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underjumble · 9 months

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A bunch of questions that weren't big enough to be their own (so I'm putting them together)

3. I realize you said HAS a bad haircut, but I came up with two scenarios that are tertiary canon (I came up with definition of the term so I am sure I'm using it wrong. What I'm saying is it has no effect on the canon so you can take it or leave it.)

The first is Asriel and Chara as kids, where they cut each other's hair for fun without their parents permission. Just being silly. The next is Temmie (without permission but does she ever get permission for anything she does) deciding she's bored and actually a salonist. No one except for other tems actually got their hair cut there while it was open. It got shut down real quick-- because surprisingly, hair everywhere isn't very sanitary for restaurants-- but the customers enjoyed their awful cuts so who's to judge?

4. They would grow up and take their place as the rulers, although Papyrus would be the only one really doing anything. Papyrus would try to overwork him like his dad did, but Sans wouldn't let him take too much on. The reason why the King Papyrus ending was so bad was because the brothers were forced to rule over a broken and hopeless kingdom without warning, but since Papyrus always was meant to be king and the underground is fine.

They're not as respectable as Gaster was, but they're still good, despite Papyrus being very, very eccentric. I think by the time they're adults in this timeline, Sans and Papyrus would be virtually indistinguishable personality wise from the original. Sans would be happier and not worried about the timelines because that hasn't happened unlike the original, but really the reason underjumble has them different is due to the fact they never got to grow up and let go of anything.

Unless Papyrus perfectly times when he has a kid, Papyrus would eventually outlive his brother. He'd be distraught at first, but as time goes by, he'll look back to Sans and smile fondly. He still misses him, but it wouldn't be a stab in the heart to remember him, it would be bittersweet. He came in Papyrus' life and left, but he still brought so much joy. This is assuming Sans' life isn't cut short for whatever reason.

They would probably collect human souls, but only after the human dies of natural causes, because the soul is just there, why not use it? Or you could take the route that humans with the souls together can break the barrier, since the magicians didn't die due to the barrier. Whichever you think of, the point is the underground would be happier.

5. Frisk wears a hoodie!! They're more reclusive and shy, hunching over and wearing the hoodie more. Other than that the outfit is basically the same.

6. Assuming you mean in game, Doggo doesn't really have hopes or dreams. He wants to feel and to have Sans back, but he's given up on the possibility for the most part. Sans just wants to take everything back, but knows it's impossible. Post game he just wants his brother to be able to be at peace.

Asriel's hope is that Gaster's plan won't work, that one day monsters will make peace with humans, and to see his family again. Chara's hopes are to make up with their family and free monsters. Napstablook doesn't really have a dream, and Mettaton wants to be famous. Toriel wants there to be a peaceful solution, the gays want to see each other and date and Gaster wants to take back what he believes is rightfully his.

Okay so headcanon. A lot of people take all the amalgamates at face value, the only ones. I don't think that's true. Alphys asked for all monsters that have fallen down. Of course not everyone would hand them over but I think it's quite possibly like. 15-30 fallen down monsters she got? My point is I don't think there's just five. Here are the canon five (but not all) amalgamates that you fight. I was going to draw them but I'm bad at drawing so I'll try to describe it. They don't have names yet so I'll just put a line of dialogue

smells like slush - Dess, Pyrope, and Madjick. Has melty ropes binding them and Dess' head and Madjick's melted orbs.

what a catastrophe! - probably not really using that line. Sans doesn't make puns in really serious situations. A handful of temmies and a final froggit. This one looks less like one whole and more like almost a pile. Not completely ofc but since most amalgamates have melted to the point it just looks like one creature.

I don't have any actual quotes I just wanted to show off the slush one and trapped myself - One from the jerry species, an ice cap and a chilldrake

- Gyfttrot, Knight Knight, Monster Kid's father

- Memory head with misgospel movements of eyes.

Underjumble Blooky canonically wears headphones the entire game so yeah! They just like me fr

13. Assuming we're not talking about with any souls or LOVE, Sans and Doggo is, I'm just gonna say it, they're like the weakest ones. Sans can't even interact with the physical world, or if he can it's very limited, and Doggo is a plush. There's a reason why he watches from afar and doesn't let himself get in stabbing distance until he feels like you can't hurt him. Just putting this out there so it's known I'm not including them. I would say Gaster. Undyne is strong as hell but she's not a boss monster, and none of the monster Dreemurrs really have a reason to have practiced and been skilled much.

14. I think he would be awful at names but not in the sense Asgore is. Bro would look at a place and name it a long scientific term. I've never actually thought about that idea though :0 I have thought about it a bit and I think Asgore still named the areas, since Gaster wasn't focused on that and he was close with Asgore, he got the privileges to.

15. It was from unnatural ways, I can tell you that. I haven't decided on how exactly, but basically yeah he did make Paps. Although I love that headcanon. "here's that tiny guy you ordered. hope it's okay if i fucked around with his genetic code a bit." Maybe that's why he can just float

16. Before she fell I assume you mean. Basically!!! She's a little silly hehehe. They'd interact like how the ogs would interact. They're still close, even though Maddie doesn't-- I guess i should say didn't-- live in the same house.

17. That's cool!!!!!

19. He uses long words and uncommon(?) terms that most people don't use in every day speech, and doesn't use contractions very often. I like to think he just uses some words wrong but he's been through countless timelines so that's not likely

#underjumble #undertale au #ask #temmlxx #tw body horror description #the underjumble crew

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bendysinitiation · 1 month

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would memory joey’s whole shadow thing be like prismo or the collector or any other 2d character from a media i can point at

Of course

#bendy au #ootim #out of the ink machine #batim au #bendy and the ink machine #henry stein #joey drew #toon joey #batim #body horror #tw body horror #sheepry #image description added #image description in alt #asks

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dorkfruit · 4 months

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i was wondering what would have happened if ianthe had successfully cut her own arm off and regrown a flesh magic one on her own, so i did some doodles to play around with different concepts for it.

my thoughts on the matter below....if u even care

my initial idea was like, to do a very noodley string of flesh. something very rubbery, sticky, and stretchy. because anything she created wouldn't have the support of bones, i thought maybe it could be very flexible to compensate. she doesn't have a regular hand, and so the "string" wraps around the base of objects to give her a grip on it. for heavier objects, she fuses the veins on the string to the handle of the object, as well as adds more veins on the "shoulder" and "elbow" sections for more support. also i thought it'd be funny to watch her try and slap someone, so she winds her shoulder back and smacks them like an arcade sticky hand which is hilarious to visualize for me LOL

