#cor/corpse

[maythray]

Objectober Day 4: Maple

Identity talks with your friend, the corpse :)

(please click for better quality!! rbs > likes!!)

[dyed-indigo]

here's my OC. president pronouns

[vampyrsm]

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER FOUR | IZANAGI

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues once again with blood that taints the water, and a name is revealed in the midst of battle. Who will win, the forgotten Shogun's daughter or one of the most powerful Samurai of Japan?

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 8k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Cannibalism, set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, descriptions of murder, gore, lots of death, era-typical violence & views, reader knows how to use weaponry.

It had been another week since you were allowed to live with the other women of the shrine. It had been going somewhat smoothly, despite the hiccups that occurred. You had found out the morning after your bath in the hot spring that you were to be assigned to cleaning.

It wasn’t unexpected, in fact, it was one of the jobs you knew you’d most likely be getting. It was a lowly job, even for a servant, and Sukuna must’ve found great joy in the idea of having you clean up the mess left behind.

However, you hadn’t banked on the idea of the cleaning being more than waxing the floors and sweeping away dust. You were subjected to cleaning Sukuna’s own personal shrine. 

It wasn’t as grandiose as the one the Buddhists had once used in this very shrine, not nearly as golden but it was fearsome. It was a separate building on the temple grounds that he had occupied as his own, the floors were made of cold stone and the walls were tall. Within those tall walls, sat the centre of the shrine. It was a typical shinto shrine, but instead of honouring the Gods; it was honouring the demon that hunted women for fun. 

It was surrounded by skulls and bones, some animal – like bull skulls, and some most definitely human. You didn’t need to wonder if they had been put there for decoration when you saw the abysmal state of the floor. You were thankful for the stone floor, blood was terribly hard to get out of wooden floors. It soaked it up like a sponge, but with stone, it simply sat atop as water would.

It took you four hours to clean the shrine on the first day, and the same the next few days until you were tasked with it today. 

The stone floor was still coated in blood, but instead of finishing his meal, Sukuna had left the corpse where it was. Half-eaten, shredded skin and muscle sprawled across the floor and splattered against the paint of the Shinto shrine. 

You stood motionless in the doorway into the shrine, the light that you had let in illuminates the face of the woman who had come to her untimely demise. You recognise her, she was one of the cooks of the complex. An older lady, perhaps in her thirties – definitely one of the oldest in the entire place, and she was kind to you. Maybe she had been a mother at some point with the way she mothered you with sneaky portions of extra rice.

It feels surreal to see her now spread thin across stone floors, it almost makes her not seem like a human anymore. Did Sukuna do this on purpose to torment you? Maybe he had seen the way she was more lenient with you, he couldn’t let you feel any ounce of joy here. 

Your water bucket is heavy in your hand before you set it down on a clean patch by the door. With steps through the blood that splashed against your socked feet, soaking into the material until you felt it between your toes and under your nails, you crouch down towards the body. 

Her eyes are open, and it’s like second nature for you to reach across and close her eyes to stop her from looking at you like that. Her skin is cold, no doubt having been here throughout the night whilst everyone slept. A quick survey of the surrounding area shows no scraps of her clothes, and the parts of her body that still remained somewhat intact were most definitely nude. 

You don’t realise you’re staring at the body in front of you until her face morphs into your own, and it’s you who is laid out on the stone floor before the shrine with your body ripped asunder. 

No. You couldn’t end up like this, you wouldn’t end up like this.

Moving the body itself was easier said than done, even with half of it presumably eaten. You’re not sure if it would be wise to remove her from the shrine, perhaps Sukuna had plans to return to his half-eaten cold meal later tonight so you set her aside. 

Then you get to work on dragging your sponge through where she had been last laid. You never quite grasped the concept of just how compact the human body was, and all the organs within. Not until it was laid out before you in a messy pool of blood. You sweep shredded intestines and part of what you think might be the liver to the edge of the shrine where you had put the corpse.

You weren’t sure if Sukuna liked to eat those parts, you assumed he must if he never left anything behind most nights.

Once clear of the body parts, you return to the water bucket. You ignore the blood that coats your hands when you grab the sides of the bucket, and you have to ignore the rippled bloodied reflection of yourself when you catch a glimpse of it. It’s like second nature now for you to tip the water bucket over, the splash of cold water is loud in the otherwise silent part of the complex.

You watch as the water rolls towards you, down the natural slope of the building until it creates a small red river that flows down the steps and into the courtyard. At first, you had questioned why the shrine in the first place would be sloped in such a way until you realised it was for the ease of cleaning out blood. 

“This is how you clean my shrine?” The voice is close behind you, and suddenly you can feel the pressuring presence that follows Sukuna around like a breeze. It sits heavy on your shoulders, grasps at your limbs until you’re stuck in place. 

You hadn’t even heard him approach. Most predators didn’t alert their prey of their impending doom, instead opting to sneak closer and closer until it was too late for the prey to realise they had been caught. And Sukuna continues to loom over you, his large frame blocks out the light of the outside world and shrouds the shrine in an eerie darkness.

“You throw water at it and call it a day?” 

You want to bite at him, snarl your own words and tell him that you hadn’t even finished yet — and it would’ve been done more efficiently if he hadn’t left his food lying around. 

“No, Master Sukuna.” is the words you settle on biting out instead, and his response is to hum in an unconvinced tone. 

“Then show me how you do it.” 

He shoves you down onto your knees in front of him, the crack of your bones against the stone is muffled by his low laugh. He steps around you, ‘accidentally’ kicking your empty bucket away from you before he’s standing in front of his shrine — in front of you. 

Your eyes are glued to the floor, evidence of the blood still present but not quite the bloodbath you had originally walked in on.

“I need to get fresh wa–”

“No. Use what you have.” 

The cloth slides through the pink-tinted water, brushing it towards the natural slope of the stone floor. Sukuna is silent as he watches you agonise over the fact the small white cloth is not quite catching as much water anymore, and when you wring it out it only adds to the bloodied water that seems endless. 

With each useless squeeze of the blood-sodden rag, you feel a slip of your resolve. 

“Master Sukuna,” you address him, eyes not once leaving the bloody red cloth in your hands. He stays silent for a moment, you briefly wonder if perhaps he somehow left without you realising it.

“Speak.” He demands.

“May I go and fetch some more water?” You wait for a second, his silence is palpable. “Please.”

You can feel Sukuna’s eyes on you, inspecting the state of your clothes no doubt and the blood that taints your skin. It makes you want to squirm under his scrutiny, that unwanted feeling that bubbles in your stomach and up your throat until it threatens to spill itself onto the floor. His presence has always had an immense feel to it, and it’s oh-so suffocating.

“Fine.” You scramble to your feet, a quick bow of thanks thrown his way before you move as fast as you can to retrieve your tipped-over empty water bucket. You’re thankful for the fresh air when you step a foot outside of the shrine, and the lungful you gulp feels like your first breath in a very long time.

You’re one step down from the shrine when his voice calls for you again.

“If you touch my food again, I will make you eat it. Then, I will eat you.” 

You don’t think he’s bluffing, he wouldn’t bluff. A demon like him would never lie about such a thing, he lives off of your fear and torment. He was telling the truth. So you nod your head once in understanding before you run as fast as you can away from the shrine.

The more distance you put between yourself and Sukuna, the more you feel like you can think clearly. No longer is his darkness creeping on the edges of your brain and your heart beats at a slower, more calm pace. His idle threat still lingers on your mind, the reminder of the heart you had been forced to consume still makes your stomach turn uncomfortably whenever you think of the texture. 

It was one of the worst experiences you had ever gone through, and you can only imagine different parts of the human body would be worse. 

You don’t realise you’re at the well that lingers at the edge of the complex until you’re stood over it, the bucket in your hand smeared in stains of blood from your dirty hands. You dunk it down into the well, the freezing cold water stings at the tips of your fingers. 

It was oddly quiet for the time of day, you realise. When you take a look around, you realise there is no one in the courtyard tending to the flowers or airing the fresh linen. The next thing you realise is the large gate that otherwise encloses the complex is wide open, a winding path that’s covered in golden leaves leads down a hill to the unknown. 

Your heart quickens. Your blood races with the realisation that you could leave. Right now. You could run, maybe even run into a village so that they could get you to safety. But were you faster than an apex predator who was designed for the thrill of the hunt? He had more arms than you, you don’t doubt he’d rip the village apart just to find you. 

The bucket falters in your grasp for a moment, water spilling onto your sodden socks. The cold shock is enough to cause you to gasp, breaking your gaze away from the path that could lead to either your freedom or the demise of innocent people who don’t know what lives in the shrine nearby. 

No. You wouldn’t have more innocent lives destroyed because of you. You had a plan; a goal. You were going to ensure that the monster that feasts on bones would not terrorise another village.

You feel a familiar burning gaze upon your skin, and when you turn to see who or what was staring at you – you’re met with nothing but the empty courtyard. But that feeling of being watched is still ever present, so you hurry back towards the shrine. The path to your presumed freedom dwindles away. 

Sukuna thankfully isn’t in the shrine anymore, and neither is the body of the older lady you had moved earlier. There isn’t any new blood either, something that has you heaving a heavy sigh of relief. You do the same as you did before, but more strategically with a zig-zag pattern you draw with the water bucket to ensure you get it between the nooks and crannies of the stone tiles.

Once the shrine is returned to its previous state of cleanliness, the sky is dark and the stars have come out to play. The moon hangs over the sky, it’s late — that means it should be time for you to be allowed food. That alone has you hastily sliding the doors to the shrine closed, a silent prayer to whatever may be watching that tomorrow there’ll be no dead body for you to clean. 

Dinner that night had gone by relatively quietly, there were no arguments among the women who all lived in the same room. There was an odd feeling in the air; like an impending doom of some sort. You couldn’t put your finger on it exactly, but there was definitely something that was causing a few of the younger newer servants of Sukuna to appear very antsy. 

On the way back to the room that was your new bedroom, you were cut off by Uraume. They stood before you, hands tucked inside the sleeves of their kimono and an expectant raise of their eyebrow had you bowing at the waist to greet them.

“Master Sukuna has requested you to join him in his chambers tonight. You will bring him his sake.” Uraume is curt as always, not waiting for you to acknowledge or question why Sukuna wants you of all people to bring him his sake. They turn, leaving down the corridors of the large shrine until they vanish behind a shoji door.

You make the turn back towards the kitchen, finding the tray that you were to serve for Sukuna already set. It’s small, one small saucer-like cup and three flasks of what you assume to be sake. Years of practice with the sword has your arms firm enough to not shake the tray as you venture away from the safety of your bedroom and towards Sukuna’s.

It’s akin to the walk of shame, perhaps better suited to be named the walk of death. Maybe he’d grow hungry and gnaw on your bones tonight with a side of sake. Maybe he was still angry at you for touching his food without permission earlier today in the shrine. 

Your thoughts cloud your mind until you’re standing before the large sliding doors that lead into Sukuna’s room. The artwork on the door is all hand painted, you can tell from the individual brush strokes and you briefly wonder who he may have gotten to do it. It’s a gruesome picture, bloody and violent, and there’s no doubt who is in the centre of the fire and chaos. 

It’s a self-portrait, and that thought alone has you wanting to smash the delicate china on the tray against the door. 

But instead, you lower down onto your knees and knock on the door. It’s silent for a moment, and then you hear it — a loud clap of hands. 

The door slides open easily enough, and you slide in the tray first then yourself. You focus on the task at hand, closing the door and bowing as low as you can get to the floor. You can’t tell where Sukuna is in the room but you know he’s watching you, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at the attention of the predator that watches you so closely.

“Bring it here.” He demands, his voice low and yet still commanding. You raise from the bow, delicately taking hold of the tray before you rise back to your feet. Your footsteps are muted against the soft tatami floor, and finally, you take in the image before you.

Sukuna is sitting in a corner, surrounded by scrolls and literature. The table he’s using is low to the ground, and he’s perched upon a large Zabuton cushion. He’s leaning his lower right arm on the separate armrest, the upper arms are crossed over his bare chest and he’s not quite glaring at you as you approach. 

He almost looks like he’s got too much on his mind to conjure up the effort to scowl at you.

You lower down into a kneeling position once in front of him, carefully sliding the tray towards him. You don’t wait for permission to pour him a drink, you’ve come to understand from the other women that he doesn’t like to ask for things — he prefers things to be done automatically, without thought.

The sake sits in the small saucer, waiting for him to pluck it from the tray and drink it in one go. But he doesn’t move yet, and you take the chance to glance up at his face. He’s not even looking at you now, only two of his eyes are open whilst the bottom set rests as if they were closed for sleep. He’s scouring over the scrolls on the table, the brush he was using to write his own letters sits waiting in a pot of ink.

“Master Sukuna,” and he hums in response quite quickly to you, “May I ask you a question?”

One of the lower set of eyes opens just enough to glance at you, and he huffs out a sigh that’s quite unbefitting of the monster you know him as. 

“One question.”

Well. That certainly makes you want to second guess the question you wanted to ask, your lips twist a little in thought and Sukuna seems to be put off by the wait for your question. His head turns towards you, and that scowl he often sends your way is making itself present. 

“What’s plaguing your mind?” You ask, and you bitterly regret it when he frowns so much that you think it may be the last thing you see before your head is removed from your shoulders.

Instead of answering, he leans forward to swipe the saucer with the sake in and swallows it in one gulp. The small saucer that looked like it would still fill your palm was far too small in his, his index and thumb were delicately holding it — it was odd, to see a creature of such mass destruction holding the fine china with care.

He places it down, and you move to automatically refill it. This repeats four more times before he settles into his position once again, the arms crossed over his chest reaching over to the table to pluck a scroll from the collection he had opened.

He flicks it towards you, the paper bounces off of your chest and into your hands when you fumble to catch it. You look down, reading over the painted black letters. 

The Shogun moves north. The Shogun’s army is in search of a four-armed beast, said to eat the souls of women and children. The demon is rumoured to be residing in an old Buddhist temple. Kill him and everyone there.

It’s not signed by anyone, a simple mark in the corner shows it was approved by the Shogun. You weren’t sure who gained the title after the passing of your father, but you knew the number of Samurai that were within the Shogun’s army. That number was excessive to deploy on a singular temple… they must know who Sukuna was and exactly what he was capable of. 

