#the wretched vessel is beautiful

[krakenprince]

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[qingxin-dream]

“Righteousness”

summary | in another timeline, kunikuzushi never redeemed himself. he took interest in a different kind of heart—not the Gnosis, not a Vision—but yours. (art credits: @/Shiqaruki on twitter).

warnings | lore, kidnapping, kuni calls you ‘little songbird,’ profanity, brief mention of physical abuse, manipulation, praise & degradation, pining, obsessive/possessive, smut [18+, MDNI], dubcon, female-bodied reader (wears a dress & lingerie), dominant kuni, choking, yandere jealousy, murder/arson threats, worship, slapping, finger-fucking, mirror sex, kuni receives oral, deepthroating, edging/teasing, orgasm denial, mention of breeding

genre | yandere, smut with plot, canon-divergent

word count | 4.5k

pairing | kunikuzushi/scaramouche x reader

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In a time all but forgotten, a young boy sat on his knees, caressing a hand-sewn doll in his palms and looking up with childlike compassion to his companion.

“There once was a puppet solider whose greatest wish was to be with a ballerina doll forever and ever,” he began, his eyes reflecting the scene of his storytelling imagination.

He gently squeezed the doll in his hands, as if to comfort his companion before the truth spills from his lips. “But the solider didn’t have a heart and didn’t know where his feelings came from.”

“One day, his owner didn’t want him anymore and threw him away into a fire. But even in the flames, his eyes never left the ballerina,” he continued with a more somber tone, drawing attention to the gut-wrenching ending of a tragic romance.

However, his voice shifted, offering soft words of wisdom and hope to his distraught friend. “The next day, the people found a tiny heart in the ashes left by the fire.”

Instinctively, the beautiful puppet sitting before the young boy curled his lip in disdain. “Probably ashes in the shape of a heart… but that’s not a real heart.”

He could hear the affectionate smile pulling at the corners of the young boy’s mouth. “Maybe, but what if… hearts can be born from ashes?”

“What a joke. It’s just ashes,” the lonesome puppet can barely conjure up a breath in his agony. “Nothing left but ashes.”

As his chest twisted and clenched with the wretched filth of so-called human emotion, the divine puppet came to a profound realization. His body merely served as a hollow shell, cursed by the ghost of mortal weakness—a living testament to the depths of an Archon’s visceral mourning.

In his naïveté, he had trusted the boy he thought to be his friend. He had believed that silly little fairytale, that maybe he wasn’t as empty and worthless as he felt. There was no heart to be found in the cold vessel of a failed god.

Kunikuzushi would have to claim one for himself.

Sin.

The ultimate temptress of mortals. The manifestation of human greed and desire. That which demands repentance and atonement for fear of eternal damnation. It is hinged on the human condition that death is inevitable.

Mortals are easily persuaded by morals and ideology if it means life after death in a paradise that is not guaranteed. Humans create false narratives to exercise the sick satisfaction of controlling one other. When all is said and done, the real struggle is for power—namely the power to control fate itself.

For those who are destined to roam the world with no such motives, imprisoned in an earthly purgatory, sin and salvation are laughable notions.

There is no reason to live, for you cannot die; Sin knows no bounds and comes with no price.

“The sooner you accept this, the better,” Kunikuzushi laments, his face just inches from yours. The bewitching twinkle in his lavender irises has remained all these centuries, a cruel illusion masking the abyss beneath. “Nothing you say will change my decision.”

You were really quite the picture, if he was being honest, all tied up for him. Kunikuzushi loathed that just the sight of you was enough to make the void in his chest cavity ache with longing. A reminder of his imperfection.

Anyone else would have died a violent death for such a transgression. But you presented a unique opportunity.

“Kuni, please,” you whimpered, your pleas falling on deaf ears. On the contrary, he loves hearing your voice, especially when you beg so earnestly. “I-I don’t know what I did wrong… I’m scared. Please, let me go…”

The puppet hushes you lovingly, his lips brushing against your delicate skin toward your ear. “Hey, now. There’s no need for that. You’re safe with me, little songbird.”

You flinch, gasping and recoiling in fear, turning your head away defiantly. It’s not like you could push him away, your little limbs bound to a tall column in the kitchen nice and tight. Hot tears pricked at your eyes. It burns like hell.

“Untie me, Kuni!” you shrieked, squirming and struggling against the binds to no avail.

He snatches your face firmly between his thumb and two fingers, squishing your cheeks to the point you felt pressure on your skull. “Ungrateful slut. Didn’t I explain this to you already? Your heart beats for me from this day forward.”

Frozen in shock, your body stiffens involuntarily as fear floods your veins, rendering you utterly helpless. Even as he gazed upon you with an icy, detached stare, you couldn’t find it within yourself to fault Kuni for this act of desperation. He could never make sense of himself and the pain that came with betrayal after betrayal.

Why even try to embrace humanity if it would mercilessly punish you for not having a heart?

You still remember the day you found him, it was but a coincidence you both crossed paths. Kuni was a wandering traveler, or at least that’s how he introduced himself. He seemed kind enough. You were particularly taken by his appearance, so lovely it was almost inhuman.

It just so happened that you were willing to offer him a place to stay. It took a bit of convincing on your part, actually, but you were worried about the string of murders near your village recently. Someone must have had an insatiable vendetta against the blade-smithing arts, striking them down one by one.

A small knowing smile pulled at his lips, his eyes creasing slightly with amusement as he marveled at how you opened yourself up so easily. This was the first time he had talked to a human in who knows how long. Perhaps since the young boy’s passing many dreadful seasons ago.

Kuni found the void in his chest persuading him to entertain his curiosity about you.

He had to admit, once you both got to know each other, it was quite the impeccable arrangement. During the day, you provided the kind of mundane tranquility and domesticity he had always dreamed of. Thankfully, your residence was in a rural part of the countryside, which offered much appreciated security and seclusion from the world.

Once you were safely tucked into bed and sound asleep, he would lie restlessly in the guest room. Puppets have no need for sleep. On some lonely moonlit nights, he would entertain his own fantasies of you. In the absence of such desires, he was compelled to satisfy his blood thirst.

Though Kuni had long forsaken the human emotions that afflicted his existence with disappointment and abandonment, his burgeoning relationship with you had quickly proven to be the last remaining vestige of his innocent supplication for a purpose.

In fact, he demanded it, after witnessing you day in and day out slipping from his grasp. He was growing impatient, waiting for something more. You had always stopped short of taking a little leap of faith to hold his hand or kiss his forehead, leaving him yearning for your touch and attention. Why?

Even in your presence, he was not alleviated of his turmoil. A number of possibilities plagued him. Were you dissuaded by his artificial constitution? Did he make a fatal miscalculation? God forbid, was there someone else?

No matter how many times he twisted, folded, and bent reality in his mind, trying to make sense of you, he never came to an agreeable conclusion. By the time Kuni realized just how deep you had nestled yourself into the empty husk of his heart, it was too late for the both of you.

All of this mental anguish and pining was unbearable. Unacceptable. He loved you, yes, but needed you more.

The puppet’s chest fluttered as you willingly complied, tears staining your cheeks, but that’s okay. His soft pink lips brushed against your cheek once more, kissing away your precious tears. It was his first taste of you.

Kuni cradled you in his palms like a delicate doll, his thumbs ghosting your cheeks. He leaned in closer, indigo bangs tickling your face and his mouth parted with a breathless question. “Is your heart… truly mine?”

He had broken you, and you had no choice but to nod slowly.

“Say it for me, little songbird,” he encourages you with a warm intonation. His eyes were trained on your lips.

“I-I’m yours,” you replied weakly.

No sooner than you could speak were his plush lips pressed to yours, a breathy hum of relief exhaling through his nose. In turn, you muffled a whimper, overwhelmed by the sensation. He had untied you, knowing you couldn’t hurt him but he could certainly hurt you.

Kuni was gentle at first, relishing in his first kiss with you. He carefully took your wrists to guide your hands to his body, and he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you against him. Still, you trembled in his grasp.

“There’s no need to fear,” he whispers between kisses, holding your face to his. “I will take care of you.”

He can’t bear to leave your lips. Guiding you towards him, he leans against the kitchen counter and tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. A small prayer barely escapes his lips. “(Y/N), hold me… touch me… please.”

“Kuni,” you choke out, tears forming in the corner of your eyes again. You are silenced with increasingly fervent kisses, one of his hands trailing down to your neck just by his fingertips, giving you goosebumps in the wake of his featherlight touch.

“You are going to give yourself to me. Your heart is my heart, and I will not have you hiding any part of yourself from me,” his voice grows a bit more insistent, closing his fingers around your throat as a threat, but not yet squeezing. “Do you understand?”

You give a feeble nod, unable to look at him directly. Every time your gaze locked with his, it sent a pang of terror jolting through your fragile body. He brings you closer by your neck, kissing you with more confidence than before. There is a little part of you that is worried you are unable to discern fear from excitement.

The puppet lets his hand slip further, fingertips finding the contour of your chest. He hesitates briefly, then allows his palm to feel your plump breast. The act was enough to elicit a little whine from you, and he knew right then and there that he had to hear it again.

“Do you… have any inclination of how long I waited for you?” he whispers hotly onto your lips, feeling down your waist at an excruciatingly slow pace. He smoothed each wrinkle of your dress with his thumb, tracing the silhouette of your figure down until he felt the hem of your underwear through the thin fabric. His breath caught.

You were still not as receptive to his advances as he would like, and suddenly he scoops you up to hook your legs around his hips, pressing your back against the nearest wall in the hallway. Kuni was beginning to reveal his desperation for you in more ways than one, breathing a little heavier. He was determined to have you submit to him and if you weren’t responsive to his soft side, then so be it.

“Answer me,” Kuni lowers his voice with a commanding edge, his lips just inches from your neck while his messy indigo bangs tickled your jaw. You whimpered, involuntarily moving your hips against him at the mere thought of his mouth on you.

At long last, you found your voice—delicate and decadent with a tinge of spine-prickling anticipation. Perhaps you had lost part of yourself, your humanity, in him too. “H-how long, Kuni?”

You shivered slightly, feeling his mouth spread into a satisfied smile against the sensitive skin of your neck. His voice deepens further, sultry and needy, “Lifetimes… I’ve been so goddamn purposeless for too many fucking lifetimes, just waiting for you.”

Without warning, the touch-starved puppet sunk his teeth into the crevice of your shoulder at the base of your throat, sucking at the weak spot to bruise the skin with his mark. A surprised yelp fell from your mouth, and you so nicely turned your head to offer him more. He clutched your curves tightly, as if he was secretly wishing your bodies would just melt into each other.

Ba-dum… ba-dum… ba-dum…

Your precious heartbeat echoed through his chambers of his chest. Kuni craved that little pulse of yours, chasing it up your neck in heated, sloppy kisses. All the while, you encouraged him with sweet little sounds of pleasure, softly asking for more under your breath.

“It’s mine,” he reiterated, perhaps to help immortalize the sensation against his lips. With a faint growl and yet another love bite, he added, “You’re fucking mine, you hear me?”

If only he could be bothered to pull back and catch a glimpse of how the puppet had unraveled you beyond recognition, equally as intoxicated by the heat of the moment. No matter. He will have his fill of you in due time.

“Y-yours, mhmm,” you capture his wet lips halfway, experimentally swirling your tongue with his passionately. You were clinging onto his shoulders, entangling your fingers in the soft ends of his pretty hair resting on the back of his neck.

With a faint moan against your mouth, Kuni lifted you once more by slipping his hands under your dress to feel his digits press into the soft flesh of your ass. It was light work to carry you, giving him the opportunity to squeeze and smack your ass with a smirk.

Slipping into your bedroom, he set you down and turned you around by your hips so that you were facing the tall mirror just a few feet away from the mattress. He leans over your shoulder from behind and you blush heavily at the image reflected by the mirror. Both of his beautiful hands traveled up your body simultaneously, one feeling your stomach, ribs, breast, and resting around the bottom of your throat.