^ arcade sticky hand

anyways, i figure she made the noodle arm as a Oh My God I Just Cut My Arm Off I Need To Replace It Quick type of solution. it's temporary, but sort of works. then it's like. okay we need more muscle on this because this is kinda impractical, so she adds onto the base (near the shoulder), and it eventually forms into a weird tentacle thing, throbbing and veiny and gross, that tapers into a thin strand near the end, to keep the whole Wrapping Around Objects To Grab Them (although this sacrifices some of the stretchiness in favor of strength) but it is kinda interesting to have her switch between the two (and perhaps other shapes i didn't think of yet) based on which is more appropriate for the situation, sort of like a swiss arm knife but made of meat.............. and so yea that was just my idea on how she would have done a flesh arm as opposed to having harrow's bone arm (: lots of fun concepts and much more to explore but this is just my first attempt .. for now maybe

#the visual comedy potential is off the charts with the idea of a flesh only arm... i didnt even scrape the surface. maybe another day #had soo many ideas and forgot half of them so i didnt end up drawing all of them LOL #and my description below kinda make no sense bc im stupid these days but hopefully u get what i meant #anyways...#the locked tomb #tlt #harrow the ninth #htn #/ tw body horror #ianthe tridentarius #harrianthe #harryanthe #my art #procreate #wish i had drawn more tendriltarius arm art but it was hard to draw tbh! so i ended up doing more noodley stuff even tho its less practical #oopsies!

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cream-and-tea · 2 months

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LAY ME DOWN. chapter seven excerpt. unedited. featuring: agnes’s attempt to understand a new and troubling situation through understanding a new and troubling person. light body horror. self-harm adjacent behaviour. general freaky magic stuff.

[transcript under the cut]

oh brother. these guys again.

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-). @vellichor-virgo @transmasc-wizard @houndmouthed @muddshadow @just-wublrful @corkywantstowrite @shrunkupthejams @andromedaexists @caninemotiff @lungs-and-gills @lychniscitrus @phantomnations @onomatopiya @deer-in-headlights-stare @arctic-oceans @redbloodprose @definitelynotclayface @cannivalisms @atthenian

“Show me then,” the words are out of her mouth before she has time to think. Animal instinct. Too distracted to remember to bite her tongue.

Pallas blinks at her once, slowly. “What?”

She can walk it back, that would be safest, the nothing already crouched expectantly in the back of her throat. Instead she uncrosses her legs and swings them over the edge of the bed to better face them. Having feet on the ground makes her feel more solid, more certain.

“I want you to show me. Vita. I want to see it.”

Pallas raises an eyebrow. “Show you?”

She scoots forward slightly and nods, made a bit braver by the fact that they don’t seem to be angry or condescending, just confused. Probably really confused because Agnes is awful at telling what people feel by their faces and even she can see it clear as day.

“You’ve already seen it,” Pallas says, setting down the pen and shrugging back into their jacket. “You know what it does.”

And that’s true isn’t it? In the Haithwood and in the library. Pallas winding every bit of her body around their fingers and holding her frozen to the ground, Pallas making Calliopes nose break and bleed in a burst of icy rage, Judge reaching under her skin to pull her injured flesh back into shape. Vita. Blood and flesh and living bone. Honestly she’s seen enough for a lifetime. There’s still that sick feeling in her gut whenever she thinks about any of it.

So maybe it has less to do with the magic and more to do with Pallas, who’s spent every hour of every day since she got here pushing her to reach for the dead in a way she never has before. Pallas has had everything to do with her ghosts and her gravespeaking but every time they’ve used their power she’s had absolutely nothing to do with it, a bystander at best and a victim at worst. It's not that she’s upset, or ungrateful, just that she wants to see them the same way they’ve seen her. That isn’t so much to ask? Right?

“Yeah.” Agnes moves to rest her chin in her hands. “But I haven’t seen you use it when you’re not…”

Scaring me? Attacking people?

“...y’know,” she finishes lamely.

Pallas has gone still in the chair and she can’t help but feel the same hot embarrassment as before at the expression on their face, nakedly baffled in a way that feels too intimate for her to be seeing. It’s like something about what she’s asking has managed to fully shock the danger out of them, leaving just a person who doesn’t understand what’s happening. Agnes hadn’t thought that was even possible to do, and the revelation that it is fills her with a kind of mad, giddy joy. You’re just like me. You don’t know what’s going on right now.

All this time she’s been tiptoeing around Pallas, but now she’s knocked them off balance and hasn’t been reduced to a pile of blood and guts. So there are some things she can do. She is not totally helpless and they are human after all and they are being awkward! Being awkward in front of her!

“I don’t exactly have a broad scope,” Pallas says dryly. “I doubt you’ll like anything I have to share.”

Agnes doubts it as well, but that’s not really the point. And nothing they said just now was no.

“Maybe it’ll be nice. Maybe I’ll think it’s nice.”

Pallas stares at her like a chicken confronted with a bicycle. Then they look away. Then they let out a long, quiet breath and close their eyes before shifting to face her properly, both feet on the ground as well.

“Sit back,” it’s closer to their normal voice but with a faintness to it. Not quite trembling, but definitely not steady either. Agnes straightens up and tilts back onto her palms as Pallas shifts forward. It feels like too long before they open their eyes, which are just as grey and bad as ever.

“I won’t do anything to you,” Pallas says, as if that’s an option they were considering. Agnes can’t help but feel a twist of relief, the memories of that first meeting in the woods are never far from her mind and no matter how much she wants this, any chance to avoid something like that happening again is a welcome one.

“Right.” She nods.

“If you start screaming, or vomit, or pass out, I will cease interacting with you alltogether. That is a promise.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Pallas’s brows furrow with what could be concentration or could be concern. Their mouth opens, floundering for half a second, like they were about to say something else before closing back into a tightly pressed line. They hold their left hand out in front of them, like they’re waiting for a high five, and somehow Agnes knows that, whatever it is, it’s about to start and her anxiety feels like victory in the face of that.

At first it is nothing much, just a thin red line slicing down their middle finger. So straight and clean it could’ve been made with a scalpel. Not even that much blood. Then, simultaneously, the line begins to creep down their palm and out to each of their other fingers, dripping beads of crimson down the clammy pale of their skin. Somehow it doesn’t seem real, like Agnes is looking at a diagram in a book that’s mysteriously been animated in front of her. If Pallas feels any pain at all they don’t show it, face unchanged as the skin starts to peel back from their hand.