The words trouble you, however. They wanted to kill both Sukuna and whoever else was within the temple. Did they think you were all sympathisers? Followers of Sukuna? They didn’t know that all of you were plucked from your homes after he slaughtered your families. 

Your hip feels awfully empty without the weight of your sword, you had no defence if they were to strike at some point. Could it be soon? You have no idea how old this letter was—

“The gate.” You mumble. The unease that fills your stomach is suffocating, your heart thunders against your chest more and more with each passing second. The gate. Someone had opened it to the outside world.

“What?” Sukuna rips the scroll from your hand, eyes scouring to see what he may have missed to make you say that. “What gate?”

“The gate on the east side of the temple. It was left open.” 

You meet his gaze once you glance up from the sake set before you, and for the first time, you see a new emotion on Sukuna’s face. He looks concerned. His eyebrows are pressed together in thought, all four eyes are wide and alert. He didn’t know about the gate. 

“They’re already here.” He summarises, sharpened claws shredding through the scroll. The air around him intensifies, the suffocation of such a dark presence causes you to recoil away from him when he starts to stand. “They’re already in my fucking shrine.”

“I’ll kill them all.” He marches past you, ripping open the shoji door with such ferocity that it’s ripped from its sliding mechanic and left awkwardly hanging. “Stay here. Do not move.” 

You’re left to watch his figure disappear further down the corridor until he turns a corner and he’s gone. It’s awfully quiet, and that same antsy air that had settled upon the women at dinnertime is back once again. Something feels off. How did the Shogun know the exact location of the shrine? As far as you were aware, Sukuna had gone to great lengths to secure this place as his own sanctuary.

There’s a clatter in the distance that sounds like a door being broken through, and then suddenly there’s an uproar of voices. A lot of voices. Not women, but men. The Shogun’s army was here. Immediately you’re up from your kneeling position, and you turn on your heels to survey the room.

Your weapon must be here. It must still be here, he had brought it with you – so surely he must’ve kept it close to him, somewhere you could never get it back and use it against him. But each turn of your head reveals that his room is empty of any sheathed sword until you turn towards his futon. 

Above the bed is a long-handled spear, a Naginata. It’s three-pronged, something so rare and odd that you’re not sure if it would even be good to use in battle. However, a weapon is a weapon and you move across the room. Climbing across the platform that houses Sukuna’s futon to swipe it off of the rack it was on. 

It’s heavy in your hands, as your fingers slide along the black hilt towards the end of it – it’s got a hoop, as if it could be connected to a chain of some sort. What kind of person would use this when it was attached to a chain? The arm length you’d need— Oh. This was Sukuna’s personal weapon.

“What do we have here?” An unfamiliar voice speaks from behind you, and you spin fast enough on instinct to slam the blunt end of the hilt into his temple…

…But it never connects. In fact, it hovers just a few inches from his face and you stare in horror at the fact you’re frozen in place. Whatever you’re hitting feels like a brick wall, but you can’t see what you’re hitting. 

“Foolish woman. Swinging around a weapon that’s not befitting of your station.” The unknown Samurai tuts, lifting his head enough to reveal his face from beneath the Jingasa hat he wore.

You’re met with the brightest blue eyes you have ever seen. White lashes frame them, and that feeling from before returns — something is terribly wrong here. You had to get away from this man, away from whatever invisible barrier was surrounding him. 

He doesn’t try to grab you when you back away, pulling free the weapon from its invisible prison and spinning it in your hand until it’s lined with your body. The blue-eyed Samurai tilts his head at the stance, an eyebrow-raising – he recognises that type of stance. Of course, he would.

“Who trained you?” He asks. 

“My father.” And the man in response hums in response, his lips set into a thin line. 

“Tell me your clan name.” 

Your lips move to form the name of your late husband but your tongue stops, the word dies and instead, your family name rolls off your tongue. 

“Zen’in.” 

Most people would perhaps laugh at the futile attempt to use a former Shogun’s name as a way to worm their way out of a situation, but instead, the blue-eyed Samurai just tilts his head for a moment and flits his gaze over you. But it’s different from when people have looked at you; he’s looking through you, into you.

“So you’re the Shogun’s niece.” He huffs out something that sounds like a scoff, disbelieving that he’d stumble across you of all people in a place like this. 

Niece. Your uncle was the new Shogun, having been passed on by your father to him no doubt. You had no brothers, you were never to inherit the title – a woman had no place with the title Shogun. 

“A shame. I’m sure your Uncle would’ve loved to know you were still alive, but he’s very certain you had died alongside your husband a few weeks ago.” 

“Who are you? My father had never mentioned a Samurai who could stop attacks with… with sorcery.”

“Sugawara Michizane.” He offers his name, a slight up-tick of the corner of his mouth as he finds amusement in your confusion. You don’t recognise his name.

And then, in the midst of your thoughts, the Samurai moves fast, maybe faster than Sukuna had when he first attacked you. He’s across the room in a blink of an eye, there’s the click of a katana being unsheathed. You react out of instinct, the hilt of the spear you hold clangs with the metal of the sword and the Samurai doesn’t relent. 

He brings his sword back and attempts a strike on your opposite side, your fingers tighten around the spear – you’re not going to make it, he’s going to hit you. But there’s another clang of metal hitting your spear, and you find that you had moved the spear to meet the blow. 

Blue eyes widen at what he witnessed before they narrow at you. “So you inherited your father’s technique.” 

Technique? You had inherited his swordsmanship, yes, but his technique with a sword was far superior to your own. He moved faster than any man you had seen, he wiped the floor with his opponents when they said he was too busy with politics to be a real Samurai. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the Samurai backs away from you, his katana sits sheathed once again and this time he raises his hands at you. His arm is outstretched in your direction, an odd glow illuminating the contours of his face in a blueish light that seems to be forming around his hand.

The hairs on the back of your neck and arms stand on end, the feeling that came from his hands was something similar to Sukuna’s. It was a powerful energy. So you move. You move faster than you ever have before in your life, it’s as if time itself slows down to allow you to sprint across the room with your spear brandished. 

The eyes of the man follow your movements, but his body is too slow. You lower down onto one knee once you approach, below the outstretched hand that has a slow-growing orb of blue energy starting to form at the very tips of his fingers. And you strike with the tip of your Naginata upwards into his chest.

It passes by the barrier surrounding him, a buzzing sound that hisses at the foreign entity that passes by and then you feel the familiar wall of what it’s like to strike a body. The spear makes quick work of cutting its way through muscle and organs alike, lodging itself into its resting place next to his spine.

The world seems to spin back to the correct time, and the blue light that had been aimed at you fires regardless of having no target. It comes with a loud bang, the sound of walls being shattered and dragged along with whatever had come from the Samurai who’s staring down at you in disbelief. 

His blood curls around the three prongs of the spear, around the handle until it sullies your hands. 

“How?” He splutters, blood staining his teeth and filling the cracks of his lips as he glowers down at you. “You shouldn’t—... Nothing can…”

His hand raises once again, and this time instead of the blue glow, it’s a vibrant red that nearly blinds you with how bright it is in front of your face. This one feels much more different to the blue energy that vibrated around his hands, this one feels more destructive and more violent. 

You square your shoulders and push all of your strength into your arms and legs as you grab ahold of the spear before running it upwards through the man's body. The red glow falters until it dims completely, the spear rips free of his shoulder with a vicious spray of blood that coats your once pristine white kimono. 

He crumbles to his knees, hands uselessly turned upwards in his lap and his head tilts back to stare up at you. His once vibrant blue eyes seem dull now, blinking sluggishly up at you. 

“You’re a disgrace to your family…” He mutters, words wet with the blood on his tongue and yet he manages to say them loud enough that they strike deeply at your already wounded heart. “A Curse User's whore.”

You want to ask him what he means by that, ask him what a curse user even is but there’s the sound of fighting in the distance. You glance down at the Samurai, his head now dropped downwards until his chin presses into his chest. He no longer moves, his heart ceasing its sluggish attempts of keeping him alive.

You had killed one of the Shogun’s samurai. You were a traitor. 

The sound of fighting grows louder, yells of Samurai as they get no doubt ripped to shreds by clawed hands. You leave the body of the samurai known as Sugawara in his final resting place and dart down the corridor towards the room that should have all the women inside still – hopefully, they had kept together, huddled for safety. 

Yet when you rip the door open, you’re met with the kind of silence that accompanies death. In each of the beds, there is a body. Faces of women you had gotten to know and even shared food with, the young faces of women who had washed your hair and in turn, you had washed theirs, all of them are lax. 

You would’ve assumed them to be asleep if it wasn’t for the growing pool of blood that seeped into the wooden floors, into the cracks. Each of their necks was slit. All at the same time. This wasn’t Sukuna’s doing, he would’ve shredded them no doubt. This was organised, most likely by Shinobi that had slipped in through the shadows and slid a knife across each of their throats so they didn’t awaken.

You could’ve been one of them, you realise. If you hadn’t been summoned to Sukuna’s chambers by him. You could be dead and by the hands of the army that had once served your father; and in turn, served you. 

Men are monsters. Monsters are men.

You have to find Sukuna. Why? Perhaps to kill him, none of this would’ve happened if he didn’t exist. You couldn’t undo the past but you could right the future—even if you were classed as a traitor, maybe it’d be for nothing in the end. The Naginata no longer weighs anything in your hand, as you let it roll in your hand until its hilt is positioned between your bicep and ribcage for safekeeping. 

The halls are easier to navigate once you narrow down the sounds of the fighting, it leads you to the entrance where you had seen the open gate just earlier that day. The doors had been ripped off, and immediately you’re hit with the smell of tangy copper that sticks to the roof of your mouth.

It’s a battlefield, swords are snapped and buried into the ground where they had fallen from the hands of the Samurai who had dared to approach Sukuna. And the monster himself is closer to the gate, a large figure doused in blood as he swipes at thin air to only have men a few feet away splinter into three parts as if he had used his claws directly on their skin.

You can only stand and watch, in both horror and amazement to see him in his element. He clearly was designed for such chaos, he strived off of it. His muscles moved perfectly with each move he made, each of them calculated and precise. He didn’t quite move like a monster would; a monster was often frantic in its attacks. Instead, Sukuna moves with a sense of regality, an air of superiority and you can only think of one thing.

He looked like a King at war.

There’s a movement on the sidelines of the ongoing fight, and you spot one of the Shogun’s shinobi climbing up into the shadows of the night atop the roof. Sukuna doesn’t see him. His eyes laser-focused on all the Samurai who come at him head-on, he’s going to be caught off-guard. He’s going to be taken down by a ninja belonging to the same army that had slaughtered innocent women.

You glance at the ground quickly, spotting a long bow that had been dropped by an archer who had thought it would be wise to attack from afar — that clearly didn’t work out. You swipe it up, the Naginata being placed on the floor next to your feet. 

There had been times when you were trained with a bow as a child, something your father had actually said yes to when you were younger. Often it was just for hunting, a hobby that you had partaken in quite often to catch game for your husband. Your form is no different this time as you aim your arrow at a man, you suck in a harsh breath and hold your form steady. 

The ninja from above exclaims something as he leaps from the roof, and Sukuna spins around last second to see where the noise is coming from but instead, his eyes settle on you. His gaze is burning through you, no doubt cursing you for even stepping foot out of his chambers and disobeying his order.

But he remains in place, watching as you release the breath you were holding and the arrow soars through the air like a knife through butter. The ninja is hit directly, a clean arrow through the throat, falling to the ground with a loud crunch of bones against a stone path.

You can feel that same burning gaze as you pull another arrow from the fallen archer's quiver, nocking and drawing it to release it into one of the Samurai who raised a sword to Sukuna’s blindside. You don’t dare meet Sukuna’s eyes, you’re unsure if you’ll like what you see as you continue to prove yourself a traitor to your own country and kill those who served the Shogun; your uncle. 

Eventually, that burning crimson gaze is ripped away from you, and you lower your bow to find that you had killed the remaining Samurai in the courtyard. But you’re unable to relax or find solace in that they were dead. There’s the distant sound of marching footfall, another wave of Samurai no doubt coming. 

This time you watch as Sukuna flexes two of his hands in front of him, an orange glow starting to form between his fingers before he then draws his arms up, a direct mimicry of your own stance when you had drawn a bow. He releases the fire arrow, and it soars through the night sky like a shooting star until it plants itself into one of the leading Samurai. 

And from there, it explodes into a larger flame that bounces from man to man until they’re a distant flame filled with anguished screams and the slowly approaching smell of cooked flesh. Sukuna stands there silently, watching the scene from afar and you can see the tension loosen in his shoulders for just a moment. But then he turns abruptly towards you, a feral snarl resting on his face when he meets your gaze.

A hand grasps at your jaw, squeezing so tightly that you can feel your bone pop uncomfortably. Sukuna glares down at you, his own face is covered in blood similar to your own. 

“Did you know this would happen?” He growls, claws starting to pierce through the flesh of your cheeks. “Did you know that we had a spy living here?!” 

A spy? Did he mean one of the girls? Surely not… How… How would that work? Sukuna shakes you from your thoughts, a loud growl ripping through his throat. “Answer ME.”

“No!” You yell back, a hand coming up to grab at his wrist uselessly in hopes of peeling him away from your face. “I swear to you I didn’t know! I only knew the gate had been left open when I was cleaning your shrine!”

Sukuna is quiet for a long moment, or it feels like a long moment but perhaps no longer than a few seconds pass by before he releases your face.

“One of those whores escaped, a signal for the Shogun to make his move.” He reveals, running a bloodied hand through his already blood-soaked hair until it’s slicked back. His chest is heaving with the effort he had put into slaughtering men as if they were nothing but sheep. 

“Pick that up.” He points with one of his lower hands at the Naginata, and you quickly bend down to grab it. You figure he may want it back, and when you go to offer it to him he instead grabs at your bicep and you’re pulled along behind him. 

It’s hard to keep up the pace behind such a gigantic man, his single footsteps were about five of your own. Your socked feet drag along stone uncomfortably, cutting into the heel when you try to push off of your feet to keep up. 

