Dr. William Forscher Experiment Log
Experiment #04781: Magnesect, the Mournful Pokémon.
Early research conducted on the evolution of Paras into Parasect and the process involved with its spores concluded that the spores themselves became the dominant life-source of the Pokémon upon growth. This information was first published by Professor Oak, creator of the Pokédex; however, it’s theorized that early Pokémon masters had a rudimentary understanding of the relationship between the insect and its spores, given the often impersonal relationship maintained between most publicized Parasect trainers and their Pokémon. These trainers would often have strong bonds with their team, yet would utilize Parasect as a type of organic machine, rather than a living creature.
Further study into the curious nature of the Pokémon revealed that, upon evolution, the spores of the Pokémon seem to simply put it in a catatonic state. Though the mushroom does the primary ‘thinking’, the body is still alive in its most basic form, and is still capable and required to function as a living host in order for the spores to stay healthy and strong. It was observed that Parasect consume organic matter for its energy to revitalize the mushroom atop its back; ergo, it was hypothesized that the mushroom was supplying the Pokémon vital nutrients for survival.
In conducting Experiment #04781, our goal was to determine the effects of a living, conscious host integrated with its organic master. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to revive the creature within the mushroom— experiments which often resulted in the release of defensive toxic spores from its back— it was suggested that a secondary, non-organic host be spliced with the Pokémon to balance the attention of the controlling spores released into it. Magnemite was proposed as both an excellent non-organic Pokémon test subject as well as an acceptable power source to successfully revitalize the catatonic creature within the mushroom.
For the purposes of the experiment, we gave #04781 a name: Magnesect. This spliced Pokémon went through several variant degrees of applied electricity before a successful, living result was created. The Magnemite was spliced and dominantly maintained control of the creature’s brain, purging the spores from within it. Its bolts were recreated and used to secure its mutated form in place within the Parasect’s body. The strain of the machine on the Pokémon caused many fissures in its exoskeleton, exposing ligaments often associated with non-insect life.
For the Pokémon itself, the Parasect life-form is capable of seeing— visual electronic receptors installed within the body of the Magnemite that connect to its limited occipital lobe— and is capable of digesting food without the aid of the mushroom cap on its back. Injuries caused from the splicing have shown some consequence: the spores have increased in ferocity within the Pokémon, and are far more numerous. Despite our best efforts to maintain a consistent harmony between the influence of the machine and the mushroom’s spores within the Pokémon, a constant battle for dominance between the two are observed within the Pokémon, with the life-form caught in the painful struggle.
Attempts to raise Magnesect have resulted in across-the-board failure. The Pokémon appears to be in constant, endless pain from these struggles. It seems to only eat via command of the machine and mushroom controlling it; when these influences are forced ‘off’, it ceases all function in an attempt to end itself through malnourishment. Its enhanced vision is put to little use due to visual warping caused by its perpetual tearing and cries. The only seeming benefit of this genetic splicing is the result caused upon the spores themselves: their viciousness and toxicity is unlike any other seen within the Pokémon world. It’s as though it’s attempting to adapt to the machine within the creature in an effort to purge it from— or envelope it into— the Pokémon’s physiology.
Continued research and study is suggested: over time, the spores may well adapt into life previously unseen, and the Pokémon may be perfected into new form. With the influence of machine within it, it’s entirely possible that a perpetual state of evolution may be attained over multiple generations. Currently, however, it is not recommended as a battle-ready Pokémon, unless put to use against opponents who utilize non-offensive strategies early in battle— again, the toxicity of its spores are truly amazing.
Submitted for your review. Attached is our suggested entry for our catalog of experimental Pokédex entries. This information is confidential, and should not be published to the National Pokédex.
Details regarding our other ongoing experiments forthcoming.
Pokédex Entry: Its pained cries are filled with sorrow. During battle, it seems to act more aggressive and desperate when its opponent is not attacking it.
I wanted to jump in and join the pokemon fusion fun :D Picked Magnesect because it looked really interesting and undead. To give it a nice touch, I requested by husband to put some background to it :]
i aM SO UNCOMFORTABLE RIGHT NOW
It is wrong to commit violence against people.
only a bigot would laugh at a victim of domestic violence.