That does make Agnes draw in a sharp breath, even though she’s been very good at staying quiet and still up until now, fearful like she was in the classroom with Judge that any sudden action will throw the magic off-balance. But she doesn’t look away, because she asked for this, and Pallas doesn’t pause in their unfurling even if their brows furrow slightly at the sound. It happens in one smooth motion, practiced, effortless, performed with all the ceremony of taking off a glove. Agnes does not start screaming, or vomit, or pass out. She’s dressed animals before and, apart from how Pallas is not dead and the effect is contained to just the one hand, this isn’t really different. There's the careful separation of skin from muscle, the delicate definition that separates the parts underneath, the red and pinkness of it all.

Of course it’s not really the same either, because the parts of Pallas being stripped away are not set aside for later use; instead they stay floating in the air around the hand, held frozen in the same way her body had been back in the forest when they first met. Warm, wet flaps of skin, fresh as the blackgreen bark stripped from trees back home, hover drowsily like something pickled in a jar. It is also not separated, not really, everything still intertwined and beating with red and alive, muscle and artery and nerve working together, just lifted up and away. Agnes never paid her own hands much mind beyond the work they could do and how cold they got in the winter, but now she imagines her skin split apart and away the way Pallas’s is, wonders if all of that really exists inside her too. It feels wrong somehow, what’s in front of her now is just meat. A person should be made up of more than that. There are so many small parts to a hand, parts she cannot name but Pallas probably can or else they would not be able to do any of this. They don’t stop until the muddy white of their fingerbones begin to show, then the entire thing spasms with an uneven spurt of blood, a pulse that Agnes feels in her own chest, and goes totally still.

In the silence she can’t help but lean forward, marvelling at the web of flesh in front of her, and even as her scalp prickles and her stomach turns over and the air around her seems to hum with the urge to run a part of her itches to reach out a finger and touch. That really would just be the same as fiddling around with the guts of an animal, but also it would be different. Somehow she knows it would be different. Different in a way she’ll never be able to understand unless she does it. Which she won’t. Because Pallas is terrifying and this has only proved that a hundred times over.

Though maybe not as terrifying as she thought before. They did listen to her, or humour her, or whatever this is. It’s something for sure. Agnes can always make do with something. It’s how she stays alive.

Her breath ghosts across the bloody strand of a muscle, and that is what breaks the spell, that or Pallas is just done or some other condition she doesn’t know has been met. The coming back together seems to take a good deal longer than the taking apart, sweat glueing dark strands of hair to Pallas’s cheeks and the grinding of their teeth made audible despite the damp, slithering sounds of their hand seaming itself back together until the only trace of what just happened is a rusty crusting of blood packed around their nails and in their palm lines.

They pull the hand away while Agnes can’t help but keep watching, transfixed as they flex it in and out of a fist with a disinterested glare, impatient while a few stray cracks and pops fill the newfound silence. Once that’s done they hold it out one more time, as if proving to Agnes just how inconsequential vivisecting a part of them in front of her really was.

“There. Happy?” Pallas slumps slightly, tipping their head back enough that she can see their pulse fluttering frantically just beneath the skin of their neck. Again she resists the urge to touch it. She likes all of her flesh right where it is. Thank you very much.

Palla shifts to look at her and Agnes remembers that she’s been staring, not answering them, and internally kicks herself for being such an idiot.

“I am,” She breathes out, makes the monumental effort to meet their eyes. “I actually really am.”

#agnes: haha how you only ever seem to killmurder things with your powers that’s sooooo silly #pallas: i cannot express enough how that is literally all i know how to do #anyways! they’re bonding! yippee!#me writing agnes wishing she could mess around with pallass internal organs like. hold that thought for about #five more chapters girl. i’ve got you don’t worry.#she is NEVER beating the ‘obsessed with that freak’ allegations #this was one that was hard to write the little description bit for but i wanted to share pallas doing magic #because it’s one of my favourite things to write lol #wip: ghost story #pallas and agnes #creme does a writing #tw gore #tw body horror #tw sh related

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the-magpie-archives · 2 years

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There's something so grotesquely thrilling about the unknowing being a dance. As an art form dance is uncomfortable, painful, and even causes lasting damage to the dancer; but above all it is something that MUST be beautiful.

"I just want you to join me for a dance!"

Such an innocent statement, even if you know that it isn't.

To think of a partner dance: Perhaps a waltz where your partner is much taller than you, their position forcing your arms out of their sockets as you struggle to keep your form.

A solo dance? Ballet without training, elegant poses that stretch your tendons til they snap; pointe work without shoes, the weight of your body crushing the bones in your feet.

Or musical theatre! Your body moves at a pace you can't control as your throat grows hoarse from singing louder than you ever should. A smile (or perhaps a grimace) plastered painfully on your face.

What about contemporary? Your soft unprepared body meeting the harsh ground from a leap that ended too soon; something tears inside you as you draw yourself up gracefully in a way you wouldn't think possible.

The pure raw confusion of your body doing something you never allowed it to know how to do. What is this body? What is this movement? What shape am I being twisted into?

"so effortless!" an onlooker exclaims, as another bone snaps.

You'd scream, but the punishment for not smiling is worse than this pain.

The harsh gaze of dead, automaton eyes watches you from the wings, judging and critiquing. It's not good enough, your performance wasn't perfect; but if you're lucky you won't live long enough to hear the feedback. You wouldn't understand it anyways.

#The body horror potential of dance is honestly great #I've been a dancer my whole life (never a good one tho) and the stuff that so many dancers go through is 😳#Like that shit is freaky #But yeah Jon says after he wakes up from his coma that he remembers dancing and i like to think that this is the kind he remembers.#the magnus archives #tma #the magnus institute #Jonathan sims #Nikola Orsinov #The unknowing #tma the stranger #mag 119 #tw body horror #tw graphic description #tw unreality #tma spoilers #tma season 3

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addamii · 11 months

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Some resurrection beast sketches I did while procrastinating working on my animatic

Uncolored under the cut :)

#the locked tomb #varun the eater #resurrection beast #none of the other ones have names and that makes me sad #I drew all the ones with descriptions #(except the gross one)#and my interpretation of varun #monster design #tw body horror #tw blood #addamii’s art

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absolutelybatty · 4 months

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Sanitarium (1998)

#my gifs #sanitarium #sanitarium 1998 #eyestrain #no image description #no image id #gif set #90s video games #90s games #horror #body horror #eyestrain tw

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 1 year

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Mandela Prophet AU: Confrontation

After a couple of months of dealing with, and being controlled by the parasitic alternate living in him, Adam decides to confront the being that cursed him.

