closed]
Who: Dipper Pines (ghostharasser), Falco Grice (grice), maybe others later, TBA
What: Dipper tries to perform an emergency exorcism on the demon plaguing Falco. It goes...badly...
When: Early December
Where: Gaze
Note: This is the log to kick off this player plot
Content Warnings: Possession, violence, body horror, potential cannibalism, (child) death
Top levels below
ghostharasser), Falco Grice (grice), maybe others later, TBAWhat: Dipper tries to perform an emergency exorcism on the demon plaguing Falco. It goes...badly...
When: Early December
Where: Gaze
Note: This is the log to kick off this player plot
Content Warnings: Possession, violence, body horror, potential cannibalism, (child) death
Top levels below
The Exorcism
[No, no, he has to be more confident than that. Falco is depending on him. He's done banishments. This isn't that different from getting rid of a ghost, or expelling Bill out of his uncle. He just needs to figure out the right components, the right angle, and this thing can be dealt with just like the monster in the basement of Mr. Break's house.]
[He was antsy, and he'd felt restless since the beginning of the month. He felt like he wasn't making progress on reworking the spell. After all, having to omit blood entirely, when the whole city ran on it, was a heck of a task. In fact, he was worried without some blood, the magic might not work at all! And what would that make him? Useless, is what. If he's nothing without the blood, then he's nothing at all, and he could not abide that.]
[Falco is the one that forces his hand in the end. A desperate plea for help he could not ignore. He rushes down to Cassandra to get as much blessed water they will give him. He tries to borrow a few more of their items, gets caught stealing and gets kicked out. Panics around his room as he decides what he needs to do this, makes a decision, gathers up his things, and tells Falco to meet him somewhere specific. He doesn't have time to leave a note before he leaves.]
[On the edge of Gaze, not very far from the Pines' house, is where Dipper keeps his personal lamp. It's a quiet clearing surrounded by woods, just a hop and a skip away from Sanguine Graveyard. It's the best place to do this away from interference. He quickly begins setting up the ritual.]
we told ‘em kids 😭
he’d see purple claws wrapping around him in his sleep and forcing him to wake when he was at his last breath, purple blurs ran from the corners of his eyes, whispers spoke of terrible things and urged him to feel contempt over it all, from the past to people who have done wrong to him (and who falco has long forgiven; he was never one to cultivate a grudge). but these voices would at times seem so loud and correct that it startled the boy beyond his own skin. when red veins go purple and move erratically when in front of a mirror (not only that, but indigo limbs press and break against the glass he looks at), falco’s had enough. it’s taking over and it was a matter of time until it actually would take over and he had to do something or else everyone he knew and didn’t know—
well, dipper had been made very well aware of falco’s frantic messaging. once at the arrived destination, the eerie mist of graze’s edge was already cluttered with his hitching sobs and desperate staggering. falco looks nothing like the boy dipper had met some weeks or days behind— he was stripped of anything tolerant and kind, replaced with disturbance and a stark image of someone sickly. he was febril, the whites of his eyes were wide and baring a lavender tint, he’d twitch too much and jump at just about anything that came within his line of vision or hearing, imaginary or otherwise.
hell, he even jumps at the site of dipper, only a bleak shadow until his eyes fixated and saw just another boy and no beast. ]
D-dipper, Dipper, I’m sorry, I, I can’t—
[ can’t wait, can’t give him time; he’s being pushed, either falsely or not, but either possibility was only a pinch away from a terror, and that may be what the darkest, parasitic cloud of negative energy hung over falco’s shoulder’s is having a feast over. it’s an ugly cycle of win-win for the silence. if falco breaks, it gets a turn on the wheel. if dipper fails and gives it an opening, it takes the wheel anyway. ]
no subject
[He sucks in a breath that doesn't steel him nearly as well as he wanted when he finally sees him. No, he understands now why he'd been in such a panic. This thing was close to the surface and by the looks of it, they didn't have any time. This was dire. Anxiety laces through his blood as he takes it all in. Doubt creeps up in the back of his mind, but he pushes it down.]
[This was too important. He simply could not fail. He would figure it out, one way or the other, and they would take care of this problem, once and for all. There was no other choice.]
Sit down- in the center there.
[His voice only cracks a little, to his benefit. Dipper points Falco to a circle he's made with salt. There's a chair on the center, and Dipper is currently setting up candles around the perimeter. About two feet away from the circle is a second circle, smaller, with an arcane mark scorched into the ground.]
I haven't had time to test this out yet, but I think the theory behind it is solid. Do you need-
[He falters a moment. Forces the confidence in his voice, this time.]
How do you feel about being tied up? So it doesn't try to rip my face off if I make it mad.
no subject
inside this circle, right in the middle of the moon’s symbol, falco heart goes restless. he shouldn’t be terrified and he is, growing down his neck like a traveling plague. and it was; he removes his outer cloak shell to keep his layering simple. he already felt like his body wouldn’t stop shivering from the fever, and that maybe the cold could help bring it down.
the brand at his nape, where the silence had entered in the first place, occasionally feels like it’s crawling, and it’s an awful nauseating sensation that he pried at and felt nothing but skin and hair.
falco puts his hands behind his back and keeps them together, looking over his shoulder with wet sniffs between his words. ]
Please, [ his arms, his legs, his mouth— he has no problems with being bound when it was a must. ] I don’t— I can’t hurt myself.
