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mishapen-dear · 7 months

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Jaiden broke into Cellbit's Fear room while he slept. Now, she makes a guest appearance in all of his favourite nightmares.

NOTE: this is gorier than all of my other fics, thus the immediate read-more instead of the typical blurb. I watched a bad horror movie and got so offended I went out of my way to write horror on purpose. Cannibalism and blood and gore and mildly ooc Dream Jaiden my beloveds

There’s blood in Cellbit’s mouth.

There’s muscle, too. Fat and nerves and viscera. Somewhere, there’s a knife- he made the first cuts with that, used it to peel away the sweat-soaked skin and get to the hot meat underneath- and he could use it now to carve away more of the corpse, but he can’t bring himself to look for it, preferring to rip away at the gaping hole in the body’s side with his hands and broken nails. He’s so hungry. He was so hungry. He can’t remember why. He remembers his empty stomach, the way it precluded the cannibalism with the desperate feeling of its own self-consumption. Then, the knife. Then, the body. Then, the warmth.

He digs his nails in and pulls, hands so slick with blood that every morsel should be slipping through his fingers, but the knife tore so much of the meat that it is - was - child’s play to come away with another handful. The texture is like poorly-ground pork, and the taste is so metallic- but of course it is. He hadn’t learned how to drain and cook it, yet. Hadn’t known it was an option. Every gory mouthful is seasoned with blood, and he licks it from his hands, then scrapes under his fingernails with his teeth just to consume that little bit more. He’s so hungry. It’s so warm. The body is still hot beneath him, fresh and practically steaming in the cold evening air. He feels drunk on it.

Is this how it went…? No, he doesn’t think so. The first time was desperation. He didn’t mind the taste, but he hadn’t loved it, either. It didn’t matter. It was food, and food to a starving boy is like ambrosia to the gods. But now- now he revels in the metallic taste. The chewiness. The satisfaction of a predator sinking teeth-first into the bowels of its prey.

There’s something not-quite-right here. Something foggy. Who is he eating? There is blood in his beard, across his cheeks, sticking his hair in messy strands to his face. This is his first meal, but he was a boy, then- here, now, he is a man. He is starving. He plunges his hands back into the corpse and swallows down mouthful after mouthful of raw flesh and never feels full.

Another pair of hands join him. Or- one hand, which picks delicately at a loose piece of skin. He stills to watch it, heart suddenly hammering in his chest. The details are stark, suddenly. The corpse’s side torn open like by an animal -had his knife done that?- and the blood shines in the moonlight -is it night?- and the pale hand dips the skin into the rest of the gore, carefully scooping up some of the messiest meat onto it like a strange appetizer at a fancy dinner. Cellbit doesn’t breathe. His eyes are pinned to the hand as it lifts, raising the little treat up to the waiting, smiling face of Jaiden. She pops the skin in her mouth, chews thoughtfully, and swallows decisively. He feels cold.

“Not bad,” she says, and reaches down for more.

Cellbit turns away and vomits.

–

He’s speaking to Pac. He has him pressed up against the wall, knife to his throat, and he’s growling in his ear. There’s sweat sticking his hair to the back of his neck, and he can feel Pac’s heart beating rabbit-quick even through the layers of clothes between them. He laughs, low, and keeps laughing when Pac whimpers out- something. Something he’s happy to hear. He licks his own teeth and tastes blood.

He trails the knife upwards, slow, to scrape against Pac’s pulse point. It leaves a thin white line of marked skin, and he’s smiling. Pac’s eyes are blown wide and he stammers something out and in return the knife is pressed down, gently, until Pac shuts up.

“Woah.”

Cellbit’s heart jumps into his throat. He turns his head, just enough, to see Jaiden. She looks strange in prison clothes, but she doesn’t seem to mind them. She holds her hands up when Cellbit meets her gaze.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” she says. “You do you. I’ll just…uh. Go this way. Really quickly,” she adds, like an afterthought, and turns to stride purposefully down the corridor. Her footsteps don’t make any noise.

Pac is still trembling beneath Cellbit’s hands. He looks back to him- but it’s not Pac, except it is, but he can’t see all of him at once- there are details missing until Cellbit thinks to focus on them. No hair across Pac’s face until there is, and Pac is wearing the hoodie instead of his prison uniform, and he says something that Cellbit doesn’t hear and he doesn’t seem to notice Jaiden at all.

