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nsharks · 5 months

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twelve —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: *hint at sexual assault. please be cautious!* death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Dense mud packs onto the soles of your boots. You shift the near-empty backpack on your shoulder and slip back a few sweat-laced strands of hair from your face. Never before were you a morning person. In fact, you used to purposely sign up for all the afternoon lectures in uni. But now, time and sunlight are precious. You set out to search for the camp this morning with only a sliver of sunrise as your companion.

You hope Ghost was right.

He suspected that their camp would be situated in a location with easy access to the military base, river, and nearby village so they could draw resources from all three. So that's the direction you're headed in, squinting at nearby landmarks and interstate signs to help guide you. It's quite the hike: grueling, hilly terrain and moist air that you can't distinguish from your own sweat. You've stepped over some interesting sights along the way. An old forest station with CAMP FEES and LEAVE NO TRACE posters still outside. A small skeleton tucked in a bush with only child-sized rainboots left on it. For a moment, you saw Joseph. Toddling around in the puddles outside your sister’s house. You had to force yourself not to look at it for too long; you wiped your eyes, gritted your teeth, and prayed it had been painless for them.

You come to a narrow creek, crossing over a stone bridge that spits you out among dense evergreens. Finally, a faint column of smoke comes into view just above the forest's canopy.

That must be it.

It's certainly a sign, so you suck in a shaky breath, ignore the rush of blood in your veins, and do what Ghost suggested: climb a tree to get a better look.

There was a time not long ago when climbing trees was your only means of survival. This time, it feels so much easier to hoist yourself up and grip the bark as your muscles flex to steady yourself on a high branch. Luckily, there wasn't much to bring in the backpack Ghost gave you. For now, there's nothing in it other than your lighter, a roll of gauze, that romance book, and a small piece of dry wood.

Squinting your gaze, you make out the silhouette of triangular, orange tents and uneven fencing. Definitely a camp. The fence doesn't appear barbed from here, but it's at least a meter higher than the one that surrounds Ghost's place. You're close enough to see a few blue crates in the center that look like those ones from the military medical site. Is that what they're keeping the supplies in? It seems like the only obvious place based on the layout.

What you really want to know is how many people. Soundlessly, you shift your boots to get a different angle and finally spot movement coming out of one of the tents— a sizeable male wearing a leather jacket.

One.

Is that it?

Your eyes stay locked on the stranger for a minute, tracking his movement as he cooks something over the fire. He gives out a long whistle, the high-pitched sound audible even from where you stand nestled in the treetop. Panic seizes your breath: did he somehow see you and is alerting someone else? But no— you're much too far, and his eyes never shifted in your direction.

Instead, there's more movement, the faint shuffling of paws on the ground, and then a large dog appears at the man's side. He tosses something in front of it, what must be a slab of meat, because the dog is quick to start chowing down with the enthusiasm of a mindless Grey.

"Fuck me," you whisper to yourself, fingertips splintering against the bark. "Couldn't prepare me for that, huh, Ghost?"

The plan he instructed you with is fairly simple and straightforward— you'll just have to stick to it and be mindful of the additional obstacle. You've survived much worse even just a few days ago, so with that in mind, you slip down the column of the tree and purposefully backtrack your steps, gaining a bit more distance between you and the camp.

You need a ruse, something to draw the man out for enough time for you to grab the ammo. Ghost told you to bring the book to help get a fire started since the twigs and leaves here are damp after the storm, so you find a good spot and start ripping out the pages, crumpling them up. You arrange the piece of wood and paper in such a way that you have a minute or two before the smoke really gets going. You pull out your lighter from the pocket of your jeans, start it, and then head back towards the camp, this time going around so you can approach it from the side.

You keep your footsteps as light as possible while moving quickly. Once the man notices the smoke and leaves to scout it out, your timer starts. There's another whistle followed by a gravelly bark from the dog. You sneak close to the side of the fence, pausing behind a tree, just when you catch a glance of the stranger shucking a rifle over his shoulder and exiting out the gate. He shuts it behind him with a series of padlocks.

It won't take him long to find the source of the smoke and realize it's nothing, so you muster all your strength and begin climbing the fence, rusty links digging into your palms. You try to do it without making much noise, but the moment you jump down with a thud, the dog's head snaps in your direction. It begins to growl, flashing thick canines under its bloodied muzzle. You break out into a sprint toward the blue crates, but it crosses the span of the camp in mere seconds, clamping down on your forearm before you can even begin to look for the ammo.

The pain is white hot. You silently cry out as the dog shakes its head, tearing through the fabric of your coat and the tissue of your muscle.

"Fuck."

You tug at your arm, but it doesn't let go. Remembering the piece of squirrel meat you brought as a snack, you dig it from your pocket and wag it in front of the dog's face.

"Come on, let go— please."

It's enough to catch his attention, the bite on your arm loosening once you toss the meat a few meters away and he follows it. You clutch your arm with a ragged breath, ignoring the blood and pain that radiates from it.

The squirrel can only distract him for so long, so you urgently flip open the lid of the first crate. Staring back at you is a mix of what appears to be severed limbs and various animal parts. The pungent smell floods up your nose. You instantly clamp the lid back down, fighting the urge to vomit, and move on to the next one.

Ammo.

Plenty of it.

Without a second to waste, you sling off the backpack and begin stuffing it with the cardboard packs of cartridges, hoping it's the kind Ghost needs. When you tug the zipper closed, a decision pops into your brain: to keep looking through the other crates for medicine, or to get the fuck out of there. You take a millisecond too long to think about it because suddenly, you notice the dog from the corner of your eye, done with the meat and moving towards you with another throaty growl.

You tug the heavy backpack on and make a beeline for the closest side of the fence. In the panic, you fail to notice the creak of the gate opening until you are stumbling into a hard chest. A strong hand wraps around your bicep.

Fuck.

He's back.

This is it, then.

"Rocky— sit."

The growling behind you ceases. A whole new fear washes over you as you blink up at a rugged face. The stranger uses his other hand to take hold of your jaw, hard enough that your teeth are forced to grind together. In a heart-pounding silence, he inspects you, bluntly looking you up and down. Then, he takes out a knife and presses it to your neck. Your throat bobs against the icy metal.

"Fucking bitch," he mutters. "Start a fire to try and steal from me?"

"N-no!" Your brain reels for a lie. "No— I don't know what you're talking about. I-I came here looking for help."

"Try a better lie, sweetheart."

"I mean it," you stammer, holding onto the fact that he hasn't slit your throat yet. Raw desperation speaks for you. "My… my friends are gone. Someone attacked us a few days ago and killed them. I've been alone ever since and then I found your camp, hoping someone would be here to help me."

This seems to grab his attention. Dark eyes narrow. It's now you realize he's quite young, maybe in his thirties.

"Someone attacked you, huh? Who?"

"Um, some guy. I don't know. I didn't get a good look at him because he was… he was wearing a mask."

"So some guy killed all your friends by himself?" When you slowly nod, cringing at your terrible story, his jaw flexes. "I've lost my friends, too. They went out on a hunting trip three days ago and haven't come back."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you lie, swallowing. "So you… so you believe me?"

"I believe your friends are dead. I don't believe you didn't start that fire to distract me."

His words make your heart race. Again, his eyes trail down, and the knife follows, lowering to the floral fabric of your blouse and popping open one of the buttons.

"Take it off," he suddenly orders.

"W-what?"

"The shirt. Take it off. Let me decide if I should kill you or keep you."

You put on a brave face and do as he says, not given much room to protest despite the sick feeling that twists your gut. You drop the backpack, half-inclined to swing it at him, but then what? There is no way you can take him in a fight, especially since he's armed with a knife and gun, and there is no Grey this time to help you out.

The coat falls to the ground at your feet before you shakily undo the buttons of your blouse, wincing from the movement of your bitten arm. Crisp air greets your bare skin. Your nipples tighten uncomfortably and his gaze darts right to them, intensifying the churn in your stomach.

He gives a low whistle. "Lucky me."

Your nails jab crescents into the palms of your hands. "Am I… am I worth keeping, then?"

He bears a sick, toothy smile. "Pretty for a thief," he confirms. "Haven't seen someone so pretty in a few years now." His eyes flash to your arm and he reaches to grab it, making you choke. "Hell, Rocky. You gave her an ugly bite, though. Might get in the way of what I have in mind for you."

Half-naked, you are dragged by the arm to one of the blue crates. He slips the knife into his pocket in order to search through it. You notice pills, liquids, and a single glass bottle of what appears to be clear alcohol, which he pulls out along with a cloth.

"Tell me your name," he says, forcing you to sit down on a folding chair. "Before I enjoy you.”

You tell him quietly.

With an eery gentleness, he sits across from you and dabs the bite with some alcohol. The sting is immeasurable, but you roll your eyes to the sky and silence yourself. The feel of his cold, calloused fingers makes you imagine how they would feel touching other parts of your body. You need to think of something quick before he gets the chance to. He still has the gun on him, and the only knife you brought is in the jacket on the ground. Your eyes flicker to the bottle, which he set down by the leg of his chair.

"What's your name?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Leo."

"So, um, Leo— how did you end up here?"

"I was a new recruit in the military when shit started five years ago," he explains idly, fixated on your arm. "Stationed at the base nearby."

"I saw medical tents there," you mutter, clearing your throat. "Did you help with that?"

He chuckles. "For all of a day until some buddies and I decided to take what we could and leave. There was no point in trying to help people. We figured that out pretty quick."

"Oh. Were those the buddies who haven't come back?"

He nods. "I'm sure they're dead by now. But, one good thing is," he reaches for the gauze, sniggering lowly, "—that means I don't have to share you."

As he begins to unwrap the gauze, you decide he’s distracted enough. It happens in one, urgent motion. You clasp the alcohol bottle by the neck, arch it above his head, and thrust it down. The glass shatters, drenching him with alcohol and blood as a piece slices open his forehead. He immediately drops the gauze and hisses in pain.

"Bitch," he snarls. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

He leaps to his feet and pulls the knife out again. As he does, you dig the lighter out of your pocket and ignite a flame, bringing it to his soaked shoulder. Instantly, fire flashes up his neck and face in hues of orange and blue, even catching your wet fingertips. It renders him blind as he howls and tries to swing at you, but you immediately run away, rubbing your burned hand against your jeans.

You grab your discarded clothes and backpack before flinging open the crate with medicine in it. You begin stuffing as many bottles into the side pockets of the backpack as you can, breathing frantically.

"I'm going to kill you," he seethes again, and the firing of a bullet somewhere behind you means he must have grabbed his rifle.

But he still can't see, his eyes blistered by the flames that continue to lick his face. Each shot bites the ground as you heave the backpack on your shoulders and take off toward the fence.

The dog barks, louder and louder as he runs after you. You don't look back. You wad your clothes up in a ball and toss them over the fence to free up your hands. Then, you quickly climb up, the muscles in your face tightly clenched as the full backpack weighs you down.

You're too slow.

Teeth grab hold of your boot.

You're pulled back down, hands spreading out to break the fall.

In the mud, you wrestle beneath a snarling jaw, dirtying up your hair and exposed skin. This time, you don't hesitate to hurt the animal. You grab your lighter again and thrust the flame into the dog's eye, making it leap back with a pained squeal.

Freed, you scramble back up the fence.

You leap down. Grab your clothes

You can still hear him shouting as you run away, weaving through the thicket of trees. Only when the sound fades do you stop to catch your breath, sinking down against a tree and putting your clothes back on.

"Here."

A moan of relief escapes your lips the moment you shrug off the backpack and drop it at Ghost's feet. He crouches down, swearing under his breath when he unzips it and the ammo practically spills out. He grabs a few boxes, opening and inspecting them under the violet light of sunset. The walk back took you hours longer. You were almost tempted to sleep in a tree for the night, but the threat of Greys or any more strangers kept you going.

"Good. This is good, Twix." There's a hint of disbelief in his voice before he clears it away, zipping the backpack up. He stands and offers a lengthy look from your head to your boots. "How many were there?"

"Just one."

"Just one," he repeats, brow lifting. "And you look this roughed up. What happened?"

"There was a dog," you say dully, lifting your arm up to show him the bitemark in your sleeve. Beneath it, you already bandaged the wound, not wanting to draw attention to its scent. “Just a dog and a cannibal rapist guy."

"What?"

You shake your head. "Nothing. I'm going to sleep."

Before you can take a step past him, warm fingers latch onto your wrist. So warm. You inhale a breath, a burn of moisture lining your eyes.

“Please don’t touch me," you request in a harsher whisper than you intend.

You can no longer see the details of him with how bleary your eyes are, but you feel his touch disappear.

"What happened?" he asks again, voice lowering.

"Nothing. I got your ammo and I handled it. When can we leave?"

There is a pause before he responds as if he is debating whether or not to drop the subject. For now, he does.

"Tomorrow, hopefully."

"Good." The back of your hand smooths over your eyes. "Don't— don't forget our deal, Ghost. Promise me."

A firm nod. "I don't back out on my word."

As if to prove it, he shucks off the jacket and hands it over.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction #cod

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star-girl69 · 10 months

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Hollow Bones

Natalie Scatorccio x Lottie Matthews x Fem!Reader

—-

sypnosis: The Antler Queen and her Prophet take notice of the lonely Yellowjacket in the corner.

a/n: au where coach ben didn’t burn down the cabin bc i’m not dealing with that ❤️ i hope you all enjoy!!

also i think i’m gonna do a part two of this but ENJOY THE YEARNING!!!!!!

warnings: cannibalism, swearing, mentions of hypothermia and death, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

To you, the wilderness has become a sort of home. If you forgot about the startling cold, the blinding hunger, and the rolling fear in your stomach- it was a peaceful place.

Especially in the summer, when you could sit outside and hear the leaves rustle with the scurrying of chipmunks and squirrels and know that food was at arms length. You think about that summer a lot now.

You think about the sun while you sit in the corner of the cabin, watching the other girls hug each other and laugh for warmth.

You think about the food when you’re patiently waiting in line for your scrap of meat. And while you ate the feast in front of you that was once a living breathing girl.

It’s not surprising that someone built a cabin out here. It’s quiet, besides for the wind and your breath.