CW: Body horror, religious imagery, blood

Notes: around 4′300 words. I’m actually decently proud of this one, and. stayed up late making it but either way hope you enjoy!

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Adam awoke on the cold, damp asphalt of a parking lot.

His back stung, feeling as though it had caught fire, the barely healed wounds pressed against the ground, the small stones digging into his skin. Adam slowly opened his eyes, gasping as he glanced around the empty lot he found himself on. He looked down at himself, seeing he was missing his shirt, and that his pants and parts of his pale skin were stained with crimson; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if it belonged to him or not. Either way, he hated that he was used to the sight of blood.

He attempted to sit up, only to let out a quick yell, immediately falling as he felt the muscles in his back cry out in pain at the motion. Adam grimaced as he curled his hands into fists, suppressing more cries of discomfort as he forced himself to stand on his feet, stumbling as a wave of dizziness hit him at once. He took a few steps back, his bare feet cold as they pressed against the asphalt. His breathing was uneven as he steadied himself, trying to ground himself by grasping and running his hands through his ratty, pale brown hair.

He grasped his head, groaning as he shook his head, as if he was trying to literally shake off the migraine that was developing. The rising sun shone from just under the horizon, with even the dim light from it making Adam’s dilated eyes sting. It was as if his eyes didn’t work as well in the light as they did in the dark anymore, like an owl, or a bat. The night vision would’ve been nice, if it meant he wouldn’t tear up during the day sometimes. Though, the feeling of dry tears on his face proved that he had been crying anyway.

Adam reached behind him, his cold, clammy hands lightly pressing against his back, the action making him wince. There were deep, pale reddish pink indented parts of his skin, just barely healed over so it wouldn’t bleed out. Dried and coagulated blood was stuck to his flesh, trails of it running down from the large blotches on his back. Every muscle and bone in his body ached, his spine and ribs popping and cracking with every motion he made, the ligaments and cartilage burning from stretching and bending in ways they weren’t made to bend. Adam simply sighed, his voice growling slightly before he crossed his arms and hunched over, beginning to walk down the sidewalk, hoping to get back to the BPS HQ without being seen; he needed some fucking clothes.

He stumbled down the sidewalk, his eyes darting around erratically as he hoped that the people in the cars passing by didn’t pay much attention to him, nor his haggard appearance. He could only imagine being mistaken for an alternate due to his pale skin, sunken eyes and the blood staining his clothes, and though the person wouldn’t necessarily be wrong, he didn’t want to be shot by someone due to that, instead trying to stay in the shadows, taking any shortcuts he can to get him to his house quicker. His legs felt wobbly, and his head was foggy, though nevertheless he continued, the thought of sleeping being far too tempting for his own good. Hell, he would’ve felt fine falling onto the grass of a random person’s yard, sleeping for a few hours, not being able to feel the overwhelming soreness that overtook him. However, he didn’t think of the idea much further than that, deciding to walk the last few blocks instead of having the cops called on him.

He trembled uncontrollably, rubbing his shoulders as he walked in an attempt to comfort himself, telling himself reassurances under his breath:

“It’s over, it’s alright, it’s not going to hurt you for a while, you’re okay.” Were among the statements he told himself, feeling comfort over the fact that the parasite within him wasn’t moving in the slightest; no twitches, no shifts, and no prodding. It was asleep, and hopefully it would stay that way. Despite the lack of motion in his torso however, Adam couldn’t help but feel the pressure in his chest, and the feeling of dread that clouded his thoughts. He felt like complete shit, in and out, physically and mentally. He shut his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, getting his thoughts together before he flinched at a sound nearby.

“Are you alright?”

Fuck.

Adam looked to his right, seeing a woman on her porch, staring at her with a look in between fear and concern. Adam didn’t even realize how haunting his crazed stare was until he looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat as he attempted to speak. “U…u-uh…I-I-I…” Adam could do nothing but sputter words unable to create a story to explain his state.

“Do…Do you need a doctor?” The woman asked innocently, though Adam couldn’t help but think she was stupid for asking; what would a doctor do to help him at that point? He didn’t need a fucking doctor, he needed a priest.

“N-No…no, I d…don’t.” Adam stated. “I’m…fine.”

“Hold on, I’ll call an—”

“DON’T!” Adam shouted, immediately regretting doing so when he saw the woman flinch. “Don’t…I-I…fucking hell—”

Adam glanced at the woman before running down the sidewalk until he was out of view, ducking behind another house as he shook; fucking shit, what if she called the cops? How the fuck would he even begin to explain his situation? He felt the fear coming from her, and he hated it. He hated that he could sense fear towards him, coming from a woman that only wanted to help out. He leaned against the outer wall, putting his hands over his face, staring through his fingers with wide, crazed eyes. He slid down the wall, sitting on the cold, dewy grass as he crossed his arms on his knees, curling into himself as he held his head low.

Such a fucking moron. Took a deal from the devil just because he wanted to know more than his mind could handle, finding out he was never human in the first place. God damn it, even his harsh breathing and crying sounded inhuman. Why couldn’t he have lived as a normal kid? Why was he chosen to be this stupid prophet? Why him of all people? Why him? Why him? WHY HIM?

“Why…me…?” Adam squeaked under his breath through the tears.

Sarah opened the door to see Adam leaning against the doorway, his stare vacant and fixed on the floor before he slowly looked up at Sarah’s face. He looked like death; a look that had become the norm for him. Sarah let out a breath, glancing towards the ground in a mutual understanding before stepping out of the way, muttering a defeated “Get in” under her breath before Adam walked inside of the apartment.

“Is that where you’ve been all night?” Sarah asked as Adam fell onto the couch, lying across it with a wince as the fabric pressed against his back.

“…Yeah.” Adam sighed quietly.

“It’s only been…what, a week? Two maybe?” Sarah said. “It seems like it’s been…especially irritable lately.”

“Yep.” Adam rubbed his face with his thin, bony hands.

“What haven’t we tried yet?” Sarah asked. “Antibiotics do fuck all, bullets work but…only if we hit you square in the chest with them; Surgery maybe?”

Adam scoffed. “What would a doctor do?” Adam said softly, a slight, disingenuous smile on his face. “They’d cut me open…dissect me. Gawk at the fact there’s a new species of alternate living inside me.” Adam pressed his hands against his face. “I’d rather take my chances with the stupid thing than be some…science experiment in a lab.”

“Okay, then what?” Sarah asked, her shoulders tensing. “Nothing seems to work, so…” Sarah gasped. “…exorcism.”