The other, however, caught the frilly ends of your dress, sliding it up your skin at a painstakingly slow rate. Kuni’s violet irises shimmered with obsessive desire, admiring every inch of your body that was exposed to him. He bunches the dress in his fist as he raises it above your hips, revealing the most angelic lacy undergarments accented with cute little ballerina pink ribbons. Kuni chuckled, his breath tickling your neck.

“Do me a favor, darling,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, kissing it lightly. He takes his time to unveil your breasts, each one perfectly shaped with lovely nipples begging to be pinched. “Open your mouth.”

You comply, watching yourself in the mirror with curious fascination, before Kuni stuffs the thin, light fabric of your dress into your mouth. He nibbles your ear playfully. “Hold that for me.”

His eyes marvel at your body. If you told him you were a goddess, he would believe you without hesitation. Divine or not, the puppet was hell-bent on worshipping you like he had been dreaming of. Kuni played with the intricate lace of your snow white lingerie, his thumb brushing your pelvis teasingly.

Instead, he takes two fingers and caresses your folds outside of the undergarment, pleased to feel your panties dampened with excitement. You quiver at the touch, moaning faintly. Kuni is enthralled by the sweet noise, taking the tiny lingerie by his thumbs and sweeping it down your pretty legs.

He immediately sits down on the edge of the bed, quickly pulling you into his lap and spreading your legs apart with his knees. There it was in the mirror. Your glistening flower framed with the loveliest soft petals.

Kuni couldn’t possibly restrain himself when you were presented so exquisitely, wasting no time to slide his fingers over your pussy. You groaned in pleasure, muffled by the dress in your mouth, relaxing against his chest as the puppet focused on rubbing circles around your clit. He kissed your neck and shoulders endlessly, admiring your reactions in the mirror and whispering lowly, “So good for me. So, so good for me, aren’t you, (Y/N)?”

Your thighs trembled. You desperately wanted to close your legs as his movements became faster on your clit, the stimulation swiftly overcoming you. Breathy moans soon evolved into incoherent pleas. Kuni held you steadfast with his legs, keeping you spread all nice, admiring how you twitched beneath him.

“What did I tell you?” his tone is one of warning, groping your right breast and littering your skin with a few more marks. “There are consequences to hiding yourself from me.”

The puppet suddenly swipes his middle finger over your leaking hole—causing you to moan lewdly—before slapping your pussy. It was a light but firm slap, sending an addicting concoction of both pain and pleasure through you.

After a brief moment, he returns to your folds to trace and admire it, then continuing his ministrations on your clit. Occasionally Kuni would let a finger slip to tease your entrance, finding that it drove you crazy.

“P-please, please, Kuni,” your words quivered like your body, bending easily to the pleasure he was so kindly bestowing you. It had to have been the hundredth small cry for relief tumbling from your throat, you were on the precipice of your climax. “I-I need it. Something, anything… fuck me.”

“You better not cum on my fingers,” the puppet orders, gathering your slick and gently inserting two fingers into your warm walls. You whined in frustrated pleasure as he stretched you slightly, pumping his digits in and out of you barely an inch but keeping you stuffed.

“I c-can’t, I’m…” you babble. Kuni knew you were on the brink already, but he wanted to at least try to prepare you for his cock. He suddenly pulls his fingers out, and with it escapes your climax. Tears were almost pricking your eyes. You could definitely feel them beneath the surface.

He slaps your pussy again as punishment for not listening to his commands. “Greedy sluts are not rewarded.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble and he grunts, pushing you off of him and to your knees in front of the bed. Kuni makes quick work of his clothes, tossing his shirt aside and pulling his pants down enough to spring his throbbing cock free. You had certainly felt his hard length while you were in his lap, but seeing it rendered you speechless.

No different from the rest of the puppet’s beautiful body, Kuni’s cock was perfect. A few veins wrapped around his hard member, bulging under the flesh. Towards the tip, it was gradually flushed pink with hot need, a pearl of precum on his slit. You took him in your hand, butterflies swarming your stomach with the realization that he had more girth than you expected.

Kuni grabbed a fistful of your hair and shoved your face toward his cock with a simple demand. “Suck.”

You experimentally drag your tongue underneath his cock, licking your lips, and working your mouth on his tip to lubricate him first. Kuni’s eyes roll in the back of his head, resting one hand behind him on the bed as he moans deeply. “Fuck, (Y/N)…”

The sensation of you smiling with his cock in your mouth sent warmth through him. You eagerly fit more of him in your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue just the way he likes it when you received praise. Yet, Kuni needed more.

“You can do better than that,” he scoffed.

His grip on your hair tightened, pushing your throat completely down on his cock just to feel it once. The puppet twitched in your throat, letting out a seductive growl of pleasure. You gagged slightly, before pulling back with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. You coughed a little, but he cupped your chin and wiped it from your mouth sweetly.

“That’s my girl,” Kuni coos, guiding you up on the bed next to him and pushing you down onto your back. As much as he’d love to see you taking him in your mouth all evening, he had a prize more tantalizing waiting for him. Clothes on the floor, moonlight pouring over you both, the puppet vowed to never forget how you mewled as he dragged the pulsing tip of his cock along your wet folds.

Gasping, you achingly bucked your hips in tandem, utterly drunk on the delicious sensation of his thick length parting your pussy lips. You loved to be teased, that much was for sure and Kuni ate it up—the desperate crinkle of your brow in pleasure and how your breath became short.

He presses his tip at your warm hole, but never pushes it in.

You groan dramatically, sweat already forming on your forehead and you haven’t even began. Every bit of pressure he applies has you smitten, imagining the moment he finally fills you. “K-Kuni…”

The smug puppet smirks down at you knowingly, grinding his cock against you repeatedly, rubbing your clit just right. “Yes, my little songbird? Have something to say?”

Before you can speak, he kisses you to muffle your answer. You grow even more impatient, using your legs to keep his hips locked close to yours. Kuni peppers your jawline and neck with kisses and little playful licks of his tongue. “I’m listening.”

“Please,” you beg.

Kuni’s tone is unreadable. “Please what? Use your words.”

You give him a flustered look of desperation and he pins your hands on either side of your head, interlacing your fingers with his. You reply, biting your lower lip, “Fuck m-me, Kuni.”

A smile graces his face and his eyes soften, thumbs caressing your hand comfortingly to brace you for his length. “Is this… your first time, (Y/N)?”

Though you were a shy and kindhearted person, he should’ve known from the way you deepthroated his cock earlier that it wasn’t your first. He wasn’t your first. That means someone else was. Someone else defiled you.

Kuni’s electric purple eyes darkened like an impending storm as you shook your head.

“Indulge me,” the puppet asks. “What other men have been in my position?”

You are not in the right state of mind, still insatiably yearning for your climax and grinding your wet folds on his length. However, Kuni doesn’t accept your nonsensical mumblings and half-answers. His hands tighten around yours, pushing his cock into you with a guttural moan inch by inch until he bottoms out completely.

“Oh my fucking god,” you sputter out, sighing in sweet relief and a bit of pain. Your pussy is filled to the brim with his cock, stretching you out good. You try to turn your head away and close your eyes, but Kuni refuses to let you.

“That’s right,” Kuni’s voice is nothing short of alluring in the most raw way possible. “Treat me like your god and fucking look at me while you take my cock.”

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t also utterly euphoric as he sinks his large member into your tight walls. Gritting his teeth, he’s taken aback by how you squeeze him unknowingly, even your subconscious is unable to deny the pleasure he’s giving you. It took you a few seconds to adjust to his girth, your eyes drifting down his muscular chest and toned abdomen in admiration.

With the first drag of his cock out of you to his tip, hushed hum of pleasures are murmured by each of you, until he buries himself all the way back into you. Kuni continues in this rhythm with a few thrusts, unable to his stifle his own moans. He was no better, his climax already building within.

Pulling back, the puppet releases your hands to push your legs against your chest by your thighs to get just the right angle and perfect view of your folds. He hovers above you, fucking just his hot bulbous tip into your needy hole. In mere seconds, you cursed to yourself at how good it felt when he brushed against your sensitive entrance.

Your clit pulsated for attention. How could he not press his palm onto your pelvis and drag his thumb across the slightly swollen bud? His half-thrusts became shakier as you unexpectedly tightened around his cock—moans freely and loudly erupting from your throat. The feeling was beyond exhilarating and convinced him to push you to your limits.

“You think I’m going to let any other man put his hands on you like this?” Kuni sneers with jealous envy reflecting in his irises. “I’ll fucking snap his neck. I’d kill him.”

Impulsively, the obsessed puppet roughly plunges his entire cock into your soft pussy. He relishes in your loud moan of shock at the pleasure and slight discomfort in splitting you wide open. His cock pushes against that wonderful spot deep inside you, incredibly sensitive after all his torturous teasing. You were seeing more than stars.

“I bet they couldn’t fuck you like I can,” he scoffs, possessively pulling your closer by your legs and holding your ankles on his shoulders as he fucks you mercilessly. “Make you scream like I can. And—nghh—breed you.”

You were finer than a work of art, truly, in all your fucked-out glory as you chase your high on his thick cock. His thumb flitting over your clit messily, primal groans of bliss echoing throughout the bedroom at every divine flutter of your pussy milking his cock so well. Your words were simply unintelligible, mumbling breathy prayers wishing for his seed.

“No one can take you away from me,” Kuni himself is beginning to tremble with pleasure, but nevertheless he keeps up his brutal pace. Every crevice of your walls and your womb will know his essence. “You’re mine, and I’ll burn the whole damn world for you if that’s what it takes.”

In a rush of jealous envy at the mere thought of losing you, the puppet abruptly pushes your legs back onto your beautiful breasts by his chest. The erotic melody of your fluids coating the base of his cock and v-line with every sloppy thrust pushes you both over the edge of an impossible free fall of euphoria.

“Cum on me, (Y/N). C’mon, cum all over my fucking cock,” Kuni demands with salacious desperation, pounding into you again and again until you’ve ridden out every second of your climax. The sensation is indescribable as he swears he could feel your rapid heartbeat through your walls—your heartbeat in his hands like he’s the supreme god of your body.

And as such, he blesses you with ropes of hot cum to drown your pussy in his everlasting love. Kuni collapses and cradles you, wiping the tears of pleasure from your sweet, angelic cheeks.

Righteousness means nothing to gods, for whom salvation is too late and sin knows no price.

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hello,if of course you wanted and if it was your will, could you write something about Thranduil. About how once, while returning to his Kingdom, he came across a slave trade where he saw an elven woman who was scared and emaciated. Thranduil is moved by this and buys her out, then takes her to the palace, though she is distrustful, appreciates him helping her, and over time I fall in love with him. You don't have to agree with this, but it may have been after Thranduil became King, but also before his son was born. Of course, if you want to write about it, and that would be your will...

Hello! I wrote this event taking place just after the sinking of Beleriand, with Oropher ruling Greenwood the Great and sections of Middle Earth being a bit of a dumpster fire after the War of Wrath. I hope you don’t mind the change. This is part one. Part two should be out in a fortnight, or just after that, and from Thranduil’s POV.

“A Better Future” Part 1

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Angst | Dark

Warnings: Death | Indentured servitude | Indenture Auction | Mentions of slavery | Mentions of sexual slavery | Mistreatment | Examination for purity

Wordcount : 2.3K words

Summary: An elf of the Noldor finds herself on the auction block, facing a dreary future.

A/n: For Lady Githa I drew inspiration from Six of Crows’ Tante Heleen. Most of part one is around reader's backstory, and there is only some dialog towards the end.