It’s cold out here, even the wood of the porch you sit on, your converse digging into the deep snow in front of you, listening to your breath and the wind. You never attended one of Lottie’s ceremonies, feeling a little awkward every time you thought about it. But the sentiment was calming.

You had only joined soccer when you were little because your mom forced you. You faked sick to try and get out of it, but your mother thought your shyness was only something to break. And once everyone figured out you had a natural talent, you were placed front and center onto the field. And the more you grew, the more serious the teams were, the more you were valued.

And then it was easy to be in the center of the field- because you knew you wouldn’t fuck it up. You couldn’t. Something in your blood.

You sighed and stared at the bucket next to your feet, filled with things you didn’t want to look at.

With Crystal gone, and everyone’s newfound respect for Misty, the task of emptying the bucket had fallen to you.

You were good on the field. But much too shy to really form any real connections with the girls that could be useful out here.

And as you pick up the bucket, the cold metal sinking into your palm, leaving red marks, you remember that no matter how peaceful and beautiful the trees and the snow are, you’re still starving and cold. You still hate this place with everything in your body.

—-

In this place with no rules, you had made your own, and Natalie had become the master of them. The Queen.

In the weeks following the hunt and Javi’s death, the food in your stomachs, she had only solidified her reign until everyone looked to her without question. Sometimes it even felt like the only reason winter was here because she made it.

Even when they were at odds, Natalie and Lottie had still held a lot of love for each other.

Lottie had been something of a prophet before, and now that she had passed most the power and responsibility onto Natalie, she could truly become that prophet, that spiritual being.

And whatever they had done? They were good at it.

The snow crunched under your feet, and every bad moment in the place had been accompanied by that sound. No matter how beautiful the snow was, you were surrounded by it, suffocated by it and it’s frigid coldness.

Today was the day that most of the girls had been sent out to trifle through the woods, looking for any wood you can use to build up the fire. You had quickly peeled away from the rest of the groups that had formed, going off on your own.

You had already collected a good pile, and were making your way back to the cabin, feet crunching in the snow, singing songs in your head to keep you occupied. It was easy to wonder if you would ever hear a song again.

One thick branch rolls off from the pile in your arms.

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to figure out how to grab it without letting the rest of your pile fall to the ground. You’re thinking about leaving it when someone speaks.

“Hey,” the voice says, familiar, feminine.

You look around, your eyes tracing over the familiar fallen logs, the land, the girl crouching next to the tree stump where they had tried to murder Travis, wrapping a piece of cloth around her hand.

Blood in the snow.

“Sorry,” you mutter, looking between Natalie and Lottie. You feel a little guilty intruding on them. Even though they still dress the same as you, they still hold so much power, they’re still in a relationship, and you have no idea what they were doing out here. “I… I’m just trying to get back to the cabin.”

Natalie smiles, like she has this entire exchange, and nods to the right. “Cabin’s that way. You’re not with anyone?”

You almost wonder if she’s talking to you.

“Oh. No, no. I’m fine.”

She takes a step forward, still smiling in a way that makes your stomach flip, leaning down in front of you and grabbing the fallen branch.

“Sure,” she says sarcastically, carefully placing it back on your pile.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling politely before turning towards the cabin. You can feel two pairs of eyes on you as you walk back.

—-

After you came back to the cabin, your cheeks aching from the cold, your hands red from the weight of the branches sticking into you at odd places- throbbing from your palm, a splinter lodged right into the center.

You sigh, sick of the throbbing, sitting by the front window for the light, trying to get the tiny thing out of you. You know you’re sitting on the bench that Lottie claimed long ago. But it’s the only one by the window, and you can’t see in the rest of the dark cabin.

You’re so focused on trying to get out the splinter, almost about to cry in frustration, your brows furrowing together, so you don’t notice the door open. Don’t notice anyone coming back, until Lottie is sitting right next to you.

She looks at your palm, studying it, and you look up.

“Sorry,” you say, referring to how much space you’re taking up on the bench that’s come to be known as hers.

She shrugs. “Need any help?”

And after a moment, you nod anc put your hand into hers. No one had any sense to bring tweezers to nationals, so all you had was your fingers. Lottie’s nail’s were sharper and longer than yours. Maybe she could get a good grip.

She tries a fails a few times, and you watch, just waiting, feeling her skin on yours and feeling how nice this silence is, how nice it is to touch someone and be with someone.

Before this, you can’t even remember the last time someone touched you.

Finally, it slides out slowly, and she flicks the tiny thing onto the floor. You smile immediately at the relief, feeling your stomach flip as she grabs your hand and pulls it up to her face, making sure she got all of it-

She looks up at you with such a blinding smile you feel a little dizzy.

You’re not stupid. You have eyes. Lottie Matthews is beautiful… but she looks like a star in this moment.

“All gone,” she says, and you’re breathless, thanking her, feeling eyes on you.

—-

It’s been snowing all day. Enough so that everyone is stuck inside, enough so it’s freezing cold, enough to make everyone feel a little like they’re dying.

Snow is just another reminder that each day you’re here, you’re not there. Life is passing you by, like you’re frozen in it.

You’re missing college, where every adult in your life said you would come out of your shell, first boyfriend, first party, first everything. College was where your life was supposed to happen.

Instead, you’re here in the beautiful, cruel forest.

Boredom is slowly overtaking your mind, and without chores to do, all you can do is lean against the wall and stare out into nothing. The voices of the girls playing games, Truth of Dare, 3 Truths and a Lie, fading into the background.

“Hey, Y/N?” Gen asks. You look up, not sure what to expect from her. She seems a little sheepish. “Uh… the bucket is full. And… it’s your job.” She twists her hands together, making a point not to look at the windows.

But you look over at the windows, the snow whipping around. It’s nothing like the snowstorm all those weeks ago. And it’s not as bad as it was before.

“…Okay,” you say after a moment, gauging that you’ll be fine if you walk quick and keep your hood up.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she says, and you simply stand up, letting your blanket fall from your shoulders, a little excited to get out of this stuffy cabin.

You walk past everyone and towards the back, past Lottie and Natalie who sit together at the table in the back.

“Where are you going?” someone asks. You turn around and look at Natalie and Lottie, about to lean down and pick up the bucket.

Natalie seems to be cleaning the rifle, which is spread out over the table, taken apart, and Lottie just sits next to her.

How nice would that be? You think before you can stop yourself. How nice would it be to have company like that?

“Uh, the bucket. It’s full. And it’s my job to empty it, so…” you trail off, watching as Natalie scoffs. She looks towards the window. The snow.

“No,” she says after a moment. “You can’t go out there in that.” You feel a little bad for Gen, and you stand a little straighter.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I’m sure I’ll be fine if I just walk quick-”

Lottie smiles, a little in disbelief, and gestures towards the window. “No one is going to the cliff in that, Y/N.”

And your face must reveal how shocked and confused you are, because Natalie sighs and gestures for you to sit down in front of her. You do, after a moment, resting your hands on the table so you won’t start biting your fingernails or anything stupid.

“Listen,” she says. “You spend a lot of time outside, which is fine, but… you’re getting sick. You feel it? You can’t go out there in this. You can’t go out there at all, not until you get a little more color in your cheeks, until you just… get a little warmer.”

Lottie reaches across the table and wraps her hand around your wrist. You almost gasp in shock, so long since someone touched you so fast and so much, pressing your hand to your face.

“Feel how cold you are,” she says in that apathetic voice, emotionless, the one she’s adopted out here. You think about her yelling, laughing, cheering on the field.

When you look at the girl across from you, you can’t imagine her doing that.

And when you feel your own skin, how cold it is, how you’re freezing and dying right in front of everyone, and you can’t imagine the girl you are right now running across a field.

“Oh,” you mumble, and her hand falls, and yours with it. She squeezes your hand before letting go.

“Just get warm,” Natalie says finally. As if that’s easy to do.

—-

The next time Mari came around with the cards to pick the chores, a task which had gotten grim in the past few weeks since the hunt, she doesn’t hold out the cards for you.

“Lottie told me you’re gonna make sure the fire is going, and helping with the cooking.” She looks you up and down. “Don’t know why, but.” But she won’t disobey them.

“Okay,” you say simply, looking over at Natalie and Lottie at the table, who are talking in hushed tones, and they’re looking at you.

—-

And this is how it goes for the next few days. You sit by the fire, and when it goes low you put another log in it. You help Mari cook dinner, cutting up meat you pretend isn’t what you know it is, mixing it together with the last of the plants. Watching as it cooks over the fire, them watching you.

When they held a ritual one night, everyone cutting their palms, dripping blood onto a bone skull, Natalie had grabbed your hand in hers, cupping it so softly with her warm skin that you couldn’t even feel sick at the feeling of the knife dragging through your skin, the blood coming forth.

And if anyone noticed how small a cut she had made, if anyone had noticed how little blood you contributed, mo one said anything. No one could, not with you standing there like a deer in headlights, Natalie wrapping up your palm herself.

You spent late nights staring at the ceiling, knowing they were just above you in the attic, holding each other and sleeping soundly, warmer than you. Why did they take such an interest in you? Why did they watch you?

Your bones are cold and hollow, and you have nothing to give besides the scraps of yourself. You’re cold and cold and that’s all you’ll ever feel until you finally freeze in the corner of the cabin, away from the fire, alone.

The days are warm by the fire, Lottie and her window fo your back, the sun pouring in, but every night you’re freezing. Natalie told you to just get warm. But you can’t, not at night, not all alone, so far away from the fire.

And the more you feel their eyes on you, and the more you can’t imagine a life without their eyes on you, the more you just want them to take away the coldness in your bones.

You and Mari stare at the pot of water, cut up rations of meat on your makeshift cutting boards, ready to be dumped in. Still, it doesn’t boil, and you let out a sigh, sitting back on your heels.

“Add another log in,” Mari says, her eyes reflecting the flames of the fire licking at the bottom of the metal pot.

You reach around to Lottie’s bench, in between her and Nat’s feet, grabbing another small log and throwing it onto the fire.

“You guys do know that a watched pot never boils, right?” Nat asks, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

“Fine,” Mari mumbles, closing her eyes and sitting back. You watch as she peeks one eye open. “No, I can’t do it,” she groans, before turning around entirely to resist the temptation.

You laugh before turning yourself, your back pressed against the warm brick, your legs stretched out straight, shoes clicking together.

You listen to Natalie and Lottie whisper more, watch Taissa and Van play some weird game with a toothpick.

“Y/N,” Lottie says suddenly, and you look up. “That splinter you got a few days ago? It healed all right?”

You’re surprised she even remembers or cares.

Her eyes meet yours, and you swallow quickly, holding out your unmarked hand. You can’t even see the puncture left behind by the splinter anymore.

“It’s fine,” you smile slightly, and she smiles too, nodding, almost pleased.

“And you’re looking at lot better,” she notes. “A little less cold,” she muses, still smiling softly in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Yeah,” you say, staring at your legs again, content to just wait.

Natalie nudges your leg with the toe of her boot. You meet her eyes, feeling the same as when Lottie looked at you, fire in your lungs, ache in you heart. She nods towards the fire.

“It’s boiling,” she says, loud enough for Mari to hear it.

“Finally,” Mari groans, turning around and putting the meat and vegetables into the boiling water, finally turning it into some messed-up stew.

But you can’t stop looking at Natalie. Staring into her eyes. Pinned under her gaze.

And she just smiles.

You look away, finally, only to lock eyes with Lottie again.

She has that same smile.

And that’s when you realize that they know what they’ve been doing the entire time, they know what they’ve been making you feel, they’ve been doing it on purpose.

Twisting the strings like they’re the masters of some dark game, weaving a spider web full of the yearning in your heart and your hollow bones.

Then you smile back.

—-

taglist:

@emilynissangtr

#lottienat x reader #lottie matthews x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader

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siriusleee · 5 months

Text

i. hidden caches

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.2K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the lovely anon who asked for a scene from an apocalypse au, and this idea was born. If you'd like to donate to my Ko-Fi (my bed frame broke this week and a new one was $200 I didn't have), I would appreciate it. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

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The ending had come quicker than anyone expected. The epidemics and endemics and pandemics of the years past had given false confidence to everyone. We survived the last thing, the news reporters had said, gray building beneath their eyes, and we can survive this. Behind them images of towns being devoured played.

Bodies can decompose in as little as nine days. The first to go is the soft tissue: the eyes, the tongue, the soft flesh of the cheeks. When bacteria and insects are introduced, the flesh breaks down faster. Bones take longer - sometimes years to fully wear away into the dust that collects underfoot. But these things - whatever turned them kept them covered in a thin layer of adipocere to protect them from the elements. They kept shuffling along long past the time when they should have reverted back to a primordial soup where they lay.

But they still decomposed. The trick was to stay ahead of them, away from the gnashing teeth that transmitted the virus, away from the hands and feet that never seemed to tire. So few people could. Whole towns and cities were decimated, felled beneath the hordes of horror that ambled slowly past, swallowed up by the feet that didn’t stop moving until they wore themselves down to stubs, which were them pulled forward by hands and knees that never tired.

But yours did. The familiar path towards the north was more overgrown this year than in the past. For a few years, there had been wary companions, eyes that lingered until the snow and frost rolled in to freeze the Biters where they stood. But as the years wanned on the crowd grew smaller and smaller until you only caught hints of others moving north: horse prints, trash left behind, the occasional Biter left decomposing in the bushes.

This year there was nothing. Either you had moved too early or there was no one left. The latter is too terrifying, so you push it away and think about whatever groups may wander through here after you.

The woods loom tall above you, the snow that fell earlier in the morning just barely dusting the branches above your head. None of it had reached the leaves that are too waterlogged from recent rains to crunch beneath your feet. A blister is rubbing itself raw at your ankle; you know that if you don’t stop to treat it, it will be unbearable tomorrow, but you brush the thought off. You need to reach the marker before nightfall.

The markers had appeared between one trip north and your trip back down.

West Village - 20km

The first year it had appeared left the group you were with in a tizzy. The group had fractured down the middle. If all of you found each other, how hard was it to think that a larger group had finally banned together? Civilization needed to rebuild eventually.

You didn’t trust the shaky scrawl that printed the words, so you had been with the group that refused to go. The next year there was another marker tacked to the first.