“No.”

“…Hey it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“Since when have fucking exorcisms worked against alternates?” Adam sat up slightly. “You hold up a crucifix to them and they laugh at you. If anything, that would probably just piss the thing off more.”

“Come on, I’m just trying to help.” Sarah sighed.

“Whatever…” Adam groaned as he stood from the couch. “I need to take a fucking shower anyway. I’ll figure something out myself.”

As Adam walked down the hallway, Sarah glanced at the floor, grasping the sleeve of her jacket as she thought to herself. There had to be some way to get rid of the parasite…right?

That night, Adam laid on the couch, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a black hoodie, its hood covering his head. He had his hands folded on his stomach, absentmindedly staring at the wall as Sarah sketched something in her notebook. He glanced over towards her, seeing a blank, yet focused expression as her pencil scratched across the paper. “…What’re you drawing?” He asked.

“Oh…” Sarah said, her eyes glancing around before making brief eye contact with Adam. “Just…thoughts.”

“…What ‘thoughts?’”

“I don’t know.” Sarah sighed. “Just doodling stuff I guess.” She glanced down at the drawing she was working on, being a diagram of what she believed the parasite looked like inside of Adam’s body, with its own “heart” under his sternum, and “veins” reaching through his limbs. She stared at it before shutting the sketchbook entirely. “Nothing important.”

“Right.” Adam looked away, sighing before leaning his head backwards to hit the armrest of the couch. He barely even fit on the couch anymore, with his legs seeming to be longer than he remembered. He stared at the popcorn ceiling, brows furrowing as he thought to himself. “…You think…I’ll ever be cured?”

Sarah paused, staring at Adam with uncertainty in her eyes. “…I don’t…know, maybe?” Sarah said. “There’s got to be a way to get rid of it, if it works like other parasites—”

“But it doesn’t, Sarah.” Adam stated with a half-lidded glare. “It works nothing like other parasites. It’s alive, it’s…able to make its own decisions.”

“Doesn’t…seem like that to me.” Sarah said. “Always seemed like it ran on instincts from…you know—”

“That time I almost killed you?” Adam said, despite the sour feeling in the air when he said it. “I get it. I don’t know it sometimes acts like…this dumb animal, and other times it feels like it’s being—”

Adam froze, his eyes widening as his mind began connecting the dots. He sat up, planting his elbows on his knees and covering his mouth with one of his hands. Sarah looked at him, feeling pressure building in her chest before she spoke. “You…alright?”

“I’m fine.” Adam shut his eyes for a second. “Don’t worry about it, just…figuring some things out.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah…” Adam sighed. “Just…thinking.”

Adam sat on his bed, still in his normal clothes before he glanced at the clock on the wall: 1:00 AM. He stood up, walking towards the door before slowly opening it, glancing at Sarah’s bedroom door, his eyes gleaming in the dark. Seeing that it was closed, Adam turned to the other side of the hallway, seeing the moonlight pouring into the living room through the window. He sighed through his nose, walking down the hallway and into the living room, grabbing his boots and slipping them on, tying them up quickly and quietly. He grabbed a flashlight from the coffee table, taking one last look around the room before shaking his head and walking through the front door.

Adam drove down the dark road, passing by the last home on the edge of town as his piercing gaze fixated on the road illuminated by the headlights. His throat felt dry, feeling the mandibles curled up next to his jaw scratching at the flesh in his inner cheek. The Parasite seemed to be slumbering, though he couldn’t help but feel as though the mandibles were scratching at his jaw and cheeks, trying to get him to turn back despite him having no desire to do so. He ran on intuition, following the road towards where he knew he needed to be, trying his best to ignore the faint blood stains on the dashboard and the fact that he was sitting in a car that belonged to someone…Adam preferred not to think about. It made him sick just thinking of him.

He drove silently, seeing a fence to his left, stretching on in front of the forest beside it until it ended at a large metal gate. Adam parked the car on the side of the road, sighing deeply before shutting it off and opening the door. Despite the darkness, he could see clearly, reading the metal lettering above the black gate: “ST. GABRIEL’S CHURCH”

Adam stared at the sign before looking down at the gate itself, seeing that it had torn police tape draped across the rusted metal. It swayed in the wind like ribbons as Adam pushed open the gateway, hearing the shrill squeaking and screeching the hinges let out as he passed through, walking down the gravel road as he turned his flashlight on, seeing the two large bell towers of the cathedral above the tree line.

He walked into the large opening where the church sat, his boots echoing off of the parking lot pavement as rain sprinkled down from above. He looked up, his determined gaze fixed on the larger-than-life church that sat before him, staring at the tall doors that led inside. He felt his heart beat hard in his chest, the mandibles in his cheeks scratching even harder, to the point where he could taste blood. Despite it and the intense dread building within him, he took in a deep breath and walked towards the doors. If that angel was anywhere, it would be here.

Adam pushed open the doors, seeing that it was nearly pitch black inside of the building. He looked forward, seeing the rows of pews to his left and right, the large pillars on the left and right walls reaching for the tall, vaulted ceiling. Steel, tall candle holders lined the walls, the candles unlit. The only light aside from Adam’s flashlight in the entire great hall was the moonlight shining from behind the giant stained-glass window behind the elevated stage, depicting an angel in white garb and long, flowing hair, holding their hands out with their eyes closed, along with a faint smile on their face. Their wings were pristine and perfect, and the background of the piece was made of blue, green, and yellow shards of glass.

There was a large pedestal in the middle of the stage, around the size of a desk but made of what seemed like carved stone. There was writing on the front of it, though Adam couldn’t make out what it was due to the staining covering it. Adam walked down the red carpet in between the rows of benches, his eyes fixed on a shadow in front of the stained glass window, hearing the faint clinking of metal as it swayed in an unfelt wind. Adam pointed his flashlight at the object, finally making out what it was; an analog television, being hung up by the chains wrapped around it, suspended above the large stone pedestal.

Adam’s expression turned to one of confusion as he pointed his light behind him, seeing nothing aside from the empty benches and unlit candles, despite the feeling of being watched. As he looked around, a bright white light hit his back, with the sound of static filling his ears as he swung around. The TV had switched on by itself, despite the cord hanging loosely underneath it, not connected to anything around it. Adam stared at the TV, swallowing hard, unable to help but notice that the mandibles abruptly became still.