Minors DNI

Y/Ns POV

Y/n was still drowsy when she opened her eyes. She had seen herself with her father, listening to him play the harp and sing while her mother sewed away by the fire. There were hot pies and fresh fruit and cheese to nibble on, and her father would leave the harp to indulge in her thirst for tales of the Blessed Realm. Home was safe and warm, and everyone was alive.

Such a beautiful dream. And a dream it would forever be. Y/n threw back the rags that served as coverlets and sat up straight on the pallet that served as a featherbed. Her back ached after a night of fitful sleep. She glanced around the near-empty chamber, which was barely large enough for her. There were no possessions here, and she was not allowed any. Oh, she had been promised new garments, a hot meal, and a bath for this day, but she knew such gifts came with a heavy price. She had moved among the Edain long enough to learn this harsh truth. Y/n looked at the stone ceiling and sighed mournfully. Her fate will be decided today.

My fate was decided a long time ago, in another life, she thought bitterly. Her father had followed the sons of Fëanor and played a part in the second Kinslaying. All that returned of him was news of his disgrace and death, his role in the slaughter, and how he doomed his bloodline along with himself. As for her mother? She no longer wished to live. She followed the path of Miriel before her, lying down in a meadow and letting her fëa peacefully depart from her body. That was how y/n found her—a vessel from which the jewel had spilled. Alone and without friends, she performed the final rights for her mother before departing for safer pastures. Someone was bound to take pity on her and give her shelter; she was certain of it.

That was not to be. Door after door closed to her as soon as she made her name and ties known. Elves did not wish to sully themselves by associating with one bearing the blood of a kinslayer. The Edain did not want to offend wealthy elven patrons. Y/n had been forced to wander further and further east, year after year, alone and frightened, keeping to the outer borders of kingdoms and selling off her family’s possessions one by one in exchange for coin so she could have clothes and food. She watched in horror while smoke rose from distant battlefields, praying the fighting would never reach her. She trembled when she heard strange and terrifying roars. She listened to the songs about how the Valar finally sent their host to deal with a most wretched enemy, how the lands she once ran across as a child had been claimed by the sea. The grief of such a loss—of her home and her family—was so great that it caused her pain powerful enough to nearly cripple her. She bore it all silently. She had no choice, and she did not have a single creature to confide in. Finally, a mortal took pity on her, or so she thought. He offered her a roof over her head and a better future; all she needed to do was agree to his terms.  

Y/n snorted in derision. A better future. If only she had listened to the voice within her, demanding that she refuse. This man would play her false, it said, and place her in a condition with no hope for escape. But y/n was desperate. What coin she had left on her person was all but gone. She was tired of wandering, with no home and no hope and no future to look forward to. She agreed. And felt nothing but regret over the choice she made.

Someone knocked insistently on the door. "I am ready," she called softly. Servants of the house walked in with a healer. Y/n was asked to lay face up and stay still. A flush crept up her throat, but she did as she was told. The healer pulled her rough-spun robe up to her waist and spread her legs, to examine her. Y/n felt a pinch and winced. Her cheeks were ablaze with humiliation. She was told this was necessary. Y/n did not want to think why.

The maids mouthed meaningless comforts while they led her to the baths. Y/n did not believe they meant a word of what they said. They were only loyal to the master of the house and did not spare a thought for her before this. She sat still in a copper tub and was bathed in hot water scented with fragrant oils. One maid carefully washed her hair before picking up a comb to brush the tangles. The other cleaned her feet and nails before scrubbing her back. She chatted incessantly while she went about her tasks. Y/n listened. Anything to distract her from what was about to happen.

"Everyone is talking about you," Eda gossiped, red-cheeked and excited. "Fights have broken out amongst the younger lordlings and..."

"That is quite enough from you, Eda," the other maid, Cwene, cut in harshly. She wanted to end whatever Eda longed to say. Eda bit her lip and nodded anxiously. They both went back to work, silent as the dead.

Y/n shivered and gulped in fright. She knew what was going to happen. She was to be indentured. The man who promised her a brighter future would sell her skills and her, to the one who was willing to pay the most. Those fortunate few who served those with fair hearts had the price of their purchase decrease over time and enjoyed a better life after that. Many more were given a price that only increased as the years passed. They had to toil day after day and year after year, slaves in all but name. Then there were those unfortunate few who faced the bleakest of all futures. Y/n did not allow herself to dwell on those others.

She thought, Perhaps I will be one of the fortunate few, and allowed herself to be helped out of the bath. Perhaps, I will be lucky.

Y/n let the maids lead her to another room and stood still while they toweled her dry and dressed her in silken wisps that made her blush. Then came her gown. It was so soft and smooth that it slipped over her palms like water. She could not remember the last time she wore anything so fine. It made her feel like a lamb being led to slaughter. Eda took her to a nearby stool and asked her to sit. She brushed y/n’s hair until it shone and arranged it in braids and coils. Dabs of sweet-smelling perfume were placed on each wrist and behind each ear. Finally came a pair of sandals crafted out of soft leather. Y/n sighed as if in a dream. The sandals embraced her feet gently, like lovers. Cwene held up a looking glass for her to see her reflection. Y/n was startled. She could not recognize herself.

"She looks like a proper princess now," was all Cwene allowed. Someone else arrived and knocked on the door to the baths. It was the master of the house.

"Take this one to the yard," he rasped to Eda. "The others are growing impatient."

The yard was all freshly cut grass and new flowers, and it was already full of Edain. They gaped at the elf on the raised dais, their looks making her skin crawl. A tall, beautiful woman with hair like spun gold and rubies glinting on her ears, fingers, and throat, climbed up the steps and came to y/n. She looked at her critically. Y/n buried a sob when she saw the rubies. They reminded her of her mother’s hair.

"Beautiful," she whispered, the sweetness of her voice doing little to hide the bitterness lurking beneath. She tilted y/n’s chin with the tip of an elegant walking stick. She wanted to see how her eyes caught the light. Satisfied with what she saw, the woman looked over y/n’s hair and ears, and even her teeth. "Her eyes are like jewels. But tell me, I pray you. Why does she look so gaunt and melancholy? Has she not been fed well?"

It was not said out of kindness. There was none in the lady’s hardened gray eyes. Y/n lowered her gaze and closed her own, as was expected. She did not say that she was given meager scraps because the master of the house did not wish to waste more coin than he already had on her. It could only go badly for her if she did.

"She has," Y/n’s master replied hastily. He crept up to her and dug his fingers into her arm, warning her to keep quiet. Y/n bit her tongue to stop herself from making a sound. "And since the lords that frequent The Blue Rose expect women fit for a king," he added, "This one will do nicely after a good meal, yes?"

"Indeed," the woman conceded, and looked y/n over again. She grabbed y/n's cheek hard, her nails digging into the skin. "Cry if you must," she whispered harshly when y/n, trapped and unable to move, whimpered. "Tear out your hair. I would too if I was in your place. But know this, elf. When the dust clears, you will be mine."

The woman turned to face y/n's master. "Your herald tells me she is untouched."

"Aye, lady Githa," came the reply. "The healer assured me of this."

"This truly is a most blessed day." Githa finally let go and laughed merrily. Y/n fell ill at the sound and found herself overcome with the shivers, but she welcomed the release from Githa's presence. She knew of The Blue Rose. Githa ruled it with an iron fist and was known to be a cruel mistress. The Blue, as it was more commonly known, welcomed the coin of high-born edain, some with tastes that could make one's stomach turn. At least, that was what the maids said. The women sent there never earned their freedom. Some, she had heard through careless chatter, did not even make it out alive. Y/n wanted to flee, to run somewhere no one knew of, and to hide. Since she could not, since she was already trapped, she prayed, hoping against all hope that she would not have to spend the rest of her days toiling on her back.

A herald came forth and called out her name and ties. His words were met with boisterous cheers. "She was born in the four hundred and fiftieth year of the first age," he continued, "and is skilled in both the high harp and the lute. The lady is also fluent in both Quenya and Sindarin. Her mother and father hailed from the Blessed Realm. She is meek and obedient, perfect for any household. And she is untouched. We have been assured of this. One such as her will not grace this dais again."  

Loud applause rang out around the yard. Y/n’s master grabbed her arm so hard that it hurt. She was dragged to the center of the block and made to stand straight. The herald would call out a price. Someone would offer more. Y/n listened with growing dread as her purchase price rose higher and higher. The cries soon reached a fevered frenzy that shocked her. She heard the unmistakably musical sound of Githa, the woman who looked her over like she was nothing more than a prize horse to be broken in, whatever means necessary. Githa had coin. From the way she carried on, it was plain she had plenty. If someone shouted a price, she would go higher. One by one, those others would give their excuses and stop. Y/n heard names being called out. Only six remained. Githa was one of the six. Fear coiled within her belly like a snake.

How could you do this to me, father? She wanted to cry. How could you and mother doom me to such a fate?

Y/n heard more voices. Word had already reached the marketplace and spread like a forest fire. Many poured into the yard and joined the throng. They wanted to watch. Someone shouted out ribald jests. Lady Githa replied with equal humor. The others laughed. Y/n kept her eyes closed even as her blood ran cold. She pretended not to hear. Doom coiled itself around her like a chain so heavy she could almost feel it tightening over her chest, squeezing the very air out of her. 

The herald called out names once again. Only two remained, he reminded the rest, but he invited everyone to indulge in the food and wine being served. Y/n could taste the bile at the back of her throat. Githa shouted another offer. 

"Six thousand gold pieces!" The herald declared and received a roar of approval. "And we still carry on!"

The crowd encouraged Lady Githa and her rival, urging them to continue. Grief gathered around y/n’s heart like bees. There was no escaping her fate now. No one was coming to save her. Tears welled up in her eyes and broke free. Someone laughed.  

"Twenty thousand gold pieces!" A deep voice boomed from behind the crowd. The yard went so quiet that y/n swore she would have heard a pin drop. "And an end to this wretched spectacle!"

Y/n heard the creak of floorboards. The herald went to talk with his masters. They were beside her, whispering to each other. Again, she pretended not to hear. 

"We cannot deny them," one said.

"That one will slaughter all of us if we refuse," another said. "Or do worse."

"Aye," muttered a third. "But we must give Lady Githa the opportunity to make her excuses and bow out. She may not come near us again otherwise. Continue with the sale."

"Tw-twenty thousand!" The herald returned and announced the figure. They were going to continue. "We have twenty thousand! Do either of you wish to go higher?" 

Moments passed. Y/n listened, thinking Lady Githa would call out a higher price and carry on. 

"He can have her!" Githa cried after speaking with her rival. She sounded less than pleased. "We are finished!"

"Very well!" The Herald agreed. "Twenty thousand gold! Going once, going twice, sold! To… to the crown prince of Gr-greenwood the Great!"

The herald sounded terrified. The crown prince of Greenwood the Great, he had declared. Y/n had heard of this kingdom and how its king and his people survived the sack of Doriath. In all her wanderings, she kept away from this realm, no matter how tired or weak or hungry she was. She knew she would find no welcome there. 

Y/n fearfully opened her eyes, certain the prince only brought her to punish her for the sins committed by her kin.  