Body snatchers. Beware.

It was amazing to you: how well rumors could start and spread without phones or the internet. For months, every person you and your group came across would give the same warning, and ask you all the same questions. Have you seen the body snatchers? Are you the body snatchers?

Humans turned cannabolids. Farms where people were forced to reproduce. Spits with babies roasting above the fire. You wanted to think that it was the stuff of fiction.

In the third year, there was another argument. The group cleaved in half again when the promise of civilization reared its head. Your group had divided again at the markers, disappearing into the thick woods.

Almost no one survived the winter that year. You’d held the hands of all the dying and covered them under a thick blanket of snow before dividing their possessions up between the remainder of the group. In the end, there were just three of you. And when the winter rolled away you all broke apart, whatever ties that held you all together broken by the cold.

The next year you were the only one in your camp.

The markers had become a sort of prayer to you, that one day you’d meet someone else on the road - some scream and shout that there were others out there even if you were too wary to speak to them.

But it’s been two years - the crude paint of the West Village sign fading, the body snatchers warning falling to the earth unceremoniously. The wood started to rot.

And you were utterly alone. Around you, the sound of nature getting ready for the winter fills in the ever-present silence that usually surrounds you. It’s been weeks since you’d last seen a person: a lone traveler moving in the opposite direction as you. And you’d hid from them, worried that they were the sort of feral people turned into when they were alone for too long - a body snatcher. Worried that you were that kind of feral.

You know the markers when you approach them like your body’s memorized the number of steps it takes to reach them. Your chest thumps as you approach the spot where they should be nailed to a tree, growing taller into the air each year. Your boots falter against the wet leaves as you approach the place.

The markers have been repainted. Or at least the West Village one has. This time it’s nailed to a post in the ground; you bend down to inspect the dirt around the post. It’s packed underneath a thick layer of loam - whoever put it up must have put it up much earlier in the year. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. You wonder if any members of your former group are still there.

For half a second, you think about following the arrow, but before the thought can fully form in your head, you let your feet carry you forward on the path. Just ahead is the rest area you’ve always used. Your tree, one with branches high enough that the only things who can see you are the birds whose nests you disturb, erupts from the ground ahead of you.

You climb up like you were taught; throwing your rope onto the first branch you can physically reach and lash it to yourself. It’s more difficult to climb the tree with your pack and bow, but you don’t want to risk leaving it behind for anyone who may come through after you. When you reach the point where the rope reaches the tree, you pull yourself onto the branch. The blister on your ankle is screaming, but you don’t pause until your hammock is secure and your harness is wrapped around you. The cool wind cuts through the thin fabric of the hammock, but it’s not too cold as you peel back your socks to reveal an angry raw spot crawling across your ankle.

Too tired to do much more, you slide your other boot off, tying them together and then to your pack. The gentle sway of the trees makes your eyelids heavy, and you let yourself drift off into the first good night's sleep you’ve had in a while.

The bitter cold wakes you up, the wind moving your hammock back and forth gently. The darkness spins above you, clouds backlit by the moon. Not for the first time you think about how easy it used to be, curled up with another warm body beneath the thick blankets - how easy it was to switch on the percolator in the morning and wrap your hands around a warm cup of coffee, how easy -

You press the heel of your hands into your eyes and try to press away the thoughts that are racing through your brain. Remembering the before drives people crazy; you’ve seen how it can eat people up and you refuse to let it eat at you. So you pull your thermal blanket closer around yourself and try to get some sleep.

But the sun rises earlier than you expected and extra sleep never comes.

It doesn’t take long for you to pack what little you have back in your pack and descend back down. At the bottom you dig out the little bit of jerky you still have saved from the summer months; it’s disgusting, but it’s enough to push you forward to the next place.

You walk the entire time with your bow in your hand, waiting for some animal to run out in front of you and meet its mark, but the forest is silent today as you push towards the next stop in your journey north, a small nameless village secluded away from the rest of civilization - just good enough to sleep in for the night.

The sun has just started to sink below the treeline when the village finally springs into view. The blister on your ankle has popped, and you think you can feel blood rushing into your sock, but you don’t dare stop and check; you don’t want the scent of fresh blood to attract any Biters that may be hidden away for now. Your fingers cramp around the bow and your stomach growls. You’d picked a smooth rock up from the ground hours earlier and popped it into your mouth to try and trick yourself into thinking you were eating something, but it hadn’t worked. If anything it made your hunger worse.

There was salvation coming - on your second year coming through here you’d snuck off from the group and buried a cache. Each year you did your best not to touch it unless it was to refill something inside of it, but this year you knew you’d have to empty it.

You crunch over tire tracks that crisscross over each other on the main road into the village; they’re dry enough that you know whoever managed to scrape up enough gas to drive in and out was gone, but the thought of someone driving up on you made you nervous, and make your steps quicken. If people were driving through here then you needed to be gone before sunlight tomorrow.

Weary, you push yourself towards the back half of the village to a little two-story you know well. It had been the same house your group, and then yourself, slept in each year on your way to the north camp; in the back, beneath an overturned chair that was slowly rotting with time, your little cache was stored.

You shoulder your way through the half-rotted back gate and freeze. The chair is tossed to the side, rusted parts puzzle pieced across the ground. And directly where your cache had been buried is a hole, smoothed over from time and rain.

You could cry if you had any water left in you to cry. So instead you walk numbly into the house - habit making you click the lock on the door even though it’s long since stopped working. The same thick dust that was here last year is still across the floor, so thick your steps don’t even disturb it. You pass through the living area and up the steps. On the landing, you don’t pause - to the left of you is the nursery that’s always been empty. The first few times you’d stopped here the sight of the broken-down white crib and sage walls made something ache inside of you, and you’d learned not to look. It’s better to just let things alone and try to stifle your imagination.

The attic ladder swings down with ease and you test your weight on the rungs before climbing up - any broken bones and you may as well just shoot yourself where you lay. It creaks ominously beneath you but keeps as you clamber through the hole. You let yourself collapse on the floor beside the ladder after pulling it up, and wrapping a rope around the ladder to keep anyone from pulling it down in the night. All at once, hunger and exhaustion pull you down towards the floor.

You’ll have to shoot something tomorrow and check the well for fresh water. There are still to many miles before you make it north enough to be safe for the winter, and you won’t make it without water and food.

You try to distract yourself from the cramping of hunger and how little water is left in your jug by peeling your boots off. As you’d thought, the blister had split and bled, but thankfully your sock had caught most of it.

You clean up the best you can in the dusty light filtering in from the little window that looks out the back garden and wonder who could have known the cache was there. An old group member who spotted you checking it in the past? Or was it a lucky guess, someone who came through after you and spotted the freshly disturbed dirt and came to the right inference?

You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter as you pull your thermal blanket from your pack and lay down, but you can’t quite convince yourself of that lie.

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #zombie au #simon riley zombie au

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amuromi · 28 days

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.1k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ SFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, established relationship (married), major character death, canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ The canon will begin to matter less and less as this story goes on it seems, but it will all make sense I swear!

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

There are two bodies to burn. The sparse tinder is laid by careful hands. In the deep cold of winter the earth has so few things to spare, only the thin branches of a fledgling tree bowed over by the blistering wind. The wood is dead and brittle, splintering like breaking bones where it’s been bent into curving shapes. Tied with twine in a braided wreath of ashen wood to surround First Mistress’ body. She’s laid over a fine fur in her most sumptuous clothes and most lustrous jewels, the broken parts of her carefully placed where they’re meant to be attached to her body. Beneath her clothes, parts of Jurina are missing. A bit of flesh flayed from her ribs, a gouge taken out of her thigh. There’s a thin square of white silk laid over her face, hiding the claw masks and the fissure where her head was nearly torn from her body. The wound flutters in and out of sight as the wind stirs the edge of the white sheet, flashing the curving groove where Lord Sukuna fit his teeth into her flesh and tore.

The fire catches quickly after the priests say their rites, burrowing like red mice through the wood. Burning tongues leapt from wood to fabric, outfitting Jurina’s body in a brilliant, golden shroud for only a moment before her clothes are burning away and the fire takes to skin. The perfumed wood dampens the scent of burning flesh but it will soon become overpowering as the small crowd gathers to pay their respects before the pyre. There’s weeping for mistress and servant alike as Jurina’s personal maid chose to continue serving her in the afterlife. There was little attention given to her body. She’s simply laid beside Jurina with her collar of bruises from the white silk that had choked the life from her throat. Her name escapes you and you wonder if she has a family that needs to be informed of their loss. A raven was already sent out by Uraume to inform Jurina’s clan of her demise at the hands of the King of Curses.

It’s your hope that Uraume elected to omit the extent of the damage done to Jurina’s body so that her family might have some peace in their ignorance. The winter winds snuff out lives like blowing out candles, ravaging weaker bodies with boiling fevers and gasping coughs that never seem to pass. It’s just the right season for pneumonia and illnesses of that ilk. Let them think that she went with some semblance of peace. It’s a selfish sort of wish as you watch the snow hiss and turn to steam over Jurina’s funeral pyre. It would absolve you of blame, remove the hand you had in her death with your careless words. Poisonous tongue spelling out her death. She’d been staring at you when she died, or perhaps she was dead before her glassy eyes rolled towards you standing at the edge of the engawa, snow dotting your lashes and melting into moisture when the tears wouldn’t come. You hadn’t wanted her death but you can’t find it in yourself to be saddened by the loss.

Even so, you clasp your hands in prayer along with the remaining Mistresses. Still three despite Fourth Mistress’ arrival. Now Second Mistress is the wife with the most seniority and yet she stands to your right, a subtle show of deference that hadn’t been there only so many hours before. The night has stretched on for a small eternity, bleeding into daylight without reprieve as the household scrambled to deal with Jurina’s death. Messengers were sent out in the waning storm to fetch priests from the village, servants were dispatched to clean Jurina’s chamber and erect a platform for her to be burned upon. Tatami mats were changed and floors were scrubbed. The blood soaked courtyard has been renewed with another layer of downy snow to cover the splatters of blood where Lord Sukuna dragged Jurina outside to make a spectacle of her death. He tore at her with a deranged sort of satisfaction, grinning when he saw you watching, as if he’d only been waiting for a moment to tear her apart. She burst open between his teeth and claws like a ripe fruit, spilling across the snow in a brilliant spray of crimson. And all you did was watch, trying to remind yourself that Jurina wasn’t like you. She was still human in a way that you weren’t.

Her dedication was to herself above all else, perhaps her clan came second. Lord Sukuna wasn’t a priority in her mind. Her world was vast, reaching far beyond the bounds of the Ryomen estate. During meals she would tut over letters she received from her clan, bemoaning the poor marriage of a cousin or cooing over the news of a new baby. She needled the servants for gossip whenever they returned from an errand outside the estate. Jurina was just a woman and she died as a woman would at the hands of a being like Lord Sukuna; screaming. She’ll be happy to know that he isn’t in attendance to watch her flesh and bones be rendered to ash, her favorite maid beside her. When the smoke clears they’ll be swept into urns or perhaps tossed out with the dirt swept off the engawa. It’s your hope that she’ll be sent home. It’s clear she never belonged here and it would be cruel for this forbidden corner of the world to be her final resting place.

There’s also a piece of you that thinks she doesn’t deserve the honor of being laid to rest here. Though you suppose decisions like this will be left up to you now that there is no First Mistress to lead the household. Lord Sukuna has made it plainly clear that those responsibilities and honors are now yours. So when a servant comes to ask what should be done when the fire is quelled you send them to find some proper urns of expensive material for Jurina and her maid to be gathered in before being sent off. It doesn’t escape your notice that the servant stopped quite a ways away from you. In fact everyone seems to be giving you a breadth that borders on excessive. As if so much as breathing a breath of air that passed through your lungs will have their body burning next. Everyone that already treated you like a piece of glass is suddenly too fearful to even raise their head in your presence. It’s only Uraume that speaks to you as they had hours ago, entering your chamber with only the lightest knock on the shoji. They find you plucking tunelessly at the strings of your koto with only candlelight as your company.

The midday sky is gray and dim, still choked with the clouds of the breaking storm. Dull light bleeds through the thick paper of the shoji leading outside. The faintest firelight as Jurina continues to burn.

“Have you slept?” Uraume asks, coming to sit beside you. You haven’t. There’d been no time to sleep. Hours have passed since Lord Sukuna returned home, since he took you in the bathhouse, since he tore Jurina apart. Hours spent making arrangements and delegating tasks so that this funeral could be held in a timely manner. It’s doubtless that if Lord Sukuna had presided over the proceedings he would’ve simply sent Jurina to the kitchen and used her bones to pick his teeth when he was through with the meal. It would’ve been an honor to be so wholly consumed by her husband but Jurina likely wouldn’t have seen it as the blessing it was. To be so desired that Lord Sukuna wanted to devour every bit of her. To use her body as a means to bolster his own. A shiver trickles down your back as Uraume gathers your hair to comb, the chill of their skin cutting deep.

“The raven you sent to her family… Did you say how she died?” You ask carefully.

“She died serving her king.” They say evenly. Of all the people bowing to your lord husband, it is only Uraume that understands you completely. The servants were wailing and whispering about the cruelty of their lord but what cruelty was there? A doll doesn’t despair when the owner breaks it. Jurina’s porcelain face was cracked and her straw body torn open, but what higher purpose is there than to serve the whims of something greater than yourself? Jurina was ill fit to be Lord Sukuna’s wife. She didn’t understand duty or sacrifice. She didn’t understand her place beneath him. Not in the way that you did. A flower doesn’t question the might of a tree nor the warmth of the sun.

“How do you feel?” Uraume asks, leaning closer than any servant would dare. If they were anyone else, you might stifle at the audacity, but it feels as though the two of you are cut from the same cloth. As Lord Sukuna’s wife, you are an extension of his being. And no one would dare to touch him so intimately without permission. No one except Uraume. They chuckle and ask, “Are you happy?”