[ he absolutely can’t, and it was a shame that he hadn’t the time to mention why earlier. only a vague “where my abilities come from”. ]
I-I’ll need a bit, too, [ not only to keep himself from biting his tongue or cheek, ] I’ll bite, and, might start talking and— and it won’t be me.
[ the silence had a habit of saying nasty things, mostly starting at guilt tripping until it strikes right into vengeful. it could be distracting, especially when using the face of a twelve year old to do it. ]
no subject
[It's hard for him to get too close. Both the negativity and pure nastiness that emanates off The Silence is bad enough, but Falco is in real distress and Dipper soaks that up just as badly. He's quiet while he gets rope, entirely because he has to steel himself and keep his hands steady. Falco is putting his trust in him, and so faltering in this crucial moment will hurt both their resolve.]
I know. Don't worry, I guarantee that thing can't say or do worse to me than what Cipher did.
[Famous last words probably. Dipper ties up Falco's hands to the best of his ability, and rigs up something for him to bite into, also. He isn't super confident it'll totally muffle the demon if he manages to get a few words in, but it's better than nothing.]
[That done, he steps away, takes a deep breath, and finishes the set up as quickly as possible. They're really running out of time. With it done, Dipper stands in the center of his own circle, holding his journal.]
...Ready?
no subject
that’s enough for falco. that’s all he needs to believe that he’s got this, even if he’s fearful. it makes a little crack of hope glimmer through his faith— even though, energetically speaking, nothing of the dark, indigo cloud eating him up has changed. it’s only gotten darker as the boy nodded and braced himself, wishing for the best for the both of them.
a set of tears slide down falco’s cheeks as he inhales and nods without taking his eyes off him. he’s breathing fast, his chest rises and falls rapidly while the air rushes past whatever it is he’s biting into. dipper’s got this. he’s got this. ]
no subject
[The air grows quiet, and like a cue, the sun gently slides below the tree line, drenching them in twilight. The sigil beneath Dipper starts to glow, and when Dipper opens his eyes again, there's a paleblood glow from his right eye.]
Videntis Omnium.
[The world around them shifts, the air, reality itself, turning dreamlike. The stark saturated colors of dusk bleed away in a flash, leaving everything surreal and monotone. Everything stops, or rather, begins to slow down. Instead the feeling is suspended, like waiting at the top of a jump for the eventual plummet down that never comes.]
Magister Mentium. Magnesium Ad Hominem-
[As Dipper chants in what sounds like latin, the sigil under Falco begins to light up. The pressure of a anti-demon protection spell coming down hard on him.]
cw: body horror, small eye mention, possession
now, it was a slimy, oozing, burning horror that swallowed the boy’s aura up tight and used his vocal chords, his expression of pity and terror and his pain. the bloodshot veins in his eyes have darkened into purple, the brand behind his neck spreads to his shoulders, up his neck— the mass of negativity in the boy is snaking from inside its anchoring vessel to outside in the realm dipper had coaxed it to, and it feels nothing but strong and capable. it felt suffocating. the air burned to breathe and more than once did it sound like falco was choking on something ugly and tar-like lodged in his throat with no way out other than the occasional spit and splat of metallic, purple goop that reeks of infection.
a little hope is what always made the fall and breaking of an inkling of a chance all the more tastier. the negativity doubles. and, that’s what it proposes. as falco writhes and bends, he cries through his muffler, that every time, comes more loose:
dipper, stop, you’re hurting me, stop, why would you do this to me?! i never did anything to you! drop dead! you’ll pay for what you’re doing to me, i’ll do it myself, i hate you, you’re not going back home alive you should’ve left h̸̡̻̘͑͋̒i̸͓͖̟̿͒m̴͇͇͛͋̓͜mmm m̶e̶ to die liͥᴋⷦeͤ ᴛⷮhͪeͤ rͬeͤs͛ᴛⷮ yoͦuͧ’rͬeͤ noͦᴛⷮhͪiͥng oͦn yoͦuͧ’rͬeͤ oͦwn w̺̻̫e̙͕̘ ᴋⷦneͤw iͥᴛⷮ s̶t̶o̶p̶—
it seems to be contained, but it keeps talking— right at him. ]
cw: body horror, small eye mention, possession
[It's oppressiveness makes his skin tingle, like getting too close to a fire. It's a miasma that could swallow him alive if he's not careful. He realizes then, what a precarious tightrope he's walking.]
[The thing begins screaming at him, speaking in the way Falco warned. He can tell, at least, that it's the demon for sure. He's known Falco just long enough to be able to gauge his manner, his way of speaking, and he's dealt with enough possession to tell when the shift is obvious. This is what he expected, but it hurts to listen to. It hurts to know this thing is making him say such terrible things, when Falco had seemed so gentle thus far.]
[It's awful, too, because this realm is a dream, a pocket of malleable reality, and things like words have their own special weight, with the right intent. They feel like barbs, striking at him. He keeps his resolve, but its a very near thing.]
