bakerstreet | body horror meme

body horror meme

WARNING -- POSSIBLE TRIGGERS (violence, pain, parasites, zombies, etc)

body horror meme

Something's gone wrong. Maybe it was a little parasite, wiggling under your skin. Maybe something bit you that one night in the woods. Maybe someone decided they didn't like you and placed a curse on you, or maybe the local psychotic AI decided she liked you and filled you full of nanites. In any case, you're changing, body and soul. There's no way to stop it. No way to reverse it. And above all, it's the most painful thing you've ever experienced...

HOW IT WORKS:
- Tag the meme, leaving your character name, fandom, and any preferences in the subject line
- Other character tags you
- You tag back, and use the random number generator to select from the following options. Or don't, and do whatever strikes your fancy. If you roll something your character already is, either roll again, go for human, or pick something that otherwise suits your fancy.
- Other character reacts, or is free to also roll on the table
- Play out the results.
- Have fun, but respect the preferences of others.

1. Water-dwelling. You're growing gills, or your skin is turning translucent, or you're sprouting fins, or maybe you're outright turning into some form of sea life. It doesn't matter what you're turning into – what does matter is that you're slowly losing the ability to breathe air, and there's no water in sight...

2. Animal. Something bit you, and you're turning into an animal. Your bones lengthen or perhaps shrink, break, twist, and reform, your teeth lengthen or shorten, and above all, you feel your instincts being overridden. Your senses sharpen; you notice smells you never did before, your vision becomes more sensitive to movement. If you're a predator? Man, these people look mighty tasty. Prey? OHGOD, EVERYTHING IS TERRIFYING. Lizard? Enjoy your new inability to regulate body temperature. Bird? Have fun with the whole beak and hollowing bones. And don't even get us started on insects and arachnids...

3. Parasitic Something's inside you, and it's changing you from within, chewing up your insides and altering your thoughts. You're not sure how much longer you're going to be you, and when the parasite's going to take over completely...

4. Demonic You've been meddling with dark powers beyond the ken of mortal man, and it seems you've accidentally sold your soul. Will you be the traditional kind of demon, horns and hooves, or something far more terrifying and ineffable?

5. Undead: No doubt about it, you're dying, but as you are, something's been altered in you. Maybe you're becoming a vampire – and not the fun kind, either, we're talking ugly, ravenous, and mad. Maybe you're a zombie, or a ghoul, and human flesh looks mighty tasty. Or maybe you're just turning into a ghost bent on vengeance. In any case, death is never fun.

6. Cybernetic Get captured by the Borg? Strapped to an operating table? Injected with nanites? Whatever happened to you, you're slowly turning into something half man, half machine, your squishy bits being replaced by mechanical components.

7. Lovecraftian You've heard their song, the terrors from beyond the stars, and even now they sing in your blood as your flesh transmutes into something ineffable and unknowable. You revel in the pain you feel even as you seek to spread it, to herald the end of all things... or maybe worse, you're aware of the transition as your mind becomes not your own.

8. Fusion/Hivemind You begin to fuse with the first person who tagged you – physically, mentally, or both. Soon, you can't tell who is who, which one of you is the real you, as your thoughts become one. Join in the fleshsong, mortal...

9. Inanimate Your body slowly petrifies and hardens, turning to stone, wood, glass, or something stranger still; or perhaps you liquefy, turning to some kind of liquid, or maybe you dissolve into the air itself.

10. Wildcard / pick your own Pick whatever you like, combine a few options, or make up your own.

Meme originally posted by

teal_deer.

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[Another nod, and he pulls in a slow breath, holding it a moment, and slowly exhales. He continues doing this, trying not to think about what will happen if they don't get there soon. He knows exactly what will happen though, and in detail.

He's already experienced it in part a little while ago, luckily with Sherlock there to work out what was happening, and save him from suffocating.]

Wouldn't be adverse to trying to get there a bit faster.

Focus, John. You changed back once, maybe you can will yourself to slow it.

[The cab stopped in front of the aquarium, and Sherlock tossed a few bills at him and dashed for the door. Mycroft wasn't aware of what was happening, and if Sherlock had it his way, he wouldn't. There would be a tank waiting, though, on the back end of the complex.]

Quickly, John, this way.