“I’m happy. Always.” The feeling is innate. Whether Jurina lived or died, your happiness would remain the same. There’s no great pleasure taken in her demise, nor is there the pang of loss. It feels like something akin to relief. A thorn finally removed from your skin. The itching, burning sting of her presence has been removed at last and you’ll only be strengthened by it. It’s already begun. The servants had come to you for guidance once the house physician had declared Jurina dead. There was no need for the commotion of an official declaration. She looked like a butchered animal by the end. And when the fire dies, nothing will be left of her but ash and memories. She’ll be swept up and sent away, forgotten with the melting snow.

“Did Jurina serve her purpose? Truly?”

“No,” Uraume answers without hesitation. “I don’t think any of Lord Sukuna’s wives have served their purpose. Certainly none more so than you, sweet girl.” There were never any honorifics between you and Uraume, at least not in private. They saw you as an equal, perfectly matched in your standing with Lord Sukuna.

It feels like an honor you’ve yet to earn. Uraume would wage war for your lord husband. You could do no such thing. Even with your cursed technique, you’d be useless in battle. Uraume was lethal, a blade in Lord Sukuna’s hand where you were simply a plucked flower. A blade can be sharpened and polished, but sooner or later a flower would wilt and wither, and your time as a person of importance would pass. Whether it be by death or age, you’d soon be without purpose and Lord Sukuna would likely do away with you as he had Jurina. You can only hope he’ll honor you with consumption. To know that, even in death, you’d been of some minuscule use would soothe your soul.

Sometimes you find yourself wondering if you’d become a curse, though the only thing worth cursing in this life would be Lord Sukuna. It wouldn’t be so unimaginable that you’d cling to your lord husband even after death. You pledged yourself to him in this life and the next. To go to a place where he cannot follow would be to abandon your vows. And you’d loath to be an unfaithful wife.

“You’re tired,” Uraume said, though you hadn’t acknowledged the lethargy yourself. They finish the careful task of combing through the last section of your hair before urging you to lay down.

“Shall I prepare your tea?” You shake your head. It’s become a nightly ritual to have tea before you sleep, but there is no strength left in your body to wait for Uraume to prepare it. Usually the task was left to your personal maid but she is nowhere to be found. Uraume has made the offer but you imagine it to be a simple courtesy rather than a genuine offer. They aren’t your servant to be ordering about. That honor is reserved solely for your lord husband no matter if they offered the service themselves.

“Sleep for now,” they hum, “I’ll wake you if there is a need for your presence.” Which is to say, if Lord Sukuna calls for you. No other task would be worthy of rousing you from your rest. They tuck you into your futon and blow out each candle before leaving you alone in the darkness. There’s still the faint flickering of the pyre crackling in the courtyard, but it’s easily ignored as fatigue settles over you.

It seems as though no time has passed at all when you rouse to wakefulness, yet you feel perfectly rested. The light slipping in from outside is that same pale orange glow that sent you to sleep; reminiscent of firelight, yet there is no crackling of burning wood and smoldering flesh. Instead there’s the faint whistling call of the wind and the strangest sound of scratching. At first you imagine it to be a wayward branch scraping against the eaves or the sound of geta scuffing against the wooden walkway. But the sound is too close, too concise to be an untrimmed tree or heavy-footed servant. It was closer to the sound of woodwork. The same noise that preceded Jurina’s pyre as branches were cut and stripped of the snow-sodden bark so the fire would not pittle and hiss over damp wood. The faint whittling noise comes from outside. The sound of scratching sounds nearer still.

In the gray-gold light, you see the edge of something shift like a shadow dancing between flickering candlelight. But there are no candles burning. No shadows dancing. The shape in the corner of your room seems far more tangible than any trick of the light. It twitches and writhes like an overturned beetle, wriggling between the seam of the adjacent walls like water leaking through a crack.

Waves of cursed energy surge from the corner like miasma, permeating the room. The scent of it stings your nose and clings to your tongue with the acidity of poison. The curse moans deep and haunting. An almost lyrical sound, as if a dozen voices are folding over each other, like plucking every string of a koto at once. A discordant whimpering undercut by the sound of digging and clawing as it peels away the planks of wood to make space for itself. The walls begin to squeal and splinter, tearing away to allow the winter morning and the curse inside.

Its bulging eyes wriggle, protruding like those of a frog, and twitching as though it’s a hardship to focus them both so singularly on something. One arm falls away from its scratching and three more follow. The weight of each limb hitting the floor sounds much like a bag of peaches tumbling in a cart. It twitches, body contacting inward until it’s a thick bulging ball of pale flesh before it flattens and drags itself forward on its four arms. It moans again, bearing its long, blunt teeth. Again, it moans, and you think you hear the number three. Then again with more clarity,

“Three, three, three.” It whimpers ceaselessly as it drags its bulging body towards you. Its skin is shapeless and loose like a boiled dumpling, contracting into a thick mass before stretching thin as it drags itself towards you with the agility of a caterpillar. Its face is snow white with red horns peeking out from beneath a hood of pale flesh. For a moment, you consider a monster trying to hide its true face, laughing at the absurdity of it. The sound of hysteria bubbles from your lips louder than any other had, and it only seemed to incense the creature. It dragged itself closer with more ferocity. The moaning chant of “three, three, three,” only gets louder.

When it’s close enough, it slashes at you, slow and clumsy like a child playing swords with a stick. The morning chill overtakes you as you leap from the futon in a cloud of silk and fur. The curse hisses, then tries again, and when it misses once more the noise it makes is something like a wail. It sounds far too anguished, far too human. The sound sinks beneath your skin, deep enough to rattle your heart and you shiver in your hakama. Your own voice is lost somewhere in your throat, tangled between your quickened breaths and thundering heartbeat.

Curses aren’t meant to speak, they’re incapable of it. And yet this one reaches towards you with taloned fingers, groaning “three, three, three.”

It lumbers through the room, weight knocking over side tables. It swings its thick arms, claws grasping to rend your flesh from your bone as it chases you. Needles prick at the soles of your feet as you stumble through the hole torn through the wall, splinters of wood stippling through your socks as the curse herds you onto the engawa. The prickling of wood shards gives way to something wet, though far too warm to be ice melting off the eaves. Your eyes are far too intent on the creature dragging itself out of the hole it burrowed into your room to spare a glance at the ground, and you go from staring at the pale creature to looking up at the light sky.

The cold is immediately, stabbing into you like a dozen blades as snow clouds your lashes. A cloud of it drifts down around you, stirred through the air as you land. Gray clouds roll by overhead as you make a wheezing noise. The air rattle inside your lungs as you try to regain the breath that had been knocked from your chest in the fall from the engawa. It hadn’t been a far drop but you hardly had breath in your lungs to start, too startled to take more than shallow gasps of air. The curse comes poking over the edge of the walkway, tossing itself into the snow beside you.

“Get back.” Your voice is as thin as the wind whistling through the courtyard. “Stay away from me.” The curse wails again. Deeper as if it meant to give the toneless sound meaning. “Three, three, THREE!” It says it as if it’s your name, reaching towards you through the snow. Belatedly, you realize that it is your name. You are Third Mistress. Third, Three. The curse bellows the word again, moving like a slug through mud as it drags its malformed body through the bank of snow. Still on your back, steeped in the chill seeping through your thin robe, you watch as the curse reaches towards you with grasping claws. There’s a pondering to your gaze as your eyes watch the dull glint of the morning light wink off the edge of its claws. Jurina had always been so preoccupied with her perfect nails. A talon finds your cheek, scratching a burning line across your face before the connected limb bursts like a crushed melon.

Hot viscera replaces the frigid kiss of the wind as bright purple blood and bits of white flesh rain down over your face. It’s nearly warm enough to scald, made worse by the shrieks of pain ringing in your ears as the curse writhes in the snow. Clouds of frost dance around its wriggling body though it doesn’t seem to move far. With muscles tensed and shivering, you shove yourself onto your elbows to see over the veil of churning snow. The curse is pinned to the ground with spears of ice. Wailing and thrashing to be free. The stump of its arm still reaches for you, joined by the three that remain. You find your knees, then slowly your feet, only to be knocked into the snow once more as a pillar of ice shatters and a flailing hand reaches towards you in another spray of violet blood. The feeling burns hot as fire, spreading through your body like sparks through a dry brush. Warmth blooms through your side, seeping over your hip and down the length of your thigh as blood weeps from the wound torn through your side.

The feeling of warmth blooms between your fingers as you press your hands against the gouge taken from your torso. It’s a strange, hollow feeling. As if your body has yet to accept the prospect of pain just yet. It comes in waves, lapping over you in an ebb and flow as your vision begins to swim. Everything is hot as fire and cold as ice. The world looks as though you’re seeing it through a cloud of steam, rippling and fading as you blink through the blood loss. This feeling isn’t new and yet the feeling hasn’t lessened in its intensity. There’s a sound that you find familiar. Frantic and sharp as a bird chirping at the rising sun. It grows colder still, though there’s comfort in the chill as you recognize the shape of arms wrapping around you. It hurts as they squeeze at the hole gaping in your side, still weeping red tears of blood through the silk of your hakama. The chirping turns to feral growls, a wolf bearing its teeth, and the curse wails anew. It sounds like Jurina if only vaguely. Shrill and bitter. The ground had only just been dusted with a cover of snow, hiding the place her blood had been spilled. Now it was your turn.

Dazedly, you blink up towards the sky, lashes shining with tears or melting snowflakes as a face swims through your periphery. The soft chirping returns and you try to piece together the sounds over the weeping curse. A voice that you recognize. It soothes your fluttering heart, lessens the flames still burning where part of your body is missing, and more is still spilling onto the snow. A red puddle blooming over a sea of white. It reminds you of Uraume’s hair, and reminds you that their voice has always been melodic like birdsong. It must be them holding you so gently, speaking soft words to you though your hearing has faded to the sound of your blood and breath, like hiding your head beneath a pillow. Something cold and soft brushes over your face and you imagine it might be the gentle fingers of your protector, but your eyes can’t find anything other than the vaguest shapes.

Everything has melded into a light wash. Gray sky, white snow, ivory-skinned curse. Everything is white until it isn’t. A sudden burst of color as a shade of sunset pink appears overhead. So far above that, for a moment, you truly think it to be the sun. But the sun has no teeth to bare, no eyes to watch those beneath its shining face. But, perhaps, he can be considered your sun as Lord Sukuna sneers at the curse still sniveling a few paces ahead. It’s pinned and bleeding. Pierced with long shards of Uraume’s ice formation. Lord Sukuna’s towering form stoops to look at the creature before his sights are set on you. He reaches out and for a moment you expect the gentility of a caress against your frigid cheek. Instead his hand closes around your neck, choking the last dregs of air from your lungs as he lifts you from Uraume’s arms. His height leaves you dangling far above the ground, legs too numb to kick though you have no reason to protest such rough treatment. Punishment is in order.

How shameful you are. The daughter of an unimpeachable sorcerer clan unable to defend herself. The wife of the King of Curses being maimed by the hands of another. Your life was not for anyone but your lord husband’s to take and yet you feel the familiar feeling of your body giving out. Made worse by the way Lord Sukuna’s fist is closed tight around your throat. Your head feels swollen, vision darkened as the pressure bursts the capillaries in your eyes. Lord Sukuna regards you with vague interests. His four eyes dance over your face, likely taking in the way your lips must be deepening to an asphyxiated blue as the veins in your face lift to the surface of your skin. You can’t bring yourself to fight against him, hands doing little more than holding his wrist as he keeps you aloft with one hand. Another comes to stroke against the wound in your side, claws raking over the ragged flesh. It feels more like pressure than pain as the feeling fades from your body. Lord Sukuna says something but it’s only a dull rumble in your uncomprehending ears. All that’s left is a ringing, then a sound like a branch being torn from a tree. Then nothing.

A lingering hollowness haunts the light floating before your eyes in clouds of flickering red. It burns through your eyelids as your lashes flutter, eyes disobeying your intentions to open them. It feels like pulling a string with no tension and expecting the puppet to move even still. No part of your body wishes to do more than twitch as you claw towards consciousness like climbing a mountain. First your toes begin to move as intended, then your fingers. It feels like filling an empty cup, bit by bit the water rises until it’s spilling over the brim and your eyes flutter open at last.

The warmth of wakefulness is nearly overwhelming. Hot as the stifling heat at the height of summer as your eyes watch the glow of the braziers flickering across the walls. Sweat trickles over your skin beneath the layers of bedding pulled up to your chin, gathering between your breasts and at the nape of your neck. It’s made worse by the tackiness in your throat. It’s hard to swallow as you shift in your nest of blankets, moving with the grace of a newborn fawn. This isn’t the rising from a fitful sleep but the emergence of a newly formed butterfly escaping its cocoon. You move with a practiced delicacy, wings still soft against your back as you strip the layers away from your sweltering skin. How long have you been asleep?

The light blooming outside the shoji gives nothing away. It could be early morning or midday and the faint glow of the winter sun remains the same. You turn away from the doors leading outside and regard the inner shoji with vague interest. There’s faint hints of knowledge in your mind. It drifts just beyond comprehension like fish dancing just below the surface of a pond, bright and fleeting as you try to grasp at the thought that won’t form. The walls around you are unfamiliar yet you can’t be certain of why. The scent in the air is foreign in a way you can’t place. Everything is wrong. A frightening sort of foreignness as you try to rattle any modicum of knowledge loose from the haze of unconsciousness. The tatami is cold underfoot, your bare toes pressing into the woven mats as you wobble towards the door on the tips of your toes. This much you know.

There’s the broadest strokes of understanding. The door slides open when you pull, red light giving way to darkness as the halls stretch out in either direction almost endlessly. The embers burning in the braziers only reach so far into the yawning blackness so you set forward blindly. One hand trails along the left wall, fingertips grazing along the screens painted with falling leaves. The halls twist and turn, darkness fading to gray as your eyes adjust to the sinuous corridors. At each corner you turn left with the vague knowledge that it will eventually lead you somewhere. The last hallway doesn’t end so much as an obstacle appears in your path. A slim figure cuts across your vision, a burning stroke of white standing out in the dimness. Their face is familiar as is the word they whisper into the darkness. The dulcet sound knocks something loose in your head. Your name. As if you’d been underwater since your eyes opened, the broad strokes of knowledge rattling about in your head are slowly refined. Returning to life is always jarring. Without guidance it takes some time for you to realize yourself, to reclaim your memories and mannerisms. Your mother had said you were like a puppet brought to life before your mind returned, always the last thing to heal from the ordeal of death.