Daemoniacus Entitatem Eicere!
[The end of the spell, Dipper claps his journal closed with an echoing snap, and flings the book behind him. It slows to a halt as if time itself has froze it in place. With The Silence out, but contained, Dipper thinks he has just moments to act.]
[Dipper seizes forward, breaching the line of Blessed water on the ground, and reaches through the ward to grab the demon with his bare hands. He knows this will work, he tells himself, because he's seen it done. He remembers the soul rending feeling of having his soul ripped out of his body by Bill. If he has to command powers like this, then he's going to use them for good, even if he has to emulate the monster he hates most.]
You're coming with me!
cw: self harm too
but there was also a breach, and dipper leg(s) were what bridged that detested gap. it was too fed, too energized to be an easy pull— and it very well knew that when it took dipper formidable resolve head-on and combats it with a gnawing shroud of, what was it? hostility, antagonism, fear. fear may do. much like meat hanging in a river for a pack of piranhas to snap at, the silence attempts what it does best: it brings out the worst in every memory, every emotion ever felt, and wrenches it into a grudging wound that festers fast.
whatever it is that frightens or angers dipper the most, the silence probes for it on contact— and as dipper pulls, so does the silence, spitting right through falco's bounded lips and clenching teeth: you'll be dead before then! with all of the boy's rabid battering about, he's rolled himself to his front, pauses in a beat to bring his eyes to the ground— and spontaneously, he rears his head back to slam his forehead into hard earth, then his temple, then his face, his nose, his exposed teeth or bottom lip, and he wouldn't stop after each thunk, not until it has harmed him.
falco, though, the real falco, is the one shedding these genuine tears, he can see dipper reaching and the silence being stretched— he can feel it, the ugly disease lodged in him being manipulated and reacting. maybe, he’s doing it. maybe there really was a way. the boy’s head still rams on it’s own accord, as if something had gnarled claws into his hair and threw his face to the ground, repeatedly, but there was a mechanical slip, intentionally done or not, where falco’s fingers twitch under his want. he can’t reach, but he wants to, and for a split of a second does falco look like he too, is fighting for slipping reins.
he’s too desperate to tell that it was a dangling fruit poisoned at the core. his wrists hurt, so just his chest from rattling so tightly, but the ropes are loosening their knots. he wants to reach as it seems like silence’s goop is coming just as undone as the binds. ]
Dipper—!
[ just a little more— ]
cw; PTSD,
[He reaches, his hope shining bright like a beacon.]
[And misses.]
[There's a dread in the pit of his stomach that ignites like a bomb, and that's all it takes for the Silence's miasma to consume him. For The Silence to find what it was looking for in Dipper's vulnerabilities. His fear, his anger, he has all of it in spades. He has nightmares that plague him the likes no one has seen. He's a fucking all-you-can-eat buffet of everything the Silence wants to feed off, and it's just been handed the golden key.]
[The worst part of it? This realm is a dream. It takes these things and gives them form and the line between what is a dream and what is a nightmare is ever a precarious balance.]
[The world plummets into red, and screams fill the air. Some of them are Dipper, but most of them are from his memory. Blood rains down in torrents, the skies open up, the world is falling apart and there is a shrill, unhinged laugh that echoes louder than than anything else, a sound so all consuming it smothers the ears, the mind. These are Dipper's worst fears made real.]
[The fear of losing, of uncertainty, the fear of lost agency, of lost sanity. The fear of becoming that which he hates most.]
[Once the claws are in him, it takes nothing for them to drag him under.]
no subject
falco’s gut goes ice cold when he felt his consciousness take a pitfall backward; any control he thought he had was ripped from his sensibility and replaced with sparks, visible sparks, crawling up his face and bouncing off his self-inflicted wounds— a busted, bleeding lip and broken blood vessel snug in his nose. if only he could say something, if only he could push the other boy back to safer distances. at least he hadn’t been within an embrace’s range, but the heat about to emit right off of him was enough to blow a good portion of a home away.
but cry was all he could do, and what made it worse was the clear memory of his older brother refusing to let go of him in a similar situation. he’s so hopeless. so useless. why does this exist? he hated this— but the silence loved every second of one negative thought busting a domino effect into the other.
the glare and heat off of falco is followed by a strike, a damned sound, like metal and thunder, one that ignites and cracks, sparking light and opening paths to bring veins, muscle fiber and bone fragments to a skeletal frame and then life, skin, feathers— something magnificent made absolutely ugly by dripping tar caking its spreading wings and infecting its talons. his, maybe.
because this massive thing was falco. not beasthood, but a gifted ability, or curse, that was now hijacked. what to do with dipper . . . or, what’s left of him. it shouldn’t take long to find the sickly wide eyes behind the sockets of a bony beak mask. falco didn’t want to find him— the silence did. ]
no subject
[The world around them goes dead silent. That feeling of weightless anticipation finally drops, and the colors of the real world spread out once more. That dreamlike feeling fades altogether when the master of that realm falls either unconscious or worse.]
["Worse" might be more true, if the smell of burnt flesh is anything to go by.]