“What?” Cellbit croaks out. He pulls away from Pac in confusion, already turning to follow her. “Jaid-”

–

He’s shaking. There’s blood on his hands, and he’s shaking. His eyes are closed and he tries to close them harder. There is no blood in his mouth. This is progress. He has to believe this is progress. He has to believe that he wants progress. His room is dark and his bed is hard and he can’t stop shaking.

She’s there, then, curled up the way he is; she’s his mirror, wrapped around herself overtop of the covers. When he opens his eyes she doesn’t move, gazing at him peacefully. “How many?” she asks. There’s a strange quality to her voice, and he struggles to parse it.

“What?” he croaks. His voice his hoarse from crying.

“How many therapists did you go through?”

He chokes on a sob, and doesn’t answer.

She hasn’t pulled away, but she’s further from him, and he reaches for her but can’t bring himself to touch her. There is still blood on his hands. She doesn’t recoil; she watches him curiously, smiling faintly. There is something wrong. “Wow, dude. You’re really fucked up, aren’t you?”

“I’m a monster.”

He blinks and Jaiden is sitting up, suddenly, legs crossed. She blinks a few times before she furrows her brows at him, squinting at where he’s still curled up on the horrible bed. “And I’m a bird,” she offers, uncertain but trying to help.

Cellbit’s tears break down into laughter. He laughs, and laughs, and she joins him.

–

The plan goes bad. The plan goes bad fast.

The hallway is cold, damp and wet- moldy, and covered in rotting vines. It’s dark. He can’t see. He doesn’t know how he got here, but he knows what happens next.

Like in slow motion, he turns. The bear is there, grinning. The chainsaw is there, whirring. He’s there, too, and he’s already screaming before the saw meets his flesh.

Slow motion. Why is it so slow? He watches his own blood fly through the air, splattering across the walls, the bear, himself. It’s not just blood, though, he knows this. It’s meat. Chunks of his own muscle wet his face and coat his hands. He’s frozen, stuck in place. He can’t feel the pain but he’s so acutely aware of it- and then the whirring stops.

Now is his cue to run.

He takes it, gasping for air as he rips himself off of the saw (and there is more gore, more blood, more scraps of him left to smear across the floor). He almost slips in the blood as he turns, but just barely recovers and instead manages to fall into his sprint. .

Fuck. He can’t run fast enough. Slow motion. He’s moving in slow motion, but the bear isn’t, and the chainsaw starts to whirr again behind him. Where can he run? Forwards. Nowhere to hide, but there is a trail of blood left behind him so he can’t hide anyway.

His limbs are heavy, weighed down by terror. His heart is in his ears. Then there are spikes in the floor, and there is blood on the spikes, and there is a woman bleeding.

Before, he tried to jump over the pit. Now, Cellbit stands in front of it and stares, caught like a deer in headlights.

“Cellbit!” Jaiden cheers, happy to see him. She’s embedded deep into the spike pit, impaled in every limb. There are no less than four spikes driven entirely through her torso, and one that has torn away her ear. Her wings are spread out beneath her, and they bleed. She’s pinned like a bug in a glass case, leaking red onto the floor below her. Cellbit tastes metal in his mouth. “This is so cool. I’ve always wanted to star in a horror movie.”

“This isn’t- this isn’t a movie,” he pants, the english thick on his tongue. He’s so confused. He’s so scared. Where are they? Why is she here? She wasn’t here before, before it was just him and-

“Cucurucho!” Jaiden cheers, with the same joy she’d called Cellbit’s name. His blood runs cold. Jaiden keeps talking. “Long time no see, buddy! I like your chainsaw. And all the red is nice, it’s good to see you trying out a new style. Do you like it?”

“Ha ha ha,” Cucurucho says, too close, behind him. Cellbit doesn’t turn. Is he hyperventilating? He keeps his eyes pinned on Jaiden. She is still smiling, and bleeding, and she leans her head happily against the spike that took her ear.

“Jaiden-” Cellbit chokes out. There is a hand on his back. Soft and round. More of a paw than a hand, really. It pats him, once, in a gesture that in any other situation could have been taken as comforting. Here, he knows, it is mocking.

“Yeah?” Jaiden says.

Cellbit doesn’t get the chance to answer. The paw pushes him, and he falls, and in the blink of an eye he’s impaled. One through his stomach, two through his chest, one scraping his neck and one for each arm and two in his left leg and he is screaming, he is crying, he is dying.

Below him, Jaiden’s blue feathers are stained bright red. She’s talking to Cucurucho, but he can’t hear the words.

–

Roier is dead on the ground. His side is open, sliced cleanly with a knife. Cellbit sits quietly next to him, hands bloodied. Jaiden sits on his other side, holding Roier’s heart in her hands.