“Lord Sukuna will be glad to hear you’ve awakened.”

“How long was I asleep?” A gentle way to ask for how long your body had been dead. Faintly, you remember the wound in your side, Lord Sukuna’s hand about your delicate throat. From the inside of your body, breaking your neck always sounds like a tree being cleaved in two. A thick tearing noise that echoes dully in your ears before the unknown sound of death swallows you. That you never remember. A small miracle considering how often you’ve found yourself being relieved of your life. Drowning, choking, burning. And yet your body mends itself without fail, becoming stronger for the pain you endured. You touch your side and wonder what it will take to pierce the skin there in this lifetime; because there have already been so many.

“A fortnight.” Uraume tells you. Usually a broken neck would not take so long to heal. But the damage is rarely paired with the viscera of a curse attack. It had been a lucky thing that Lord Sukuna had honored you with death at his hands. The first since you’ve entered his household as his third wife. If the curse had taken your life, you imagine there might not have been another life to live. No death had ever come at the hands of a curse or anything imbued with cursed energy. If it can keep a sorcerer from becoming a curse, it can likely keep you from reviving with more strength than before. It would’ve been a great shame to have been killed by a curse when your lord husband was so near. An insult to allow anyone other than him to determine what happens to his wife. His third wife. His favorite wife.

Uraume leads without much grandeur, simply walking a few steps ahead of you. The path becomes clearer now. Still dark and unlit but there’s a familiarity to it that hadn’t been there only moments ago. The air is chilling as Uraume leads the way outside, meandering along the engawa until they jump from the edge, their landing softened by the clouds of snow still blanketing the ground. It seems less than it had been when your eyes had last opened, as if it hadn’t snowed heavily since the night of Jurina’s death. Yet it was still winter and you clutch the folds of your hakama closer around your shoulders as Uraume trails ahead. Clouds like wisps of smoke puff from between your lips as shivers tremble through your renewed body. If they feel the cold, Uraume doesn’t acknowledge it. The cold is something intrinsic to your lord husband’s most favored servant. Even in the height of summer there’s a slight chill to their presence. Likely a consequence of their cursed technique.

Uraume leads the way past the unattached buildings that are only frequented by servants, towards the far bounds of the estate. There’s never been any reason for you to be this far from the main house. You imagine these are places where things you never think of are stored, preserved foods and wagons for trips into town. The armory is the only building you recognize. A haze of cursed energy looms over the building like a shroud. It’s the same for the building that Uraume seems to be leading you towards. The air around it is thick with the presence of great power. Both auras are familiar in different ways. Just as each person seems to carry their own distinct scent, cursed energy has an element of individuality. Even with your eyes closed and ears plugged, you’d know the approach of your lord husband by his cursed energy alone. He is inside. As is another being that you imagine must be the curse that had attacked you. Their energy is recognizable in a fractured way. Like a dream slipping away as soon as you wake.

Uraume announces your arrival as they open the door. The room is bathed in gold, lit by dozens of lanterns all flickering in tandem. The room is modest in size and made smaller by what must be hundreds–if not thousands–of talismans hanging from the walls and ceiling. All in various sizes and written in different hands. Some of the ink has the neatness of a learned scholar while others have the shakiness of illiteracy, though the quality of the script hardly matters to what is written. Each tag holds the power to bind. As do the thickly woven ropes wrapped right around the pale curse that attacked you all those days ago. It gurgles and strains within the ropes hung with more binding talismans, bulging eyes bobbing in its head as it tries to fix its gaze towards the sound of your approach. You hardly notice, eyes fixed on the vision of your lord husband standing over the creature with his spear in hand.

Lord Sukuna takes over your vision, eclipsing everything with his daunting figure. He takes his eyes away from the curse bound at his feet with an unhurried sort of interest, and the weight of his gaze makes you bloom like a flower beneath the kiss of the sun. Red eyes piercing as burning iron stab through you, pinning you in place so absolutely that your knees buckle. He sees the weakness before you can fall and catches you by the waist, pulling you against him. Your eyes fall away from his face, head bowing as you try to find the words to apologize for your mistake; your death. He silences you before you can find enough words to express the deep rooted feeling of inadequacy.

“The misstep has already been punished.” When you dare to look up, Lord Sukuna is looking towards Uraume. With a sharp nod of his head he dismisses his right hand attendant to leave the two of you alone with the curse that tried to take your life, tried to claim something that belongs to your lord husband alone. Not even you have such control of your life. You’ve heard tales of unhappy concubines seeking death in the face of neglect and mistreatment. Though you’ve always found yourself spoiled in your marriage, you can’t imagine that you could ever take your own life even if you were set aside and forgotten. Lord Sukuna will always be your world. The sun doesn’t cease to exist simply because it has set. The darkness of night must be endured to enjoy the light of day. You’ll suffer anything at the hands of your lord husband if it pleases him. Your life is his to manage as he sees fit.

“My Lord,” you try to speak, but you’re silenced once more.

“Don’t start. I’ve already told you you’re forgiven. Besides, words are useless without action. If you truly seek forgiveness then prove it.” He takes his hand away from you and nods towards the curse still squirming in its bonds. Its eyes wheel this way and that until one finally finds its way into a position to see you. The aborted struggles seem to renew with the vigor you’d seen upon its arrival into your chamber. The ropes burn red welts into its pale skin where it writhes and strains, spittle dribbling from its mouth as its empty whining turns to hissing yowls.

“Three, three, three.” The creature spits, straining towards you with the singularity of an arrow launched from a bow. Lord Sukuna stands behind you, a pillar of strength and a post keeping you from turning away. One of his hands finds yours, pressing his spear against your palm. It’s heavy and your arm trembles with the strength it takes to hold it. His intentions are clear. Kill the curse. It takes great strength and both arms to lift Lord Sukuna’s spear. All of your weight pitches forward as you drive the three-pronged blade through the curse’s head. Blood sprouts like a fountain as the creature screams. The sound pierces through your ears, ringing in your head as you drive the weapon further through its head in a rush to silence the noise. It chuffs and squeals, thrashing against the ropes with slowly waning strength until, at last, it goes still and silent.

For a moment the pale lump of bleeding, bulging flesh takes on a shimmery red glow like flames burning within ash and ember. It grows then fades as the creature sags in a haze of dissipating cursed energy. The only movement left is the blood dripping from the spear still lodged in its head, forming a puddle on the dirt floor. Perhaps a flower will sprout from the soil wetted with purple blood though you doubt something so delicate could spring from the death of such a violent creature. Kneeling next to the puddle you touch the spot of dampness and ask the question that’s been on the tip of your tongue since the curse first spoke.

“Was this First Mistress Jurina?” It had to be. It would explain the vague familiarity about the curse’s energy. Like the scent of someone lingering in their clothes after they’ve worn them, Jurina’s cursed energy tainted the new signature of the cursed spirit. Lord Sukuna barks out a laugh.

“There’s no need to be so respectful of the dead. Jurina is no longer my wife, nor was she ever worth your deference.”

“She was your first wife,” you mumble, lowering your head against the admonishment you expect to meet your stubbornness. It doesn’t come.

“They are wives in name only. Perhaps I laid with them, but there has been no woman above you since we wed.”

The wedding had been something of a formality performed in the absence of your lord husband. The vows had been spoken before your family and the deed was done long before you completed the arduous journey from your home to Lord Sukuna’s estate. You were his wife for some time before you met and, truly, you will be his wife forever. Not even death could sever your allegiance. It makes you wonder if one day you’ll become a curse too. Some amalgamation of your grief and anguish. The dark, rotted feeling of failure as you abandon your lord husband in death. It’s unthinkable when your body has been blessed with such resilience and yet you know that there may come a day when death is no longer like sleep, your eyes will close forever, the butterfly dead at last. It brings a mournful feeling to your heart.

“Would you let me curse you, my lord?” Jurina had become a vengeful spirit fueled by her hatred of you. She’d cursed you in her death and you can only hope to be so attached to your lord husband, even in death. It’s the dividing line between you, the gate guarding you from the rest. In her last moments, Jurina hadn’t been thinking of Lord Sukuna. Her husband, her murderer. Instead he eyes had looked to you and her soul had screamed to tear at you the way Lord Sukuna had shredded through her body. It was with no small amount of pain that Jurina had lost her life and even in the midst of death she had found it in herself to hate you with such passion that it burned even after she died. If she had hatred you wished to burn with love in your afterlife, to be so consumed by the flames of your desire that your essence will cling to Lord Sukuna even in death.

“Would you curse me?” He asks sardonically.

“I think I would.” There’s a bashfulness to your voice as your eyes stay towards the ground, watching Jurina’s purple blood seep into the soil. Lord Sukuna places a finger under your chin, sharpened nail digging into the soft skin beneath your jaw. When your eyes lift towards his face he’s smiling, a stark baring of fanged teeth. He smiles like a wolf and you’re the rabbit a hair’s breadth away from being bitten.

“You’ll have to die first.” His tone is peculiar. There’s a hint of humor though it’s colored with something darker, as if Lord Sukuna is angered by the prospect of you abandoning him in such a way.

“I will someday.” You remind him. Your Chrysalis technique may revive you from traumatic deaths, but a gentle departure, a final breath gasped in the night, is likely to go unrenewed. A winter frost through which no spring flowers will bloom. Nature cannot be denied and to live is to die.

Lord Sukuna cups your face in his hand, clawed fingers digging into your cheeks. “How little you know, woman.”

He says no more and you decide that he must know something that you don’t. He is leagues more worldly and likely does know things beyond your understanding. It isn’t your place to pry if he won’t tell you freely. He must see a thousand questions behind your eyes but he neglects to answer any of them. Instead he pulls his hand away from your face and the warmth of his skin against yours is replaced by the winter cold. There are no burning coals in this room. A shiver snakes through your body, and that Lord Sukuna acknowledges. He removes his outer robe and drapes it around your shoulder. Immediately you’re drowning in the warmth of his body still lingering in the silk. It’s far too long for you and you gather the massive swathe of fabric into your arms to keep it from dirtying on the ground. Lord Sukuna tuts and picks you up, easily keeping his clothes from dragging along the dirt. Cradling you in one arm he pulls his spear from Jurina’s second corpse with another. It comes loose with a sound that reminds you of chopping vegetables.

Lord Sukuna calls for Uraume and they appear in an instant as if they had been by his side all along. There’s an unspoken order that passes between them and your lord husband’s servant accepts it with a resolute nod. Then he says, “come, woman,” as though you could go anywhere else while still held aloft in his arms. It’s so different from the last time he held you, his fist locked around your delicate throat. Now his arms cradle beneath your knees and across your back as you lean against the warmth of his chest. The light of the sun is a bright wash of hazy white after spending some time in the dimness of the talisman room. You expect that Lord Sukuna will take you back to the main house, but he continues off in the direction nearing the furthermost bounds of the estate.

“What will happen to Jurina now?” You dare to ask. Her human form had already been burned, but you weren’t sure what would become of her cursed form. It would be cruel to send it back to her family and burning wasn’t meant for curses. A human body could be purified in flames in preparation for the next life, but a curse could not shed the truth of its nature even in death.

“I’ll show you,” Lord Sukuna said cryptically, still walking towards the building that stood alone on the outer reaches of the estate. Like the talisman room and the armory, there was a heady cloud of cursed energy blanketing the structure, though it was far more potent than anything you’d ever encountered aside from Lord Sukuna. His cursed energy seemed as deep and unending as the ocean and this strange building was just as unfathomably thick with traces of cursed energy. It was nearly overwhelming despite your constant exposure to your lord husband. It was ominous. Terrifying in its foreignness. Were you not held by Lord Sukuna, you might’ve run from this place. But there is an inherent safety in his arm. Your lord husband wouldn’t take you to a place that he could not protect you.

“What is this place?” You ask quietly, as if speaking too loudly would rouse something from the aura of darkness.

“An onsen of sorts.” It had the warmth of a bathhouse though the sound of babbling water was traded for that of rain, like a rushing waterfall as Lord Sukuna opened the door. It seemed just like the onsen of the main house. Stone floors around a deep pool, yet there was no water here. Instead the pit where a hot spring might’ve been was filled with something black and vicious. The dripping sound came from the strange hammock hung far above the pool. That same dark liquid seeping through the large patchwork of fabric. And when you look closer, there are those same talisman symbols painted on the bulging material.

“This is where Jurina will be taken,” Lord Sukuna told you, “so that she might finally be of use.” Just as Uraume said, none of his wives have served their purpose. It makes you wonder what purpose Lord Sukuna would have you serve. You dare to ask.

“That’s why I’ve brought you here,” he says vaguely. “You’re my wife, and I expect that you’ll serve me as a wife should.”

His words send a shock down your spine. What task have you been neglecting? You were raised in an affluent household as the daughter of a large and prosperous clan. The ways of womanhood have been stitched into your brain from the moment you were born. The proper way to act and speak, the things a wife must pay heed to if she wishes to keep a well run household. Though you’re only the third in line of authority–second, now–you’ve taken up most tasks to do with the household. Jurina hadn’t the patience and Second Mistress was always sequestered in her room. Such a sad girl like a flower wilting at the height of spring. She cried at Jurina’s funeral where few others could find the fondness for it. It was you that the head household maid reported to and the cooks asked about which meals should be prepared on which days. At first, you simply thought it was the convenience of receiving prompt answers, but now you know that it was simply expected. You were the favorite, the de facto lady of the house. So what could there be that you weren’t doing to your lord husband’s standards?

“My apologies, my lord. Whatever I’ve been lacking I will–” His hand covers your mouth, ear to ear.

“Enough,” he groans. Then he says, “Children. A wife should give her husband children. You’ll serve this purpose for me.” There’s a fleeting hint of fondness in his voice that sends a twinge through your heart. Lord Sukuna is asking you to bear his children. You weren’t married into the household as his main wife and yet he’s given you the highest honor of being the mother of his heirs. A warmth blooms across your cheeks and down your neck, a flush of excitement igniting through your body.