Tags: @deadlymistletoe

[six-white-venus]

MY FAVORITE WORD EVER

rot

OR!!

gone

you find my corpse on a bright summer morning.

you break into my freezing cabin with a raised eyebrow. unphased. curious. then, a slow smile appears. i am immediately wary.

it has been years since i’ve had visitors in my humble abode and i like it that way. the cold keeps me safe. my body rots like a bruise swells; slow, painful, with withering purples and blues. it stretches the time of my body in this land into an endless limbo that i clutch with my cold, dead hands. my heart is still and i am numb, have been so for a long, long time. i am safe.

you find my corpse on a summer morning and stomp into my home/hell with eyes ablaze and teeth flashing and if i was alive, my heart would’ve seized at the sight. you lug my body to my backyard, unflinching. the sun burns my skin and everything hurts and i want to kick and scream and thrash in your hold because you idiot, you stupid motherfucker, don’t you know the rot sets in faster when life is around?

but dead men don’t scream, don’t move. you drop me on the grass with heaving breaths and all i could do is burn while the cicadas sing of my second demise. then, you start talking.

you tell me about your day and ask me about mine and barrel on when all you’re met with is silence. you tell me of the sky, the wind, and your favourite sundress. you must be insane. out of your fucking mind. don’t you see this rotting vessel of mine? my unseeing gaze and blue lips and cracking skin? don’t you smell the rot, the death? you surely do. then why aren’t you running? no, stop. stop moving closer. you madman, leave me in this wretched place. the warmth of your touch will only make me fester, don’t you see?

but you stay. you tell me how the crisp apple bursts into a delightful sweetness when you sink your teeth into it and pull my head to your lap. you tell me about your mom’s cooking and let my cold seep into your skin. my mouth is sewn shut and you are holding me so gently and i want to scream for mercy, for an ounce of cruelty. give me back my home, you villain. give me back my hell.

ice melts. the heat thaws my flesh and the rot digs into my body with its talons unsheathed and merciless. you pitch a tent next to my body and spend your nights here. night after night, i listen to the lull of your heart and watch the rise and fall of your chest as my body breaks itself down from inside out. i am warm.

and you, stubborn, baffling, ethereal you; you stay. the next day and all the days after that. the stench is getting unbearable now. i can see it in your eyes, in every ragged breath of yours. a corpse will remain a corpse no matter how much it is loved. there are only so many stories you can tell without gagging at the sight of this monstrosity. the sun always sets. stories end. love lives where life does. your kindness never did have a place between my blackened teeth and diseased heart, my dear.

but you come back with a gentle brush of lips against my decaying forehead. your hand cradles my rotten head. my sweet warmth, there you are. won’t you leave?

you won’t, right?

you dig my grave all by yourself. six feet deep, seven feet tall because you want me to be comfortable. what a useless gesture. i learn love feels like the glow of the moon and feather soft touches and a grave dug with bare hands.  you lift me in your arms, careful not to jostle me too much, lest i fall apart. kindness feels like a siren’s lullaby and i can feel my eyes droop. it’s dangerous and so very beautiful.

things are different in my new home. numbness feels so far away. there is life thrumming in my veins and eating away at my flesh. you bring me flowers everyday- chrysanthemums, dandelions and tulips- you tell me they remind you of me. how foolish. how very wonderful.

soon, i will bloom into all the flowers you can dream of from this very earth you laid me in. soon, i will rise, petals unfurling, laugh booming. i will weave myself in your braids and take root in your chest and spread down to the very tips of your fingers. my darling, my sun, my rose; i promise i will find you on a bright summer morning.

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ┊ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 , 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

( AT THE END OF THIS STORY, I WALK INTO THE SEA & IT CHOOSES NOT TO DROWN ME. )

chara : scaramouche/wanderer fandom : genshin impact quote cr : jihyun yun a/n : contains scenes of drowning. reader is an angel. not meant to portray a romantic relationship.

ACT I :

A FUNERAL PROCESSION DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING WHEN IT'S YOURS. THE LOWERING OF THE CASKET / THE DIRT AND DECAY THAT COVERS THE ROOT OF BEING. IT IS VOID IN EXISTENCE, & IN PLACE OF WHERE A HEART RESIDES, THERE IS AN ECHO OF WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HUMAN AND WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY.

there is supposed to be a grief that accompanies acknowledgement of loss and death, but in the open wounds of mortality, flesh torn asunder in the killing of a body, a puppet feels nothing.

he stares at the funeral, desolate. it is his, yet he does not mourn. the sight before him is somber, but it is filled with deception, he thinks, and so he reminds himself over and over that he is the one that lies in that casket, dead.

it's easy to forget it's your funeral when everyone there is someone you don't know or someone who pretended to care until it was too late. he cannot recognize half of these faces.

if he opened the casket, would he recognize himself?

"you have experienced both life and death, dearest kabukimono. which do you find to be more beautiful?"

his train of thought is disrupted, gaze shifting to the figure beside him. you have always remained at his side for reasons unknown, denied the existence of guardian angels, but he cannot find any other explanation for the everlasting presence of some supposed divinity watching over him. he could laugh, really. even if you were a guardian angel, you were far too cynical, far too perfect a companion for someone like him.

"i have no heart." the words are filled with spite and hatred and devoured by anger, but beneath it, there is a loneliness, and the ache of it all almost makes you feel something. "you can't experience both if you were made to be a vessel of nothing."

you smile, amused. you study the crowd, its mess of black umbrellas and murmurs and cries. you hear the sobs, but you are certain that there are no tears shed.

"are they mourning for you?"

he laughs, bitter.

"no. not with that pathetic acting."

"they must be very selfish, then." you hum, words spoken more to yourself than anything. "it must be tragic, knowing that your funeral is not full of love and grief. i wonder what would have been more painful for you," you glance at him, but he does not dare look at you, "the absence of the mournful or the false pretenses of sorrow from those who never cared."

you stand next to each other, watch as the crowd disperses, until all that's left is a tombstone with a name he will soon rid of.

"desolate wanderer," your voice is soft, somber, "i am sorry for you. would you like me to say a prayer?"

he does not answer.

ACT I , REVERSED :

the scene changes. the black umbrellas blur into nothing. a coldness washes over him, envelops him entirely in something known as terror. suddenly, it is still. the wretched air is quiet, profound. frightening.

he stands in a body of water, the tides calm, the shore distant. he recognizes this feeling. it is not one he can forget, even when he tries. three times he has known this sensation, the creeping dread, the breaking of something deep inside the void in his chest.

you stand before him, watch as the water drips from your fingertips. your gaze is absent, unreadable, but maybe he sees something so incredibly sorrowful in it. he watches your reflections, notes the feathers that were once part of you. how they float on the surface, lonely and listless, and in the muddled waters, the pure white twists into something black.

"do not be afraid." you tell him, and he watches the droplets trail down your skin, descend into the water from which they came, one by one, slowly.

he could laugh at the words. he wants to say it's human nature to be afraid, but he stops himself-- he is not human, after all, so why does he succumb to fear?

"i'm not."

brash words. liar, you think. but that's okay. you tilt your head ever so slightly, lips curved in a subtle smile.

"are you ready?"

he nods. the water is cold, cruel, invades his senses. there's a numbness that sinks into his skin, but maybe that's an absolution, the cleansing, the awakening. you close the little distance between your bodies, hands cupping his face, tender. there is something in your eyes-- pride, maybe, but he denies himself the possibility. who would be proud of a failed creation?

he closes his eyes. the water grows colder, but there's something warm in his chest, and he does not know whether it is fear or hope he feels the most.

"good night, kabukimono." you press a kiss to his forehead. "may you find something greater on the other side."

your hands slide down, delicate in the way they wrap around his throat, fragile, and in meaning of divinity and reincarnations and sacrifice for something better, you pull him into the waves, further and further and further down until his body loses all sensation, until he can no longer hear the violent sea, until his breath is gone and he is no more.

ACT II :

"balladeer. scaramouche. kunikuzushi. harbinger." you mumble the names to yourself, keep track of them by counting with your fingers. "have i missed any? shall i grant you another warm, endearing title?"

the balladeer scowls at you, though you find it amusing. perhaps in a previous life, you would have surely teased him, pushed it a little further. but in this life, there is a different kind of danger in his eyes, a deeper misery. you do not think you care enough to provoke him-- he could not hurt you, after all, even if he dared.

you contemplate the possibility. he could not hurt you-- not because he'd care too much about you to do so, but simply because you carry the blood of a higher being. he would most certainly try if he knew he could harm you, should you push him to the brink.

what a bitter feeling. you smile faintly at the realization and he does not like it.

"why are you here?"

"i am always here. you've just been given the impression that i'm a thorn in your side."

"are you not?"

"in your search for power and vengeance, have i failed you? was this my fault, the twists and turns in your path to greatness? i can only guide you so much, and all this time, i have watched you walk down the road to destruction." you pause, watch his expression darken with a kind of fury, some kind of hurt. "every name you are known as holds your past. you change it, try to cleanse yourself, but the truth is that you'll always carry it, unforgotten."

"so what did the sea do for me, angel? did you kill my spirit for the sake of your enjoyment?"

you tilt your head once more, smile so exhausted and worn.

"i did not kill your spirit, lonely wanderer. you already killed it long ago." your words hold a dreadful venom, bitterness on the tip of your tongue, rust lining your throat. "the sea could not save you, just as i could not."

he does not know how to respond. he hates that faint apathy you always manage to have, even when he knows it's only a facade at times. he hates that not even a higher power can help him -- but it's always been that way, hasn't it? just like everyone else, you've failed him too. that's what he'll tell himself because that's all he knows.

he turns on his heel, feels the razor edges of your brutality sink into his flesh. he walks, and he does not stop.

"we will try again." he states, command deep in his voice. "neither you or the sea are meant to save me."

you close your eyes, bow your head. somewhere in the silence, you say a prayer. you have never been a savior.

he is not meant for the saving.

ACT II , REVERSED :

the scene changes once more. it's the sea again, that familiar coldness that fails to abate. it's that strange fear again, that uncertainty. and then there's you, there's always you, he thinks. he stares at the reflections once more, distorted by the ripples of motion. your feathers look darker, the harbinger notes, and there are far more than before. he rests his hand in the water, watches as one floats into his palm. his grasp is gentle as he examines it, and there's a flicker of white, then black once more. he wonders if he imagined it.

"you didn't crush it." you comment.

"you thought i would?"

"i don't know." you reply. "you are not always made of carnage." and that familiar curve of the lips. "it wouldn't have hurt in the end, but thank you for your kindness."

his eye twitches, and you laugh. he doesn't know if you're being genuine, and he's going to dwell on this moment for a bit too long, he realizes.

the air becomes heavy once more. you wonder if he is certain in this decision. it is the second time, but the fear remains stagnant, unchanging.

"do not be afraid."

there is something you cannot quite decipher in his gaze-- determination? wrath? you are unsure. you don't bother to question it. you do it all over again, this familiarity-- the ripples in the water as you move closer, hands cupping his face once more. you press your forehead against his, close your eyes just as he does.

"good night, kunikuzushi. may you find something greater on the other side."

you open your eyes. your hands trail down, fingers wrapping around his throat in yet another means of reawakening. his hands rests over yours, eyes still shut, and you feel how they tremble ever so slightly.

the sea is cold, unwelcoming. the plunge is gentle, but the sensation still frightens him nonetheless. you are merciful even for an angel, comes the bittersweet thought, and maybe he isn't worth such benevolence. he's always wondered why you chose to stay by his side, anyway.

he feels the fight leave his body, feels the way your grip tightens to end this suffering just a little faster. your hands are warm, the balladeer thinks, and it is the last thing he remembers before it all goes void.

ACT III :

maybe you truly are not a guardian angel. you have not been at his side for a long while. he thought perhaps it was just that he had forgotten, that maybe you were nearby all along. but your absence has been all too noticed, and he does not like it.

it is... lonely, here. to be forgotten by all, to carry the weight of what was.

sumeru is vast. it is beautiful, bright, radiant. all the things he is not accustomed to. he stands on the highest of heights, watches the endless landscape below him. somewhere, he hears familiar footsteps : light, graceful.

"do you remember me?"

he stills. he's not sure if he wants to see your face, see that perplexed expression, see the way you tell him that you do not. no one else does.

you hum, deep in thought, and the sound is beautiful. how he misses it so. it sends an ache in the hollows of his chest, some kind of longing.

"won't you turn around? it's been a long while since i've seen that grumpy face."

you can practically hear him roll his eyes. it is a moment or two of gathering composure and courage before the vagabond finally turns, and of course, you have that same stupid smile on your face. this time, it is more genuine, and he's not sure how to quite process that.