Sukuna doesn’t speak again as he drags you away from the shrine through one of the back gates and into the forest. The stench of death and burning wood grows fainter and fainter with each scrape of your now-bloodied feet through the undergrowth of the forest. Sukuna doesn’t seem to care that you’re hissing in pain with each stumble over hidden rocks and sharp prick of nettles. 

You have no idea where he’s dragging you, or why he was even dragging you away from the shrine in the first place? Surely it’d be easier for him to kill you, or even just leave you there to be discovered by the Shogun. Who knows what the Shogun would have in store for you if you were found alive amongst the slaughtered.

You’re abruptly stopped, however, much to the relief of your feet that still sting when you put weight onto them. You look up at Sukuna to see him wordlessly staring ahead, and so you follow his gaze. You’re at the foot of a farmer's field. 

It looks like a regular field, more of a pasture of sorts for animals. And you seem to be right when Sukuna’s head quickly lifts and shifts his gaze to movement in the farther end of the field — horses. 

“Wait,” you tug back on his wrist when he starts to move again and you’re surprised to see him turn his eyes back down to you, though he looks very displeased at the order to stop. “You can’t just steal a farmer’s horse.”

Sukuna stares blankly at you, lips that were turned downwards are now a flat line and you can see it’s taking every ounce of his dwindling self-control to not shout at you. 

“Murderers don’t get a say.” He shoves the words at you instead, and you’re back to stumbling behind him. You suppose he does have a point, a very good one. You were by all definitions of the word; a murderer, a traitor. You had killed not just one but a dozen Samurai… and in turn, saved Sukuna’s life. 

It wasn’t something you planned on doing, in fact, you’d argue you only retaliated because of what they did to the innocent women you lived with and Sukuna surviving was just an unfortunate consequence. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. 

You couldn’t have possibly done all that for Sukuna. You wouldn’t. He was a monster, nothing more and nothing less. He feasted on human bones and forced you to eat your own late husband's heart. He wasn’t worthy of saving…

And yet.

“Stay here.” He orders, before turning back to you with a long finger pointed at your face. “And I mean it this time. Do not move or I’ll have your fingers for breakfast.”

This time you don’t move from your spot, awkwardly moving from foot to foot to relieve the pain as you watch Sukuna slink off into the darkness of the field. You wonder if a horse would even trust him. When you had worked with the horses for the army they had all been temperamental around people with less than good intentions.

They often loved you and hated the men who’d ride them into battle. You can’t imagine a horse's reaction to a four-armed, two-faced, bloody monster approaching. They probably would think it was a predator, which he was, that was coming to eat them. 

Maybe he still will. He didn’t seem to have a specific need to eat women, but rather a preference. You wanted to ask why he did that, what the difference between a man and woman was when it came to consuming their flesh — …but on second thought, perhaps it was best to be left in the unknown on that one.

“Here,” Sukuna calls to you through the darkness, and much to your surprise he had managed to wrangle one of the larger workhorses. It’s giant compared to you, but next to him, he stands level with the horse's head, if not slightly taller. You watch as he climbs up onto the horse's back first, steadying the reins he somehow snagged and wrangled onto it.

He moves the horse effortlessly, before leaning two hands down for you to grab. You take the upper one and the lower arm loops around your waist to rip you through the air and force you onto the horse in front of him. It’s an uncomfortable squeeze, and you’re forced into the warm embrace of his chest and arms as he readjusts the reins. 

Sukuna doesn’t say anything, however. Opting to keep his lower arms by your sides to ensure you didn’t slip off and vanish in the night, his upper arms guide the horse back towards the forest; away from the farmer’s house and away from the shrine.

“Where are we going?” You ask after around ten minutes on horseback, and Sukuna huffs out a heavy sigh on top of your head. 

“You’ll find out when we get there.” He offers bluntly, it had hardly been ten minutes and he was fed up with this predicament already it seemed.

So you huff out your own sigh, crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child and you think you feel the rumble of a low laugh in his chest from where you’re pressed into it. The night is quiet except for the hooves of the horse that keeps up a steady pace despite the two people it carries, the forest surrounding you is silent. 

There’s no feeling of eyes on you, not like the forest that surrounded the temple. Instead, it feels very lonely, was it survivors' guilt perhaps? You were the lone survivor of an attack on the shrine, and Sukuna had kept you alive, but for what purpose? Was he still going to kill and eat you? Or maybe he’d find a new fun game by keeping you alive to torment you about what you had done? 

“What about Uraume?” You ask after some time, the uphill climb has you leaning more into Sukuna’s chest but he doesn’t seem to care by his lack of comment on the weight you press into him. 

“They’ll find me. They always do.” 

“Will the Shogun find us again?” Sukuna hums in response to that question at first, his fingers twitching at your sides for a moment. 

“Probably. Especially after they find the aftermath of their attempt to kill me.”

You nod your head at that, not quite sure if Sukuna can even see you from your place beneath his chin. Your fingers itch at your now dried bloodied clothes, picking at parts of the flaky red to watch it crumble and fall away into the darkness. 

“What happened, after I left.” His question catches you off guard, enough to keep you stunned in silence for a moment. He prompts you to speak again with a rough jab of a finger into your ribs. 

“A man found me. A Samurai, I guess. But he wasn’t like any Samurai I’ve met before.” 

“Met a lot of Samurai, have you?” 

“...Some.” You offer, you didn’t quite feel like offering up your name and heritage to a man who seemed hellbent on killing the Shogun’s army for whatever reason. 

“Continue.” Sukuna gruffs, and the now downhill climb has him pressing you forward and his breath blows hotly against the top of your head. 

“He could stop my attacks before they even hit him. I didn’t understand it. And then he could… make light appear from his fingers? But it wasn’t light. It was more like…”

“Energy.” Sukuna finishes your sentence for you. 

“Yes, energy. But somehow I managed to catch him off guard, and stabbed him with your Naginata.” 

Sukuna hums quietly again in contemplation. You suspected him to be angry at the fact you practically stole and used his weapon but he doesn’t seem to comment on it.

“His name. Tell me it.”

“Sugawara Michizane.” 

The growl that rumbles through Sukuna’s chest vibrates aggressively against your back. It sounds like distant thunder and it spooks the horse into bucking a little on the spot before it’s soothed with a gentle brush of your hand on its neck. Why had that name caused such a reaction from Sukuna?

“...Did you know him?”

“Did? You killed him?” He sounded so incredulous in the way he said that, as if he didn’t quite believe it to be true.

The reminder makes you squirm a little in your spot, prompting Sukuna to huff a breath of annoyance into your hair. “I think so.”

“He’s most definitely still alive. I’ve been trying to kill that bastard for years. Every time he seems to just pop back up, like a weed.” 

The silence washes over the both of you again, and you’re thankful to be back on level ground as Sukuna leans out of your space and you can finally breathe again. It felt odd to be conversing with him like this, maybe it was just the forced proximity that was allowing you to speak so freely. You can’t imagine he would’ve entertained it back at the shrine, he would’ve most likely removed your tongue and had you eat it. 

“Rest,” Sukuna says after some time, your head lolling uselessly backwards against his shoulder only to pop right back up when you realised you were falling asleep. “We’ll be travelling for quite some time. Rest.”

His voice is a deep rich sound, something that sounds like silk against your ears. Maybe he was doing that on purpose, lowering his voice so you could feel the deep timbre of it until it turned your brain to goop. You don’t fight your instincts this time when you lean back into him, the back of your head finding a resting spot against the muscle of his chest. 

The rhythmic beat of hooves on the ground and the heartbeat behind you soothes you into a slumber, your eyes slipping closed slowly until you’re plunged into a dreamless sleep. With your guard lowered so much, you hardly pay attention to the arm that loops around your waist to hold you firmly in place whilst you rest.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[bittersweetorpheus]

☆ LIFE, DEATH, AND REBIRTH ☆

☆ AUTHORS NOTES ☆

(This ended up getting written from Dottore’s POV. The God featured here is reader.)

😋 SACRILEGIOUS DOTTORE X DEITY!READER ???!!!!

I know I’ve been going for M.O.N.T.H.S but I came back to drop this and leave again. I was chatting with a dottore bot on character.ai which got my brain juices flowinggg so I had to open my computer and write this!

P.S: a certain part of this fic was inspired by one of hoyoverses other games *cough* HONKAI STAR RAIL *cough* 🤭. The real ones know which part it is ‼️💪

☆ CONTENT WARNINGS ☆

Death, gore, corpse, body horror aspects, sumeru archon quest spoilers

Dottore would admit that he wasn’t the least bit religious. Unlike the families that would give thanks before each meal and the Tsaritsa who believed Celestia should be struck down for trying to gain authority while You were absent, he couldn’t care less.

Afterall, however powerful they were, Archons could still die, so what was the difference between them when they all succumbed to the hands of death in the end? Was it power? No, he, himself, had created a being powerful enough to host the Gnosis of Kusanali, the Dendro Archon. Was it their life span? No, he, himself, had managed to create doubles of himself, all from different points in his life.

So in short, he didn’t spare a thought for the Archons, left alone The Creator. This, of course, did not help his nefarious reputation by any means, but he spared it no thoughts.

He did however grow curious about the abilities about this so called Creator when rumors about their descent started. Now, he finds himself in his main laboratory in the Tsaritsa’s palace with The Creator sitting on the examination table across from him- mind you, the cot that he had stained with blood just a week or two ago.

Now that he thinks about it, he never got around to cleaning it.

“Well?” The voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He turns to look at them.

They wear a veil made out of a material he’s never seen before. Its sheer enough for him to make out the outline of Their face if he squints, but not more than that. Their clothes are made of the same material and seem to flow and move on their own, as if gusts of wind are constantly blowing at their garments.

Even if They aren’t The Creator, they’re definitely something far from mortal.

“Your blood is certainly unlike any I’ve ever seen before. It’s as if you melted cor lapis and combined it with crushed star sliver, but it glows like lumenstone. I wonder if it has any affect on organisms of this world, or if it just looks like this and nothing else.” He observes.

They chuckle dryly, “why don’t you drink it and find out?”

He grimaces beneath his mask, he’d rather not chug down a nefarious bodily liquid at 2 in the morning from someone who he dosen’t care much for.

Not that They were unattractive, of course. He would go far enough to say They were probably the only one who made him take more than a few glances at. No hard feelings, he just dosen’t care much for The Creator… or fakers.

They seem to pick up his feelings about what They just said and glide down from the examination table.

“Or would you rather I show you some properties of my blood myself?” They ask, pointing their intricate fan towards the corpse of his previous patient across the lab from them.

That fan had gotten Pantalone and Ningguang into an amusing biding war against each other, each hoping to gift it to The Creator. In the end, The Creator caught wind of it and ended up setting up a business meeting to stop the nonsensical month-long biding war. They left with a blush on their face and both several times richer. Apparently The Creator had managed to get them to get along and turn the business meeting from about one about a fan to an important business meeting that helped both of them build important business connections with each other.

“Give me the vial,” They command.

He’s already walken over to Them and given Them the vial before he realizes what he did.

They pour the vial of their ichor over the corpse and it springs to life in an instant, screaming and moving away from Dottore.

It seems like the people they revive retain their memories, Dottore notes.

“Are you satisfied now? Or is there something more that you’re expecting?” They ask him. He can’t see their face through the veil but he gets the uncanny feeling that they’re staring straight through his very soul.

“I’ll admit that this is quite fascinating, however, it’s… unexpected, to say the least.” He admits.

“Oh? Why is that?” They drawl.

He gets the feeling that they’re probably smirking right now.

“While some legends do say that The Creator’s ichor heals and even resuscitates people, most them say that even a drop of The Creator’s ichor could bring about the cataclysm.

Once, he had wondered if that had been the start of the cataclysm, or if it was just another fabrication.

“Hm, is that how this world sees my ichor?” They hum, “well, every universe has different theories about me.”

“Oh? Then is it true? Can a drop of your ichor cause the end of this universe?” He says, teasingly, or mockingly- he dosen’t really know either.

“It depends on the mood I’m in,” They reply.

Yeah, They’re definitely smirking right now.

“But I suppose with the type of person you are, you wouldn’t believe me unless you saw it with your own eyes,” They say, snapping their fingers, “come, my darling Zandik.”

He raises his eyebrow at that. That definitely caught him off guard, all right, however, what catches him more off guard is the portal that appears in his lab.

He takes one last glance at his laboratory. This chance only comes once in a life time, after all. Even if They aren’t what They say They are, at least he’s getting some entertainment out of this.

He steps into the portal after them. Curiosity killed the cat, or whatever ridiculous saying there is, but he’s in one piece when he steps out of the portal.

He gives himself a quick glance over. No new limbs sprouting from his body.

He takes in his surroundings. He seems to be in a universe with buildings that look similar to Liyue’s but with flying ships and surrounded by more advanced technology than he can take in.

“Look.” The Creator commands, pointing to guards dresses in what he would assume is this world’s armor.

On a side note, they’ve arrived on a huge tree overlooking the middle of a battle.

Some soldiers crouch with their hands over their heads. Looking closer, Dottore can see branches sprouting from inside their armor, (their bodies?), and growing outwards. Slowly, they all collapse and become afflicted with the same condition as them, sprouting foliage from their bodies with a grotesque scream.

Sensing his confusion, The Creator launches into a story.

“Not many people know this, but I don’t create the universes and worlds all by myself. This world was a case where I got bored and decided to create another god, or Archon, as you call them in your world, to have them shape this world instead. Whilst they was shaping this world, they grew more and more attached to the mortals in this world. They approached me and told me that everytime a mortal that he loved past away, their heart grew heavier and heavier. They begged me for a sample of my ichor, believing that if the mortals started drinking my ichor in place of water, they would remain immortal and everlasting, just like me. I warned them of the risk but he stayed adamant. I loved them, so I gave them my blood.” The Creator seemed to wilt in sadness. “Instead of being ‘gifted’ eternal life like they thought the mortals would be, the mortals became struck with a curse where, when they died, their body would start decomposing like it would a normal dead one, but they were still alive. In a last ditch attempt to save their people, the god sacrificied themself to me, hoping that their sacrifice would convince me to help their people. I buried the god in the earth we’re on right now, and the power imbued in the earth was the cause of the foliage growing from the mortals… or immortals now, I suppose.”

“Dottore stayed silent for a few beats after their story, “then if you’re The Creator, will you ever die?”