Yeah white guys have it SOOOO HARD
Can you explain how having a broken face is not hard?
- A system of society or government in which the father or eldest male is head of the family and descent is traced through the male line.
- A system of society or government in which men hold the power and women are largely excluded from it.
yeah you can totally tell he held all the power in this situation, that’s why his lip is completely cut the fuck open, you know because he had so much power that it just exploded his face
oh wait actually you’re just a fucking moron and maybe privilege doesn’t work when you apply it to individual situations
Are these people seriously looking at a picture of an injured man and saying “Lol mras”
You guys aren’t even trying to hide your bigotry anymore.
These people disgust me.
Are sympathy and empathy ~privileges~ now?
Considering all the batshit radfems and SJ idiots who openly mock victims if they’re an ~*~oppressive white het cis male ~*~ I’m starting to believe that’s the case.
That is one of the most gruesome injuries I’ve ever seen. It’s disgusting that some people on this site would trivialize something so horrible just because the victim is a male. Get fucking real.
(Yes I understand that person in this particular thread saying those things was only joking, but there are people on this site who do say such things with seriousness. I’m sure you’ve all seen them.)
I just wanted to watch a film about bunnies.
HAPPY EASTER MOTHERFUCKERS
The fuck is this shit!?
say hello to the trumatizing master pice that is Watership Down
I want the link
I got this on VHS, who wants to come watch?
WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD WEAR THESE RUBBER-ASS CLOWN-ASS BRIGHT-ASS SHOES IN A PROFESSIONAL OFFICE? I WANTED TO YELL IN THAT DAMN STORE
about a week ago i found this in a goodwill, one of those “grow in water” toys but
there’s no pictures of what might be inside besides the awful baby clipart, and i am insanely curious about whats actually in the egg
15 hour adventure starting now
9 hours in and there is a crack on the egg, i repeat, crack on the egg
what if it’s really not a baby and it’s a turd
WELL WE GON FIND OUT
hour 23 WHAT THE FUFCK IS THAT
THE EGG CONTAINED SOME KIND OF ELDRITCH MONSTROSITY THAT IS NOT A BABY ABORT MISSION ABORT ABORT
I JUST WENT AHEAD AND TOOK IT APART
HOLY PISSING HELL
I did it! I don’t look completely Asian, but it really helps with the dysphoria to be able to change my features. I wholly endorse racial editing if you are a transethnic, but it may be an issue if you are a transethnic who wants lighter or darker skin. Or maybe not, I’m not really sure how that would work.
Is this real?
????????????????????????????????????????????whaaaaaatttt a fuuuucking idiottttt jesus christ彼女停止必要wtfffffff stopppppppp
Omfg. Look at her About Me. This can’t be real. THIS CAN’T BE REAL.
stoptheworldnow , this is so fucking fucked up what the fuck I was not expecting this LOL XDD But I couldn’t stop reading. Thank you for submitting this.
Warning: FUCKED.UP.SHIT. HORROR!
“Why can’t I go tomorrow?” Yesung whines, pouting. “I mean, it’s night time—time when people usually, I don’t know, go to sleep? I’m sleepy, Wookie! We can even ask manager hyung to go out and get the groceries for us tomorrow.”
“But Shindong hyung is hungry right now, hyung, and he’s getting rather impatient,” Ryeowook tells him in his usual innocent, soft voice. “I don’t want him to go to bed hungry. I’ll even make you whatever you’d like tonight if you’d like to make up for it.”
The offer is tempting, but the fact that Yesung wishes to fall asleep is even more tempting. A warm bed, soft comforter—they are both calling to him.
But then Yesung goes ahead and stupidly makes the mistake of glancing up at Ryeowook. He sees those large eyes of his staring at him so innocently, so cutely. The eternal maknae uses aegyo almost as much as Sungmin does, except his is always unintentional. Still, it works, and so Yesung finds himself getting up from the couch in their living room and stretching, inwardly cursing Shindong and his stomach that is constantly hungry.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Yesung tells Ryeowook. “But I’m going to hold you to your promise of making me something I wanna eat, alright?”
