Lens Cap || Slenderverse Reader Insert || SpiritPasta-Verse

Chapter Seven; House of Wolves

CW: HEADS UP, JUST LIKE CHAPTER THREE, THIS IS ANOTHER TORTURE SCENE AND IT'S GONNA BE WACK. THERE WILL BE A LITTLE SYMBOL (+~...~+) TO SKIP PAST THE SCENE! Proceed with caution!!

This will also include EverymanHYBRID spoilers, Swears, needles, and will probably be a little more Zany than chapter three bc I'm getting the confidence to step farther outta my comfort zone :D

A/N; Whammy.

A/N 2; Every day I get closer and closer to becoming a floof kinnie writing-wise (/hj)

A/N 3; song title based off of the song by My Chemical Romance! (Lanie if you read this I'm not emo I swear :powercry: /insidejoke)

"And as the blood runs down the walls, you see me creepin' up these halls! I've been a bad motherfucker, tell a sister I'm another, GO! GO! GO!"

  Pikett felt like a ghost, stuck in a body that wasn't his. He felt entirely conscious, but there was a part of him that still felt like he was in a dreamlike state. He assumed it was similar to what sleep paralysis felt like. He kept trying to get his body to move on his own accord. To tap his fingers against a surface. To turn his head a different direction. To take a step backwards. But he couldn't. He had no control. Not anymore. Even though it was getting exhausting, which was weird because he felt the tiredness a lot differently, as if he were a smaller person inside his body, viewing through his eyes like a movie theatre screen. He could feel his body and himself as two separate entities. He himself felt tired out but his body felt incredibly energized. It was a very odd feeling. The bad kind of odd. He pressed on, however, adamant on trying to restore his control in his body even for just a second.

 'It would be a lot easier on yourself if you'd stop, y'know,' a multi-toned voice echoed in his mind with a humored tone.

 'I'm not gonna. Not until you get out of my body and leave us all alone,' Pikett thought about crossing his arms, his thinking voice coming off as aggravated and drenched with hostility.

 'That's not going to work, rabbit,' HABIT's thinking-voice cooed in a singsong tone with a hint of a condescending tint as if he were a mother talking to a frustrated child, 'you can try, but all you're doing is just hurting yourself.'

 '...Shut up. Go away,' 

 'Is that all you can come up with?'

  Pikett would've scowled if he could, frustrated and feeling rather defeated, but he pressed on, 'I'm gonna get you outta my head. Eventually.'

 'Whatever floats yer boat, Screamer,'  HABIT made as Pikett felt himself shrug and a grin spread on his face.

 Pikett felt like curling into a little ball of anger. He tried to avoid thinking of curling into the angry ball, though. Similar to how his exhaustion came, he grew the airy feeling of pent-up agitation in what would've been his chest had his body still been his. That airy feeling in your chest that makes you want to scream along to a Mitski song in the dead of night mid-breakdown. That was the airy feeling in his chest he felt. Well, airy probably wasn't the best word, actually. The feeling of his currently-nonexistent chest being compressed with the urge to inhale and vocalize a scream cradling his bones in the process was probably a better way to put it. 

 'That's a lotta aggression in such a small space, rabbit,'  HABIT noted matter-of-factly, 'why dontcha just take a 'chill pill,' or whatever you humans say this century?'

'TAKE A CHILL PILL?! TELL ME, HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE A DAMN CHILL PILL IN THIS SITUATION?!' Pikett thinker about snapping harshly, words ending in an animalistic growl.