“It depends on what your definition of ‘death’ is,” The Creator replied, “I’ve died millions of times, over and over again and will continue to do so, but then again, I’ve also never died a single time and will never die. I am not the god of life, death, and rebirth, I am the concept itself. Everything comes from me and everything will return to me in the end because I am everything.”

The Creator slowly removed their veil, and reality itself seemed to break the more of Their face that They revealed. They looked him in the eyes, and it felt like he was looking at everything and nothing at the same time. He could see the void in their eyes, a place of nothingness, but also everything that was happening in the universe at the same time.

They put their veil back on. “Well, did that satisfy your curiosity, my darling mad scientist?”

Dottore could feel his heart speed up, an unfamiliar feeling filling his chest- Oh Creator, is he religious now? Well, whatever he might be now, he thinks hes not so against drinking nefarious bodily liquid after all.

[bluginkgo]

Episode 7 Teaser is out and it gave me too many crack theories

Well, after finally getting my head wrapped around the entire teaser- which took literal hours to process how amazing it all looked- I think I finally found the ability to put it into words.

Spoilers, duh and uh lots of words, so sorry

This'll be somewhat frame by frame crack down as well as crack theories that came to me while spending time looking at the red images too long that gave me a headache - anyways

As many have mentioned this before, V's corpse is gone, and only a sentinel's tail remains on the ground to the right. Although I wish to believe that V made it out alive, that hope is quickly dwindling. Although there is a small possibility that V somehow won the fight (perhaps with outside help such as J) and dragged herself away (based off of the splatter on the ground) I more so think that she turned into an eldritch V. That or perhaps has been mauled by the sentinels, and the body was dragged off. Although, I can not wait for Liam to prove me wrong about this theory (I hope he proves me wrong, cause I miss V ;w;)

The ground looking hall seems to be where the gang will enter right after exiting the elevator. Alongside this, it seems that the moment with N is also here (based on the background). Now, as for the look that N gives. It goes from worried and slightly scared to harsh concern (in my opinion, feel free to take that thought and yeet it as far as you wish ^_^). Something made him worry in a way that also slightly flared his anger. Two theories:

He saw something ahead of them, and this is the more likely possibility, because that tunnel gives way to the cave that N seems to have been dragged into from the teaser from November.

2. Uzi might have said something that made him more concerned. There is a figure that moves behind N, but it is very hard to see as to who it is- my guess it's Tessa, making Uzi the only candidate to possibly to walk in front of them.

Then we get to see this hole.

Possibility (also a bit wacky and highly unlikely): The entity will finally be revealed, that is, the center of the absolute solver. Something I noticed with the design of the absolute solver is that we get to see its limbs, but never the main body. It is always hiding somewhere, be it in the ceiling or the walls. Of course, there are also the eldritch forms we saw of Cyn, but in my opinion, it feels more like another limb. Now, with J's huge form, I'm a little more inclined to believe that's what it looks like as the main body. Holo spooky snake crab like.

Not to be dramatic, but... Core collapse, which made me chuckle. Because despite all hell breaking loose in these last couple episodes, Murder Drones still manages to sneak in tiny jokes like this. Oh, and I can't forget the dog too! XD

Something I still cannot grasp my head around is what is going on with the environment around the cathedral?? It's raining, but it's in a cave- ok can be sorta explained that it acts like a stalactite... but then what is going on with the vortex around the building? My current theory: uhhh... robo-satan, that is all.

A lot of scenes with humans and in a clear view (i.e. not like a video tape). This might suggest a flashback as many have already mentioned it. However, who, how, and why is there a flashback? Well, there is one crack theory I came up with. This is what Uzi is seeing. She is an absolute solver host, and it has been seen on multiple occasions that absolute solver has a hivemind, so it can easily show its hosts whatever memories its previous hosts had.

These next scenes I believe to be in the progression as shown.

@/haastera (don't want to bother them with a tag) also pointed this out, that these scenes may be back to back, based off of the lamp that is off to Uzi's left. However, what the heck would cause Uzi to snap like she did in ep4?

Uzi saw something in the tape that made her upset, the possibility of N killing Nori. Cons in that theory: N killed Nori post core collapse, and there would not be any evidence of it.

The tape had something that was similar to zombie drones tape that was marked "Don't show this to drones, they will not like it." Something in the tape may have forced boot the solver string in Uzi, and she was powerless to stop it. Cons: @bloodywolfwings mentioned to me that the reflection in Uzi's visor seems to be a door instead of a screen. So there's also the 50% chance that these two scenes are not even related.

MA'AM YOU PUT THAT SWORD AWAY, UZI HAS IT BAD ENOUGH MA'AM- in all seriousness, this is a 50/50 shot once again. Maybe Tessa is attempting to get rid of Uzi while N is gone. The opposite end of that is Tessa is attempting to help Uzi, perhaps an enemy that Uzi did not sense behind her.

These two scenes are related, I believe- the claw is hard to see behind the cross, but it is there, and not to mention that Dr. Chambers is wearing a camera on his head. However, there's more to it after I stared at it for a while. The absolute solver claw appears to be burning and glitching, this is only seen with DDs and solver drones when they are exposed to the sun. Perhaps the humans were slowly getting better at controlling the absolute solver, with some sort of power equivalent to the sun. But in the end, their efforts were useless, seeing as Nori still destroyed everything there.

We have seen these two scenes already, so not much to dissect here. Just NUzi being NUzi :3 while all hell breaks loose

This scene had me so confused at first.

I could not figure out what was going on with the cars. Cars are outside, our gang is in a cathedral, what happened- That's it. This is outside. And as many have already mentioned this, there are drones in the background so far identified as Lizzy and perhaps Thad. (I say perhaps Thad because my dumb brain won't let go of the idea that the drone on the left is Khan. Look, my brain said 'I think I see a mustache' and now I can't unsee it.) Either way, this is outside and the gravity has decided to take a break (as RedMage put it in the nuzi discord server). It seems that the gang will do something, or something drastic will happen (perhaps a second core collapse) that will cause the gravity of copper-9 to become unstable. So maybe the episode will end with the possibility that copper-9 is about to collapse like Earth did, as the gang tries to stop that event from happening.

Ahem, allow me a second of: FERAL N FERAL N FERAL N FERAL N- ok, I'm done for now. As many have pointed out, this may be the moment that N killed Nori, and Uzi might have to relive through that experience as the absolute solver shows Uzi everything that has happened up until now. His smile is not the one we've seen up until now when he's in his murder drone mode, but more of a smirk. Another theory I came up with is that when Uzi becomes possessed by the absolute solver, perhaps by default, N does too. Uzi is now N's admin, and if the admin is corrupted, there is nothing to keep N's solver string in his ai from fully corrupting him. However, there's a hole here.

The X on the visor generally means that there is a string in the drone's core is faulty and not functioning. This is because when the solver string attempts to take possession of the DDs, the admin program switches it to false and gives the faulty os string sign on the visors. That has to mean the admin program is still up and running, which pushes the theory of this scene being a flashback of N killing Nori, more likely.

Uzi's eye has burst, it seems, just like Yeva's. So now the question is, why does it do that? Doll also covered her eye, perhaps to conceal the damage that is already there. Theory: this happens because the solver inside of the drones is constantly attempting to get out of the host. It has been seen that it does destroy the bodies from ep5. And it seems that the red goop is what Uzi's attempting to hold back on her eye. It might be oil, but what makes me believe otherwise is the fact that it doesn't look liquid-like enough. Granted, that scene is literally 1 second, so the movement that may be there is really hard to grasp.

Doll HAS MADE A RETURN! And she's fighting someone with knives is what it seems like. Thoughts on who it might be? Literally, anyone in the gang, there is not much to go off of here. But to dissect it further, it could be like this:

Uzi- because she teamed up with Tessa and a DD, and it seems like Doll and the gang have separate goals, which upsets Doll and causes the fight.

N- another DD that had caused a lot of pain and suffering for WD when they first arrived to copper-9. So why not get rid of him as well while she's at it.

Tessa- the main character that seems to be very suspicious about every action. We know very little about her, and even more so what happened to her post gala massacre. Perhaps Tessa discloses the idea of killing every drone that is on the list of the drones experimented on. This will include Yeva and, therefore, Doll.

Now as for THIS.

That is a drone, for certain, now as to who it is, is really hard to guess. There is clearly a helmet on the drone, so it kinda narrows it down. Routes:

This is part of a flashback:

Nori or Yeva- one of the stronger solver drones that needed a better way of controlling/containing them. Backed up by the balconies/cat walks that are on the corners of the screen.

Some other poor drones- An even crazier idea of mine would be that the people were, in fact, worshipping the absolute solver. This is what happens to the heretics. Either that, or this was some sick way of worshipping the solver.

This is real-life time: Doll is the number 1 candidate, how she got to be like this, though... there are some possibilities.

Doll's solver form is taking control/form.

Uzi and Doll had a fight (consciously or not, solver might have forced a fight), with this being the outcome.

It's late for me. The amount of crack theories that have been bouncing around in my head is unreal. More than half of them are probably most likely wrong. Once again, take all of my theories and yeet them into the stratosphere if you wish ^_^ These will be mostly here just to come back to and see how wrong I was about everything.

[rabidbatboy]

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titles;

identities; (links)

requested by; @/user / END PT]

[graveboywalking]

★彡[ɢᴏᴛʜɪᴄ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ɪᴅ ᴘᴀᴄᴋ]彡★

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜:

Ruby ⛧ Absentia ⛧ Scarlet ⛧ Raven ⛧ Dolly ⛧ Lilith ⛧ Brutus ⛧ Isaiah ⛧ Virgil ⛧ Vincent ⛧ Alastair ⛧ Bellatrix ⛧ Robin ⛧ Anastasia ⛧ Dahlia ⛧ Desdemona ⛧ Belial ⛧ Morte ⛧ Narcissa ⛧ Nyx ⛧ Wren ⛧ Willow ⛧ Damien ⛧ Gabriel ⛧ Salem ⛧ Zane ⛧ Osiris ⛧ Lazarus ⛧ Jasper ⛧ Blair ⛧ Crow ⛧ Obsidian ⛧ Rain ⛧ Saber ⛧ Zephyr ⛧

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜:

Xe/Xem/Xyr/Xyrself Cor/Corpse/Corpses/Corpself Gore/Gores/Goreself Haunt/Haunts/Hauntself Necro/Necros/Necroself Vamp/Vamps/Vampself Wit/Witch/Witchs/Witches/Witchself Ghost/Ghosts/Ghostself Ghoul/Ghouls/Ghoulself Spoo/Spooks/Spookself Voi/Void/Voidself Aby/Abyss/Abysself Cree/Creeps/Creepy/Creepself Emp/Empty/Emptys/Emptyself Goth/Goths/Gothself Grave/Graves/Graveself Tomb/Tombs/Tombself Blood/Bloods/Bloodself Fog/Fogs/Fogself Grim/Grims/Grimself Gloo/Gloom/Glooms/Gloomself Wilt/Wilts/WiltedWiltself Nyx/Nyxs/Nyxself Doo/Doom/Dooms/Doomself Bone/Bones/Boneself Dread/Dreads/Dreadself Rot/Rots/Rotself Cat/Cats/Catself BlackCat/Black/Cat/BlackCats/Cats/BlackCatself

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜:

Gothgender ⛧ Gothcoric ⛧ Redlipgothian/Blacklipgothian ⛧ Gothpresentic ⛧ Gothity ⛧ Gothbodiment ⛧ Tradgothic Graveboywalking IS CURRENTLY MAKING MORE GOTH-THEMED GENDERS !!

𝚃𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜:

Black The Cat ⛧ Dead Cat Walking ⛧ (Name) The Dead ⛧ Psychological Goth ⛧ Horror Game Home ⛧ The Dark One ⛧ The One Who Comes Out At Night ⛧ (Name)'s Grave ⛧ (Name) Horror ⛧ (Name)'s Horrors ⛧ Dead On The Scene ⛧ Walking Dead ⛧ The Evil One

[fairy-writes]

GOD KILLER

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing(s): Gojo Satoru x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): God Killer!Gojo, Female!Reader, Gore, Kidnapping (not by Gojo), Fantasy AU?? Idk how to tag this

Notes: CHANGING A LOT OF JJK LORE FOR THIS FANTASY AU (mostly how some characters die or whatever)

Also, forgive the action in this. I’m rubbish at pacing and fighting.

Will most likely continue this in a part two :)

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The man before you held a sword covered in golden ichor. The brilliant golden fluids coated his body from head to toe in a blazing glorious spray, soaking his snow-white hair. He stood over the body of a god with his back to you. You back up a step, nearly tripping over the fabric of your dress, only to step on a twig on the mossy forest floor. 

The crack of the breaking sprig is deafening in the silence. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, the man turns, and you see his eyes. 

Oh, his eyes. 

They are a brilliant icy blue and stare at you with such intensity that you feel like you’ve been stripped bare before him. As if he’s pulling all your secrets out of your feeble grasp. 

And he’s coming closer. 

You stumble backward and trip over a rock, dropping your offerings to the gods among the roots and stones as you go crashing to the ground. There’s a slight sting in the palms of your hands, but you don’t care. You scramble backward as the man all but stalks toward you with his ichor-covered sword in his hand. 

All the while, those eyes watch your every move. 

You throw up your hands in front of your face as he raises his sword in a futile attempt to protect yourself. Your eyelids squeeze shut as you pray to whatever god was listening that you would survive this to make it home to your family. 

After a second. Then two. You open your eyes. The sword is stopped a mere few centimeters from your face. You can smell the stink of the god’s blood dripping from the blade, and a drop falls onto your nose. It burns. You hurriedly wipe it off and swallow, realizing abruptly that your hands sting something fierce. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice shakes the very earth beneath your feet, and you shiver at the sound. 

“G—giving an offering to the gods.” You whisper. You had been trekking through the forest up the path on your way to the place where offerings were well… offered. 

The man rolled his eyes and scoffed, pulling out a cloth to wipe off the gold on his blade. Then he sheathes the weapon with a flick of his wrist and swats down before you. The ichor is beginning to dry in his hair, if only barely. It accentuates the blueness of his eyes, making them all the more intense. He holds out a hand, and you stare at the unblemished skin. There aren’t even any callouses. You weren’t expecting clear skin from someone who had just slain a god. 