“I don’t think you would, for the record,” she says, quietly. She holds Roier’s heart up to his mouth, almost reverent, and he almost drowns on the gush of blood when he bites.

–

There is a worm burning in a fire. There is more burning, too, but he watches the thing he has killed the most closely. He wishes it died. He wishes he had more worms. He wishes he could kill it again.

“Is it always like this?” she asks. Again, her posture mirrors his. Her legs are pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees as she watches the fire.

“No,” he answers numbly. “Sometimes Richarlyson is here. I’m surprised that Bagi isn’t.”

She sucks air in through her teeth, and then there’s the weight of her hand on his arm. They sit like that for a minute, watching the fire. Roberto is almost nothing but ash, now.

Jaiden asks, “If it came down to it- you, Roier, or Cucurucho, who do you think I would choose?”

He puts his chin on his knees and holds himself tighter. “I don’t know.”

“...I don’t think real-me knows that answer, either,” Jaiden admits to him. “But I think you know she loves you… And I think you should wake up now, too. I’m gone.”

He turns to look at her, mouth opening on a question, but she’s gone. The room is gone. It’s dark, and then it’s just- it’s just his Fear room. He’s laying on the ground, curled up in a tight little ball, arms over his head, and his mouth tastes like dust. His joints pop as he uncurls and pushes himself up, the weight of sleep still resting heavy on his bones.

There’s a single blue feather on the ground in front of him. Jaiden is nowhere to be seen.

Cellbit sits there for a long, long moment. Then, he stands up, leaves the Fear room, and goes to find his husband.

He hopes Roier slept better than he did.

#qsmp #qsmp fic #mishapen words #qsmp jaiden animations #qsmp cellbit #blood #gore #cannibalism #some chainsaw Trauma #all that good shit #if I'm missing a tw lemme know but I thinkkk that's all #it's been years since i've written horror On Purpose #which. if you've read some of my other fics. may be a surprise to you #so i have no idea the actual Uh Oh level. so there's your warning uhh #i like it tho feels v spooky month

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tntblrconfessions · 2 years

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Also, updates on that dream au fic! Will start on it soon but first me best online freind gave me an idea for cannibal Quackity angst. So , he kills a person cause they reminded him way too much of jschlatt then ate their fucking heart, realized what he was doing, and had a breakdown. Wilbur finds him like this and snatched him. Then fluff for an apology to my skrunkly beloved gay boios and agere for coping! y e a. -Rae

👁👁

#not a confession

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ppace762 · 3 years

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Tnt duo brainrot

I hate seeing fanart/posts that portray c!Quackity as weak or "less evil" in comparison to c!Wilbur because the whole appeal of tntduo is that they match each other in abilities. They are equals in every sense of the word. That's the whole point. It's why Quackity is so appealing to Wilbur. Quackity isn't afraid of him.

Also posts like that ignore the fact that Quackity is UNHINGED. He straight up ate a man's heart. He tortures C!Dream regularly! Have you people seen Jshlatts funeral? Quackity is arguably less sane than Wilbur. I feel like we as a fandom don't talk about it enough.

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andettan-art · 3 years

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“oh god he’s got a gun”

Crops Spouse my beloved....

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enderwoah · 3 years

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SLAMS HANDS ON THE TABLE

C!RANBOO IS A BIOLOGICAL HORRORTERROR THAT SHOULDN'T BE ABLE TO EXIST UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE

(all of this is /rp /dsmp)

so my friends and i in our lore discord were discussing our favorite theory/headcanon/we just really wish it would happen already: drownboo! aka, c!ranboo gets executed (for whatever reason) in a water tank, since he's an enderman and it'd be really angsty and we just wanna see how it'll affect c!ranboo and see how cc!ranboo will act it out! because! y'know! angst is fun???

anyways, i brought up that someone in the comment section of that one really popular drownboo animatic said that c!ranboo in a water tank would dissolve like a bath bomb.

morbid, i know. this entire post is morbid. this post discusses lots of blood, lots of drowning, low-key graphic discussions of dissolving and BONES, jokes about cannibalism, morbid jokes about the topic (because this is minecraft roleplay), lots of caps, and...the ph levels of c!ranboo's blood??? under the cut so you can scroll by if you don't want to see that!

ALRIGHT, ONE OF OUR BIG QUESTIONS (that we've asked ranboo directly and he just HASN'T ANSWERED):

DOES RANBOO'S BLOOD SWIRL LIKE A POPSICLE WHEN MIXED?

DOES IT SEPERATE LIKE WATER AND OIL??