Adam switched off his light, the static reflecting off of his dilated eyes before he saw random cords begin to appear from behind the screen, hanging from inside of the screen and spilling out from it. Adam stumbled back a few steps, staring at the TV as he saw something come into view from behind the glass; a thin, bony hand. It pushed through the screen, grasping the side of the television before being followed by the other, cool grey colored hand. Soon, a head appeared, along with a thin torso, both being concealed by a black hoodie. The beings head faced down as its hands gripped onto the sides of the TV, all before he looked down at Adam, his face finally being visible to Adam as his breath hitched. It was the man in the TV; the one who took him away.

Six’s right eye appeared to have been gouged out, dark, thick blood running down his thin cheek and staining the patchy facial hair below it. His remaining yellowed eye was fixated on Adam, seeming more surprised than anything else. His hoodie appeared to be stained and torn near where his torso was protruding from the TV, with cords seeming to be attached to the skin in his arms and his torso, attaching him to the television. Adam didn’t even let himself wonder what happened to him before he clenched his fists and grimaced.

“It’s YOU.” Adam stated through clenched teeth.

“…The…prodigal son…returns.” Six wheezed, his voice deep, and as rough as sandpaper. “How…stupid.”

“You…you’re the reason I’m here.” Adam stated. “You made me into this fucking THING; I COULD’VE HAD A NORMAL LIFE IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU.”

“Adam…you don’t understand…the…mistake you’ve made by coming here.” Six continued, glancing around the room. “It…knows you’re here now.”

“I don’t care!” Adam shouted. “Why?! Why me, of everyone you’ve taken, why me?!”

“Adam, LISTEN TO ME! You’re a FOOL for coming here.” Six snapped, leaning down as more of his torso revealed itself through the static, Adam finally being able to see it fully. He didn’t have any legs or even hipbones; his spine was all there was, wires and cords wrapped around the bones, forcing him to stay inside of the television. He was trapped.

Adam stared at the exposed spine before Six caught his attention yet again. “What I did…was for a reason.” He continued, his voice going back to the wheezy, out of breath inflections it was in before. “A reason RUINED by…it. The false shepherd.” Six spoke that statement with pure distain, staring off into space before fixing his gaze back onto Adam. “I…am not to blame. They…are the reason…you’ve been made into…this.”

“I know that…” Adam stated. “But I wouldn’t be in this situation if you didn’t replace some poor kid with ME.”

“I am just as stuck…as you, Murray.” Six stated. “Yet you refuse…to see what is right in fr—”

Six was interrupted when the TV began to short circuit, sending shots of electricity into his body as he screamed, his voice distorting and stuttering before he quickly retreated into the static, the screen flickering off soon after. Adam stared at the TV before he noticed faint orange lights appearing behind him. He turned around, seeing the candles lighting themselves, illuminating the dark hall as Adam’s flashlight shut off. He looked at his own torch, smacking it to get it to work, only making it flicker on before shutting off right after. As he looked forward, the flickering light caught something on the pedestal, Adam’s breath hitching when he saw it. A blackened, bony hand pressed against the top of the stone, soon followed by a thin, grey arm.

A figure emerged from behind the pedestal, standing tall above Adam, her long, black cloak covering her skeletal body. Her head was partially covered by a hood, along with white coif which was wrapped around her long neck and forehead. Her mouth was wide open, slack as if her jaw was dislocated, Adam only being able to see yellowed teeth in it. Large black eye sockets were situated high on her face, with two eyes being visible from inside of them, sunken into the void. Her skeletal face stared at Adam as she stood up straight, walking around the pedestal, her cloak flowing as her sharp, pointed legs silently walked across the floor, with her long arms moving to fold her hands in front of her.

Adam stumbled back from her, recognizing the haunting face from the home he and Jonah were investigating, shocked it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. He tripped over his feet, falling backwards onto the ground as his flashlight clattered against the white tiles. He stared as the figure looked at him, her head tilting slightly as if she was waiting for something. She only looked away when everything went eerily silent and see looked right behind Adam, her head lowering as she kneeled on the ground.

“Coming here…searching for answers?” An echoing, raspy, choked voice stated from right behind Adam, making his hair stand on end as it chuckled. “How stupid. For once, I must agree with the tulpa; you’ve made a mistake coming here to see me.”

Adam scrambled to his feet, swinging around to see the tall “angel” in front of him, their gaze trying to be soft and inviting, though it gave the stark opposite feeling looking at it. The monochromatic entity stared at Adam, folding its hands in front of their chest as their giant, half-formed wings spread out across the church, blocking off any exits. Adam stood his ground, standing up straight and trying to shake off the overwhelming dread he felt growing within him.

“Y-You…you’re the one to blame for…all this, huh?” Adam stated.

“So…it’s a blaming game?” Gabriel asked, pressing their palm against their cheek as he tilted their head. “How fun! I suppose I can play it as well. First off…you are the one that took my deal, Murray. You were free to walk away.”

“That’s complete BULLSHIT!” Adam shouted. “You told me I’d learn everything I wanted to know, not that I’d get this…this fucking PARASITE!”

“Every deal comes with a price.” Gabriel leaned down towards Adam. “I told you to follow me…that was your end of the deal. I’ve given you everything you needed to know, yet you seem to resist holding your end of the bargain.”

“No.” Adam growled. “Never.”

“…Really.” Gabriel cackled, the sound drilling itself into Adam’s ears as he reached for something attached to his belt, covered by his hoodie; a pistol. “You think you have a choice in the matter anymore, Murray?”

Adam swung up his pistol, pointing it up at Gabriel’s smiling face, their all-too-wide smile not fading despite it. “Get. It. Out.” Adam commanded. “The deals off. Let me live my fucking life…and we’ll never see each other again.

Gabriel let out another loud cackle, Adam’s stern and determined expression fading slightly before he regained it, moving his finger to the trigger. “Oh, Adam.” Gabriel laughed. “The deal has already been made, there’s no going back now. However…I am capable of following one of your demands.”

Gabriel’s distorted laugh continued as Adam stared up at them with fury, all before the brave expression on his face disappeared in an instant as he felt a sharp pain in his torso. He shook, dropping his pistol before falling to his knees, loud ringing piercing his ears as Gabriel’s laugh and crazed, impossible expression taunted him. Adam could feel the parasite wriggling inside of him, awoken despite just having gotten out the night before. The pain seemed worse however, as if he was in the late stages of the parasite taking over instead of going through the discomfort and droning on and on he was used to.

“Adam…you have yet to follow your end of the deal…” Gabriel said calmly as Adam convulsed and shook, the parasite prodding at his skin and one of the mandibles pushing out of his mouth. “You disappoint me. I hope you won’t end up the same as the previous prophet; such promise…disappointing that his mere human form couldn’t handle the task.”