“Give me your hands.” He says calmly, and your own hands shake as you place them palm up in his. They were scraped and bleeding. You must’ve banged them on a rock when you fell. The man reaches into a pouch at his side and pulls out a vial of clear liquid. He pulls out the stopper and dribbles a drop or two on each injured palm. 

You watch the skin melt into seamless flesh and bone, not an injury in sight. All that’s left behind is the drying blood in the crevices of your hands.

Once satisfied, the man turns your hands to check the backs and then gives you a once over to presumably make sure you weren’t injured further. He stands and turns, reaching down as he reaches the corpse and grabs it by the hair. You turn your head away as he draws his sword for a second time and cuts the corpse at the neck. The spray hits the grass in front of you, and the grass wilts. The body disintegrates into ash.

“W—wait!” You cry out and scramble to your feet. The man halts and turns only his head to look at you out of the corner of his eye. You swallow thickly and clasp your hands together in front of you, twisting your fingers together as you hope not to get killed.

“What.” It isn’t a question. It’s a demand. A demand as to why you were wasting his time.

“Why help me?” Because you have to know. The man shrugs, the ichor leaking from the stump of the decapitated head he holds in his hand. 

“Because mortals have no place in this.” He says and quite literally disappears. 

The man before you is frustratingly familiar, but you can’t place where you’ve seen him. He’s dressed more extravagantly than you’ve seen anyone dress before. But like you can’t place where you’ve seen him before, you can’t place where you’ve seen his clothes before.

An elaborate black tunic hemmed with silver, plain black pants, soft leather boots, and an intricate belt around his middle with a sword at his side. The hilt is ornate and beautiful, with the head of a dragon on the pommel and awe-striking blue gems for the dragon’s eyes. You can’t see his eyes; they were covered by a swath of bandages wrapped around them, making his hair stick up toward the sky. 

Was he a knight? 

You narrow your eyes and go to shut the front door. 

“We don’t cater to knights here.” You say quickly, and he wedges a hand between the door and the doorframe before you can shut it. 

“I just need a place to spend the night. Just for one night.” He pleads, and you roll your eyes, but not before taking note of the unblemished skin on his hand. Didn’t knights have callouses from their swordwork? Was he a fraud?

You hear your name and turn to see your father approaching, concern decorating his face.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, and you nod, forcing a smile on your face as you slam the door shut on the knight’s fingers. You can hear his pained squawk through the heavy wood. 

“Just fine. A knight was just leaving.” You reply, and your father hums, rubbing a hand through his graying beard. 

“A knight, hm?” He says teasingly, and you huff but step aside so he can open the door. 

The man is still there, cradling his injured hand and a pout prominent on his lips. You don’t have to see through his makeshift blindfold to know he’s watching you as you stand just behind your father. 

“We don’t cater to knights here.” Your father says gruffly, a stern tone indicating there was no room for argument. 

“I’m not a knight! Just a weary traveler looking for a place to spend the night!” He says indignantly, and you hide a scowl. Knight or not, you didn’t want him here.

But it was evident your father had other plans. 

It wasn’t long before the man’s horse was tied in your family stable, and he was in your home, seated at the dinner table. Your sister is by the fireplace, stirring the massive pot of stew nestled in the coals. Your two younger brothers are enamored by the man who simply calls himself “Gojo” and who you are still not entirely convinced is not a knight. 

He’s positively enraptured your brothers, regaling a story of how he killed a dragon. 

Hmph.

What a stupid thought. No one could kill a dragon!

The more you heard of Gojo’s stories, the more you believed he was telling a load of horse shit. No one could kill dragons. No one could tame unicorns or kelpies. No one could kill gods. 

At least… that’s what you wanted to believe. 

That’s what you would have believed had you not seen the man with white hair decapitate one before your very eyes. 

Wait…

You narrow your eyes and watch as Gojo gestures wildly, telling yet another story. This one about a gorgon that could turn people to stone if they looked into its eyes. 

The white hair. 

The sword. 

The bandages hiding his eyes. 

Was this the man who had killed the god?

You confront him after everyone is in bed. You go out to the stable, where he’s whispering softly to his horse. His horse is beautiful. A charger if you remembered your horses correctly. The animal is tall and white, just like his hair. It had piercing blue eyes that matched the man who had killed the god. You stand in the stables' doorway, spying your black palfrey in his stall. 

Gojo’s horse whinnies and tosses its head. Gojo turns, hand straying to the dragon-headed pommel of his sword until he spots you, wrapped in your dressing gown over your night chemise. 

“It’s dangerous for ladies like you to be out and about after dark.” He quips, and you huff out a dry laugh.

“I’m perfectly safe. I just had a question.” You say curtly, and he pats his horse on the neck before offering a flirty grin. 

“And what kind of question can I answer for the lady of the house?” He says, and you shrug, scuffing your slippered feet against the packed dirt floor.

“Have we met before?” 

“What makes you think that?” He says carefully, the same casual tone thick in his words. But you can tell it’s fake. 

“I guess I should rephrase the question.” You say, not meeting his gaze. “Are you the one who killed the god?”

Instantly, the mood changes. You can tell Gojo tightens his grip on his sword hilt and cocks his head to the side, feigning stupidity. 

“What makes you think that?” He says lowly, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. He sounds dangerous. 

“It’s just… well… you had the same hair. And the same sword, I think. It’s hard to tell when you aren’t covered in gold.” The words spill out one after another until they’re a mess of sounds that you can barely decipher. 

But Gojo doesn’t seem bothered by your word vomit. He keeps his hand on his sword but dips into a deep bow. 

“You caught me.” He says nonchalantly as if he had been caught stealing sweets from the market down the street. 

You take a step forward, and he straightens to his full height. He towers over you, and you suddenly feel very small. 

“Why? They are here to bless us, aren’t they?” You whisper, and he seems to stare at you dumbly through his bandages. 

Then he begins to laugh. 

And laugh.

And laugh. 

He holds his forehead as he giggles, and you frown. Had you said something wrong? Just as you are about to ask him what he finds so funny, his laughter stops, and he leans down until your noses almost touch. 

“Remember this little mouse.” He says, and you feel a jolt down your back. Had the temperature dropped? You could almost see the white plume of your breath. 

“Wh—”

“The gods are here for their own gain. Not for you.” He says and turns back to his horse. 

You stand there dumbfounded and blink once, then twice. The cold atmosphere dissipates, and you shiver as warmth returns to your fingertips. Gojo is back to cooing at his horse who seems unperturbed by the sudden change in mood. 

“What’s your horse’s name?” You ask suddenly, unsure as to why you are still speaking to this man. He scared you. Something deep and primordial told you to run and never see this man again. 

But that wasn’t exactly possible, seeing as he was staying at your home for the night. 

“Hm? Oh, her name? It’s Infinity.”

Gojo stays a lot longer than one night.

But, oddly enough, you find yourself not minding one bit. He entertains your younger brothers and frees up time so you can actually go to the market and get food for the week. Typically, it’s a hassle, with your father working in the fields and your brothers not yet old enough to accompany him. But with Gojo around, they obediently follow after him like baby ducks, goading him for more stories or to show them moves with his sword. 

You don’t miss how he carefully evades their questions about his past and his sword. But he’s all too eager to tell stories. 

And now that you know that he’s the one who killed the god, you find his stories all the more plausible. Had he really tamed kelpies and unicorns? Had he truly slain dragons and other gods?

You get your answer nearly a month later. 

Eclipse whinnies as you duck under a branch. For once, Brigit, down the street, has agreed to watch your brothers and give you a much-needed break from the little terrors that are your younger siblings. 

Infinity returns the sound from slightly up ahead, and you watch Gojo ride his horse easily over logs and under branches. He holds the reins in one hand, and the other rests comfortably on his sword pommel. You had noticed that he does that more often than not. Almost as if he’s anticipating a fight at every turn. 

Which judging by his stories, he likely does. 

All of a sudden, Gojo tugs the reins, and Infinity comes to a stop. Eclipse follows suit before you even have the chance to use his reins. 

“What—” Gojo cuts you off with a quick “quiet!” and tilts his head this way and that as if listening for something. 

At least… He’s listening for something until a monster jumps out from the bushes.

It’s massive and grotesque, with branches for eyes and a built white body that has the flora melting with the ooze. It has maggots falling off its bones and reeks of disaster.

“Get back!” Gojo bellows, and you flinch at the sound. It’s as if the earth has cracked open at the sound of his voice and swallowed you whole. But you yank on the reins, and Eclipse reared back with a scream.

Gojo draws his sword with a whisper of steel on leather and nudges Infinity with his heels. The white mare plunges forward into a gallop without hesitation, with complete and utter trust in her master.

Eclipse turns and gallops away, a frightened toss of his head the only indication of what he is feeling. You hold tight to the reins, ducking low over his neck to avoid being thrown off as he leaps over logs and under branches, praying to the gods the entire time. Eventually, you manage to get your horse under control to turn back.

Because, of course, you have to. You have to make sure Gojo is okay. 

But you don’t end up having to worry. Because as you draw near, you smell it. The scent of something acrid and rotting. 

The smell of something dead. 

You cover your nose with your handkerchief from your dress pocket and dismount, tying Eclipse to a tree as you carefully pick your way over the growing carnage. 

Because that’s what it is. 

All you see are the hacked-apart bits of the body. Every slice is clean, but the creature is cut to ribbons. You feel some of the organs squish under your shoes, and for once, you’re grateful you’re wearing trousers and riding boots rather than your everyday dresses and slippers.

But there’s something wrong. 

The blood is black as tar and just as thick, too. Your boots start to steam and you realize very quickly it’s eating through the stiff leather. You scramble on top of a rock and kick off your boots. They quite literally melt into the sludge with a hiss. You blink and look around you and spot Gojo.

His side profile is just as messy as the surrounding area. But his skin isn’t steaming with the black ichor, nor is it melting off. He’s simply… fine. As is Infinity. She’s nosing around in the blood as if looking for sugar cubes amongst the massacre.

Gojo notices you staring. He sheaths his sword and meanders his way over.

“Are you okay?” You blurt, and he stops, barking out a surprised laugh.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that little mouse? You’re the one without shoes at the moment.” He says teasingly, and you feel your ears burn as you cough awkwardly.

“It was either that or lose my feet entirely.” You retort, and he just grins, then whistles for Infinity to come over. Her coat is pristine white save for her muzzle, which is covered in black.

Had she been… eating the corpse?

You were too scared to ask.

Something was off about Gojo and his horse.

And you were going to get to the bottom of it.

It doesn’t take long for him to scoop you up princess-style in his arms and deposit you onto Infinity’s back. You gripped tightly to the reins and saddle horn as he led his war horse through the slaughter toward where Eclipse was waiting.

“What was that?” You end up asking as you mount your own horse, and you both set off down the trail back toward your home. Gojo is quiet for once, not prattling on and filling the silence as he watches the terrain with careful, bandaged eyes.

“A fallen god.” He says eventually, and you tug Eclipse to a stop. Infinity goes several more paces before realizing that her friend isn’t following her and stops as well, ears flicking in confusion.

“… Such a thing exists?” You whisper, and he nods, turning his steed around and making his way back to your side. 

“Yes. If enough people stop praying to them, they fall from grace. Sometimes they change form, like that one did, and some don’t.” He says, gently working the reins from your ironclad grip and leading your horse onward.

You don’t say another word the rest of the way home.

You are interrupted in your nightly prayers by a noise from the entryway.

Frowning, you end your prayer and get to your feet, leaving the altar with your offerings and pad with bare feet to the entrance of the prayer room.

You were alone. Or at least you should’ve been.

The stone floor is cold against your toes, and you quickly press yourself against the wall of the shrine as a shadow creeps into the doorway. The monster is short with a strangely shaped head and only one eye. 

And that one eye is staring directly at you.

The scream ripped from your throat wakes the birds nesting in the trees, and they scatter with an eruption of feathers and panic. You turn and run, nearly tripping over the hem of your chemise in your haste to get away.

But the hand on your wrist is scorching hot and rough with callouses. You scream again and kick at the knees of the demonic being with the ferocity of an unbroken horse. But it’s useless. The thing simply hauls you close with your arms pinned behind your back and grins with blackened teeth.

“Oh yes, you’ll do quite nicely.”

Contrary to what you thought would happen, you aren’t killed immediately. Instead, you were bound and taken to a cave on the north side of the mountain, opposite where you lived. The creature—was it a fallen god?—kept you within arms reach so if you decided to run, it could easily grab you.

But it wasn’t alone. 

There was a massive sea creature covered in a white cloth and a patchwork man who watched you with an interested look in his eyes. He all but skips closer and leans down, where you’re tossed unceremoniously against the cave wall. 

“Is this little thing really going to lure the God Killer out? She’s so tiny!” He complains, and the one-eyed creature scoffs,

“Of course she is. She was there when Hanami was killed.” It snaps. Should you be calling it a he? You had no idea. 

You flinch when the patchwork man grins a grin that has your skin crawling.

“I do hope the God Killer will come to rescue you. I’ve been itching for a good fight.” He muses, and you can only hope and pray that you are saved before he gets bored. 

Days pass. 

You are kept in the back of the cave, wrists and ankles bound, gagged, and watched in everything you do. Any movement was scrutinized and sometimes even punished, so you learned quickly to keep still and not say anything. 

But it doesn’t take long for the patchwork man to grow weary of waiting and to start to complain. 

At first, it was harmless. 

He’d throw himself around and whine about how bored he was getting, how he wanted the God Killer to show up, and how he wanted things to get exciting. He went on and on until he seemingly remembered that you existed and turned with a look on his face that you did not like. 

He reaches forward, grabs ahold of your tied hands (none too gently, mind you), and pulls you into a half-standing position. 

“How about we speed things up a bit, hm?” He grins, showing more teeth than a human should have. You pull away and cry out through the dirty rag stuffed in your mouth, but days without food nor water have made you weak, so fighting back is not an option. 

“Mahito! Put her down! The God Killer isn’t here yet!” The one-eyed being snaps. You had learned on the second day that his name was Jogo. He wasn’t kind. On the contrary, he had backhanded you more than once for trying to escape. A bruise swelled your cheek until it was tender and painful. But at least he didn’t look like he was about to kill you.