DOES IT DISSOLVE???

DOES IT MIX TOGETHER????

it'd be a HELLA nasty color (#987B23) if it did mix together, if it dissolved then the entire tank would be this disgusting brown, but if it stayed separate it would be...fairly pretty. terrifyingly pretty, morbidly pretty, but the perfect separation of the red and green in the water would be symbolic and whatnot. it might even tye-dye his white shirt :skull:

so then we were like okay...what else wouldn't dissolve if our beloved enderboy got executed. his eyes? that'd be disgusting. his clothes, definitely, and that'd be some morbid-ass little nightmares type shit. the fanart coming out of that would be delightful though /s but also /pos

we had a little bit of a back and forth about whether he'd totally dissolve or if he'd just have very severe burns but eventually we all settled on a single question:

WHAT ABOUT THE BONES, CHAT?

if ranboo fully dissolved, WHAT WOULD HAPPEN TO HIS BONES?? WOULD WATER BE ENOUGH?? OR WOULD THERE BE 250-ODD BONES ALSO JUST VIBING IN THE WATER WITH HIS TYE-DYED SHIRT AND OVERCOAT?

this, of course, sparked a mad scramble for information. i found out that in sulfuric acid, it takes bones two odd days to dissolve, which is ABSOLUTELY far too much time for poignancy. some take shorter amounts of time, but none that would be finished by the time quackity decided that the water tank full of blood and other various internal organs should be moved from the middle of las nevadas.

so was this it? would we be plagued with having to draw and write about ranboo's clothes and his bones if he ever got executed? would our only out from this horrible fate be having to say "i headcanon that his bones dissolved along with the rest of him?"

no. my friend refused to let that happen.

through their EXTENSIVE research (see: about ten minutes of google searching) they found out exactly what constitutes as "acidic" to an enderman.

pure water is 6.5-8.5Ph, and tears are 6.5-7.6Ph, so 6.5 Ph seems to be acidic enough to corrode skin to an enderman.

you with me? that's just water.

hydrochloric acid, which can corrode human skin, is 1.6Ph. thinking about this, endermen most likely consider acid acid (not just the burnin that water does) to be around 5Ph.

5Ph. That is the Ph level of coffee.

sulfuric acid can eventually dissolve bone and that’s 0.5PH. IF YOU PUT RANBOO IN COFFEE, HIS BONES WOULD PROBABLY DISSOLVE.

so of course, this sent us into absolute fucking HYSTERICS --

-- but then one of our beloved friends started thinking about how efficient dissolving him in coffee would actually be.

with all this said and done, the conversations started to simmer out into more lighthearted jokes. and then my friend decided that we simply could not finish this off without something that absolutely traumatizes all of us.

and so they dropped this.

for you see, my dear readers, human blood is about the same Ph of water. which means that for ranboo's blood to be able to flow through his veins without, well, burning them, the Ph level of it would have to be drastically bumped up about six levels.

which puts his blood at a Ph of 12.

which is bleach.

AND WHILE WE WERE ALL COMPLETELY KNOCKED THE FUCK OUT AT THE ABSURDITY OF THIS SITUATION, THEY CAME TO YET ANOTHER REALIZATION

RANBOO'S OTHER HALF IS WHITE BECAUSE HIS BLOOD IS BLEACH.

RANBOO IS JUST A FUCKING BLEACHED ENDERMAN.

HE'S A BIOLOGICAL NIGHTMARE.

#disclaimer: i dont actually think ranboo is a bleached enderman #but this #this is funny #ranboo #ranboolive #dream smp #quackity #las nevadas #now for the content warnings because holy shit this is so dark djskf #tw drowning #tw death #tw bones #tw cannibalism #tw cursing #tw acid #take away our google privileges this is hell #RANBOO EXPLAIN HOW YOUR BIOLOGY WORKS YOU CLUSTERFUCK OF COLLIDING SYSTEMS

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daisylore-au · 3 years

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RED DREAMS — PART 1 (2)

seven votes for MY HOUSE (option 2) !!

warnings: smoking, executions (mentioned), cannibalism (mentioned as a joke)

“My house,” you surprise yourself by saying, “we can go there. Well, less of a house than it is a couple of rooms, but—”

“I remember.” Tubbo blinks at you in some surprise. “I can’t even remember the last time I was there, though. You haven’t let anyone go in ages.”

…That’s true. You shoot him a smile that’s friendlier on your lips than before.

“Think of it as a trust exercise,” you tell him, “if my house gets blown up, I’ll know you’re the traitor, won’t I?”