“Of course!” Ryeowook answers immediately, giving his hyung an aegyo-filled eye-smile. Yesung finds himself beginning to smile back at him. However, he immediately pauses from doing so, trying to remind himself how he is actually supposed to feel. He is supposed to be frustrated with his dongsaeng, and not find him cute of all things.
“Whatever,” he forces out, then grabs his coat and the car keys on the key hooks near the door, ignoring Shindong’s loud thank you that he shouts out at him. After all, it’s his fault he has to go outside, in the dark and cold, when he could be inside, all warm and cozy in his bed.
As he walks down the hallway after closing the dorm door behind him, towards the elevators, Yesung stuffs the car keys in his jeans’ pocket and shrugs on his coat. Once he is done, however, he feels an eerie presence behind him. Yesung isn’t sure why, but he sure as heck isn’t going to turn and try to figure out why, or if anyone is behind him. He isn’t exactly a superstitious type of person, nor is he a scaredy cat.
Still, however, the weird feeling never passes, and even though Yesung thinks of other things to take his mind off of the feeling—his warm bed; the delicious food Ryeowook could cook for him when he got back; if Shindong’s stomach could even ever be full—the feeling still lingers. Raising the tiny hairs on the back of his neck, making his back stiffen, and causing Yesung to constantly wish to turn his head and look behind him.
Nevertheless, he doesn’t yield to the wish, and continues to shuffle—practically half-asleep—forwards, towards the elevators.
“Yesung…”purrs a voice, rather suddenly. Its tone is dark, filled to the brim with amusement. There’s nothing friendly in the voice, and Yesung shudders the moment he hears the first syllable.
He pauses, directly in front of the elevators now. Glancing from side to side, Yesung awkwardly turns around to face whoever it might be, his stomach coiling and uncoiling from nervousness, though Yesung isn’t even sure why.
When he turns around, however, there’s nobody there. All Yesung sees is an empty hallway; the one he had walked down just moments before. He glances to the other two hallways that lead to the elevators as well, but still, there’s nobody around. As if the voice he has heard had been just inside his head, his mind playing weird tricks on him. Maybe he’s really sleepy or something, which might be why he has randomly heard such a sinister voice.
Should I just go back to the dorm? Tell Ryeowook that I’m too sleepy to drive properly? Surely he’d let me stay in the dorm then, Yesung muses, but then shakes his head. Nah; I am hungry, and if I don’t get food, not only will Shindong probably smother me to death while I sleep; there also won’t be much food for breakfast tomorrow.
Sighing heavily in disdain, Yesung turns around and presses the down arrow in-between the two elevators, the button lighting up immediately. The colour is an eerie blood red.
Though this creeps him out a bit, he brushes the feeling off as best as possible, like he has done before. It’s just a colour; one that he sees all the time when he uses the elevator. There is nothing to worry about.
Once one of the elevator doors opens up with a ding, Yesung quickly walks inside, glad that there is no one in the elevator. He isn’t wearing a disguise at the moment, having forgotten to grab a hat and sunglasses, and perhaps even a scarf to hide the lower half of his face just in case.
“Aish, I’m so sleepy,” Yesung whines, leaning back against the wall of the elevator, stuffing his cold hands into the pockets of his jeans. The elevator doors close with a small ding.
Leaning over, he lazily presses the lobby button. The letter lights up with an eerie red once more, but Yesung shifts his gaze away from it, instead leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He breathes out deeply once, shifting his feet together as if it will give him more warmth.
And then he feels it; a weird presence pressing against one of his arms. A cool, invisible finger lightly tracing a vein in his neck.
Yesung snaps open his eyes and turns to his side; although, he sees absolutely nothing there. The feeling of a finger tracing his neck leaves immediately, and the presence he had felt before leaves as well, until he wonders if he had just been imagining it all.
He convinces himself of this, repeating it over and over in his mind, turning around and glancing down at his feet. He looks up, at the elevator doors, and his eyes widen in shock at the reflection he sees.
A man, if he could even be declared one, is right next to him, and is two feet taller, standing at an impressive height. He seems like a regular business man, for he is wearing a dark blue business suit, but his eyes and mouth are both stitched closed, blood streaking down from the wounds the stitches made.
