#kursed drabbles

[kursedmayo]

I like to think that Leo didn't lose his arm or a part of his arm because it got caught in something or was getting infected by the Kraang and had to be cut off.

I now offer an even worse reason: he used it to feed someone, maybe even several people.

(TW: Blood, death, starvation and implied cannibalism)

Okay.

Picture this.

It's the fucking apocalypse. Food sources are running out everywhere.

You are Leo. You're young, handsome and inexperienced, but you're one of the most powerful people still alive to date. Leagues of people have put your lives in your hand, and you are trying your best to keep everything running smoothly.

You are on a rescue mission.

You were prepared. You accounted for every possible event and prepared for it. You were going to get survivors out of a recently discovered hidden shelter without alerting the Kraang, but the one thing you counted on never happening happened, and now everything went to shit.

Kraang discovered your team, shut down your ninpo, and destroyed your communication device. You lost one of your swords, people died, you got separated from your team, and the adults guarding the kids are missing.

You're fucked.

Day 1.

Isn't it hilarious? You were on a rescue mission, and now you're the one that needs rescuing.

You are still stuck in the shelter, underneath layers of concrete with scared children, all exits blocked. After almost being infected by Kraang, one of your arms isn't responding well to your commands. You suspect the nerves in it have been damaged somehow.

You try your best to assure the kids. It worked, naturally. They seem a bit more cheerful despite the situation.

Lying has always been your forte after all.

Day 2.

It's been 2 days. You don't know when you're going to get rescued, and the children are starving.

They are starving and have been starving for weeks, and now you're stuck with them, hungry and anxious. You've been told that despite the shelter's size and amount of rooms it wasn't supposed to hold this many people in the first place. The supplies are for maybe 6 people at most, enough for a family.

A rich family at that, perhaps, but it doesn't matter now.

What matters is that the supplies have long been running out. Scavenging can only do so much, and the people were counting on being rescued before they all died.

The youngest is five years old and looks thinner than they should ever be. The shelter is now quiet, the kids being too tired to cry.

Bored out of their minds, they just begin to talk- well, whisper more like it, about their dreams.

You keep quiet for now and listen.

One says they want to eat cake. Another says they want to play on the swings again. Someone pipes up and says they want to sleep on their own bed. A fourth kid says they wanna go back to school already.

Their friend jokes that not having to go to school was one of the only perks of being in the midst of an alien invasion.

They fight, you chuckle. Distracted, the shelter becomes a little more lively with discussions and discourse.

...An older kid wants to find their parents' bodies so they could give them a proper funeral.

A silence, but then it goes on.

They miss their brothers. They miss their sisters. They miss their aunts, uncle's, cousins, grandma's, grandpas- they miss the sun, they miss warm food, they miss fresh water, they miss the outside itself. They want to drink fresh water. They want to hug their grandma again. They miss being able to be loud and not have to worry about being found by the Kraang.

It's all "want". It's all "miss". Never "has", and if you fail, it might never be "will".

And guess what? It's all your fault. You dropped the key. You underestimated the Kraang. More than half of NYC is taken over already because of your mistake. It's all your fault.

...It's day 3.

The kids are getting desperate. You had to stop 4 kids from trying to eat chips of concrete, and some kids are so thirsty that they're biting their fingers and sucking on their own blood.

You have nothing to feed them. You have nothing to give them to drink. They're children, if this continues they're going to die hungry.

You can only hope help will arrive soon.

Day 4 arrives.

You can't even move your arm anymore. It's dead weight. What can the Medics back at the base even do? You don't even know why it stopped working. You're no technician, but you know enough to know Ultrasounds need energy that could be used somewhere else, and you sure as hell aren't worth the waste.

…

…You know Donnie would disagree.

Your entire family would.

You couldn't bring yourself to care.

Day 6.

You're desperate.

The shelter is deathly quiet. No one want to talk

anymore- or well, they can't. They have no energy left at this point.

They are definitely going to die of starvation if this continues.

You stare at your arm.

You stare at it hard.

You're desperate. They need to eat. They need to eat, now.

You don't need it anyways.

…But you shouldn't.

It's your right arm, there's still a chance the doctors can figure out a way to fix it. It's going to be awkward relearning how to fight with one arm. In a life of death situation, it's hard to be missing parts and even harder to make aids for it. Not to mention prions, and the whole being a mutant business, you don't know what will happen if a human ingests mutant flesh.

But….

You stare at the kids in front of you, empty eyed, hopeless.

...You shouldn't.

But you do.

You pick up a sword, and slash through bone and flesh. Pain smothers your vision, blood drips down and pools on the cold ground.

There was a hoarse scream. You ignore it. You make a makeshift torniquete and pick it up.

Through the haze of blood loss, you try to remember where to go. You go to the shelter's kitchen and begin to cook.

You'll remember the smell of your own burning flesh for the rest of your life.

However.

As fucked as it is…

It smells like relief.

They're going to live, you assure yourself, and for a while, it soothes your worries. This is the least you can do after all. This is the least you can do to atone.

For what it's worth, at the very least...

They're going to live.