“But—” The sea creature burbled, and a bubble popped. Mahito let out a whine and leaned on the sea creature.

“But nothing! We—” Jogo was cut off by a noise. 

A twig breaking.

The trio froze in their tracks, and you look toward the mouth of the cave. 

Was it a wolf? Some sort of predator? You were positive any animal was staying far away from where you were. Something about the presence these three exuded. 

You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and the temperature drops. 

Was this…?

The ground cracks open, and hell spills forth in a torrent of wrath and rampage. 

Gojo rides out of the crack in the ground on the back of Infinity, wielding his dragon-headed sword, face twisted with fury and blue eyes darkened with rage. 

But something is strange…

You watch as the air in front of Infinity’s forehead shimmers, and a horn fades into existence. 

Was she a unicorn?

Gojo had said he had learned how to tame them…

The charger opened her mouth and screamed, exposing elongated canines that dripped with blood and spittle. 

Any semblance of cohesiveness from your captors dissolved at the sight of Gojo. 

The God Killer. 

Your savior. 

Gojo spots you. His eyes soften to a degree, and his harsh frown fades ever so slightly. 

“Did y’miss me?” He says with a quirk of the lips, and you start to cry. The God Killer dismounts and enters the cave. 

Jogo throws a hand forward with a cry of madness, and molten rock surges around Gojo’s feet but halts just at his heels. Gojo’s smile turns sardonic.

“Really? That’s the best you got?” He sneers and with a flick of the wrist, decapitates the one-eyed creature. 

The sea creature and Mahito back up a step before Mahito’s arm changes into a wickedly sharp blade, and suddenly, there’s a sword at your chin, and his other hand fists in your nightgown. He hauls you up into a standing position and backs up toward the back cave wall, where you know there’s a secret exit. 

They make it three paces before Gojo seemingly materializes behind you. The cave ceiling is so low that he almost has to duck to avoid hitting his head. But the God Killer doesn’t seem to care about hitting his head. He tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword and swings. Mohito blocks with a clumsy attempt at a parry and quickly drops you. You duck under their swinging blades and scramble toward where Infinity is waiting. 

You can almost touch her muzzle when something wraps around your ankles and yanks you to the ground. Your hair gets in your mouth, and you can taste blood as your face slams into the stone. 

Your nose is broken. You’re sure of it. Crimson gushes down your face as you turn to see what had tripped you. 

The sea creature. 

It has a tentacle wrapped firmly around your ankles, dragging you toward its open maw. Panic sets in, and you begin to struggle. Kicking and scratching what you can reach with your nails. The tentacles reach further up your body until they cover your nose, and you can no longer breathe.

Dark spots begin to swim in your vision after a few seconds, and your limbs feel like lead. Was there some kind of poison in the tentacles? Was that a thing? 

There’s a sharp whinny, and Infinity quite literally skewers the creature with her horn. It dies with a squeal, and you have to look away as she begins to eat it. Literally, she begins to tear at the corpse with her sharpened teeth. 

However, it’s the last thing you see as blackness overtakes your vision, and you pass out. 

You come to what seems like an eternity later, and you are astride Infinity with Gojo holding you steady in his arms. He has his bandages on again, hiding those brilliant blue eyes from your line of sight. He keeps his gaze pointed forward as he navigates through the rough terrain, though he does look down at you when he realizes you’re awake and grins.

“Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty returning to the land of the living!” He cheers, and you wince at the volume. 

“What happened?” You mumble, and he shrugs,

“You got kidnapped. I saved you.” He says proudly, as if he were a child who had just solved a difficult problem. 

Abruptly, you realize something.

“Were they all killed? Jogo and them, I mean.” You ask hurriedly, fear welling up when Gojo doesn’t reply right away. You reach up and grip his broad shoulder, shaking him lightly.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.” Is all he says, and spurs Infinity into a canter. 

You grab ahold of the reins and yank Inifinity to a stop. She lets out a discouraged neigh but stops nonetheless.

“Gojo, what happened to them. I saw you kill the one-eyed thing, and Infinity killed the other one, but what of the patchwork man?” You demand, and he grunts, dipping his head so his chin touches his chest. 

“He got away.” He snarls suddenly, and you flinch. 

“Were they all—”

“Fallen gods? Yes.” He cuts you off abruptly, and you can feel Infinity tense below you with her master’s anger.

You reach up and touch his face, just under the bandages wrapping his eyes. He tenses, even flinches a little, and stills. You loosen the wrappings and pull them down around his neck so he can look you in the eye unimpeded. His earth-shattering eyes are swimming with anger. 

But not at you. 

At himself.

You offer what you hope is a comforting smile.

“You saved my life. You’ll find him. I’m sure of it.” You say quietly, and he sighs, leaning down so his forehead bumps yours. Your smile turns into a grin as his own lips stretch into something soft and warm. 

“Thank you, little mouse.”

[maythray]

her GUTS !!! AHHHH!

[buntress]

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- ℤ𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕚𝕖 𝕀𝔻 ℙ𝕒𝕔𝕜 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Zombie ID Pack]

Req By :: Anon

TW :: Death + Gore, FR slur (Rhymes with Leak)

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Names]

Ash(er) // Arius // Bane // Brain // Clay // Corpse // Coffin // Doom // Echo // Frank(ie) // Ghost // Ghoul(ia) // Grave // Grim(m) // Hunter // Husk // Mona // Muerto // Necro(s) // Nyx // Rob // Rot // Saifu // Shade // Shadow // Shaun // Six // Skull // Slug // Tank // Thorne // Vex // Wren // Z // Zack // Zed // Zeke // Zob // Zon

Note :: As some of these names are from various cultures, please be mindful when picking a name for yourself! Do your research and such <3

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕤 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Pronouns]

Blood / Bloods / Bloodself || Bo / Bones / Boneself || Coff / Coffin / Coffins / Coffinself || Cor / Corpse / Corpses / Corpseself || Corr / Corrupt / Corrupts / Corruptself || Craw / Crawl / Crawls / Crawlself || Dea / Dead / Deads / Deadself || Decay / Decayed / Decays / Decayself || Di / Dir / Dirt / Dirtself || Freak / Freaks / Freakself || Ghou / Ghoul / Ghouls / Ghoulself || Gore / Gores / Goreself || Grim / Grime / Grimeself || Gut / Guts / Gutself || It / Its / Itself || Li / Lich / Lichs / Lichself || Nec / Necro / Necrom / Necroself || Rot / Rots / Rotself || Un / Dead / Undeadself || Zomb / Zombie / Zombies / Zombieself || 🧟 / 🧟s / 🧟self || 🪦 / 🪦s / 🪦self || ⚰️ / ⚰️s / ⚰️self || 🧠 / 🧠s / 🧠self || 🍖 / 🍖s / 🍖self

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- 𝕋𝕚𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕤 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Titles]

The Undead // One With Rotted Flesh // Zomb Who Came From The Earth // It Who Craves Flesh // The Living Corpse // Living Dead Girl // He Of Grime and Death // The Decaying Ghoul // The Risen Dead // The Infected // Hy Who Is Bitten // The Living Dead // Thon Of Putrid Remains // The Scourged // The Walker // The Rotted Zombie // Kie Of Rotted Remains // It Who Craves Brains

Note :: All pronouns can be replaced w/ your preferred pronouns!

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- 𝕃𝕒𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕤 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Labels]

// Aldercormangic // Aldercorpse // Bloodzombic // Corpsegender (HQ Flag) // Cutezombigoran // Deadboygender // Deadthing // Deaissmic // Deathing // Decomgender // Draugrgender // Fouscizte // Fuzzetix // Genderanimate // Genderverval // Genderzombie // Ghoulexic // Ghoulfrilled // Gravedeux // Gravelexic // Incordycepic // Livingdeadboygender // Lovizomb // Malizomb // Mortemgender // Neu/Fem/Mascdead // Notzombie // Zombie Omninoun // Zombie4Zombie // Zombiecoric // Zombiecorngender // Zombiegender // Zombieic // Zombieish // Zombiespiderman // Zombiething // ZOMBiN // Zombmedix // Zombnurse // Zombun/pup/catgender // Zomflodernic // Zomidolic // Zomroyalty

Note :: The first letter of each term is a link to that term!

[scythidol]

🐚 vampire inspired pronouns ✦

vamp/vamps . fang/fangs . bite/bites . byte/bytez . flesh/fleshs . blood/bloods . gut/guts . rot/rots . cor/corpse/corpses . tooth/tooths . bone/bones . decay/decays . gore/gores . bat/bats . ki/kill/kills . coffin/coffins . undead/undeads . ⚰️/⚰️s . 🪦/🪦s . 🩸/🩸s . 🦇/🦇s . ���/🦴s . 🍖/🍖s . 🦷/🦷s

🐚 gothic themed pronouns ✦

dark/darks . frill/frills . lace/laces . spike/spikes . chain/chains . cob/web/cobwebs . ve/velvet/velvets . cross/cross' . net/net/fishnets . bat/bats . rose/roses . decay/decays . rot/rots . stud/studs . 🖤/🖤s . 🔒/🔒s . 🧷/🧷s . 🕸️/🕸️s

requested by : anon !

note : the gothic ones might not be extremely accurate, Shivr isn't good with fashion themes . . .

[vampyrsm]

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER TWO | SUSANOO

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues in a sea of red, the spider-lily flowers can only mean one thing – death is soon. With a sword in hand and a wave of bubbling anger deep in your gut, you have one chance to kill the thing tormenting you... eat your heart out.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 5.5k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Cannibalism, set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, dead bodies, descriptions of wounds & blood, dismemberment, female reader, violence, mentions of vomit.

Endless upon endless amounts of red flows around you. Ebbing and bending beneath the gentle breeze that blows by. The sun is a distant off blur, an orange hue that fades until it too is bathed in a deep crimson.

You look down, and beneath your bare feet are Equinox Flowers; better known as red-spider lilies – the corpse flower. It was odd to see so many of them gathered together, an infinite sea of them that moved together. Returning your gaze back to the sun, you spot a Torii gate in the middle of the ocean of corpse flowers.

The gate is painted bright red, just like the flowers at your feet, and it stands at least twenty feet tall. It’s overly large. Traditionally, the gates would lead to a shrine but you spy no shrine. 

Instead, standing at the open gate is a figure that fills the space. You can’t make out his features, but you don’t need to see his face to know who or what he was. His four arms are crossed over his chest, forcing his muscles to bulge and inevitably make his form larger. 

Was this the after-life so many Samurai spoke of? Were you to fight the demon that killed you in order to earn passage? 

Said demon makes no move to step through the torii gate, instead, he continues to watch you from afar. Another breeze rolls by, and the kimono on your body blows with it. Only then do you recognise the weight in your hand, and looking down do you see the tachi you had used to kill the beast before you. 

It’s clean, glinting in the amber sunset, as if it had never been used and freshly made. Did that confirm that yes this is the afterlife? That you were to fight the very thing that killed you?

You waste no more time pondering the thought. If killing that monster was the one way to ensure your soul lived on then you will not fail. 

Flowers bend and move out of your way as you sprint across the field, the tachi in your hand twists until it’s poised with the tip brushing against the heads of the flowers. An upwards strike will surely disorientate it.

As you grow closer, you can make out the features of the demonic monster. His eyes are as red as the flowers around you, his lips are turned down into a deep frown as if he’s not pleased by what’s about to occur. Did he know that you wouldn’t mess up your singular chance this time?

Even so, he doesn’t move when you strike. The blade arcs upwards smoothly and slices along the width of his torso before your entire body spins with the blade. You bring it back around, strengthening your shoulders. Breathe. Once facing the monster again, the sharp metal of your blade slices cleanly through the thick muscle of his forearm. The discarded limb falls with a thud in the flower field and yet he still does not attack.

Continuing on the trajectory of the blade, you imbed the blade as far as it can go into his side. Slicing clean through both clothing and muscle as if he were nothing but meat, however, the blade gets stuck. It’s stuck just beneath his ribcage and finally, the monster starts to respond. One hand grabs at the blade, uncaring as it slices into his long fingers.

He pulls it free from his side, and his eyes remain locked onto your face. Something’s wrong, you can feel it. It blooms deep in your chest and settles into your bones when he rips the blade from your hands only to toss it into the sea of red flowers to be forgotten. 

The two-faced demon tilts his head, and for a split second, he’s just staring at you before a hand wraps around your throat. Instinctively you can only react by wrapping your hands around his wrist, feeling the smoothness of it before your nails sink into the flesh. 

He doesn’t react.

Belatedly you realise the hand holding your throat is the one you had removed, blood splattering up his arm but the hand is clean. The ground beneath you slowly disappears as he raises you up into the air, up to his height. 

“Enough of your games.” He snarls, the lower timbre vibrates through his entire body. “Wake. Up.” 

Elongated claws sink into the soft tissue of your neck and then there’s only a deafening crack.

...

The floor beneath you is cold, a smooth wood that has been thoroughly cleaned when you open your eyes to glance over the expanse of it. You’re laid on your front, tossed onto the floor like you were some doll according to the aches in your body. 

Wherever you are is oddly quiet, only the eerie whistle of wind that blows through the opened koshi doors that must lead out to the courtyard of wherever you are. It most definitely was not the estate you had been living in for the past few years of your life, there’s no familiar eucalyptus smell that came with whatever the maids used to clean the linen. 

Instead, you’re only met with the smell of blood. Perhaps it’s your own, you can feel the stickiness of your kimono sticking to your shoulder and yet there is no pain that comes with what had happened to you. But there’s that feeling of being watched, eyes resting upon your back as they watch you slowly return to the real world. 

You can’t see them, nor hear them, is it the monster? Did he bring you back to his lair to feast on you properly? You move your head slowly, careful to not jostle the thing watching you into attacking. 

To your left, there is an unlit Irori – the logs of wood in the hearth look like they were alight at some point. There’s no pot hanging precariously over the hearth, had it been used to keep the room warm? 

To your right, you spot the raised platform for an untouched futon. It’s big, larger than any futon you had ever seen before. But alas, it is unoccupied and further pushes your mind to believe that whatever is spying on you is in the shadows. Your eyes drift back down to the floor, only to land on the unsheathed blade of your tachi. It’s coated in blood that has crusted in the warmth of the fire that had once been lit. 