Screaming, Yesung backs into a corner of the elevator, turning his head, expecting to see the man he had seen in the reflection.
But there is nobody in the elevator with him. He is all alone, though he before had been convinced that he hadn’t been. That the reflection in the mirror hadn’t been lying to him. And yet, apparently, it had.
- - -
Yesung is shaky throughout the entire trip to the car. The lobby had been easier to get past, since there were various staff loitering, but the hammering in his heart hadn’t stopped. His hands were shaky, and his eyes had darted to and fro in the lobby.
Now that he is in the dark parking lot, where it was a bit difficult to see, things have become worse. He is even shakier, his heart is thudding erratically against his ribcage, and he accidentally drops his car keys into a puddle. Quickly, he darts down, grabbing the keys from the puddle, his fingers feeling numb after having been dipped in the icy cold water. And then he sees them—legs, from the other side of the car. He can see them, glancing underneath the car.
They look like beat-up loafers, caked in mud and even a bit shiny from water. Yesung can also see dark blue dress pants, sagging underneath the loafers, collecting grime, dirt and more water.
“Fuck!” Yesung screams loudly, scrambling back, tripping and landing on his behind. His elbows hit the pavement harshly, but he barely pays attention to the pain shooting up his elbows and ending at his shoulders. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He looks up, to his car, but there is no one there. He even glances down, underneath the car, and feels the urge to start sobbing when the feet are missing.
Yesung knows he should be glad that the man is gone or that there’sno man there, but he doesn’t. This only proves to him how sick he is, how crazy he is becoming—or perhaps how sleepy he truly is. God, he doesn’t even know anymore.
“God, Yesung,” he whispers to himself. “Keep it together. Keep it together. Stop it—there is no one in this parking lot except for you. Nobody else. So you’re going to get up, get in the car, and go to the grocery store without any more incidents, okay?”
After a few seconds of just sitting there, Yesung shakily gets up, dusts himself off, and manages to open the car door. Getting in, he locks the doors of the car before leaning back in his seat, placing his hands on the steering wheel, and taking a deep, calculated breath of air. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, and seriously contemplates the idea of just going back to the dorm and going to bed like he had originally planned doing.
No. I’ve made it this far. It shouldn’t be too hard, getting the groceries and coming back. Plus, Ryeowook and Shindong wouldn’t be too happy with me if I came back down, even if they might understand how crazy I feel right now. Let’s just get this over with, and then I can come back, eat some food, and get a good night’s rest.
In the morning, I’ll feel better. And then I can continue with life as usual. No problem.
After the internal pep-talk, Yesung opens his eyes and puts the keys into the ignition, the rumbling of the car breaking through the eerie silence and soothing Yesung’s frayed nerves until he feels as if things have gone back to normal. Like they should’ve been from the start.
With a sigh, Yesung begins to pull back from the parking space, looking up at the front-view mirror, his eyes finding a reflection in the mirror that is not his own.
Well, it is him. But his eyes…what happened to his eyes? In the reflection of the mirror, they seem to be sewn shut, along with his mouth. Blood is travelling down from the stitches keeping his eyes shut, making him look eerily like he is crying tears of blood. Blood is trickling down his chin from the stitches keeping his mouth closed, and his skin is a pale blue, as if he is dead.
Shuddering, Yesung looks away, his heart clenching. He stops backing up the car, and takes a few more deep breaths, convincing himself that he is just seeing things.
When he looks back into the front-view mirror, his reflection is normal. No stitches, no blood, no death. Just him. Just Kim Jongwoon.
Sniffling and refusing the urge to burst into pathetic tears, Yesung begins backing up the car once more. Still trying to convince himself that he is not crazy, that going ahead with getting the groceries is not a bad idea. Though the thought of just going to sleep, or perhaps even telling someone about what he keeps on seeing—or thinking he is seeing nags at him, he pushes the thoughts of doing so aside.
Later, he promises himself. I’ll do that later. Let me just have this sense of normalcy for once—only this one time, and then I can come to terms with what the fuck is going on with me.