"i remember you." you answer. "you're far too stubborn and annoying to forget."

he almost feels something beat wildly in his chest, but he does not understand the sensation. there is nothing there, no heart, yet some kind of heartache. you speak again.

"what do you call yourself now?"

he has taken many names, few of them significant. he has not granted one to himself-- no need, he thinks, though he knows that he would not rid of it if he had one. he thinks back to the sea, recalls your many conversations.

"wanderer."

you pause, and he notes that small flicker of recognition in your eyes.

"familiar and fitting." you muse. you close the distance just as you always have in the past, but this time, there is no water, no vicious wave to overtake him. "do you wish to see the sea?"

the words are heavy in meaning, but it is different this time. in your voice there is the quiet pondering of are you happy this time? have you found the right path? did you find it, that greatness? and he understands it.

he freezes. inhale, exhale. he stares at the sight before him, recalls when you once stood with him at his funeral. things have changed now. he is the same yet different, a harbor for sorrow and anger, but a home for something virtuous. his gaze shifts to you once more. this is not the outcome he intended, desired, nor expected. but there's forgiveness somewhere out there, and maybe he'll grant it to himself one day.

"no," he answers, and in his visage, there is just the faintest trace of kindness you once remembered from memories past, "i've had enough of you drowning me."

you laugh softly, see his lips curve just the smallest bit.

"i am glad, dearest wanderer."

[pan0pticonn]

A report on the Archives inevitable end - prologue

Mag 200 - Jon succeeded in his plan to take over Jonah’s place

——————————————

“I didn’t think you’d go through with it! Not without me! I can’t believe you’d do this! That you’d leave me like this! You swore to me! You swore to me, you bastard” the one that had followed The Archive all the way here had said before he left, tears running down his flushed cheeks as he descended the stairs he’d followed The Archive up because he’d been the only one who had ever truly known the person that ceased to exist more and more by the second and had, against his better judgment, believed that, maybe that would be enough to stop what he’d known would happen if his loved one took over Jonah Magnus’ throne.

He, of course, had been wrong, and though losing the one he loved had broken his heart, eventually he left as the person he’d known drifted away and started becoming The Archive, the pupil of the Great Eye That Watches And Knows All, the Prince of the fallen world and the Vessel that drinks in all that is fear and terror more than It had ever been during it’s false pretenses of being human.

The Archive had been sorry, of course. But it Knew it’s Love would do better with those that were waiting down in the tunnels than at the Archives side as it drives every soul towards The Waiting End That Comes For All And Cannot Be Ignored, until finally - this wretched world may rest in the absence of life and fear. Even if the distant part, that had been stronger when the one that loved it had first arrived at the Archives throne, that remains more man than the record of fear that the Archive now so fundamentally and undeniably has become, had longed for the touch of the love that had never truly been allowed to exist in peace and bliss and had instead been forged on the ashes of normality and comfort as the two that had loved each other tried growing a delicate flower on the cold and unforgiving cement that flowed down both of their throats and tried to choke out their humanity.

With the only remaining part of it’s life before gone, it’s reason, The Archive rests there. At the center of the great panopticon, it Sees and Knows all the terror in this wretched broken world. It drinks in billions of nightmares that choke and know and fall and die and for a moment it lets itself revel in the twisted yet beautiful suffering of the world.

But of course, The Archive has not always been The Archive, for such a thing would have been impossible in the world Before. And the part that still believes itself to the Archivist claws and digs and bites through the Archives instincts that want it to Know and Drink in the ecstasy of the endless fear, to use it‘s rightful place as the pupil of The Great Eye That Watches And Knows All and rule this terrible new world.

And so the Archive remembers why it is here, what it’s plan was and what it has to do. For it’s love that it is sure it will never see again and can therefore only try to protect from afar. It Knows that rushing every soul towards The Waiting End That Comes For All And Cannot Be Ignored may take some time though. And so the Archive shall drink in The Horrors for one last hurrah until finally, it will cease to exist and be released from the terrible joy of being The Archive and the distant thumping of a dull heartache that the part that remains The Archivist feels so deeply and cannot get rid of.

The Archives inhales and takes in all the nightmare landscapes that the great panopticon Watches and Sees as it speeds up the process of ending those lost souls suffering in the domains of the End. And in the meantime… well, it rather thinks it is time for a statement. After all, there’s so much fear it needs to drink in and preserve

[stabbysillymoth]

I know nobody follows me yet… but I made… someting for @bamsara, they don’t like being idolized but they are so cool to me they are my INSPIRATION. Shakespeare hangs its head in shame at how good Bam’s writing is

Anyway I made dis, it’s a oc insert in bam’s rehabilitation of death fanfic! It’s not very good, but I awoke in the night and brain exploded in ideas.

Word count: ~1.2k

(SPOILERS FOR THEIR FIC, PLEASE BE WARNED)

-Sleep Like the Dead-

The One Who Waits is patient. It’s in his title. Even so, ever since the entrapment of being in this mortal, lowly body, his… ‘nightmares’ have become more than a mere nuisance. Narinder has awaken with more bile in his throat, more of his godly blood spilled from his eyes. And most importantly—he has grown more irritable. The lamb had noticed that the god of death’s patience for their silly rants have been shut down sooner than usual. Though Lambert has pressed Narinder for information, the vessel is met with a sneering cat showing it’s back to them.

It was a night such as all the others. The former god of death sat in his bed, meditating, but found himself distracted. He did not want to go to sleep, but he felt tired. His ego already shattered from being in a mortal body, he felt himself even more pathetic. A god being scared of some mere ‘nightmares’? It made him cringe at himself. But he knew that even if he slept, he wouldn’t gain anything out of it. His mind cannot escape the traitor. The lamb. That wretched, awful excuse for a vessel.

But the exhaustion tugs at his eyes. And he complies quietly, though irritably. He lays down, and lays there with a grimace. Simply waiting until he falls unconscious.

He lays down at the trunk of the tree.

“Do not wander.” Narinder says firmly to Baal and Aym. They nod and go scurry off. They have been adapting well to the cult. The flock have been teaching Baal and Aym routines, but today? They get to wander. Narinder looks up at the beautiful tree he lays up against. The purple bark complimented its leaves and flowers. This year, it has exploded in color, more than it usual would. White leaves paired with multicolored flowers. The grass is warm underneath him. And strangely enough, it doesn’t decay. And he’s actually happy about that fact.

He looked out into the distance with a small hum of relaxation. He sees Baal stuffing flowers in Aym’s collar, and they go running off into a chase. But not too far. Just as Narinder asked.

“Is it nice?” A soothing voice comes from his left. Narinder doesn’t jump, nor get surprised. Like he somehow knew she was there.

It was a bird. A peacock. Her white plumage glittering in the sunlight, but glowing more on the rainbow feathers on her tail and the primary and secondary rainbow feathers on her wings. The flowing white dress she wore went further than her feet, but she walked with grace. The white dress did not get any grass stains as she walked from behind the tree. She nestled next to Narinder at the base of the purple tree. Her caring, rainbow eyes scanning his form. Whatever the peacock is thinking, the cat cannot place it. Her wings fold at her sides. He answers back in a casual tone. “I enjoy it. I get to have some privacy from the lamb.” He scoffed. The peacock chuckled softly at his words. “It must be frustrating. Even having him plague your dreams. Thankfully, he is not here.” She speaks gently, tilting her beak at him. Narinder opens his mouth to respond, and he feels a lot heavier as he processes her words, and then becomes aware of his surroundings. He narrows his eyes at the peacock, but finds his body too fuzzy and warm to move away.

“This is not my memory. Who’s memory is this? I don’t-“ “Tis no memory. Never was, my dear.” The rainbow stranger cuts him off with a gentle wave of her wing.

“I am Oneiros. I am the representation of dreams, imagination, and creation.” She says calmly. Narinder notices that his body had relaxed, and his mind calmer. Something about her voice. It just made him calm. He stared at her for a long minute. And she simply stared out at the fields.

“Have you come to torture me in my sleep, as the lamb has?” The god of death glowers at Oneiros, but the glare doesn’t have the fierce energy he wants it to. It doesn’t particularly matter though. She just hummed softly at his words. “No, One Who Waits. I believed you needed a fulfilling rest, a rest filled with softness and warmth.” She spoke patiently, plucking a couple of flowers and beginning to make a little banquet. But gods cannot dream. He knew that for certain. This woman spouts lies, manipulating me into getting me think I can trust her, until-

“I do not lie.” She interrupts his thinking. He snarls at the reminder that his thoughts aren’t safe in the dreamworld.

“Yes, gods cannot dream. But in special circumstances, i can bless them with a dream. The circumstances I will not share with you, little cat.” Oneiros booped his nose with a rose. Narinder snarled, swatting the flower away. “Are you mocking me?” He sneered, and Oneiros made a squawk of laughter. “No, dear. I like giving my dreamers nicknames. Little cat will be yours.” She hummed, her eyes upturned with light humor. The god of death sneered again. He bristled, his tail spiking in irritation. “I shall pluck your feathers out, one by one, if you ever call me that again.” He snarled, his tail whipping back and forth with attitude. She chortled in amusement. “I have worse nicknames, my dear. But I will just call you ‘cat’.” Oneiros hummed. He huffed, but didn’t comment any further. His usual malicious tendencies were toned down more in this realm, he felt less argumentative, he noticed. The peacock then handed him a mini banquet of multicolored flowers. Flowers of such bright colors, he assumed they were exotic.

“I will come again when you are at your lowest. For this safe haven will always look different each time you are here.” She cooed. Bowing her head to Narinder. He took the flowers, and they didn’t wilt, even if he wanted it to. The peacock huffed at his attempt. Not upset, but a tad disappointed at his attitude.

He then heard the yelling of voices familiar. He had seen them earlier, but now that he is more aware, he stills at the sight of Baal and Aym playing in the flowers. He is silent for many heartbeats. The pair stare at The One Who Waits, confused.

“Are they here?” He asked gruffly, but there was a tone of longing in his voice, which he cursed at himself for letting slip out. The question didn’t make much sense, but Oneiros understood. The rainbow peacock took notice of Narinders uncertainty. Almost desperation. At this, her eyes softened in pity.

“No, sweetheart.” She said gently, a motherly air. She put a wing on his shoulder, the softness of the feathers slightly against his cheek making him swivel his head to look at the bird.

“Nothing in this realm is real. I’m sorry, dear. Wake up, and be refreshed.” Oneiros commanded, blessed. Brushing her rainbow wings against his forehead, and his insides felt fuzzier. The warmth of the grass becoming unfocused as he felt his body drop.

He slowly sat up, and he checked his face and sheets. No bleeding. And he felt better than he had in weeks, probably even months.

He didn’t find the company unpleasant, Narinder just wasn’t used to it. He felt like he could handle 20 hours of the lambs rambling, and 10 minutes was already straining it. So to say he felt better was an understatement.

He’d be hoping to visit that realm again soon. Maybe see if the rainbow peacock has any insight on what to do when godly power is shared between two people.

[candied-boys]

Another - Rio x F! Reader Part 1

When Emma chooses another, Rio has to go home without her... But there's more awaiting him than just forgotten memories...

Themes: hurt and healing, facing the past, learning to love again, aka angst with a happy ending!

Warnings: angst, Rio route spoilers, eventual smut

“Well, I was hellbent on taking revenge for killing our mother, but it seems fate has taken care of that for me, hasn't it, Valerio?" Emidio laughs in a cold voice you remember all too well in spite of your amnesia.

"You were with her for what, three whole years, and she dropped you like a pebble in the ocean for some prince she's known less than a month. At this point, I think I'd rather let you stick around so I can enjoy watching you suffer than put you out of your misery.”