You move before you think. Your fingers curl around the hilt of the blade before there’s pressure on your forearm. 

A foot holds your arm in place and sharpened nails that are like claws scratch along the wooden floor. The cold of the room is chased away with the monster holding you in place, there’s a thud of a knee on the other side of you as he successfully cages you to the floor with his form again.

“You humans never learn.” He growls close to your ear, and a huff of warm breath against the back of your neck causes a shiver to roll down the bumps of your spine. “You never think. Never listen to the rationality that I know you all have.” 

The foot at your forearm somehow curls even more around your forearm, crushing the bones and tendons until you release the hilt of the blade with an undignified yelp. You’re rewarded with a chuckling pleased sound from the thing holding you down. 

Hands that you have grown to recognise in such a short space of time grab at your shoulders before the world shifts and turns, you’re pushed back into the wooden floor by large hands and the monster looms over you. His foot has shifted from holding your forearm in place, but he remains kneeling over you on one knee. 

With just the dim light of the flickering candles that were littered around the room, you’re able to see him in a more delicate light. He’s no longer wearing the kimono he had worn when you first laid eyes on him at the clan's estate. His entire torso is exposed, and his muscles are relaxed despite him holding you down to the floor. You’re now privy to the thick bands of black tattoos that curl around said muscles, painted along his chest and arms. 

His trousers are certainly the ones he had been wearing in the wake of his attack however, the unmistakable splatters of blood and other bodily matter a subtle contrast to the black of his pants. 

“Why?” The coarseness in your voice is rough, and thankfully the man/monster above you refuses to comment on it — but his lips do quirk in the faintest of cruel smirks. 

“Why do you never learn?” He raises an eyebrow, the only one on his face that isn’t covered by his ‘second face’. “The same reason why you think you have the right to speak to me so freely.” 

The pink-haired monster leans in slowly, body hunching over until all you can see is him. His grin grows malicious; hungry. 

“Because you’re nothing but a stupid bitch.”

He stares at you, expecting some sort of outburst. Perhaps he even expects you to cry with the way his grin splits his face in half and you see the joy dance in his eyes. But in truth, you have nothing to say to the beast. Nothing you can say would be answered truthfully, he’s clearly only brought you here to play with his food.

So you don’t ask anything.

Instead, your wrist twists awkwardly, but the arc is perfect. The blade that was knocked from your hand slices through the flesh of his neck, once again dousing you in a more violent spray of blood that stings your eyes and burns at your parted lips. 

You can taste him on your tongue; he tastes just like death. 

The beast rears his body back just enough for the river of blood to cascade down the bareness of his chest. You expect to see fear in his eyes, or perhaps even surprise when you flick your gaze away from the expanse of the wide gash on his neck.

But rather than any of that, you’re met with what could only be summarised as boredom. His eyes are entirely unamused, lips twisted into a frown that grows more and more furious by the second. One of his four hands reaches up to his neck, blood dribbling from between the cracks of his fingers and he swipes his hand along the wound in a clean motion.

As his hand falls away, you’re met with the smooth unblemished skin of his neck. The only evidence of anything had happened is the still-wet blood that’s smudged into his skin. Did he heal it? He only moved his hand and the wound had been cured. 

“Monster.” You whisper, aghast at the display. 

The hand that had been used to heal his throat curls into a tight fist, blood still dripping from his hand as he slowly raises it up. The way he positions it is without a doubt going to be brought down onto your head. 

His lips part, an unreadable expression on his face. “Worse.”

All the muscles in his shoulder tense up, the thick tendons on his neck show that he’s not going to half-ass the pummeling of your skull. You can only find solace in the fact it’ll be swift, a merciful death. It comes down in one swift motion, the air around his fist whistling with just how quickly he moves.

A loud knock on the sliding door stops his fist just inches from your face.

“Come in,” he commands, still holding his position over you with the fist so menacingly close to your face that you can feel the heat of his skin.

You hear the sliding of the shoji door before feet shuffle in, and you watch in horror at the way the upper set of eyes shift to glance at the guest but the lower ones remain locked onto you.

“Master Sukuna,” a voice speaks from just beyond the hand that blocks your view. Sukuna. So the monster has a name.

Sukuna takes a moment to speak, the lower pair of eyes keep you pinned in place in lieu of his body as he leans up enough to open your view up to see who the new arrival is. You don’t move your head, just shift your eyes to catch a glimpse of white hair with a splash of dark pink that looks like a stain along their otherwise pristine hair.

“Uraume.” 

Uraume bows in deep respect to the call of their name, and they hold it until Sukuna finally turns his attention onto them (save for the eye that’s still angled in your direction). 

“Your audience awaits,” is all Uraume says before they duck their head once again, and you catch a glimpse of their face. It’s entirely blank, with no expression to give away if they’re being forced to call him ‘Master’ or if they’re here willingly. But with the way Sukuna at least gives them the time of day, you can only assume they’re definitely here of their own volition. 

“Good.” Sukuna grins, sharp teeth on display and you’re forced to snap your attention back to him when he turns his face back to you. He sneers down at you, something malicious and mischievous bouncing around his brain. “Dress this one. It’s time she learns her place.”

His weight is gone in a blink of an eye from your body, and your lungs suck in air greedily. By the time your head is clear and you process his words, Sukuna is gone and you’re left with only the one named Uraume who does finally break the façade of being unbothered when you meet their eyes. Those pink eyes glare at you, judging you; they know you attempted to kill their master.

After some forceful shoving and wrangling into a pure black furisode; the choice of colour is not lost on you. You’d only be forced into a long-sleeved kimono of such colour after losing a loved one – a spouse. Sukuna was gloating about his conquest. Quite the sadistic monster. Along with the onyx furisode, you had a white obi tied around your midsection. Such a stark difference to the inky black that drowned you. 

Uraume had guided you out of what you assumed to be Sukuna’s personal quarters. Stepping past the sliding door, you were immediately met with a type of cold that slinks through somewhere that’s not usually inhabited; abandoned and forgotten. But the corridor you step out into is anything but abandoned and forgotten, it’s clean. 

So much so that you can’t spot a single spot of dust or a string of spider web that should occupy somewhere so old. You can definitely tell you’re in an older temple of some sort, the floorboards whilst immaculately clean still had the age-worn signs of excessive use evident. The walls were bare, but not in the sense that it was a stylistic choice.

But rather there were outlines of where you imagine scrolls once sat with scripture and artwork. As you continue your forced venture further through the mysterious temple, you finally start to piece together just where you might be. 

You hit a junction, the left hallway leads down to a shrine. But it’s not a shrine anymore, you can see that the golden statue of Buddha was forcibly removed – ripped from its place and only one creature comes to mind with the strength to do such a thing.

The realisation of where you are makes you want to scoff, it’s just so obvious of an abode for an evil spirit. Sukuna seems to have taken over an abandoned Buddhist temple. How it became abandoned, you’re not quite sure you want to know.

You’re forced away from the left hallway, a sharp turn to the right as Uraume silently guides you. They haven’t turned to look at you, but you know they’re acutely aware of the fact you’re following along. You haven’t seen another person here yet, just Uraume and… you suppose, Sukuna counts as a person — of sorts.

Eventually, you come to a halt, two large doors are in front of you. Painted in a shade of red so brilliant you’d think that it was a fresh coat of paint. Something beyond that door causes your stomach to flip itself, anxiety bubbling to a boiling point deep in the pit of your soul. 

You shouldn’t step a foot beyond those doors. 

Uraume doesn’t seem to care about your inner turmoil, however, as they knock their fist against the large wooden door three times. Three slow knocks, a signal. And just like that, the doors are shifted and slowly drawn open. By who? You have no idea, you can’t quite bring yourself to glance away from the figure who has tormented you in such a short space of time.

Sukuna consumes a room solely by existing, and that’s without just how large and imposing he was. He demands attention, he looks like he knows it too. As he leans back on a throne fit only for a King, a large fist of one of his many arms curled against his cheek as he watches you with mild amusement. 

He sits atop a raised platform, around five or six steps that lead up to him and the only thing you can think is that not even the Emperor himself sits so high. Sukuna thinks so highly of himself. You’re grabbed and shoved into the room by unseen hands before the doors are suddenly shut behind you, effectively cutting off your only escape route. 

Sukuna says nothing, even if his eyebrow twitches at the way you stare at him for a moment. A gut feeling demands you glance away from him, and you do. You take a quick moment to glance around the room, peering into the darkness of the shadows where the light of the fire burning in a pit in front of the throne doesn’t quite reach. 

You think you see figures in the darkness, shuffling to make themselves small and unseen. A snap of fingers causes your attention to dart your eyes back towards the monster of a man who sits so lazily on his throne. Sukuna still has his eyes set on you before they oh-so-slowly drag down your body to assess the state of your attire.

It’s unsurprising when his lips crack into that grin that you’ve seen when he was moments away from eating you alive; he’s very thrilled with himself and his jab at your newfound widower status.

“Bow.” He demands, the word a lazy drawl on his tongue and he only grins further when he sees your eyebrows twitch together in annoyance. 

He wants your obedience, your loyalty. He wants to revel in his power, and you don’t doubt anyone has lived if they refused to meet his demand. But Sukuna waits for a moment, as if to see you’d continue to defy him. Perhaps a part of him wants that, he seemed to get a slight kick out of the fact you knew how to draw a sword and use it effectively.

“BOW.” It’s a thunderous roar, enough that you see the dust of the old temple flit down from the rafters. All you can do is fall to your knees, feet coming together as you assume the type of bow he might want.

The wooden floor is cold against your bare hands as they slide simultaneously alongside your thighs before they form a triangle in front of you. You bow deeply, your forehead just mere centimetres away from your fingers. It’s a bow you’ve been in many times before, in front of your father when he was Shogun, in front of the Emperor and Empress when you had been granted audience with them.

Typically, you’d hold the bow for only a few seconds, enough to convey your deep respect for them but something tells you that perhaps you shouldn’t rise from the position Sukuna demands of you. 

Your ears prick at the sound of bare feet on the floor, slow but heavy, Sukuna must’ve gotten up from his throne. He approaches you like a wolf would when hunting its prey, slow and methodical as he maps out just how to strike. Would he stomp on your head with one of his clawed feet? Would he simply rip your head from your shoulders the second you looked up at him? 

Without much time to think further, there’s a harsh grip on the back of your kimono and you’re wretched upwards and forward until your face is just inches from the fire that burns in front of you. It burns even without it being on your skin, the heat licks and lashes at your face until you start to sweat.

Instinctively you can only try to move yourself away from the flame, but a hand holds you steady. 

“Look closely,” he says so close to your ear, and you imagine he’s looming over you like the wolf who has the frightened bunny in his maw. Your eyes are forced to look down into the pit of the fire, where the wood burns so brightly but instead you’re met with a face.

A face you had seen many times over the past few years of your life, a face you had watched in the middle of the night as he slept next to you. It’s your husband. 

Or rather, just his head. Whatever is left of it anyway. Clearly, he had been shoved into the pit quite some time ago, the signs of what happens to a body under immense heat makes your stomach roll uncomfortably. 

Sukuna laughs, a deep low sound that puffs against your cheek. “He screamed when he died. Like a little pig.” It’s a sneer, and his hand only clenches more into the fabric of your kimono until it sounds like it’s starting to rip. 

Just as quickly as the flame had been thrust into your face, it’s ripped away. You’re brought back to your knees, no longer forced into the deep bow and you’re met with the face of your new tormentor. Sukuna grins as he surveys the damage to your face already, the welts that were already forming. 

“I have a gift for you.” is all he says before he drops the hold on your back, the force enough to shove you forward again an inch towards the flame but you’re free to scoot away from it. He steps away from you for just a moment, there’s a shuffle of feet from the darkness of the shadows before he’s back in front of you. 

You can only stare at his feet for a moment, the long claws there are no longer coated in blood as they once had been when you first saw him. Instead, he’s immaculately clean. For who he is, he’s oddly patient whilst your eyes drag up along the expanse of his legs and along the thickness of his chest until you meet his eyes.

He’s grinning down at you, all sharp teeth and red of his eyes glowing with something malicious. He raises a hand out to you, his claws sinking into the darkened cloth that’s wrapped around something in his hand. As his fingers sink into the cloth, there’s an ooze of blackened liquid that drips and curls around his fingers.

Blood.

“Take it.” He demands, even thrusting it closer to your face and you hesitate only for a fraction of a second before you take the wrapped-up thing in your hand. You already have a gut feeling what it might be, the weight plus the shape of it was a dead giveaway. “Open it.” 

The blood-sodden cloth is sticky and cold as you touch it, your fingers coated in a thin layer of blood as you start to pry open the layers of cloth until it slowly starts to reveal itself. The smell is pungent, a ripe type of smell that sticks to the back of your throat when you accidentally inhale too hard to try and steel your nerves as you stare down at the ‘gift’. 

It’s a heart. A large one, most definitely too large to be from any small livestock animal. You drag your eyes back up to Sukuna, and his eyebrow raises in amusement at whatever emotion must be on your face.

Suddenly he crouches down, invading your space with an intense heat that’s similar to the fire burning behind him. He’s still grinning, and up close you can see his canines are more like fangs that are absolutely made to rip apart people. 

“Do you like it?” You don’t know why he’s asking such a thing; you’re certain he couldn’t care less if you liked it or not. But he doesn’t give you a chance to answer as he continues, “It’s your husbands.” 

It made sense, that it belonged to your husband. It was his body that was currently fueling the warmth of the room, and you can tell Sukuna has a sick sense of humour. Automatically your eyes drift back to the heart in your hands, it takes up both of your hands as you hold it the same way it was delivered to you. 

Your husband's heart is cold and stagnant in your hands, it’s an odd feeling that fills your chest. A mixture of both grief and relief, it’s overwhelming in the sense that you don’t know which one to lean into more. On one hand, he was your husband and you had been lucky enough to survive as his wife – but on the other hand, he wasn’t someone you loved. You never enjoyed his company, and he despised you for your lack of giving him a son.

All the while, Sukuna watches you intently. His multiple sets of eyes lap up every reaction, every thought that flits behind your eyes and he wonders for a moment if you might just start crying. He thinks he’d enjoy that a lot. But he has something even better in store first.