Sniffling once more, a tear travelling down his cheek, Yesung takes a right turn into the highway, noticing that there are no cars around. Everything is eerily silent, eerily dark. His heart begins to thud more quickly, crazily in his chest, and Yesung presses a dial on his radio, turning it on. A soft, rock tune begins, and Yesung leans back against his seat.
Everything is fine. I’m fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Why would it? Things like monsters and ghosts aren’t real. I have absolutely nothing to worry about. Forget everything, Yesung; just focus on your task and everything is going to be okay. You’ll be back to the dorm soon enough.
The red light turns green, and Yesung’s car speeds down the highway, just below the speed limit.
“The grocery store is almost there,” he tells himself softly. “I just need to make another right turn, and then it’ll be there. I can just take what Ryeowook-ah needs and then go. There’s nothing more to it.”
Yesung lazily turns the steering wheel to the right, the small grocery shop that Ryeowook frequents in his side view mirror, approaching fast, but glances down at the steering wheel questioningly when it doesn’t yield and turn the car to the right.
Instead, the steering wheel turns to the left, which makes Yesung panic immediately.
He puts all of his strength into turning the car back around, to go to the desired location, but the steering wheel doesn’t move at all. The gas pedal somehow is pressed down without Yesung’s consent, and the car rushes down the road even faster.
“The hell?” he mutters crossly, pressing down on the brake pedal. To his confusion, the pedal doesn’t press down at all, as if make of solid, unyielding concrete.
Instead, the steering wheel takes another left, and begins to go down a street that Yesung, strangely enough, has never seen before.
Glancing at the street sign to the right, Yesung curiously reads off the name of the street that has been written in eerie, blood red:
His eyebrows furrow at the street name, and he wonders if perhaps this is just him seeing things once more. But he can’t deny the fact that his car is acting strange and not yielding to him, nor can he deny all of the other occurrences that happened to him. Something weird was going on; something that Yesung couldn’t properly explain, or quite understand himself, either. All he knows is that he has to get out of here and go back to the dorm immediately. Now, he didn’t even wish to try and act as if everything was fine; nothing was fine, and things were just getting worse.
Panicking, Yesung tries to pry open the car door lock so he can escape the vehicle and wherever it is attempting to take him. Even if he has to jump out of the car, he will. Although, there is just one flaw in his plan:
The car door lock isn’t opening. And no matter how much Yesung tries to open it, the lock continues to be jammed, not letting Yesung escape.
“Stop!” Yesung shrieks, finally having enough of what is happening to him the whole night, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. “Stop it right now! Stop all of this right now!”
As if heeding his words, the car suddenly stops in its tracks, and if it hadn’t been for Yesung’s seatbelt, he is sure he would have been hurled out of the car. For a few seconds, Yesung simply sits there, breathing heavily. And then it’s just a flurry of movement; Yesung taking off his seatbelt, opening the car door lock that mysterious isn’t jammed anymore, and practically jumping out of the car.
He wants to just blindly run away, but instead he looks around where he is. He’s in a neighbourhood that he doesn’t remember at all; the houses all look the same to him, except for their house numbers, and he’s nowhere near any street signs, so he has no idea where he is. Probably still on Fear Street.
Yesung isn’t sure if that’s a good thing, however.
Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Yesung doesn’t know where to go to get out of this situation. To go back to the dorm. To continue living normally, as if the craziness happening right now hadn’t happened to him.
Falling to his knees, he lets out a loud, frustrated scream. A tear trails down his cheek, and his hands delve into his hair, pulling on the strands harshly in his frustration and agitation. He just wants all of it to stop.
And then he hears it, coming from behind him.
But the steps aren’t consistent, like they should be. It sounds odd, off somehow; a dragging noise coming before the next step is heard. As if someone is limping, their other leg being dragged almost harshly against the pavement.
Yesung turns his head, and laughs crazily.
It’s the business man, from before. Eyes and mouth stitched closed, blood trickling down. Business suit still on, but still dirty, as well as his loafers. He other leg seems to be mangled now, and he’s walking towards Yesung as if he can see him, as if he can’t feel the pain in his leg.