[He continues with the slow, deep breathing, getting out when they stop at the aquarium, and keeping his focus on his surroundings. He thinks back to what he had done before in the tub.

He can breathe out here. He doesn't need water. He's perfectly fine out here on dry land. He's fine. He keeps telling himself that, and follows behind Sherlock, still dripping water as he goes along.]

Sherlock Holmes, out of the way.

[Whatever Mycroft told the staff, they're already making room for him and John as they walk through the hallways into one of the back tanks. It's behind a laboratory, and Sherlock doesn't doubt that laboratory will soon contain one Mycroft Holmes, the moment he can get there. He doesn't like leaving Sherlock alone when he actually manages to ask for help.

The tank is large and deep, and Sherlock can see the aerator going on one end. Whatever was originally in the tank has just recently been moved, Sherlock can see the wet wheel marks leading it away from the room. The staff has cleared out. He steps to the edge of the tank and looks in.]

Ready?

Even if I say no, I don't really have much of a choice, do I?

[John watches the staff clear out fully, and pads over, bare feet smacking on the concrete floor as he goes to the edge of the tank to peer over the edge and into the water. Something about the scent of the water must of triggered it, but his next breath is a bit harsher, his gills starting to reemerge from his skin.

He pulls his now soaked coat off, and lets it drop to the floor. 'Let's get this over with, shall we?' It is what he tries to say, but his eyes widen as he looks to Sherlock.

All that had come out was a series of clicks, and a soft, high-pitched whine.]

[Sherlock's eyes narrow. That's not John's voice coming out, it's something else. Something very strange. He doesn't know what's happening to John, but it's happening right now. It's changing him right now.

He doesn't hesitate. Sherlock steps forward, puts an arm around John, and throws them both into the tank with a loud splash.]

[John is still caught up in the fact that his own voice has somehow changed into--that. He had not expected Sherlock to suddenly move and take them both into the water. 'What-?!' he shouts in alarm. It comes out as something closer to a squeal, as opposed to a whine, followed by a series of agitated clacks and clicks.

Once in the water, he instinctively pushes himself out of Sherlock's grasp, and pushes up out of the surface of the water. He quickly realizes his mistake, when trying and failing to gasp for air, and sinks back under drinking in water to breathe. It's difficult to stay under, and he has to keep moving his arms through the water to keep below the surface.

It doesn't stop him from shooting a scathing look in Sherlock's direction, letting out a sharp, irritated noise.]

[Sherlock can swim, but he keeps himself under the water for a few moments, watching John as he makes it up to the surface, and then back under the water. Below the surface, he can see the clear sides of the tank, and the empty laboratories that it was attached to. The fish in here was relatively large, he can tell, but not that large. It hasn't been fed anything Sherlock can recognize.

He shuts his eyes, opens his mouth, and tries to swallow a breath. A rush of water goes into his lungs, and he shakes his head, struggling up to the surface for a breath and coughing once he breaks it.

Whatever's happened to John hasn't happened to Sherlock, too.]

[That irritated look is quickly replaced by one of concern, as John swims to where Sherlock is, not far, and reaches out to touch his arm. He can't ask if he's all right, and hopes that this will do.

He needs a way to communicate. He's terrified, and he's not certain what's happening to him or if it is reversible, but he needs to be able to speak, at least basically, with Sherlock.

Long words and speeches are out of the question. He keeps his free arm moving to keep him under the water, and pulls the one on Sherlock's arm back to point at him, and move the fingers of his hand in an 'ok' gesture, coupled with a questioning look.]

[Sherlock sees John gesture in his direction, and he nods as he pulls himself back to the edge of the tank. Feeling more than a little foolish, he pulls himself out and sits on the edge, his feet dangling into the water. His breath comes out ragged, still trying to get out the rest of the water from his lungs.]

I don't know what we're going to do, John. Something's changing you.

[Yeah, John can't hear him while he's underwater and Sherlock is above water. Hardly Sherlock's fault, of course. He'll just continue talking.]

[He swims after him, and tries to make out what he's saying, but he can't. He pats his knee, then motions to his ears, and shakes his head.]

But whatever it is, it is something we can't control.

I can call in a few favors, though. Don't worry, John.

[John would huff in irritation, were he able to, but as it stands he just continues to try and keep under the water. He imagines this must be what it is like all those times Sherlock is carrying on a conversation when John isn't actually there.