You only nod. You've changed. Being beside her was like being reborn. You have become a very different man — one who regrets the actions that led to the late queen taking her own life. The most dramatic change perhaps being that you agree with him for once. You deserve this. It is retribution for that which cannot be atoned.

The trip to Benitoite takes a week by carriage. Your brothers bicker. The only discussion you participate in is business prospects and politics when strictly necessary. They tell you the court is more divided than ever. It's unlikely to improve until one of you three is named successor. Throwing your existence back into the running is undoubtedly going to cause more friction.

Her voice is ingrained. You should try your best for your kingdom, your people, and yourself. You only ever wanted to try your best for her. What does it even mean to do what's best at this point though?

Too exhausted to let your thoughts fall down the same rabbit hole again, you instead turn your focus out the window. A wretched mistake.

Brilliance. She is the definition of it. The sea stretches on infinitely in its azure glory. Its shores are the place of your dull, grey nightmares. Its reflection haunts you. It is a place you long to love once more, just like the person you had wished to love it with.

The moon is the single royal witness to your arrival. Attendants unfamiliar pay their respects before ushering you to your chambers — now equally as unrecognizable as the servants. You were presumed dead afterall. You should have expected this much. How long will you feel like a guest in your own home when home is where she is.

What luggage accompanied your journey is little; mostly worthless save for being the vessels of priceless memories. With similar emotion you hesitate to remove the clothes you wear. If left out, they will be taken to wash. The last of Rholodite soil to be scrubbed off along with the remnants of her affection. Perhaps it would be best to burn them instead of wearing them devoid of that last hug.

After a long bath you crawl into the bed. Its grand size, though intended to provide comfort, only serves to emphasize your singular presence. In an abyss of loneliness you pray, perhaps for the first time since the carriage accident, for death to swallow you whole.

Instead cruel exhaustion steals you away, leaving you shipwrecked under a familiar gun-metal grey sky. Rain caresses your heart soothing the ache like salt on a wound as you stare out across the mirror of still water.

The oddly familiar sounds of breaking dawn dredge up your consciousness from the seafloor of dreams. A thousand days have passed since last you were here, not a single one beginning with the call of the ocean, yet the cries of the gulls and the crash of the waves at high tide wash through your being as if you had never left.

You lie beneath the dancing reflection of sunlight on water where it seeps through the cracks in your curtains. It should be beautiful, yet with each shimmering lap of the waves upon your ceiling a longing to drown ripples through your soul.

At length, a servant knocks and enters to help you dress. It's been years since you've worn garments so intricate they require the aid of another. Already exhausted before the day has begun, you make your way to the throne room.

Awaiting your arrival there are the king and his mistress — now queen consort thanks to your malice, so vicious that you shamed the previous queen into suicide. You once thought yourself righteous for avenging your mother's suffering, even if you found no satisfaction in the result. Now you think yourself but a mere fool, a cruel monster, a horrible being unworthy to be called a man.

Stepping over the threshold you move swiftly to kneel at their feet. The entire court of one thousand or more looks on at the scene from your periphery. The king and queen welcome you formally, and you raise your head at last to seek their faces. Time has been unkind, you see. Their heads hoary where they were once lustrous. Their eyes duller than you recall. Their youth replaced with wrinkles. You only have yourself to blame.

Restraint evident in their voices and tears welling in their sapphire hues, they tell you how happy they are to have you home. As true as it is that you are relieved to see them, you are not at all happy to be where they call home for that title belongs to her and her alone.

Upon His Majesty's command you rise. Beside each regent stands an attendant — an old minister at the king’s right and a young lady in waiting by the queen consort’s left. As you answer your parents queries you notice her eyes never leave your form. You pay her no mind. She's obviously new.

“And the fair maiden to whom we owe everything for saving your life?” the king’s voice tugs your attention back to him.

Steadying yourself you answer with none of the emotion you feel, “Is to be married to one of the Rholodite princes.”

He insists that wedding gifts will be sent and invitations for a celebration in their honour will be written immediately. You promised yourself that you would stay true, that you wouldn't turn bitter, that you would bear the pain of seeing her with another man. But you know too well that to have them visit as royal guests will either be false happiness or true agony.

“You will dine with your old man and the chancellors this morning, son. We have much to discuss.”

A curt nod is the only answer you can muster before following him out to the dining hall.

Long hours stretch past lunch and into the afternoon while you navigate the bittersweet memories of your life in Rholodite, the complexities of the bell system, the crowning of the new king, the nuances of the internal politics you witnessed first hand, and so forth until other obligations draw your father away.

Drifting down old hallways, tacking a course your body knows in spite of your amnesia, you find yourself standing in front of your mother's chambers.

As the attendant opens the heavy wooden door, you catch the same profile as this morning — now seated at your mother's side, a work of exquisite embroidery in her lap and needle in her hand.

She stands immediately upon the announcement of your presence, curtseying and bowing her covered head while your mother rises.

You are met with overflowing affection, the hugs and tears your mother held back earlier engulfing you like a tidal wave. Every question you've longed to ask her since bits and pieces of your miserable childhood had begun returning to you months ago pours forth. She soothes your fears, reassuring you that beyond the toll that mourning the death of her only son took, she has been very well.

“But, Valerio, why do you only enquire about my health?” she asks, a pained expression tainting her beauty.

Clasping her hands tightly in yours, you reply in confusion, “Who else should I ask about but my dearest mother?”

You follow her sky blue gaze as it is cast aside. A pair of brilliant hues, moist with tears, hold yours expectantly.

“You do not remember her, do you, my darling?” your mother's hushed tone echoes in your ear.

Turning your gaze back to the queen you answer, “I'm sorry, mother. Truly I do not… Should I know your new lady in waiting for some reason?”

“Valerio…” she pauses, her eyes now equally as watery as the young woman at her side. “This is your wife…”

Part 2

[my-white-canvas]

You are my Only Haven

~Sypnosis: A little girl watches over a human that she has waited so long to meet "Will you please wake up? I'm really lonely" she whispers hoping to see your eyes, hear your voice

~warnings: none, I think, it does mention chains and hate and a somewhat dead body

There she waits; waiting for this lifeless mortal body to move, even if it were just a muscle.

The figure in front of her lies on a bed of chains decorated with runes one cannot decipher, even an ancient tongue cannot decrypt them, so the little girl can only hope that the figure will wake.

Why is the little girl so patient with the body that is not even alive? Because it is the only thing she has, she has no family, no friends, no pets, not even an heirloom from her history, she has nothing.

Is it the body of their guardian or someone they cherish? She doesn't know, she only knows she needs them.

How did she meet the body? One night while she was sitting under the stars in her cage, then the stars started to race across the sky, like a stork delivering a baby, the stars carried an empty vessel from another world to Teyvat, as the vessel was still inactive, it was bound by the bygone creator's ancient runes.

But who is the little girl? "... I don't know... who... or what I am" her hoarse voice shaking from the cold as she looked at her hands, they didn't look like her cage mates', in fact, they looked almost nothing alike, other than their form

This makes her even more lonely.

She huddled close to the body for a long time now, but she suddenly felt movement from it; the heart starts to beat, the muscles in the body started to move the blood vessels, and then their eyes finally opened.

"they're beautiful"

The once lifeless body rose from the bed of chains that bound them to the cage with the little girl, they looked around and saw her "who are you?" their voice wretched a hoarse sound from the countless days their body was frozen in time

"Stop... you're not ok" the little girl shot up from her position, her voice startled the person suddenly showing signs of discomfort "what is... wrong?" she asked while moving closer "nothing, you just sound weird" they stated while looking away

"Do...I?" she tilts her head as her hand covers her mouth "yeah, kind of, you sound like a bunch of voices trying to overlap each other's voice" they loudly whisper

The girl's face frowned "I can sound normal!" she yells as her voice shifts to sound like theirs, they look at her in shock and unease "that's weirder" they said as they held one of the chains and brush the runes engraved.

The little girl's cheeks were puffed while she looked away to hide her face "Don't humans say that first impressions would last, was mine that 'weird'?" her face rushed with embarrassment "are they even human? Would they think that?"

The person tried to decipher the runes but to no avail "um... do you know what these are?" they looked at the flustered girl still looking away, she looked to see them looking at her "uh.. right. It took you... while you were... falling" her voice stuttering while also cutting off words "do you always cut off sentences like that?" they raised their brow with a curious look

"I... just don't talk.. that much... to humans" she responded with a look of worry, they look at her arms and other inhuman features "oh, right, I can kinda see it, but you don't have to worry about it tho, you look just fine" their words stammering as they try to not give an insulting guise.

"ah... that is nice.. to hear" she whispers slowly looking back at them "but... can I... ask for your name?" she smiles looking their way "ah... it's *name*" they say while rising from the floor "and you?" they refer to the little lass "Humans call me Teyvat"

"Teyvat?!!" they called in shock "like the... seven elements and archons and stuff?!!" they shouted, the girl was slightly stunned "you know... about that?" her tone sounded slightly worried "a little, only through a game tho, but probably not enough to... you know" "ah"

They chuckled as their face shifted to a confused look "do you know where we are exactly?" they tried to giggle to lighten the mood "we are... in the Mare Jivari" "ohhh"

"Is... there something... wrong?" she draws closer to the person "nothing, just thinking how I'm here when I'm supposed to be in a hospital bed" they sigh while looking out the bars "are you hurt? I can help you... to a human place... where they heal" she shivers holding onto your robes "it's alright, but I do need to find that human place, can you come with me?" they kneel to her height "I can help... but not come" she looks down in guilt "why is that?" you asked while holding her face to yours "the gods... don't like me" she looks away

"That's not fair!! They literally live on you, how could they hate you?!!" their tone became harsh in anger "I don't care what they say, we're leaving this place whether they like it or not" they firmly commanded "yes, but... your chains" she points at their chains "oh right, do you know anything about them" they asked

The little girl leaned close to the runes and chanted things they couldn't understand and the chains fell from their limbs, "I am... Teyvat, I do know" she beamed at you

"let's break those god's rules"

Thank you to @/mondaymelon for the will to write

[sentientsky]

the cicadas are singing somewhere outside and your heart is in your throat and he's looking you in the eyes with something resembling trust and you don't know if you deserve it. your vision's gone all kaleidoscopic and dizzying, the crowd dissolving into fractures of light and cacophony. and still, he's handing you the gun. you feel an oil slick settle under your skin, feel it sizzle and spit in the incandescent heat of a stage turned colosseum, turned hallowed, wretched ground wherever the light finds purchase. you're a demon and he's an angel and neither one of you has ever known the shape of sickness, never felt it settle in the wing-span-bird-hollows of your bones. but you know it now; know the way it slithers, acrid and vicious, carving into the gore of your esophagus. you know it now like an old friend; like the swoop of pale eyelashes against skin; like the slope of his throat, and the way his voice rises at the end as he speaks prophecy into being: aim for my mouth. his mouth—his soft/slanting/beautiful mouth, so far away from your own. fear strings itself between the rungs of your ribcage, burrows deep into aorta and vessel and gore.

but shoot past my ear. and he says it as though you've ever held a weapon with any trace of volition; as though you wouldn't rather face destruction than watch him come to ruin, than let his blood be on your hands (centuries spool out before you, and you're standing in a darkened theatre with a make-believe king and a thane and a ghost. and you can see the woman stained with blood no longer there. you watch the way she tears at her own flesh, scrubs it raw as though she might be made holy once more. the space between your shoulder blades ache). you don't think you could hurt him even if you tried. but the stage lights are so sickly and you're choking back bile and he's a million miles away from you. there's something cracking apart in your chest. the night is heady—the cicadas still sing outside. and you're trembling. you're so close to calling it all off, to pulling him into the wings and out into the amnesia of a heavy night. exit stage right, and all that. but then, trust me. and there it is. it crashes into you with a devastating, inevitable certainty. you'd do anything he wished. you'd rend the sky apart with your teeth. you'd reach into your chest and hand him your all-too-human heart, if only he'd ask. so you hold your breath. you aim. and you pray.