“This isn’t really happening,” Yesung finds himself saying aloud as he begins to drag himself away with his arms and legs from the man, who continues limping forward. “I’m sleeping, right? This is all a dream, right? I’m going to wake up soon, right?”
But the dream doesn’t end.
The man continues to walk towards him—limp towards him. Yesung continues backing away until he finds himself with his back flush against his car.
Once the man is close enough, he falls to his knees and grasps Yesung’s face harshly, squeezing his lips together. Yesung is confused as to what he is doing until he notices that the man is pulling something out of his pocket.
A needle with thread already through it.
His eyes widen, and he begins thrashing, muffled screams escaping his mouth. His legs lash out, but the man seems to barely notice, and then his hand is instead pressing Yesung’s lips together, and the needle is poking through his upper lip.
Pain. It’s all Yesung can feel, burning his lips.
Yesung’s arms lash, but then the man’s elbow is pressing against his throat, choking him. He sputters incomprehensibly as the needle goes through his bottom lip, and then it’s going upwards once more, into his bottom lip and coming out of his upper lip.
Tears begin falling from his eyes, and he squeezes them closed, writhing in the man’s grip.
The pain escalates until Yesung swears he’s going to pass out, and yet, he doesn’t. Instead, he stays awake as the man continues to sew his mouth closed; going as slowly as possible it seemed, to make the pain even more real, even more agonizingly painful.
After what seems to be hours, he is finally done with his mouth.
Blood is trickling down from the wounds in his mouth now; Yesung can feel it. Coursing down his neck; staining his white shirt, no doubt. Yesung tries to open his mouth to scream, plead for the man to leave him be, for someone to help him—but it’s futile. His mouth is sewn closed, and Yesung feels the pain spike as his stitches are pulled tightly.
And then the man is closing one of his eyes, and Yesung realizes that the pain is just beginning.
More pain, but in his eye now as the needle begins sewing his right eye closed. Yesung dares not thrash crazily, for he doesn’t want the needle to go through his eyeball, but his legs lash. It’s no use, though; the man’s knees are pressing against his thighs, making it impossible for him to throw him off or even kick him off. His arms grab for the man wildly, but he ignores it. Whenever Yesung tries to swing a punch, the man becomes harsher with his stitches, and Yesung is too scared to try and hit him again, not wanting the pain to grow worse.
Blood then begins to fall down from his eye—or is it the skin just underneath his eye that the man continues to thread his eyelid against that is bleeding? Yesung can’t be sure. All he knows is that blood is falling from near his eye, and is falling down his cheek crazily.
Yesung continues to pull against his mouth’s stitches—not on purpose, but out of instinct to scream in pain. The stitches continue to pull, the blood continues to trickle, and the pain worsens.
Then the pain comes from his other eye, indicating the fact that the man—is he even a man? Yesung wonders. Could a human actually inflict this type of torturous pain on another human being?—is now moving on to his other eye, stitching that one closed as well. Blood trickles, pain seeps in, and Yesung found himself feeling as if he was airborne; as if he was floating.
So this is what death feels like, he muses wryly to himself.
Honestly, Yesung is scared of dying—he really is. But, at this moment, Yesung doesn’t fight it. He just wants the pain to stop. He wants the torture to end. He wants the fear to vanish.
Sobbing incomprehensibly, Yesung throws himself into Death’s awaiting arms. And then he knows no more.
- - -
Yesung’s rapid heartbeat falls silent just as the man finishes stitching his left eye closed. The man places the blood-soaked needle back into his pocket, crawls off of Yesung, and stands up with the use of the car door.
It is then that his stitched lips twitch up in a disgustingly cruel, warped excuse of a smile.
The man begins to limp away, his work now done.
- - -
When Yesung is found, the street sign has changed from Fear Street, he is only a few blocks away from the dorm, and there are no stitches on his decorating his eyes and mouth morbidly at all.
Instead, Kim Jongwoon is proclaimed dead from cardiac arrest.
And the secret of Fear Street continues to live on.
NOW WHY WOULD YOU WRITE THIS.
UGH GROSS ; 3; HE’S SO CREEPY