…The traitor. There’s always a goddamn traitor. If there’s a God of this world, you think, they’re not very creative: Eret and Fundy and Wilbur and Technoblade flicker through your mind, all for half a second, all of them leaving a sour taste in your throat. There’s a significantly smaller population, you think, beginning to walk, for there to be a traitor, but one of them lurks among you: the resistance are always one step ahead, no matter what you do.

(You’ll find them eventually. You have to.)

You get to your house in no time, and Tubbo sidles in, eyeing the place in interest: resisting the urge to apologise for the mess or snap something defensive, you tug him into what had once been an office, shove paperwork off chairs to make space, and stub out your cigarette on the ashtray on the corner of your desk.

“So,” Tubbo prompts, and you raise an eyebrow.

“So.”

“What’s the plan?” Your friend looks far less out of place than he does in your office: coming here, you think, had been a good idea, no matter how vulnerable you feel in your own house. “For the rebels?”

You grimace. “Not the most original, I’ll admit, or the most foolproof, but, you know, I think it’ll work,” you say, and for a moment, you weigh up the pros and cons of being tactful about your next words. “You know we’re running low on morale in the city. And supplies for the people are getting thin.”

Tubbo laughs; a tired, unsure sound. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of resorting to cannibalism or something for food.”

This actually startles a laugh out of you too. “Jesus Christ, no,” you protest, “what the hell, Tubbo, no, no cannibalism.”

“Just checking!”

“No, no, okay, but I was thinking a festival.” You keep your eyes fixed on flicking through Tubbo’s paperwork; across from you, only just settled into a seat, you see Tubbo’s fists clenched in his lap involuntarily. “You know how much people love festivals round here. I was thinking, you know, big festival, lots of food and entertainment, and…”

You pause.

“We aren’t the only ones running low on supplies, Tubbo. Since the world’s stopped regenerating, I bet the rebels are struggling just as much as we have. I think their only chance of outlasting us is by getting supplies from the festival. And when they try, that’s when we strike.”

Tubbo doesn’t look any less wary. “Back to public executions,” he says with a sigh, “do you really think it’ll work?”

“I do.” You resist the urge to smile. You know he’s agreeing. “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. I think, with the tech and power we have in the city, we can win in a fight between us and them. It’s the only plan we got.”

Worrying his lip between his teeth, Tubbo gives in easily. You’d known he would. It’s the next part that’s hard to sell.

“And I’ve also been thinking about the traitor.”

Tubbo’s eyes flicker to his and away again, and you try to relish the uncertainty in his gaze.

“What about them?” He asks.

You shrug, setting down the paperwork and giving up pretending to care about it. Instead, you pull out your list from your pocket, set it down in front of the two of you, and circle a name in red.

RANBOO UNDERSCORE BELOVED.

“I want to prove his loyalty,” you say simply, “I’m going to tell him fake plans for the festival, and see what happens when the rebels show up. If they know the fake plans, then we’ll know Ranboo is the traitor. Simple as that.”

Tubbo is white behind his mask. His fists are clenched tighter than ever, though he tries to look casual. “Ranboo isn’t the traitor, Big Q,” he tells you firmly, “he wouldn’t be. Trust me.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you lie, “it’s Ranboo. Besides! If he’s not the traitor, he’ll have nothing to worry about, right?”

“Quackity…” Tubbo glances up at you, shaking his head. “He’s— Ranboo— he’s not the traitor. He can’t be.”

Anyone can be, you think bitterly, thinking of Ranboo’s growing absences from the city and his piling list of excuses. It’s not even that you don’t like Ranboo: you haven’t trusted him in months, you’re unsure if you ever trusted him even years ago, and you’re not about to start now. “Look, Tubbo,” you say soothingly, “you don’t have to get worried about this. It’s as simple as this: I’ll tell him one set of details, and we’ll prepare for the other. That’s all. It’s no big deal.”

But your co-leader is still shaking his head, lips pressed together in a firm line. “We can’t.” He stresses. “I’m not gonna lie to him. I don’t want to. He wouldn’t spy on us for the resistance, I know he wouldn’t. We have no reason to single him out like this!”

You sigh, drumming your fingers idly against the table. Of course Tubbo is going to start getting picky about this. Instead of getting annoyed, you make a decision.

15 minutes to vote for your decision, finishing at 19:00PM BST !!

IGNORE HIS PROTESTS.

TRY TO PERSUADE HIM.

DON’T PUSH THE SUBJECT.

#> daisy lore: red dreams event #> daisy lore: writing

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