[swiftmitsu]

Think of these thoughts as hackneyed and trite

Clichéd depraved disturbing and contrived

Shallow cold wretched. Miserable dark

And any other adjective

Choose to sit safely out of the sun

Away from rays so blinding to the eye

Singing songs someone's already sung

Averting gaze from beautiful light

But as complacency settles anxieties will rise

And part this Soul as Jekyll parted Hyde

Now I'm but half of a hollow man's lies

The love the hate the emotional side

What's the point in trying if this

End result of dying sits

Persistently encloaked in dimness

Life can't thrive controlled by digits

I know I'm weak. I know that I'm vile

But sometimes that is needed to survive

That's what I'll say to rationalize

I'm needed if we're to stay alive

And yet here I lie with black sunken eyes

My Mind's consigned our sighs to a leaden void

The Soul remains tempered. I remain plied

Condemned 'til we are both all but destroyed

But I know that one plus one can't equal two

If happiness is both our truths

Our total sum must equal one

If we're to find that golden hue

So spiraling down entropically

I beg of thee have mercy on me

I am just a boy you see

I plead of thee have sympathy for me

See how it hurts when the sound begins to ring

And you feel it start to rot

And you beg for it to stop

But you've already dug your lot in the ground

See how The Mind tricks The Soul

Into being something sickly dead and cold

As you feel it start to tire and fester so so slowly

Up until the point where it will finally die

Just in time to see what could have been

Do what you want you automaton freak

No I can no longer bring myself to care

This hollowed out vessel's beginning to creak

So take control let's see how you fare...

Not again bro.

WHOS SINGING IN THE BACKGROUND I AM IN THE MIDST OF A WAR HERE.

[the-white-void]

You are my Only Haven

~Sypnosis: A little girl watches over a human that she has waited so long to meet "Will you please wake up? I'm really lonely" she whispers hoping to see your eyes, hear your voice

~warnings: none, I think, it does mention chains and hate and a somewhat dead body

There she waits; waiting for this lifeless mortal body to move, even if it were just a muscle.

The figure in front of her lies on a bed of chains decorated with runes one cannot decipher, even an ancient tongue cannot decrypt them, so the little girl can only hope that the figure will wake.

Why is the little girl so patient with the body that is not even alive? Because it is the only thing she has, she has no family, no friends, no pets, not even an heirloom from her history, she has nothing.

Is it the body of their guardian or someone they cherish? She doesn't know, she only knows she needs them.

How did she meet the body? One night while she was sitting under the stars in her cage, then the stars started to race across the sky, like a stork delivering a baby, the stars carried an empty vessel from another world to Teyvat, as the vessel was still inactive, it was bound by the bygone creator's ancient runes.

But who is the little girl? "... I don't know... who... or what I am" her hoarse voice shaking from the cold as she looked at her hands, they didn't look like her cage mates', in fact, they looked almost nothing alike, other than their form

This makes her even more lonely.

She huddled close to the body for a long time now, but she suddenly felt movement from it; the heart starts to beat, the muscles in the body started to move the blood vessels, and then their eyes finally opened.

"they're beautiful"

The once lifeless body rose from the bed of chains that bound them to the cage with the little girl, they looked around and saw her "who are you?" their voice wretched a hoarse sound from the countless days their body was frozen in time

"Stop... you're not ok" the little girl shot up from her position, her voice startled the person suddenly showing signs of discomfort "what is... wrong?" she asked while moving closer "nothing, you just sound weird" they stated while looking away

"Do...I?" she tilts her head as her hand covers her mouth "yeah, kind of, you sound like a bunch of voices trying to  overlap each other's voice" they loudly whisper

The girl's face frowned "I can sound normal!" she yells as her voice shifts to sound like theirs, they look at her in shock and unease "that's weirder" they said as they held one of the chains and brush the runes engraved.

The little girl's cheeks were puffed while she looked away to hide her face "Don't humans say that first impressions would last, was mine that 'weird'?" her face rushed with embarrassment "are they even human? Would they think that?"

The person tried to decipher the runes but to no avail "um... do you know what these are?" they looked at the flustered girl still looking away, she looked to see them looking at her "uh.. right. It took you... while you were... falling" her voice stuttering while also cutting off words "do you always cut off sentences like that?" they raised their brow with a curious look

"I... just don't talk.. that much... to humans" she responded with a look of worry, they look at her arms and other inhuman features "oh, right, I can kinda see it, but you don't have to worry about it tho, you look just fine" their words stammering as they try to not give an insulting guise.

"ah... that is nice.. to hear" she whispers slowly looking back at them "but... can I... ask for your name?" she smiles looking their way "ah... it's *name*" they say while rising from the floor "and you?" they refer to the little lass "Humans call me Teyvat"

"Teyvat?!!" they called in shock "like the... seven elements and archons and stuff?!!" they shouted,  the girl was slightly stunned "you know... about that?" her tone sounded slightly worried "a little, only through a game tho, but probably not enough to... you know" "ah"

They chuckled as their face shifted to a confused look "do you know where we are exactly?" they tried to giggle to lighten the mood "we are... in the Mare Jivari" "ohhh"

"Is... there something... wrong?" she draws closer to the person "nothing, just thinking how I'm here when I'm supposed to be in a hospital bed" they sigh while looking out the bars "are you hurt? I can help you... to a human place... where they heal" she shivers holding onto your robes "it's alright, but I do need to find that human place, can you come with me?" they kneel to her height "I can help... but not come" she looks down in guilt "why is that?" you asked while holding her face to yours "the gods... don't like me" she looks away

"That's not fair!! They literally live on you, how could they hate you?!!" their tone became harsh in anger "I don't care what they say, we're leaving this place whether they like it or not" they firmly commanded "yes, but... your chains" she points at their chains "oh right, do you know anything about them" they asked

The little girl leaned close to the runes and chanted things they couldn't understand and the chains fell from their limbs, "I am... Teyvat, I do know" she beamed at you

"let's break those god's rules"

[xamaxenta]

Just a thought;

Marco had known for a long time, his fruit was.. different. To be blunt there was a phoenix inside of him, a real phoenix. Marco was no more than a vessel, container. A puppet made of flesh in hopes of controlling the god. He had only spoken to it once, when the wretched fruit had been swallowed and his body destroyed itself from the inside out in as the phoenix made him into its new container. Every once in a while the phoenix would take over; during one of these episodes It had become very fond of Pops. Marco never asked what had happened. Usually when the phoenix would come out as it were, Marco or rather his subconscious would go into a sleeping state or black out as he was booted out of the drivers seat. Most knew to stay away when Marcos eyes changed from indigo to the colour of his flames (the only physical indication the phoenix was in charge).

Marco hadn’t been thinking, well he had but how he was supposed to predict this outcome he had no idea. He had been on deck when Ace started showing off with his fire; less attacks and more parlour tricks for the crew. Marco didn’t know what happened only that the fire had caught his eye, there was the strangest sensation of déjà vu and then he was moving without his permission. He stalked towards Ace a hunger roiling in his gut that he was almost certain was not his own. Ace had dropped his flames and was opening his mouth in greeting. When Marco pulled him into a deep kiss, well to be more exact Marcos body pulled him into a kiss. Marco himself was screaming (internally that is) because what the hell!?! Letting go, but keeping his hands on the younger man, a thumb stroking Aces cheek in a reverent manner. Marco spoke in something that could hardly constitute as his voice.

The phoenix purred, even as several tears escaped its eye. “I found you, My Eclipse.” Ace felt bamboozled a little turned on and for some reason sad. “Wha- who?” His flames roared through his body. Marco, or at least the man who looked like Marco; save the eyes gave a heartbreaking smile. Still stroking his cheek, “my love.” He murmured, “My Wild.”

Mera Mera; (eclipse) god of the wild, unrest and salvation.

Tori Tori; (phoenix) god of martyrs, eternal life and death

Idk I’ve had this in my head for like a week so I thought I’d share it and make it someone else’s problem.

Oh ill gladly take on this problem of yours

Its fucking beautiful, your imagery with words is so clear and strong and easy to envision

An eclipse, Ace being Marco’s—no the phoenix’s wild beloved its gorgeous

Ive been looking at alot of creature videos lately alot of raptors walking stalking, felines prowling and ive been thinking alot about Marco in association to these creatures, its perfect tbh

The “hunger roiling in his gut” i loveee this line so much the deep kiss, Ace more bewildered at how Marco hs addressed him more than the kiss

Marcos voice taking on a more ancient quality, something eerie and inhuman, but still coherent

And the colour of his eyes changing im such a slut for shit like this god

Ive got brainrot for days now bc of this thank you 🙏🏽

[its-time-to-rise-above]

think of these thoughts as hackneyed and trite clicheed depraved disturbing and contrived shallow cold wretched miserable dark and any other adjective choose to sit safely out of the sun away from rays so blinding to the eye singing songs someones already sung averting gaze from beautiful light but as complacency settles anxieties will rise and part this soul as jekyll parted hyde now im but half of a hollow mans lies the love the hate the emotional side whats the point in trying if this end result of dying sits persistently encloaked in dimness life cant thrive by digits i know im weak i know that im vile but sometimes that is needed to survive thats what ill say to rationalize im needed if were to stay alive and yet here i lie with black sunken eyes my minds consigned our sighs to a leaden void the soul remains tempered i remain plied condemned till we are both all but destroyed but i know that one plus one cant equal two if happiness is both our truths the total sum must equal one if were to find that golden hue so spiraling down entropically i beg of thee have mercy on me i am just a boy you see i plead of thee have sympathy for me see how it hurts when the sound begins to ring as you feel it start to rot and you beg for it to stop but youve already dug your lot in the ground see how the mind tricks the soul into being something sickly dead and cold as you feel it start to tire and fester so so slowly up until the point where it will finally die just in time to see what could have been do what you want you automaton freak no i can no longer bring myself to care this hollowed out vessels beginning to creak so take control lets see how you fare

wow wow the heart acoustic I’m so proud and was very concerned when I saw this!!

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 15: Transformation

Summary: Tup is not happy that the medics keep messing with his Hive, so he takes matters into his own hand. Meanwhile Twitch finally finds a little glimmer of hope for everyone involved in this mess. Hopefully it hasn't come to late.

Warning: Body horror, mentions of cannibalism and revenge killing (the medics are in danger ahah)

Twitch belongs to @gaeasun Pitch and Tacet belong to @lost-on-kamino

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

The medics had become too much of a threat to be ignored any longer. It was a conclusion Tup hadn't wanted to come to, but there was really no getting around it anymore. Not after their constant meddling had actually resulted in some unwelcome consequences.

In hindsight, he should have expected this to be the final outcome of postponing their conversion for this long. Although, to be fair, he wasn't entirely at fault for that. There just hadn't been a way to isolate them for long enough to offer them his gift, and as it stood he was in no condition to produce any more Drone Eggs to enable a more successful ambush.

Not when he'd implanted the second one not so long ago...

And now the medics were actively sabotaging everything both he and Dogma had worked so hard for. Endangering the Hive and all who were meant to be protected within, under Tup's watchful eye and Dogma's diligent care. Messing things up at a very critical moment of the Hive's initial building stages.

That, he decided, was ultimately unacceptable.

Really, it was a shame that things had gone the way they had. That his hand was being forced now, when things had initially looked so promising. Seemed so easy. With some more time and plenty of feedings, his own metamorphosis would have been so much more splendorous than this rush job he was preparing.

The Hive-Leaders of other colonies only ever experienced the changes when their Hives were fully constructed, and inhabited with more than just two Drones. Having plenty of Workers and even a few Repletes to help them through such an extensive set of alterations. Their bodies rotund with vital nutrition that would serve them well to become the beautiful colossal Egg-Layers they were meant to be.