“F-F-Fuck…y…y-you.” Adam stammered through the pain, choking each word out.

“I’m giving you the option to start simple, Murray.” Gabriel continued as Adam slammed his fist against the floor, inhuman whining and screeching being audible from deep within his form. “You see…your friend, Sarah…she’s beginning to get in the way of your tasks. Still stuck in the past…thinking about her poor brother, as if he isn’t rotting underground already.”

Adam wanted to yell at them, but found himself being unable to.

“Or…perhaps that girl you were with…you don’t like her much anyway, do you?” Gabriel smiled. “Oh…of course; the cop.”

“I…I w…I won’t…” Adam growled, yelling right after as he felt the parasite jab itself into his back.

“Won’t what, Murray? Don’t you remember?” Gabriel said. “You’re mine. You are under my control…I’d recommend you don’t forget that…lest you regret it.”

Adam shut his eyes tight, clenching his teeth before he suddenly felt the parasite stop moving, as if it abruptly fell back asleep. The mandibles retracted, the sudden lack of pain making Adam fall onto his side, lying on the ground as he gasped and coughed. Gabriel stood up straight, the tall “nun” approaching them and standing by their side, her gaze also fixed on Adam’s form. “Tick tock, Murray.” Gabriel said. “My patience is waning. If you refuse to uphold your end of the deal…I’ll make you do it instead. You have so much potential…don’t waste it.”

Adam shook, drenched in a cold sweat as he watched Gabriel and the “nun” disappear, the candles blowing out and plunging the church in darkness. Adam couldn’t make himself move, curling into himself as tears ran down his cheeks. He wanted to tear Gabriel apart; limb by limb. He wanted to tear the smile off of its face and see its wings pinned to the wall. However, despite the rage in his heart, he wondered if it was worth resisting. He shook off the thought, shakily and weakly pushing himself onto his feet, stumbling a couple steps before he looked down the hall, his breathing harsh. His brows furrowed, his fists curling up tight enough to make his knuckles pop.

As long as there was time on the clock, there was time to fix things. All he needed was help, and soon. Tick tock, Adam. Tick tock.

#mandela catalogue #tmc #mandela prophet #adam murray #sarah heathcliff #alternate gabriel #tmc preacher #tmc six #body horror #blood tw #religious imagery cw #shmorp writes sometimes #I don't know what possessed me to write this cause. the motivation was. so sudden-#Literally stayed up until 2 AM last night writing this. was it worth it? actually yeah kinda #Adam you big dumbo you can't just go up to basically satan themself asking for a damn favor-#Here's me back on my bullshit. being fixated on my own aus. /lh #also yes I'm aware. 10/10 titles for my fics. so cool so. descriptive- /s #Prophet Adam (tmc)

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blue-the-octoling · 4 months

Text

The end of Tom Weaver

First time posting something I’ve written, please don’t be too harsh on me if it’s bad! (Also there is a drawing at the end of this) cw description of death

“Where are we going mama?”

Tom asks in his sweet but raspy voice continuing to walk with his hand holding his mother’s. Though she doesn’t answer and continues to look forward not paying attention to him only her surroundings. The woods eventually let up becoming thinner until there’s only a few small saplings in the ground leading up to the edge of the cliff his mother has lead them too. It overlooks more of the woods that have remained untouched by man.

It’s beautiful he can understand why his mother wanted to bring him here maybe one day he could bring Tim here and show him too. He feels her harshly tug her hand away from his, it doesn’t surprise nor bother him as he’s too caught up in the view, he can’t wait to tell Tim when they get home. He sees his mother take a step back out of the corner of his eye and hears her mutter something that sounds like prayer “mama? What are you-“

He can’t finish his sentence before he feels a hand on his back accompanied by harsh powerful shove that causes him to tumble forward and over the cliff his hands helplessly reach out to try and stop himself but it doesn’t work.

He can feel tears fill his eyes as he looks down at the fast approaching rocky earth his body slowly spins forward his vision slowly goes from the rocky ground to the cliff as he looks up he can see his mother look over the edge watching him fall he can’t take it. He closes his eyes his body tensing as he braces for impact. It doesn’t help. His body hits the ground with a wet crunch legs, ankle and arm snapping upon impact his spine bends to fit the form of the rock the pain was already too much for him he lets out a blood curdling scream that gets cut short as his neck breaks from the force of the whiplash.

His scream turns into wet sounding wheezes as he struggles to breathe he try’s to move he can’t as he weakly twitches he can feel every pulse, every drip of blood that leaves his wounds, every breath he takes feels like fire, as it presses his lungs against his broken ribs. His eyes close as he passes out from the pain.

When he regrettably opens his eyes again he is once again brought back to the painful reality of his existence it was just about dark he could see the sun setting in the distance. Why… Why was this happening to him…? He could never do anything right… he was born a devil … his mother constantly preached to him and Tim how they were spawns of the devil.

Now he’ll die alone a monster… a devil… finally he try’s to make a sound. To call out. “t-Tim..! Ti… m.. Tim ple… ase… p-please… Tim..” he quietly wheeze cry’s as his heart beats weakly he uses what little strength he has left to call out to his brother. The only one who cared. Tears run down the side of his face as he takes his final breath wanting nothing more than to know his brother was near again.

I’m in the process of tweaking/redesigning the weaver children to be more accurate to both how they died and how I interpret them! I kept Tom pretty similar to his original design but I added more wear and tear to more accurately fit with how he died (also I think that animals got to him before he woke up as a ghost so I wanted to show that too)

#wick horror game #wick hellbent games #tom weaver #body horror tw #graphic description of death #artwork

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chrysalizzm · 2 years

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plate of primes

read on ao3

women love me, fish fear me. did you know my brother fucked a fish once? he’d call me a sinner but i know i’m the good sin. pogchamp.

he put me up like a christmas soldier and i know the cost of everything by the stock of its gun. that’ll be fifty quid, thanks, and do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

in war everyone wears the same colour boots. i saw that on wikifeet.

aita for telling my brother to stop eating so many bloody cigarettes it will tear your digestive lining and all the organs will rot. i (m17) and my brother (m25) watched as he folded like a broken law.

speaking of breaking my best friend broke his back on five thousand metric tonnes of light sound and color once. bedazzling. he says the fire went blue and green and gold and that they melted his eyelids before they snapped his spine so his whole world was sky and shore and sun and then he turned into lots of blood, everywhere. it’s red, innit.