“As many as you’d like, my lord.” It’s what’s expected of you though you; an expectation rather than a choice, but you’re excited to fulfill the role even still. Though, part of you had considered it an impossibility. Lord Sukuna had been human once but something in him had changed, gone beyond that of an ordinary man. But he is a man even still. Desiring progeny, a legacy beyond his own being. To know that he wants to use your body for such an honorable purpose washes you in a great sense of pride. It will be your womb that births the King of Curses his heirs. Little pink haired babies with your nose and their father’s four eyes. But pride slowly turns to contemplative anguish.

If you were meant to give Lord Sukuna his children, it is nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t conceived in the year that you’ve been married. Lord Sukuna did nothing sparingly. He indulged to his heart’s content. In blood and carnage, in food, and in bed. He laid with you often enough that a child should’ve come long ago and yet you’ve yet to feel the stirring of a baby quickening within you.

The room dips and swoops around you as your eyes lose focus, lost in thought. What was wrong with you that you hadn’t yet fallen pregnant? Your hands clutch at your stomach, empty beneath the layers of your clothes. A hidden fragment of your heart wonders if it’s truly your fault at all. Lord Sukuna had three wives, and while you were most favored there were times when he took the others to bed, a time before you entered his household. And yet the estate remains empty of heirs. Though you don’t dare to entertain the thought longer than a moment, it flashes through your mind as quick as an arrow. Perhaps it was Lord Sukuna that was obstructing the blessing of a child. Still, your hands remain on your stomach, caressing the place meant to bear the fruits of life. Since birth you were told it would be your only honor in this life. To give a man a son to further his glory and continue his legacy. Lord Sukuna isn’t in need of such a successor, yet he’s asked for them even still.

“You are truly too valuable to die,” Lord Sukuna says, lifting your eyes towards his. They’re piercing as red flames, burning into your face with such intensity that it makes you want to wither in his arms, like a flower left with no water. “Jurina was poisoning you. Every night. And yet your body was kind enough to preserve itself for me.” Because what other reason would you have to defy death so vehemently? If Lord Sukuna says the purpose of your cursed technique is to keep you by his side, then who are you to deny it?

“You like tea.” Lord Sukuna says, passing the pad of his thumb over your lips. “Dark tea. Dark enough to mask the color of anything added to it. Jurina was bribing your little maid to slip poison into your tea every night before bed. Nothing lethal. She meant to poison your womb and purge any seed I might’ve planted inside you.” He laughs scornfully, “I thought it was jealousy, at first, but she was drinking it, too, and feeding it to the second one. Likely the work of her family urging her to cripple my reign by blocking the chances of an heir.”

Another hand brushes against your stomach, sweeping away your desperate grasping.

“I chose you well, woman. Though the poison did as it was made to and purged your body of any child that might’ve grown, you healed. What made Jurina and the other barren hardly touched you. As soon as you closed your eyes your body repaired itself. Uraume thinks you might be close to building a tolerance for it since your technique heals as well as strengthens. I might start feeding you poisons to fortify you against future attacks.” It was so terribly wonderful that you knew as soon as he said it that you’d gladly eat anything your lord husband asked without question. The poison might even taste sweet on your tongue if it was prepared by him.

“Things will be different now. You will give me children. Strong children.” He says it with an air of finality, as if you’d ever deny him anything, though you’re uncertain of how strong any child of yours will be. Of course, your maiden clan is a powerful one, but you’re hardly a descendant of the three elite sorcerer clans. Jurina had been a Zenin. Her blood would’ve given him strong children. Second Mistress is a Kamo and her children would carry that superiority in their blood. As a humble Hoga, you were the least desirable of his brides to have his children with. Unless Fourth Mistress was of a lower clan than even you.

“If I may, my lord,” he grunts his annoyance but allows you to continue. “If you want children, why did you not have them with Jurina? Certainly a Zenin would be better suited to creating a powerful heir. My cursed technique is unheard of even within my own clan.” You remind him. It would break your heart to disappoint him with a child that couldn’t even do you the service of inheriting your technique. And there likely would be no second chance to amend the error.

“I don’t want your technique, woman, though it would surely be of great use. That’s what this place is for.” He sweeps his arm towards the pool of darkness gathered in the center of the room. The longer you look the more it begins to turn from black to deep purple. Slowly, the immense level of cursed energy sufficing the air begins to make sense. The staccato waves that don’t seem to match any singular signature aside from Lord Sukuna’s. It is blood. The blood of curses. And Lord Sukuna had called it an onsen of sorts. Did he mean to bathe you in the blood of those he’d slain? To give your child over to these tainted waters to imbue them with its power?

It made you fear for the child that had yet to be made. Of course, their purpose in life would be an extension of your own. To serve their lord father in any way that he asked, yet they’d still be a piece of you. A terrible selfish piece of your heart began to crack and splinter, breaking away in revolt of turning your baby into a monster. But what was Lord Sukuna if not a monster? Adoration did little to cleanse the crimes of the King of Curses. Any child you gave him would be heir to that title. With a few measured breaths, you resigned yourself to it. Your child would know no other way of life and you would love them as proudly as a mother could. They would always be a manifestation of the love you bear for your lord husband. His flesh and blood joined with yours to create a life. It felt like a privilege to even consider the thought.

#sukuna ★#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #★ mine!

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kurosstuff · 1 month

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Gorgon Rosie x GN Bunny Reader but make it horror related smut. Or if you don't wanna do Rosie- Dragon Lute

<3<3<3<3

Thank you lovely~ im.. not to sure if this was for the event or not but I do love monster aus so- either way

Maybe I'll do a dragon lute if someone requests it♡♡

Warning(s): predator x prey, G!P rosie, smut, she messes with you, not right autonomy(rosie has a lower had of snake tail. And she has a dick so-?) Kinda horror kinda not? Idk, ruts/cycles? Kinda horror smut(If you consider her teasing taunts of eatting you) gn reader but afab, breeding attempts/talks, eggs? Idk

Gorgon!Rosie x Bunny!GN!reader: prey? Or more.

Getting lost in the woods wasn't always good- especially for being a prey. You could hold your own against some predators. But being a small bunny- against something like a wolf? Or any other creature out here?

Where you live? Nope. Can't do much besides running with your legs anywhere you can be- panting you stopped and looked around- ears twitching to pick up any noises you could hear slowly you walked deeper into the path- the thick woods forming almost a wall from how close the trees grew to one another

"Safe..I'm - I'm safe," you repeated to yourself unnerved by how quiet it was. The faint chirps of birds so far away. As if they didn't wanna be close to here. As If this is a place no one was dared to go.

Something told you- it wasn't safe. Alert, you glanced around, ready to leave at an actual moment if you needed. Taking a deep breath you stepped over a huge odd looking log- the almost red in it would have caught your attention if it weren't for your nerves being to shot.

Nor did you see the log move into the woods to hide

The deeper you went in, the more quiet it got. Taking a deep breath, you stopped. You reached a dead end. The unbelievably soft ground on your Paws making your ears strain twitching to pick up any noise.

Nothing.

Your ear twitched- now all the sudden, deathly nervous. Nervous on how silent this side of the forest got even more- looking around your tail twitched in fear legs shaking as if ready for run at any given moment but you couldn't run.

You were being watched.

Narrowing your eyes, you swallowed, trying to see anything out of the ordinary- but nothing did. It looked like a normal part of the trees- shifting together to hide this section off. Nervously, you played with your fingers as you counted. Your heart beating in your ears almost deafening you from how loud it was being-

How scared you were.

Closing your eyes, you tried to calm down. To relax. To convince yourself it's ok - you ok. No one's there. You're alone. A shift of movement above you caught your attention - a deep shiver ran down your back. Opening your eyes in the darkness, you could make out something - didn't take long to figure out it was a tail. A long tail moving up into the trees- up high

Whatever it was? Wanted you to notice.

It blended so well into the well it was like nothing was there. Yet it was moving- the only indication to you it wasn't an odd looking branch- no. It was alive.

Slowly, you looked up, seeing a figure in the trees hidden almost like they weren't truly there, but you knew they were watching you. A slow hiss escaped the figure, making you shake, backing up more, looking around. Glancing up the figure appeared to be a female as she stared down watching your every move. Didn't take long to realize-

Your standing in a nest.

"A adorable bunny out here alone?" a soft hiss echoed through out the forest making you shake your ear twitching as the mystery woman in the tree cooed "Oh poor darling~ I'm so sorry~" a soft hiss escaped her as she slithered down revealing herself to you finally-

Making you pale- tearing up. you're gonna die, no doubt about it. Of all gorgons. Of ALL predators. IT had to be her. Rosie. A cannibal of all things - one who wasn't above eating her own kind. Who was the most deadliest of them all

And now you- a bunny. Is in her nest wandered a bit to far to escape from the cold harsh air "darling~? Did you not hear me? Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Jolting you looked up at her tearfully- oh that adorable look~ if it weren't for her genuinely curious of you- she would have just eaten you the moment you stepped into her territory. Her home.

Her nest.

Blinking you nod foot tapping nervously as her long- long red spotted tail nudged you forward with her- "y-yes ma'am im- I'm sor-"

"No, no! No need to be sorry, dear little bunny~ I don't mind some company~" an odd dangerous glint in her eyes. You may be clueless on some things of other species. But you're no fool to this one.

Rosie is trying to figure out if she were to eat you. Or not. Oh, how you hope she doesnt- so you allow her to push ypu onto a table as the turns making a cup of tea. Her tail close to you- as If you stepped out she'd know. And you knew that-

"Bunny~? I do certainly hope you're not trying to run~ I do certainly love a chase of my food, but. You're not my food~" Turning to you, she winked "so relax for now~ sit back and just.. drink up~?" Purring placing the cup in front of you as she slithered so close to you

Glancing around, you looked for a chair seeing none, you choked, finally speaking "where.. where do I sit?" Making her pause in thought glancing at you- Making you squeek- humming, she moved, coiling her tail behind you

"I don't need a chair. I use my tail, but it's long enough to share~" she purred, gently nudging you to sit back on her tail, humming you, curled up slightly you gently tool the cup thanking her as you sipped. It's surprisingly good. "I do enjoy tea. Me and my darling friend do adore the beverage.. shame not alot of people like it nor partake in trying to make one" she hummed.

Making you flinch. Right. Rosie's friend- didn't take much to figure out. She meant that deer- Alastor. A cannibal just like her. Both such scary creatures. You were surprised they got along so well- but you supposed it made sense. Cannibals seemed to always prefer the comfort of those similar in these woods after all. Shivering you sighed- you have to remember.

Just because shes docile now. Doesn't mean she always will be.

Just like her best friend. She's well known for her sudden attacks. Against those she deemed not as food. Something akin to amusement. A sick twisted amusement that Alastor is also known to partake in.

Not even cause their hungry. But because they can

Your foot thumped against her tail nervously- a way to show your discomfort. Your fear of the chance to be eaten. To be taken and gobbled up by the Gorgon lady

"My~ look it here~" rosie called out lifting your foot up as you drank, her deep black eyes gazing- dispite no pupils you knew what she was looking at- the Paws- squeaking loudly once she poked at it gently with her Claws "My lucky bunny's foot~ no?"

There it is.

That dangerous glint on her face.

You had to remind yourself despite her kind nature at the moment. She's a dangerous predator the- WORST one you could have run into from the Gorgons side. Gulping your ears flickered as she hummed, pushing on the paw pads

Making you thump- gasping- snickering her tail slowly coiled around you "now now~ bunny if you do that- I may just eat you~" she purred out hearing your whines as she Messed with you "I see. So it is sensitive, huh?"

It was silent as she watched you twist groan and moan in her tail her eyes becoming so much darker if that was possible

"Bunny, listen. I'm gonna jump right to it- I'll only say and ask this once, " she suddenly spoke gently, squeezing you to get your focus."I want to breed you." She purred out, smiling that same dangerous glint in her eyes. Maybe the glint was wrong- "I can smell it you know. So can any other nearby. Your cycle started- it is around that time for bunnies no~?" She cooed out gently

Silent as she waited for your answer, drinking her tea, making you take in that smell you noted earlier about her. Making you squeak again, seeing an amused smirk on her face. It's the snakes mating season too.

And rosie is a Gorgon.

A snake.

"I'll take a no. I'm no monster, " Rosie spoke up humming. Seeing the nervous look in your eyes, she sighed, "I am a cannibal a predator who eats literally everyone-" hearing her admit it allowed did nothing to settle your racing heart. It didn't matter if you knew already. Gently cupping your face, she frowned. "I'd never force anyone to mate with me. I'm very keen on consent. It's very important after all"

Now that - oddly did comfort you. Blinking your ears twitched in thought, glancing around before slowly nodding, "i.. I'll mate with you" you whispered, making her hum in approval. Standing up easily, carrying you back to her nest

Moving into it, her tail curled around your body as If to hug you "now.. don't be so shaky little bunny~ I'll take good care of you~" Rosie purred out, kissing you gently, moving to strip you after again getting permission- your feet thumped nervously as she hummed

"How.. how do we-" gesturing to her lower half making her laugh softly "sorry was- that rude i- um-" kissing you deeply she hummed hissing softly

"I do have a dick." Rosie started grinding against you slightly."Just need to prep myself~ "I'll easily slip in ok~?" Kissing you deeply groaning softly panting against your lips

Yelping feeling something poking you glancing down, you finally noticed it - making her smirk "is- Is that -" you stuttered, trailing off as she nodded slowly you willingly opening your legs for her- on either side of her waist-

Inviting her

Humming, her tail curls more around you as she panted, rubbing the slit on herself as she started to poke out more "i- did anyone ever tell you not to play with your f-food?" You choked out as she hummed laughing as she pulled out fully pumping herself- it looked odd. But you knew a dick when you saw one.

"Who said fucking my food before I eat is playing?" Rosie purred out moaning moving close panting heaving rubbing her tip on your entrance "I know how bunny's are. Their unsatisfied. Sex crazed beasts, no? Such a soft cuddly creature that can go all night with no rest~" Without waiting, she slowly pushed in growling as you moaned, stretching around her, welcoming her in "fuck so tight~" such an off thing to hear such a old fashioned lady to swear

But like always, the kindness she held for you didn't change. She willed her hips to stop once her tip was in. Resting inside you as she awaited your approval, leaning close, she kissed your tears away, praising you softly nuzzling into you "ill be gentle~ don't wanna break my darling bunny no~?"