Except he is, and only a matter of inches away, but he's alone. It's terrifying.]

[Sherlock lifts up his legs back to the side of the tank, but puts his hand back into the water, in a way to try to stay connected to John. It wasn't---it isn't fair.

How long will John stay like this?]

[He reaches out to take hold of Sherlock's arm, gripping just above his wrist to stay connected to him, and gives a soft, mournful whine.

Drinking the water has become less of a thoughtful effort on his part, and more natural. He doesn't like to dwell on that very much though. He would prefer this entire thing to be chalked up to some fevered nightmare thanks to something Sherlock decided to put in his tea.

Won't be like this forever, John. We'll...we'll work out a way.

[They'd work out a way, or Sherlock would delete John in order to survive.

John's hand goes around Sherlock's wrist, and his own hand curls around John's without any thought. Deleting John would be next to impossible.]

[John still can't hear him, but that doesn't really matter. The fact that Sherlock is holding onto him, and still right beside him is more than enough. He hazards a look around in the tank he's in, his clicking noises close to something that could be apprehension.

He doesn't want to stay like this forever.

John looks back to their clasped hands, and up at Sherlock through the rippled surface of the water.]

I have eighteen ideas how this might've happened.

[He starts rattling them off, imagining that John can hear him through the water. He knows he can't, just as Sherlock can only just about make out the clicks from John's mouth through the water. He tries to imagine what John would say as he listened.

It doesn't help. This has only just happened, he can't start thinking of John as being utterly gone.]

[John can't be Sherlock's sounding board for his ideas. He realizes this as he watches him continue to talk. He wants to be able to communicate with him. Hear him. Anything.

Then an idea hits him. Using his legs for a moment to keep him under the water, he reaches out to the side of the tank, just above the water, to tap out:

Long short long short long short short long short long short long short long short long. He pauses.

Short short short short long long long short long long short short long long short short.

Talk. How?

Morse will not work over the long term. Too long to work out all the letters and pauses. But its better than his whines and clicks which translate to absolutely nothing outside of general emotions.]

[Sherlock nods, and taps his own fingernail against the hollow side of the tank.

- .... .. ... -.-. --- ..- .-.. -.. .-- --- .-. -.- .-.-.- -. --- - .--. . .-. -- .- -. . -. - .-.. -.-- .-.-.-

This could work. Not permanently.]

[He smiles, despite the frightening situation, at finally being able to say anything at all to Sherlock, and get a response he's able to understand that isn't garbled by the water separating them.

He goes a bit fast for John, but he catches the end at least. He's only half joking at his next suggestion.

.-- .- - . .-. .--. .-. --- --- ..-. / -.- . -.-- -... --- .- .-. -.. ... ..--..

Waterproof keyboards?]

Edited 2012-03-22 20:11 (UTC)

[This does serve to make Sherlock laugh. He imagines John, with his gills and whatever else he's growing, typing in his blog.

-.-- --- ..- -.-. --- ..- .-.. -.. -.-. .- .-.. .-.. - .... .. ... - .... . ..-. .. ... .... ..-. .- -.-. . -.. -- .- -. .-.-.-

You could call this one the 'Fish Faced Man'.]

[He tries to make a less than amused face, but it doesn't work. There's a rapid, excited set of clicks, like laughing, and John doesn't bother tapping back. He does try to splash at Sherlock with the hand he'd been using to tap out morse.]

Edited 2012-03-22 20:19 (UTC)

[Sherlock does laugh at that, though considering how soaked to the bone he already is, a little of the warm water doesn't affect him much.

He begins to tap again.

.. .-- .. .-.. .-.. -. . . -.. - --- .-. ..- -. . -..- .--. . .-. .. -- . -. - ... .-.-.-

I will need to run experiments.

He sort of wishes they'd discovered this way of communicating before. It would've made weeks of silence on Sherlock's part a bit more bearable for John.]

[He listens, carefully, and nods after he finishes. He knows he'll have to set about doing that, but he's loathe to let go of his arm just yet. He doesn't want to be alone. He reaches out for the side, tapping again.

-- -.-- -.-. .-. --- ..-. - / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / .- ... -.- .-.-.-

Mycroft will ask.

John knows he doesn't have to elaborate.]

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