my best friend is what they call a little ~fruity~ a little ~limp wrist~ aita for bullying his new husband.

in my defence. they are big money. ooh la la rich. diamonds lining every vein rich. netherite tongue. it is good that my friend has something in his arms that cannot be turned into lots of blood everywhere.

my best friend says if my brother sets foot ten thousand meters in every direction by their home he will turn him into a swiss cheese. by which i think he means you and i learned to eat cereal with bullet shells inside and your brother is a dead man walking four times over and should try a little harder to stay that way. i think my best friend and my brother would be much better off if they had four hundred twenty wives much like myself.

reddit enjoyers across the world i (m17) want my brother (m25) and my bestie (m17) to sit at a table and share a plate.

they are both being very unreasonable. if they thought about it for a second they would understand that it’s not about the bullet shells or the new hubby or the broken law or the lots of blood, everywhere.

last year i turned seventeen in a ditch, married my first wife and divorced her, cut a couple throats to know the heat, drank choccy milk out of a crystal vase, and dug a grave for the new husband. when i was sixteen, i split my lip thirty times and broke my leg twice and had sore arms and blew up an eardrum and ate shit and had a nice christmas party by the white sheath of beach out east, cold and dark, a pink cake in my hands.

give me love without the blood.

failing that, give me primes.

#dsmp poetry #dream smp #dream smp fic #tommyinnit #tubbo #wilbur soot #copious reddit jokes #mild body horror tw #from tommy describing tubbos description of being blown up #chrys writes

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circesays · 1 year

Text

Previous Part | Next Part | The Beginning

Joel felt… off. It wasn’t something the god could quite put his finger on. His villagers were fine, the temples were cleaned and had offerings, nothing was on fire or falling or cracking or breaking or crumbling to pieces, splitting in half-

(Pix smiled grimly at Oli, prodding the fire and adding another log. “I’ve had a... theory... as to how this is happening. I think there's more to all of this pain than we initially thought."

Oli eyed the historian from where he was idly strumming his new lute, the remains of their dinner already gone. Over the hill, the first grumbles of zombies began to emerge. “Is that why we’re-?”

“Yes, that's why we're, ah, detouring. What do you know about Empires? The idea behind the server itself?”)

But. Something was wrong. He frowned as he took in the setting sun over his glorious Empire. He’s a god, mighty and divine and perfect, there was no reason to be upset or frustrated or anything! No mob could climb his walls, no emperor was causing mischief in his domain, nothing! So why...?

(“Well uh- emperors come together and settle in different biomes, using lore magic and Player magic to build up Empires that match a certain theme. Uhhhh, we also get special abilities and people living in our empires based on the Lore we come up with? I’m not sure what else you’re looking for here, Pix, you gotta work with me here!”)

Joel was distracted from his troubles by a small presence and pulling motion. He glanced down to find Hermes hovering on his shoes, tugging on his toga with both hands and a determined look on his face. A smile spread across the god's face, uncontrollable and inevitable when his precious child was around.

“Hello, son, how are you? Daddy looked like such a grump, huh?”

(“Yes. That’s generally how it goes. However…” Pixlriffs paused to gather his thoughts, his hands fluttering and twisting as he tried to word it just right. “There’s more to the biomes and lore magic. They’re… intertwined, in a way. Every biome is special, with specific history and capability for life. And with capability for life comes a capability for its own lore magic.”)

Hermes shook his head, a little scowl on his face. He let go of his father’s toga. “You’ve been acting weird,” the demigod signed. Hermes was having a quiet day, then.

Joel raised a single eyebrow. “Acting weird? What do you mean I’m acting weird? That’s not very nice, you know, I thought Papi Sausage taught you better than that.”

(“Okay, so different biomes mean different magic, seems simple enough. But what does that have to do with what’s happening to Jimmy?”

Pix paused from where he was using his soot-stained stick to doodle on the floor. “Well, see, that’s the thing. Different biomes have very different magics. But some biomes are also older than others, more powerful. More dangerous, even.”)

“You’re not yourself. Something is super weird, Dad. I’m worried about you.” Hermes put extra emphasis on his unique sign for his dad, the normal sign for father trailing immediately into the sign for lightning- tapping his head with his thumb twice and sharply moving into a downwards zigzag.

The god sighed. “Nothing is wrong, Hermes. I just feel like something is off. Nothing your big, strong, sexy, tall, amazing dad can’t take care of.” He patted his child on the head affectionately.

(Oli stared down at his lute thoughtfully, quietly, as if it held all of the answers he needed. “The plains biome is super old, right?”

Pix leaned forward. “The plains biome was the first.”)

Hermes sighed and wrapped his dad in a hug before darting off to play with his toys. He’d just have to talk to his Papi later.

Joel returned to staring out over the plains below, his eyes glowing bright green as he took it all in.

(“Joel wanted to be a god this season. He reached out to the magic of the plains and asked to be powerful, to be tall and handsome and sexy and capable of bending the world to his whim. And the plains, the oldest and most powerful biome, ever adaptable, reached back.”)

Behind him, the fountain of godliness and power and generosity gleamed and glowed gently in the encroaching twilight. Joel sat on the edge as he took it in, carelessly letting his clothes soak the water in.

(“You saw the strings, Oli. Dozens upon dozens, floating through the sky. But the strings didn't come from nothing. Which begs the question, what is anchoring them on the other end?”)

But what Joel could not see were the strings wrapped around his own throat. Every inch of him had a string, wrapping tightly and loosely, twine and wire and strings, strings, strings, more than Pixlriffs, more than Jimmy, weaving between the threads of his clothes and under his skin and-

His clothes dripped strings like water droplets as he let them soak.

(Oli and Pix both turned to take in the hundreds of strings flowing towards Stratos, floating in the distance. The gleaming city was enveloped in ominous green light. “We’ll reach the capital by tomorrow at noon,” Pix murmured, and Oli shivered in the rapidly cooling night.)

Joel could not see that the water was radiating bright green, and that the water was not water at all, but a fountain of twisting, glowing, writhing string.

#cursed toy au #tiny tw with some Fun Descriptions of minor body horror tho?#very minor i just figured id mention it #joel smallishbeans #pixlriffs #oli theorionsound #the orionsound #empires smp #empires smp season 2 #empires pixlriffs #surprise! im back with a new installment after a quiet period due to The Holidays!#and its got LORE #all the lore!#smallishbeans #so sorry it took a Hot Minute but this installment has been on my mind FOR AGES and IM SO EXCITED :D #empires smp fanfic #tw body horror #<- i put it at the end for those sorting out body horror tags

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