"O-oh~" you moaned out softly, panting heavily flushed dark holding onto her tail as it comforting laid under- on- all over you. Yet didn't crush you- just stayed as if to bring you comforting- your ears drooped twitching as she moved deeper into you, stretching you out more to fit her groaning loudly under her

"That's it~ I've got you~" she moaned, growling out kissing your neck gently as she pushed fully into you. "Now warning~ I'll be as gentle as I can, but.. Given the season, I may not be~" she growled out, moving into you, slowly, hands roaming all over as she bit down on your neck, making you whine loudly sobbing out

"Wh- I thought you said you weren't gonna eat me yet-!"

Humming moving into you faster, panting ignoring your question as she licked your bloodied neck groaning, "feels so good~ think you'll get pregnant?" She teased feeling you squeeze her as she pounded roughly into you "kidding~ got no eggs ready yet anyways~ maybe in the later season?" Moaning out loudly

Moving faster, rutting into you she moved biting anywhere she could hard enough to bleed. You weren't sure if she was mating you- or trying to sooth her other hunger.

Either way it made it all so much hotter.

Hearing your cries and moans of her name made her snarl uncharacteristically wild- like that when she's starved. In this case she supposed she was. Not in the feeding way no- in the way she wants you for herself. As a mate.

Her mate.

The thought made her groan pounding faster, twitching deeply inside you- "wait- are- are you gonna cum inside-" you sobbed out arms losely around her next as she claimed you- took you for herself. Marking you up as hers- her bunny- her mate.

You didn't mind if she did-

"Of course darling bunny~ i-i gotta properly breed you, no?" Rosie stuttered out groaning, panting her black pupil-less eyes staring down at you as she licked the blood off her lips- your blood.

God, was it hot.

Humming, she twitched more inside you, her pace unrelenting but now- sloppy as she fought to not come yet. Leaning down kissing your question, I am well aware of what you were about to ask "I will not come before you do~ my darling bunny I want to feel you- come on~ I can feel it~" she growled nipping at your bruised lips swallowing your moans and cries "come on~ don't you wanna come on my cock~?"

That- brought you even closer to the edge- and she knew it from how she smirked cocky at how you broke around her- even more - as you finally came around her harshly screaming out her name arching your back

"That's my good bunny~" Rosie moaned out watching you closely pounding rougher bring her cock out to the tip before ramming herself back in- the one thing on her mind- oh she truly can't wait to Have you all to herself for the whole season

Panting heavily holding your bruised Clawed up waist, she pushed as deep as she could inside you, releasing deep into you, claiming you on the inside like she did the out. "Fuck~" a curse falling from her lips as she fell forward slumped onto your chest smirking panting at the squeak you made

Staying nestled inside you the best she could- for as long as she could. Feeling her cock slip right back inside herself groaning "did so good my bunny ~" nuzzling you leaning back she grabbed a towel she kept on the side to clean you up smirking at how you gushed of her- humming in approval of her attempt

Laying slumped feeling hee uncoil around you whining- knowing now it's time. She's gonna eat you like she's talked about. Hinted at- but she moves coiling around herself you in her arms cuddled close to steal your warmth- it made you confused

"Your.. not gonna eat me?" You choked out- holding onto her arms, making her stop - staring confused before she hummed

"No. I won't eat my mate, of course, "pulling you close to her chest, ignoring your questions "sleep. Need rest no? For now. Then I'll mate you again and again-" she purred kissing you- her mate gently making you freeze flushed

Smiling, you curled up comfortably in her arms with the help of Rosie to move your legs. You hummed moving to nuzzle into her happily.

You couldn't wait to see what she had in store for you

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin rosie #hazbin hotel rosie #rosie x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #MONSTER AU

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tooncraze · 5 months

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Colored ver. (Totally talking abt Creek)

HES SO CUTE HE WOULD NEVER HURT A FLY OKAY

But he would hurt a troll.

- when the troll high wears off (which takes a good while at the beginning) Branch gets splotchy and his color begin to fade again. Poppy is aware that that’s not something the average troll is affected by, but then again she’s never actually known anyone grey in the first place. Branch is already so much of an outcast as it is, she doesn’t bring it up to him.

- branch has more predator like features, such as sharp canines, claws, and reflective pupils

I like drawing Branch a bit rougher for this AU since he really fell into survival but also agression. He doesn’t wear Floyd’s jacket as he holds more of a resentment towards his brothers, though he does still have it, unable to completely let go, especially as he assumes they too were eaten by Bergens after leaving like his grandmother.

#dreamworks trolls #branch #trolls au #digital art #sketch #cartoon #fanart #branch trolls #poppy #poppy trolls #queen poppy #cannibal branch au

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secretpostsposts · 3 months

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Hello so I have a question that I have been meaning to ask about for probably 2 days but what would happen if the brothers from your au (Beloved little brother AU) met my Troll au (One of the au about the infected au but mines a little different) my au isn't really in any app where you could ready cause I only use it when making up stories in my mind... I never write them cause I'm not a good writer... Anyways here's the version of branch in my AU (If you have any questions because this is kind off confusing then pls ask because I really wanna know how the brothers would react to this little au of mine)

Ok... someone dared him to go to the forest with a spear just incase the creature (The one that's supposed to be a myth lurking in the deep dark forest at night...which carries around a virus a dangerous one) is actually real...and stay in the forest for 2 hours....he never came back and went missing for 2 weeks...when they found him he looked different and acted more hostile... He was covered in blood... It didn't look like all of it was his... The thing they got disturbed the most was the Bite mark that had black veins growing.... Whatever happened in that forest and the days he was missing must have made him crazy with paranoia, anxiety, fear, and worry... he was still holding the spear he brought... it was covered in blood... his friends (The snack pack) surrounded him trying to reassure him that everything is going to be ok... but stepping forward towards him while he was near an edge of a cliff was really a bad idea... he must of been hallucinating from the way he looked at them... the last step back he took made him slip and fall from the cliff which he landed on spikes below piercing his body.... killing him...

But I saw how you don't like the idea of branch dying so let's change that to extremely injured if that makes it any better...

Note: he is grey with few scratches and bruises but the main problem in the Bute mark where he is infected... But considering we changed his fate to getting killed to extremely injured he would be contained in a containment room...

P.S: the reason why he went crazy is in the explanation... He didn't wanna kill or infected anyone else....

Effect/Symptoms: aggressive... Hungry... Crazy/insane...and hostile.... And other effects/symptoms (Cannibalism...)

That's all sorry if this is long...

John had a plan, he went for his other brothers, they would get Branch back and if necessary they would take him to Vacay Island where they could take care of him and keep him safe like they were supposed to do.

He went to Bruce first, he found him through the postcard; It was crazy to find out that he was married and had 13 kids, that was a shock to John; Then they went for Floyd, they were at one of his concerts, it was magnificent; finding Clay was more difficult, it took them 3 days to find Clay, it was a strange encounter, since they had to deal with Princess Viva, they didn't even know that she was not with the rest of the Trolls, she decided to go with them to find her sister Poppy, they were about to leave her alone because Viva was hesitant at the entrance of the sanctuary, John just wanted to go look for his baby brother, he didn't want him to be any further away from his siblings, his family who wanted him safe, but Viva he was making it FUCKING hard for them, he didn't like the girl for it, he could even see that Clay was upset with his "friend" for it.

So they arrived at Pop Village, they talked to some trolls but every time they talked about their Little Brother they went the other way, many ran in the opposite direction shouting for a Poppy, Viva got excited when she heard the name sister, she was alive and that made her made me very happy.

But they were in panic, worried and scared to death, afraid that their little brother would not be here, that it would be late and he would be... Gone.

But then Poppy arrived and a group of friends with a very stupid name approached them, King Peppy was with them, it was a nice family meeting between members of royalty, but Brozone just wanted to find his little brother, see him, hug him. just keep it safe.

When they asked about Branch, he could see how they smiled and all the joy was erased from their faces, Viva looked confused by that, Floyd sobbed by that.

John felt cold, while Bruce and Clay tried to calm Floyd down.

Poppy jumped up and said that Branch was alive and well, as far as he could be, that he was sick, and that they couldn't see him.

John told him that they were brothers, that they were his brothers, that they needed to see him.

One of Poppy's friends pointed to Floyd and asked him if he was Floyd, he obviously said yes and although Peppy didn't seem like he wanted to take them to Branch, Poppy did.

He took them to a bunker, his little brother's bunker, Branch's home, he showed them some rooms, those rooms screamed their names everywhere, just like the rooms at Grandma's house, Branch had copied the rooms, waiting for them to They came back, and now they are here, they just had to apologize and everything would be fine.

He took them to a deep place in the bunker, it was a large room and what looked like a large glass with small holes at the top for air and an even smaller door in which there was a broken plate with food lying around, it was dark at the end. , they couldn't see anything.

And then they saw a tail, John recognized that lock of hair, how many times did he not have to untangle the hair and that lock in the tail when Branch played on the branch at his house, always getting covered in leaves.

Floyd ran towards the glass, drawing Branch's attention, they went after him when something crashed against the glass with force. Clay fell to the floor from shock, Bruce walked away gasping and covering his mouth.

Floyd didn't move, his hands were still on the glass, he was pale, shaking and crying without saying a sound; John was at his side reeling in shock.

Poppy explains that Branch went to the forest because something or someone was being violent, a lot of trolls were scared because someone almost hit them, and Branch went to take care of it, and he didn't come back for 2 weeks, when they went to look for him they found him out of his mind, bathed in blood and that it was not his, at least not all of it, with a big bite on his arm, he was more paranoid than ever, he was violent and he was lashing out, they had to knock him out to bring him here, it was a room where Branch put aggressive animals wounded, where Branch would care for them and then release them.

John wasn't listening to her, he could only see his little brother, his sweet and innocent little brother, he looked bad.

His eyes that were so big and cheerful were cloudy, his pupil covered almost his entire eye, he could barely see the beautiful blue that was once there, his hair was a chaos, his teeth were all fangs and his skin, his arms were full. from a bite, and his mouth had blood.

His brother looked like a wild animal...

He had been eating himself, refusing to eat anything but meat, and even meat sometimes didn't feed him, or so Poppy said.

Branch was banging on the glass when he heard her speak, screaming like an angry animal.

"Branch..." Floyd spoke to him, and Branch stood still as an entrance, just looking at Floyd, and looking at the others, at Clay on the floor crying, at Bruce and John Dory.

"..YOU...ARE BACK..." Branch was smiling, tapping on the glass, John could ignore the blood and wounds; he would swear his baby brother was excited to see them, that he was happy to see his older siblings; as if this were normal

"Yes Branch, we're back." John put his hand on the glass, and his brother's bloody, clawed hand rests on top of his, smiling at his brothers.

I needed to write that, and I love seeing more of your Au, I'm not such a fan of the Infected stories that you've been doing, sometimes I don't understand the story because I lose the thread, so I don't understand them much (but I am a fan of the zombies), so I needed to write something because I like your work!

Well continuing with this, the brothers moved to the bunker (except Bruce who came and stayed for 2 weeks and then returned to Vacay Island), they took care of Branch, John Dory got a muzzle, because one time they tried to get him out of the cage ; They were furious, how dare they put their little brother in a cage like an animal, they are their brothers, they can handle it; So John got a muzzle, because he almost bit Clay when they tried to get him out, and with the muzzle it was easier, they healed his wounds and made sure he looked better.

Bruce fed him, but they had to tie him in an iron chair because the wooden one destroyed it easily, then it was difficult to feed him, because Branch refused, and he started biting his arms again, Bruce realized that Branch liked it. blood, so he started drawing blood with a syringe and a bag, when John Dory found out he did it himself and Floyd and Clay joined in, Branch looked like a child who was given his favorite milkshake when they served him a glass.

And then it was the food, he didn't eat anything, John Dory hunted animals and gave them to Branch, raw, because he didn't seem to like it cooked or sewn, and then he accidentally killed someone, John was shooting a fleet to hunt a small animal for his little brother's breakfast tomorrow, when someone passed by, it was dark, he didn't see it, but it wouldn't be his first death, but it would get him in trouble if someone found out, so he took him to the bunker, he had a fight with his brothers for bringing the corpse, and then, they don't know how Branch got loose, but Branch threw himself on the body, his brothers moved away by instinct, they could never be afraid of their baby brother, and Branch looked so happy eating the poor unknown troll , that they couldn't take that joy away from him, it was sad that some trolls disappeared, but his little brother needed to eat, no one can blame them for wanting to take care of his brother.

No one was allowed to enter the bunker, not Snack Pack, not Viva, Peppy, and much less Queen Poppy.

They don't mind killing as long as their brother can eat and be happy, he's calm when he has meat so he's easy to deal with, Floyd keeps saying it's like dealing with Branch when he was 2 years old.

They are his brothers.

They know how to take care of it...

This was what I had to post, and now it turns out that I deleted a previous question for the wrong answer and two more for deleting the wrong post, it's a sign of what my life will be like in my new cycle at the university (I have to come back on Monday god I have a headache)

And your owner is Au I would like to know more!

#trolls #trolls band together #brozone #trolls brozone #trolls branch #trolls john dory #trolls bruce #trolls clay #trolls floyd #trolls poppy #trolls viva #trolls snack pack #trolls peppy #trolls infection au #beloved little brother #I don't know if it counts as an infection

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cookierunauprompts · 3 months

Text

AU Ficlet #2

woah, my fiftieth written for this blog... Thank you all for sticking around by the way! Without further ado, it's all under the cut.

CONTENT WARNINGS : Allusions to cannibalism, cults, religious imagery.