As it stood Tup would be only slightly bigger than an overfed Dewback. A bit of a runt in comparison with the standard. His full potential temporarily stolen from him by the wretched medics that had dared to steal his defenseless Pupa and Drone from him.

That said he would be no less dangerous than his fellows. Would still have the needed armoring and strength to exact revenge in the name of his budding colony. And, while he didn't particularly fancy the idea of feasting on clone flesh since they were still his kin and he only really wished to help them achieve their true potential, he might make an exception just this once.

If just to sooth the rage coursing through his veins. After all, the medics had been rather ungrateful. They did not deserve the gift.

Having finished the outer silky layer of his own cocoon, Tup began to meticulously spit up the yellow adhesive that would form his chrysalis's much more sturdy shell casing. He was hungry and frustrated, knowing fully well it'd take several years for him to grow to an acceptable size after transforming prematurely, but he had to act quick before he was found out and further impeded.

His pores were already starting to leak with the sudden overproduction of pink milk, and he couldn't really waste any of this precious resource now that he did not have his Drone to help him along. He'd need to be fully submerged within the sealed chrysalis for his body to mutate at an acceptable rate.

Already he could feel the eagerness of this weak fleshy vessel to submit to the changes. The way his spine ached in preparation to elongate. How his skull almost pulsed with agony as the bone became more malleable, and his senses dulled as they awaited a much needed upgrade. The way his skin began to slough off from the heat radiating off of him, boiling him, making him soft and easy to molded into something entirely new.

The process was not a painless one, but then again his comfort was more than a necessary sacrifice. Tup had more than a lifetime of pampering awaiting him once he got his Hive back under his control, so he could definitely handle the pain of transformation for at least an hour.

Yes, an hour curled up safely in his cozy little cocoon. Body reshaping itself into something much more beautiful and powerful, the very beginning of a new era for him and his kin. An hour full of pulling every ounce of nutrition he'd acquired from the few feedings he'd received. Mouth-fed nectar and pre-digested meat between battles, and far away from prying eyes. The vessel of his rebirth pulsing and swelling as he grew and grew. What a thrilling event, this one singular hour...

Once he was rid of all the obstacles that stood in his way, he'd be sure to locate the new Drone he'd recently implanted and speed up his transformation process as well. Then, as beneath his cast as it might be, he'd seek out his own targets and feed on their blood to produce even more Drone Eggs. The rest of the clones would be converted in no time if he had more than just Dogma and Cody bringing him more soon-to-be-Workers.

At the end of the day, what were five measly dead medics in the face of having hundreds more Hive-Mates at his beck and call? Safe and prospering away from the Republic and it's pointless war?

Tup certainly thought that was a more than reasonable price. A worthy enough sacrifice for the cause.

---

Canivete couldn't quite believe her eyes as she entered the medbay of the Umbaran Base that the 501st had taken over. Truly when Waxer had informed her of the severity of things, she had hoped that maybe things were only slightly out of hand and that there had been some slight miscommunication through the choppy comms connection.

Tacet had done their best, but not even they could work miracles. On arrival they'd promised to figure things out in the comm tower, but she hadn't really been holding her breath. Instead focusing on trying to remain positive.

Sadly, no amount of positivity could make things less of the horrific nightmare they really were...

There were several troopers in varying stages of some kind of indescribable transformation, tightly bound to their cots to deter them from either escaping or harming themselves (as some were sporting some alarmingly nail and teeth shaped wounds on their persons, that seemed entirely too fresh to her). The few that were awake were wailing in despair as they tried to fight against the restraints, while the others that just lay listlessly appeared to be in a state of drug-induced sedation.

From where she and the rest of the 212th stood she could just about see Coric, Pitch and Sponge practically running around trying to ensure that none of the active ones got loose from their bindings, while Twitch was frantically tapping away on a console. Likely trying to make sense of the Umbaran code that flashed across the screen while he looked for something, anything, that might be of help to them right now.

She hoped the kih'vod had better luck than she'd had when she consulted the archive she'd downloaded prior to landing. That thing had been naught but useless.

"Karking hells..." Waxer whispered where he stood behind her, while the General and Commander simply stared in muted horror.

The latter leaning slightly on the former, as the wound on the back of his neck had become the tell-tale rash that came with this gruesome infection. On their way over she'd noticed how aggressively it had spread in comparison to the others, which she wrote off as the Commander's stronger CC immune system just giving more of a fight than that of the standard CTs.

Following them into the medbay, the healthy 212th troopers were helping the sick settle down on the few empty cots that were left available. Some had become so lethargic they had to be carried in, while others stumbled and stared vacantly as their fevers muddled their thoughts completely.

"Coric!" Not wanting to stand around and stare for longer than she was required to, Canivete called over the CMO to see what she could do. Temporarily relieving him of his current duties. "Sitrep man, what happened here?!"

"I wish I knew!" Coric barked back, briefly saluting in General Kenobi's and Commander Cody's way, before helplessly looking around at the new influx of patients that the 212th had brought along. "We thought it was some kind of allergy at first, and it just...Spiraled from there on out!"

"Spiraled is putting it lightly, Ori'vod." Pitch bitterly retorted as he took the medpack right off Canivete's back, rushing off to treat one of the 212th's soldiers who's blisters had only just started to pop and reveal the shiny black scales beneath. "We were so busy trying not to die under Krell's orders that we didn't notice things getting as bad as they did, up until Dogma came out of hiding looking all kinds of freaky... Then he ripped Krell apart, nearly tore Appo's arm off, and took Twitch and all these vode to some kind of nest..."

Out of the corner of her eye, Canivete could see Sponge trying to guide Pretty Boy away from the much more severely mutated Lich, who was currently hissing at both of them. The distraught look on the lancer's face as it became clear his older brother did not seem to recognize him at the moment, more than drove a spike into the female medic's heart.

She couldn't imagine facing her own batchers if they were here, looking at her like that...

"Canivete, we don't know what we're doing..." Coric admitted, sounding so terribly tired and defeated by all of this. Brought to his very limit as a medical officer and older brother. "This wasn't remotely covered in any of the training modules! We're going in blind!"

"No, it sure as hell wasn't." She agreed, moving over to inspect the nearest mutated trooper. Jolting backwards when their response to her presence was to snap their jaws at her in a threatening manner. Like with Lich, there was no recognition behind those pitch black eyes. Only aggression. "But I can tell you something I know for sure. Its definitely a bug bite. Although... I have no idea of any kind of bug bite that does this kind of horrific damage..."

"That's because it's not just a bug bite!"

Everyone turned to look over at Twitch, who seemed to have finally found what he was looking for while they were all distracted. The much younger clone medic having brought up an archive of sorts that held an image of some kind of black and blue arthropod that looked not too dissimilar from a louse. Or maybe even a silverfish.

It was honestly quite unassuming in appearance. With a lean body that was mostly blue with black spots, segments that were decorated with black spikes, two large pincers tipped with black claws, and green glowing antennae, cerci, and compound eyes.

"Umbra P. Imperatoris, also known colloquial as the 'Shadow Puppeteer' or 'Umber Blight'..." Twitch offered as he pointed to the image of the insect on display. "And, according to this databank, it's one of Umbara's most dreaded apex predators..."

If not for the circumstances this would have certainly gotten a laugh out of everyone in the room. A tiny insect no bigger than one's index finger, being called an apex predator that brought sheer terror into the hearts of the enemy. Only, no one was laughing.

"According to what I've managed to translate so far, this whole thing is a gigantic parasitic cycle. From specialized larvae that eat mind control fungal spores, to highjacked Banshees that are forced to divebomb straight into the mouths of an unsuspecting Vixus, to the Vixus itself being the final vector for the original parasite's own set of specialized eggs..." Twitch continued, seeing as no one was stopping him. "To put that into perspective, a species of parasitic maggot exists specifically to eat a kind of cordyceps spores that grow here on Umbara, then when it's eaten enough it itself gets eaten twice by two different predator that it highjacks with ease, and then anyone who's careless enough to get caught by an infected Vixus ends up implanted with a completely different kind of parasite that in turn changes the victim into a eusocial parasites with a cast system. And then those transformed individuals eventually lays the original form's eggs to restart the cycle... It's all kind of insane actually."

It really was. Insane and extremely convoluted to the point it honestly made very little sense in an evolutionary standpoint. But, then again, nature rarely behaved in the ways most thought it should. If Mother Nature wanted there to be some kind of extremophile parasite with the capacity to turn other creatures into parasites, then she'd have her way in the end...

That said, this did reminded Canivete of a rather curious detail that sent a chill up her armored spine. Grabbing at her personal datapad and quickly scrolling through her gallery, she quickly located the holopic that she'd snapped when she and Waxer had come across that strange Vixus with the branded mark on its bulb. She held it up for the General to see.

"I... Sir, what does this say?" she asked, already knowing very well what the answer would be. Her stomach plummeting from the sheer amount of guilt she felt, as her fears were sadly confirmed.

"Warning: Infected." General Kenobi read calmly, his tone soft and full of understanding. She couldn't maintain eye contact with him, as it downed on her that she'd been holding onto some key information that could have certainly helped them out sooner, had she actually had the karking thing translated sooner.

"I was just about to say..." Twitch frowned. "The Umbarans make a point to send out scouts in Hazmat gear to identify and mark all infected Vixus. The archive in this base only has the basics, so we don't really have a map of all the afflicted areas at our disposal. But, I do have some good news..."

"Which are?" Coric asked, urging Twitch to continue.

"Apparently the nearest medical facility has a much more vast database about the Umber Blight, as well as a more detailed study of how the parasite itself takes over and changes a sentient host." Twitch informed them, continuing to skim the information as he did so. "I'll bet you the facility might have information on some kind of cure or... Or something to at least break whatever hold these parasites have on the vode..."

"Perfect!" Pitch grinned, seeming to be in better spirits now that they knew there might be a solution to their problem. "Then all we need to do is grab Kix and go to the medical faci--"

SCREEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!!!!!!

"--ty?!" the blue haired medic startled, as did everyone else in the room. The thunderous roar that rang across the halls taking them all by surprise and making the hair stand on the back of all their necks.

The infected vode seemed to all snap to attention. Cody and Crys, who were still relatively healthy, suddenly standing up ramrod straight as if in a trance. And then began the uproar of cries and clicks and screeches as the more mutated troopers began to call out to whatever had announced its presence.

"That can't be good..." Sponge muttered uneasily.

General Kenobi just barely had time to grab onto Commander Cody's arm, as the other was now eagerly attempting to move towards the door with newfound energy and vigor. Pitch blocking Crys's own path and taking a hold of him, to keep him from doing the same.

"Cody, are you quite alright...?" The Jedi obviously knew the answer to his own question, but Cani assumed that perhaps he hoped to snap the CC out of this sudden hypnotic state.

"Our Leader...He's calling for us..." Cody simply whispered, eyes glazed and expression a mixture of reverent and confused. "He's so hungry...I... I need to feed him..."

"Cody...?" The Jedi kept a firm grip on the clone commander, brow pinched as his worry increased tenfold, when the other turned to stare at everyone in the room, and then at the four 501st medics specifically.

"You... You've angered the Hive-Leader..." He hissed in an accusatory tone, expression turning hateful and even slightly disgusted, like they were the scum of the earth. "You hurt our Hive..."

"Commander! Snap out of it!" Cani called out, unsure of what to do in this situation. Just a moment ago both Cody and Crys had been fine, and now... It was like a switch had flipped. Triggered by that monstrously loud screech.

"You'll make a fine meal... It's what you deserve..." Cody finished, a pleased and rather wicked looking grin on his face.

Belatedly, they all realized this wasn't so much a threat as it was a promise, as something quite big began to stomp its way down the hall towards the medbey at an alarming pace.

Things had somehow gotten even worse.