“Eat it.” He’s still down at your height, large forearms resting on his knees and clawed fingers itching to grab at you when you flick your eyes up in shock at him.

“What?” You speak for the first time and it makes Sukuna’s smile widen to the point where he looks like he might just lunge and eat you. 

“Eat your husband's heart.” It’s said in such a tone that you know it’s not up for debate. He’s demanding, commanding, that you eat the heart that once beat in the chest of the man you had known for the last five years of your life. “Now.”

The growling order has you bringing the bloodied muscle to your lips, eyes not once leaving his. You had a choice here, if you didn’t do this then you’re most certainly going to end up as kindling for the fire burning bright behind the monstrous four-armed demon in front of you. 

If you do obey his order, then what did that mean for you? For your mentality? Even with the way you felt towards your husband, to eat someone's heart is… a lot. It’s something that changes a person, and you can tell from the look in Sukuna’s eyes that he’s definitely banking on the fact it breaks you down. 

He wants you to submit, you realise. You wounded his pride with the two attempts you’ve made on his life. There’s a pang in your chest at that, not a painful one, no. It’s your own pride rearing its ugly head, it sends a wave of accomplishment down your spine. You did that, you managed to fray the nerves of what might just be one of the strongest monsters to ever exist. 

So you hold eye contact with his upper set of eyes, and you revel in the way Sukuna’s manic grin falters slightly at your own smile before your teeth sink into the heart. The metallic copper taste of blood hits your tongue first, and you have to suppress the urge to gag at the taste of it. Then comes the sinking of your teeth further and further into the muscle, it’s tough, chewy.

It takes far too much of your jaw strength to fully bite through the organ, and just as much of your own mental fortitude to not spit it out as you chew on it. Sukuna is watching with rapt sick fascination, his lower set of eyes watching the dribble of blood from either side of your mouth as it curls down your chin and along the column of your throat. His upper ones are still connected with your own, he’s waiting to see if you crack. 

You’re not sure how you do it but you swallow the lump of muscle in your mouth, and that’s when your eyes flutter in a futile attempt to stop the urge to regurgitate it. Your stomach fights hard to not allow it to settle inside of you, but you swallow harder until it’s clear from your throat. 

When you finally do meet Sukuna’s eyes again, he has an eyebrow raised in what must be surprise that you managed to do it. Then his face drops into a mean sneer, his upper lip curling up in what might be a snarl before he speaks again, “Finish it.” 

Part of you wants to throw the bitten heart in his face, maybe it’ll give you a spare second to sprint out of the room before he catches you and inevitably kills you too. Could you open the heavy wooden doors fast enough to make your escape? Probably not. It’d be all for nothing. 

So you bite, and you bite. You chew and swallow through the growing urge to vomit as you keep eye contact with Sukuna. He’s still sneering down at you but even you can notice the odd glint of what might be reluctant pride in his eye. 

With one final gulp of the muscle, your hands are only left to curl into the wet cloth that sits empty. Your entire lower face feels bloodied, sticky with a wet liquid that’s starting to crack and dry the longer you’re sat near the burning fire pit. Sukuna remains down at your height for a moment longer, his eyes darting down to the blood you’re coated in.

Your mind is reeling, from both the intense heat that’s starting to grow hotter and hotter in the large throne room and from the fact you did that. You ate your entire husband's heart, it sits heavy in your stomach and just that thought alone has your stomach tensing in preparation to spit it back out. 

But you don’t. You hold your ground and raise your head up high, defiant to the beast before you. It takes only a second before clawed fingers are grabbing at you, they curl painfully into your bloodied cheeks as his palm cups your chin. He tugs you close enough that you can feel your own heavy breaths bouncing off of his face back into your own.

Was he still going to kill you after what he made you do? It wouldn’t be a shock if he did, he seemed like the type to get enjoyment out of people's misery before killing them. Maybe at this point, it would be a mercy. You had no family to flee to, no husband left to come and find you. You were trapped in the maw of a vile creature.

Sukuna holds his gaze over you for a long tense moment, his eyes scanning over your features and flicking back up to your eyes as if he’s searching for something. What that might be, you’re unsure. You’re not quite sure if you want to know what’s bouncing around in his head. 

“Take her away,” Sukuna finally settles on saying, standing to his full height once he forcefully shoves your head back. You fall out of the position you were holding on the floor with your legs tucked beneath you, your bloodied hands slipping against the polished floor. 

There are footsteps, barefooted until they’re around you. You look up to see two girls, with faces that look like they’re uncomfortable with what they had to witness. Did he keep women here as a sick sort of show of power? Their hands tuck beneath your armpits, forcing you to stand as you stare stupefied at all the pieces that start to click together in your head.

Sukuna is sitting back on his throne by the time you’re being dragged from the room, your numb feet slowly starting to feel out the ground beneath you. And all you can do is stare at him as he watches you, he doesn’t look quite as malicious as he did at the start – but rather, he looks like he’s pensive about something, a thought that’s troubling him. 

The large wooden doors shut with a resounding slam, and the last thing you see before you’re pulled around a corner was those crimson-coloured eyes staring at you.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[them4lware]

opened ; michael afton npt pack ! target ; anonymous user . . .

⚠︎ loading file, please wait . . . ⚠︎

⚠︎ names charlie ; fitz ; schmidt ; drew ; ash ; ace ; rowan ; cain ; kye ; josh ; connor ; soren ; maverick ; anders ; reese ; dante ; rene ; winona ; genesis ; cyrus ; lawrence ; crowell

⚠︎ pronouns mask/masks ; rot/rots ; mech/mechs ; bot/bots ; exe/exes ; zom/zomb ; gho/ghost ; decay/decays ; soul/souls ; cor/corpse ; gli/glitch ; robo/robos ; wire/wires ; haunt/haunts ; grave/graves ; crow/crows ; lock/locks ; fox/fox ;

⚠︎ titles prn who is rotten inside ; the mechanical (noun/one) ; the (other) purple (noun/one) ; the night guard ; the technician ; the reanimated (noun/one) ; the possessed (noun/one) ; prn who is vengeful ; the pawn ; prn who was tricked ; the hunter ; the solution ; prn who was reborn ; the undead (noun/one) ; the unfortunate mechanic

⚠︎ end of file ⚠︎

[carnificaprince]

♰﹒ 𝓓abi ID Pack ⟡

𝓝ames╰╮Aedd ﹐Aemond ﹐Aenar ﹐Aenys ﹐Ainar ﹐Aithalos ﹐Aithon ﹐Alaz ﹐Ardent ﹐Blaze ﹐Boremund ﹐Borros ﹐Brand ﹐Brando ﹐Burns ﹐Calais ﹐Cal ﹐Calcine ﹐ Carrion ﹐Caron ﹐Cauterize ﹐Char ﹐Charlemagne ﹐Charon ﹐Cinerate ﹐Cineration ﹐Conleth ﹐Conley ﹐Despair ﹐Despaire ﹐Ednar ﹐Egan ﹐Eldmar ﹐Fëanor ﹐Fervor ﹐Fuego ﹐Fury ﹐Gaham ﹐Hades ﹐Heath ﹐Herbrandr ﹐Hrayr ﹐Huahuo ﹐Huojin ﹐Icarus ﹐Ichabod ﹐Ignatius ﹐Ignis ﹐Ignite ﹐Incini ﹐Infern ﹐Isko ﹐Iso ﹐Ithuriel ﹐Jaqen ﹐Jou ﹐Kaen ﹐Kasai ﹐Kindle ﹐Kenneth ﹐Lahav ﹐Liekki ﹐Luther ﹐Luthor ﹐Maedoc ﹐Maeldan ﹐Mayhem ﹐Mccoy ﹐Neri ﹐Noam ﹐Nuri ﹐Nuriel ﹐Ozai ﹐Phosphor ﹐Pyre ﹐Pyrite ﹐Pyro ﹐Pyrrhon ﹐Reap ﹐Reaper ﹐Rook ﹐Rosen ﹐Sahir ﹐Scorch ﹐Sear ﹐Shiva ﹐Singe ﹐Sirius ﹐Smolder ﹐Soykan ﹐Sozin ﹐Stoker ﹐Sulfur ﹐Suture ﹐Talisman ﹐Tango ﹐Tanwyn ﹐Titus ﹐Vil ﹐Vulcan ﹐Vuur

𝓝eopronouns╰╮Acid / Acids ﹐Ash / Ashes ﹐Ang / Angers ﹐Azu / Azuls ﹐Blaze / Blazes ﹐Blue / Flame ﹐Blueflame / Blueflames ﹐Bone / Bones ﹐Burne / Burnes ﹐Burn / Burns ﹐Chaos / Chaoself ﹐Char / Chars ﹐Char / Charred ﹐Combust / Combusts ﹐Cor / Corpses ﹐Death / Deaths ﹐Diablo / Diablos ﹐Dia / Diabolicals ﹐Engulf / Engulfs ﹐Evil / Evils ﹐Explo / Explodes ﹐Fi / Fires ﹐Flame / Flames ﹐Flare / Flares ﹐Flash / Flashes ﹐Flashfire / Flashfires ﹐Heat / Heats ﹐Hell / Hells ﹐Hell / Fire ﹐Hellfire / Hellfires ﹐Hell / Flame ﹐Hellflame / Hellflames ﹐Igni / Ignis ﹐Igni / Ignites ﹐Inferno / Infernos ﹐Kin / Kindle ﹐Lighter / Lighters ﹐Match / Matches ﹐Obsess / Obsessed ﹐Phos / Phospors ﹐Phosphor / Phospors ﹐Py / Pyres ﹐Py / Pyros ﹐Pyro / Mania ﹐Pyro / Maniac ﹐Mad / Madness ﹐Manic / Manics ﹐Melt / Melts ﹐Pyromania / Pyromaniac ﹐Reap / Reaps ﹐Scald / Scalds ﹐Scar / Scars ﹐Scorch / Scorches ﹐Sear / Sears ﹐Singe / Singes ﹐Smol / Smolder ﹐Staple / Staples ﹐Sti / Stitch ﹐Stich / Stitched ﹐Sul / Sulfurs ﹐Vil / Villains ﹐Vile / Viles ﹐Zom / Zombies ﹐🔥 / 🔥s ﹐💥 / 💥s ﹐💢 / 💢s

𝑇itles╰╮The Pyromaniac ﹐Holder of the Blueflame ﹐The Pyre ﹐The Arsonist ﹐The Scorching Flame ﹐The Fire Starter ﹐He Who Burns ﹐He Who Blazes ﹐The Stoic Flame ﹐His Blazing Lieutenant ﹐Co-Commander ( Name ) ﹐Lieutenant ﹐Holder of the Monstrous Flame ﹐His Sadistic Flame ﹐The Hell Spider ﹐His Vanishing Fist ﹐His Flaming Touch

* He or His can be replaced with any pronoun !

ℳogai╰╮Alderuyaqua ﹐Apothane ﹐Blazegender ﹐Burnoutish ﹐Burnvesil ﹐Candemonic ﹐Chaosperspesque ﹐Corpsepersepsque ﹐Demonbodiment ﹐Evilbodiment ﹐Evilriune ﹐Fascimorsanguic ﹐Feuvillic ﹐Genderslasher ﹐Gortureperspesque ﹐Hatebodiment ﹐Icefiregender ﹐Illusoboy ﹐Impurnalcraveic ﹐Intrudemonic ﹐Iraronian ﹐Low-Empatix ﹐Malapoten ﹐Mulinvidarkastroflame ﹐Non-Empatix ﹐Perichiros ﹐Pyrochaosgender ﹐Pyrogender ﹐Ragebodiment ﹐Sedirogender ﹐Temaledgyic ﹐Villainintric ( introjects only ) ﹐Villainperspesque ﹐Villinner

[anotherrosesthatfell]

Literally new lore crescent is fine—

Also, Crescent trauma is overlooked- like damn I just realized 💀

The throne was never for anyone

"Why don't you come back and be the king." Said Nightmare.

Crescent look at his father, he doesn't show a hint of surprise nor resentment. Just patience.

"Father, how about you take a sip of the tea first." said Crescent as he poured the green tea to Nightmare's cup.

Yes, Nightmare in fact is visiting the church in light kingdom. He don't know where Crescent currently live now, Crescent is his son and he knows him well but at the same time, he don't.

"I am getting old and you're my only heir." Said Nightmare.

"Hmm? You finally realized that you're old? I'm glad." He smiles. "But Father, Merciless is also the heir so why don't you make—"

"no."

It was a simple no coming from Nightmare. Crescent nodded and poured another glass of tea for his father.

Crescent slightly laughed and put down the teapot.

"Father, you really should've think twice before killing Angst." Crescent show a sad expression on his face, "you really should've try to be a better father to me, I might rethinking my decision and become the king... But it's too late."

"... I apologize for what everything I've done to you." Nightmare slightly bow his head.

Crescent is not surprised... He honestly see this coming, he still believes everyone can change if they just try but why Crescent feels sad about his apology?

"Do you remember what you done to me? Spill it out to me and I will consider to be the king." Said Crescent.

"...."

But there was only silence... Nightmare can't even name what he did to Crescent. He don't care and still hurt him, he forget what he had done to Crescent to think he himself is a good person...

"Hmm... I remember you were choking me, starved me because I couldn't read, accused me for something and then locked me out from the castle." Crescent smiles gently as he said those things...

It's rather terrifying for someone to be this calm when they spoke about their trauma.

"You also blamed me for Angst's death and my mother's miscarriage but everything was because of you, right?" He chuckles. "Say something Father, did you remember when you threw Angst corpse into the basement and curse for rats to eat him? Do you remember when you called me 'Adelle'?"

"...."

Nightmare couldn't say anything. He remembers and he never want to admit it.

".... I forgave you for your doings, Father." Crescent got up from his seat and pat his father shoulder. "But you never want me in your life, wouldn't it be better if you pretend you never had a son..?" he sighed and smile faintly. "I hope you will never come to be again, Father. Farewell.."

Honestly, in E.L.A Crescent was the scapegoat for Alphonse (cor. nightmare). Thing Nightmare do, he'll blame it to Crescent, leaving the present situation where Killer, Merciless and even the people in darkness kingdom despises him