“ Don’t you ever feel like you’re… trapped here?” It was an odd question coming from Calla Lily Cookie, one that caused Blueberry Milkshake to immediately turn his attention to his work partner for the day. “ Hmmm…. Nope! But what do you mean by that, Calla Lily Cookie?” He asked, tilting his head as he pondered Calla Lily’s question. Trapped here? In Meringue Village? No, he could never be trapped in a place that was his home. “ O-Oh, it’s just that…” She turned her head away, back to the jelly bush she was tending to. “ Have you ever wondered what’s beyond our little village? I mean… I know we live on a continent called ‘Beast Yeast’ but surely it can’t all be monsters, right?” “ Who knows,” He chirped, going back to his own place picking apple jellies from the trees. “ But there’s probably still a lot of monsters, we’re only safe from them because of the prophet’s barrier around the village.” He replied, briefly contemplating taking a bite out of one of the apple jellies he was holding… But he decided not to, he wasn’t feeling all that hungry anyways. He looked back over to Calla Lily, she still seemed troubled by something. “ Still thinking about what’s outside, hm?” He asked, leaning on the tree branch. He only spoke again after getting Calla Lily’s nod of conformation. “ Well, you should probably go talk to Mystery Cookie then. They go outside all the time! Well, other than our leader and the prophet.” She turned away. “ I’ll… keep that in mind.” She replied as she went back to tending to the jellies. Meanwhile Blueberry Milkshake turned back to look into the apple jelly in his hand. Should he eat it after all? I mean, it’s just one apple jelly, what’s the harm that could be done? And yet he still pauses, would the leader approve of him taking a bite of this apple? Sure, it was one of many, but she knew about almost everything that went on in the village. He wouldn’t get any closer to the promised land if he took a bite out of this apple. And yet, it was so tempting to do so. But why? Why was it so tempting to attempt to fall out of line? To just… take a bite? He wanted to know, and yet he couldn’t.

_ - - _

Maybe he should have taken a bite of that apple back there, witches know that it would be better than his current situation. Here he stood, right in front of the prophet’s door. His heart was pounding from both anxiety and a mix of something else… Because who wouldn’t when you have to go face to face with someone like Marshmallow Fluff Cookie? She was, well, for starters she was a lot bigger than the other cookies, and that was pretty intimidating. And not only that but she was blessed with holy knowledge from the witches. There was also the fact that she was, in Blueberry Milkshake’s opinion, rather pretty. So, having to interact with a tall, scary yet pretty woman was rather reasonably, a heart-pounding experience. “ You may come in,” He could hear her from beyond the door, so, with only a moment of hesitation, he opened the door and stepped inside. There were few times that Blueberry Milkshake ever saw the prophet outside of her room, and that was usually during meal times, or the occasional day where she left her room to wander around near the forest. The latter were the more, well, carefree times he’d been around her, and dare he say that they got a bit close during then. Though sometimes… it feels like they’ve interacted more than they have. He looked up at her, noticing the white roots of her fluffy pink hair were showing. He’d noticed that she tended to, well, chew on her hair sometimes. And whenever she got healed whatever amount she’d chewed off would grow back white. She turned to him, brown eyes like chocolate scanning him before signaling him to come in further and shut the door behind him. “ How have you been, Blue?” She asked, twisting in her seat, a cushion on the floor, to lay on her stomach. Her smile, unlike the practiced, melancholic one she had around the other members of the village except for Mystery Cookie and himself, was rather genuine. He considered it a rather nice smile. “ I’ve been… good actually!” he chirped out the lie, or well, the half-lie. If he were to be honest then, well, everything had been rather monotonous. Rather… boring, if you asked him. But how could he starve off his boredom if Meringue Cookie’s watchful eye followed him almost everywhere? He watched the smile on her face drop into melancholy for a moment, the mood around them turning more serious. Marshmallow Fluff then held out something in her hands, revealing it to be a small, blue colored apple jelly. “ I want you to take this, and eat it when you’re ready. I know it’s not much, and that it’s your decision… But I…” She trailed off, like a book that never got finished. “ … Nevermind, just take it.” And so, he listened, he took the apple from her hand. He was almost tempted to take a bite right now, almost. But the time wasn’t right, or maybe he was just afraid? Afraid of the unknown? Who knows…

_ - - _

It was supposedly, a normal day within Meringue Village. A perfectly normal day where Blueberry Milkshake didn’t have any tasks to do for the village. Which meant that he could pretty much do whatever he wanted for the day. Most of the time, he spent these days at home or near the forest surrounding the village. It had been seven days since Marshy(his nickname for Marshmallow Fluff Cookie) had given him the blue apple jelly, seven… quite odd days. For instance, he began to… notice a lot more things. For instance, when he was working with the foraging crew and watching one of them get patched up, he swore he could see two, thin scars on one of their backs. When he asked about it… well, they apparently didn’t know those scars even existed. Even thinking that he was playing a prank on them. There was also the fact that his nightmares got… worse? Well, he was having them more frequently. These nightmares involved some strange jester that looked like him, who always, always looked at him with disappointment. And yet, somehow he could tell that the jester aimed its disappointment at itself as well. It was always just them, together in a black void. That was, however, until the apple jelly began to appear in them. The apple jelly always appeared in the jester’s hand, and the jester always offered it to him. “ Come on,” The jester would say, a grin blooming on its face “ Aren’t you tired of being trapped in this… pathetic, powerless, unknowing form?” He’d never respond directly to the jester, either flinching away or, more recently, hesitating to take the apple jelly before he woke up with it in his hands. He’d always consider eating it after waking up, but never did. In fact, he kept it hidden on his person at all times, not even telling Meringue Cookie about the apple jelly. He feared that it’d be taken away from him if he did tell her. He sat on a fallen tree trunk, staring at the apple jelly in his hand. It seemed to glow in the dim light of the forest. Should he eat it? Should he not? He didn’t know and that bugged him. Would he know if he took a bite of the apple jelly? Would he still be left in the dark? Would he- “ Blue?” “ GYAH!” He shrieked in surprise, jumping in his seat. He turned around to face Marshmallow Fluff Cookie, who stood behind him with a mildly concerned expression. “ Witches sake- You scared me halfway to death!” He briefly scolded her, listening to her amused giggle put him at ease though. Silently, he invited her to sit, which she did. “ So… You still haven’t eaten it yet?” She asked, a mixture of curiosity and something else that Blueberry Milkshake couldn’t recognize on her face. The look in her eyes was expectant, as if she’d predicted that he’d eventually give in and eat the apple jelly no matter how long he resisted. And she was right, had she not interrupted him then he would have taken a bite. “ I mean…” He attempted to come up with an excuse, even though what he was about to say wasn’t really one. “ It’s a gift from you, right? I don’t want to just eat it and be done with it…” He said, staring down at the blue apple jelly in his hands. “ I know that you told me to eat it… and I think that I might be ready to… yet.” He trailed off, looking to her for support. A gentle smile graced her face. “ I think you should eat it,” she encouraged him as she gently pushed up his hands to raise the apple jelly. He stared at it for a moment, considering her suggestion. It wouldn’t hurt, right? So ever so slowly, he takes a bite. And afterwards? Everything hurts.

He yelps with pain, dropping the rest of the apple jelly and clutching his head. He could feel the knowledge that the fruit contained worming its way inside. There were names, faces, events that had all been taken from his head to create the shell that was himself, Blueberry Milkshake Cookie. Who was originally just an identity played and changed for the sole purpose of worming his way into high societies just to see them crumble with a few lies told here and a few truths told there. He could feel traces of his former magic rushing back into him, the essence of his soul jam. It burned under his dough and yet it felt all too right for it to be there. The burning sensation was soon replaced by a more cold, yet not chilling sensation. Like escaping from the heat by taking shelter in the shade. He drops to the ground, onto his knees. “ Blue! Are you alright?” He can hear Marshmallow Fluff call out, with her racing to his side. He can see the apple, he’s so close to knowledge, to understanding. He reaches for it yet Marshmallow Fluff takes it from his reach. “ Hey, hey, take it slow, understand what you know right now before jumping in further.” It was good advice, advice he couldn’t help but listen to. So he took a moment to breathe, to try and process the information that was flooding into his mind. His name, his real name, was Shadow Milk Cookie. One of the former heroes of Cookie kind that fell from grace due to the corruption that came with his forbidden use of dark magic and his unquenchable thirst for knowledge. Formerly, he embodied knowledge, but now he embodies deceit. He was a member of the formerly named five heroes, now named the five beasts. And, he was currently incredibly small compared to his true height. And another thing, he was currently sealed into this form. This… tiny, weak and pathetic form. God he can understand why the mental him looked at him with such disappointment, he was just an empty shell that had none of the greatness he did. He could feel a reassuring pat on the back, oh right, Marshmallow Fluff Cookie was still here. He looked up to her, remembering their real first meeting. He’d found her near the border of the village, and she was rather… interesting to him. Mainly due to the fact that there was some kind of strange power nestled within her. Over time, they’d surprisingly gotten closer. Close enough for Shadow Milk to sometimes forget his original goal of finding out what that power in her was. Though, maybe he should have listened to her when she said to never come to her village, no matter what. Maybe then he would have never gotten his magic and soul jam stripped from him in the first place… but how did that happen?

She let him finish the apple now, and the increase of knowledge didn’t hurt like it did the first time. His mind filled in the blanks in his memory once he finished chewing. Oh, oh. That’s why his instincts told him to be afraid of Meringue Cookie, not only was she, to quote Marshmallow Fluff herself, batshit insane, but she was also the one who sealed him in the first place! There was also the fact that she was basically a power and adoration hungry beast placed in the dough of a cookie. He’d probably respect that if it weren’t for the fact that she went after him and was just a monster in general. He may call himself a beast but that doesn’t compare to the shit that Meringue Cookie does to people. For example, him! She literally almost wiped out his entire identity and took his power for herself! And that’s not even mentioning the fact that she steals the wings of Fairy Cookies whenever they find themselves unlucky enough to be near the village. Though he didn’t know the details, he knew that it had to be painful. “ You’re… okay, right?” Marshmallow Fluff asked, ah, he remembered that he used to be scared of her for some reason as well. But she was pretty much harmless… towards him. She wouldn’t harm him if she had the choice to. “ … Physically? Yes.” He began, getting back on his feet. “ Mentally? Well, I’m a bit peeved you didn’t do this sooner. But I suppose that it’s better than before.” “ That's good then.” She smiled. “ And I’m sorry, but Meringue Cookie doesn’t leave her office unattended all that much. I only had enough time to get your memories from your soul jam.” She explained, her smile turning more apologetic. “ Ah well, win some, you lose some.” He shrugged, though he was already formulating a plan to get back at their twisted cult leader. All he needed was his soul jam and then he could get straight to his revenge! He’d work out the details later, mainly because he’s still adjusting.

He could see Marshmallow Fluff tense up, crap, Meringue Cookie must be looking for her. Of course, you could imagine his surprise when she pulled him close, close enough to hug him maybe? Who knew, but why did she do that? He soon heard footsteps on the grass and- Oh, that’s how she wanted to play this. Very clever, he supposed. Well, he wouldn’t be one of the world’s greatest actors if he didn’t play into his role. And all it took was a few thoughts to make his face turn a bright blue, nothing too indecent, mind you. It wasn’t long until you caught onto what he was doing, making sure to catch him when his footing went light. “ Ah, dearest prophet…” He could hear Meringue Cookie say, that sickly sweet smile upon her face as she laced her words with honey. “ While I do trust that you are checking up on the barrier, don’t you think that it’s been a bit too long- Hm?” Ah, looks like she noticed him. He could sense the slightest irritation leak into Meringue Cookie’s voice, most people wouldn’t even notice that her tone had changed. “ Ah, Blueberry Milkshake Cookie… Whatever are you doing out here? I suppose that it is one of your free days, yet to spend one near the barrier is quite foolish when it’s on one of its scheduled check up days… And may I ask what you’re doing with our prophet?” She asked, tilting her head a bit to the side. “ Oh!- Um… Ah, how do I explain this…?” He fumbled, though it was merely all acting on his part. But of course, Marshmallow Fluff’s acting helped him sell the bit… and by acting, I mean being bluntly ‘honest’.

“ We were hanging out together while I checked on the barrier, that’s all.” She stated, staring down almost blankly at Meringue Cookie. He had to give it to her, she knew how to keep a cool head. He looked at Meringue Cookie, it was clear that she had had a few doubts about what Marshmallow Fluff had said… But it appeared that she couldn’t call them out. She straightened her posture. “ Very well then.” She simply said, before casting a much less warm glare to Shadow Milk Cookie. “ Oh, but if you’re doing anything to taint our prophet… I will have you kicked out of the village, Blueberry Milkshake Cookie.” She said sternly, one might think that she actually cared for Marshmallow Fluff had they not known what to look for… or what she was really like. Her tone returned to its warm, chipper manner that she had before. “ Be sure to be back by sundown in time for meal time! I’m sure that neither of you would want to miss out.” She hummed before turning on her heel and walking off. Marshmallow Fluff let out a muted sigh of relief, meanwhile Shadow Milk looked up at her. “ You know, you really wouldn’t assume that she’s… well, who she really is under all that. I’ve got to hand that to her at least.” He mused, which earned him a pout from Marshmallow Fluff. “ What? A good actor has to respect another good actor.” “ I… guess you’re right.” She hummed, turning away. There’s a beat of silence before Shadow Milk thinks of a question that he never got answers to. “ Hey, Marshy?” He asked, calling her attention to him with a hum. “ I never got to ask this before, but what exactly is the promised land? I can’t imagine that it’s actually something good since you guys supposedly worship the witches.”

The witches, quite the bitter memory if you asked him. Sure, they, as in the five beasts, had been created by one that was more… morally sound. But there was a small group that actually ate the living cookies that were baked, and not the ones baked for consumption. He hoped that the witches that the cult worshiped were on the less cannibalism-acquainted side… But judging by Marshmallow Fluff Cookie’s rather nervous expression, it was likely that that’s the case. But that doesn’t exactly explain why people are selected for the promised land one by one, if they were getting served up to the witches then wouldn’t it be in batches? There is, however, a more disturbing thought that comes to mind. And yet, he decides not to chase it just yet. The time for it will come eventually… But he hopes that the traces of that very theory are incorrect. If they were, it would explain a lot about Marshmallow Fluff Cookie… But, would he be able to look at her the same way if it was true? He's seen her lips stained with what he believed to be strawberry jam before though... Yet he doesn't want to believe the possibility. Even though many factors pointed to it being possible. The undeniable, inescapable guilt that he could sense inside her, the way everyone chosen to go to the promised land goes through her first. He doesn't want to believe it, and yet hasn't he done things just as bad? And that's if she's doing it... willingly.

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