#text #kursed rambles #kursed drabbles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt future leo #tw death #tw starvation #tw cannibalism #yeah his. his mental state aint good. especially in the early days of the apocalypse #as expected ig. who the tf can go to theraphy when people are dying. #also i named this “leos arm cuine lol” in my docs. chuckling about that

[kursed-curtain]

~Description Drabbles 1~

(A thing I started cuz I got bored and wanted to do some description writing cuz I love those)

-+=+-

(Apparently I can't find that one description I did of Icarus' vest, so here's me writing it again but different and from memory!)

(oh yeah and maybe spoilers for fight club au audgsjdghssg sorri)

Along with the new name came a new outfit. Something to finally replace those now-muddied party clothes and tattered tunic.

His handler tossed a balled-up fabric over his shoulder. Catching it and unfurling the ball revealed that it was a spare tunic. Short-sleeved, draped down mid-thigh, cloth yellowed in the dim candlelight, yet overall the perfect material for fighting in. 

"Boss also wanted to give you this." Chastain turned around, holding up a cropped, leather vest. The material was still thin, though, only thick and hard around the shoulders. Icarus followed the notches in the shoulder and down the back, transitioning into patching and patterning along the shoulder blades. Fabric of a lighter tint compared to the vest, stained with grease just like the rest of this place. From a distance they almost looked like feathers. There was a special kind of craftsmanship that Icarus could appreciate. He didn't know how, or why, he just did.

Chastain crossed his arms and smirked. "Like your new wings, Icarus?"

-+-

There were moments where he almost felt entranced, floating out of his own body, stuck staring at that amulet.

Royal cobalt blue. Fitting, for what he had been using it for. The shine illuminated his eyes in an almost inhuman way. It was both sharp to the sight and to the touch, with the silver knife-like metal that lined the gem like a crown.

The amulet typically called him out in situations like this, where he'd lose control to the simplest of things. And yet, in these moments, the amulet stayed silent, only the glow pulsating in the darkness of the room. Rhythmic, lulling, it practically encouraged this behavior.

Of course, the thought was outrageous. A pendant, a rock, couldn't be alive. Yet it seemed to speak, it seemed to breath, 

And it could feed.

#description drabbles #kings quest #kursed creations #fanfic #graham #@chastain #fight club au #amulet of avarice au

[lizardbeths]

Happy Birthday!

Happy birthday, @gaslightgallows

have a drabble! 

set in some (better) version of A:Endgame where obvs Loki survives the big final battle thing. Just a random prompt I grabbed. 

As the Dust Settles, 

Loki & Steve, gen

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Steve still didn’t know Loki that well, even after fighting together, but the grin that Loki flashed in response was far too bright to be real. “Really, Captain?” he drawled. “Here? I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist.”

Steve folded his arms. “I saw the spear hit you.” 

“It was a glaive,” Loki corrected. “Shouldn’t a primitive planet be able to distinguish--”

“I saw,” Steve repeated. “It hit you, you staggered and went down.”

“And I pulled it out and stood up to keep fighting. I am not so fragile as you apparently believe.” Loki’s eyes narrowed in offense, and Steve wasn’t sure if he was truly offended or simply provoking a fight.

“I don’t believe--”

“Then believe me when I tell you I’m fine,” Loki insisted. 

“Then why is there fresh blood on your armor?” Steve swiped up the red stain from the table where Loki had been surreptitiously leaning and displayed his fingers. 

Loki’s eyes darted from the red-stained fingers, to where Thor was talking with Tony and Gamora, through the open double doors. “Shush!” he hissed at Steve. “Don’t tell him, he will be insufferable.”

That made Steve smile. Thor had been a little overprotective since Loki and Nebula had turned up together, a little worse the wear, but still living. 

“I won’t tell him, if you let me look at the wound.” 

Loki gnawed on his lip, grimacing and casting looks between Thor and Steve as if judging which would be more annoying, before he decided to take Steve’s bargain. He snapped out a hand and the doors swung shut, hiding them from the rest of the party.

With another gesture, he sent half of his clothes... away, leaving him bare above the low waist of his leather trousers. He was slender, having none of Thor’s bulk, but without the armor, the taut lean musculature of a swimmer or dancer was visible and made plain what Steve had felt in that fight in Stuttgart years ago.

But all thoughts of his strength were wiped away as he realized what he was seeing. Steve’s eyes widened. “Jesus, what the hell happened to you?” 

He’d expected the gut wound - a raw open puncture, oozing blood under his rib cage. He did not expect the scar in the middle of Loki’s chest, as big as Steve’s palm, and still pink and tender-looking. 

Loki looked down as if he wasn’t sure what Steve was talking about. “Oh, that. Kursed blades are funny things. It kept me alive, but it healed poorly.” He held a hand over the other wound. “This will heal, too, Captain. You need not be concerned.” 

Steve smiled, hearing echoes of himself long ago (”I’m fine, Buck, stop hovering, it’s nothing.”). “I’m sure. But I’m here, we have bandages. It’ll heal better if I tend it.” 

Loki frowned at him. “You would do that? After--” His expression faltered, and he looked down, as long fingers toyed with the string of his waistband.

Steve’s hand closed on his shoulder and kept it there, until Loki’s eyes lifted to his. “After you became an Avenger.”

Loki stilled, at first wary as if he expected the words to hold some hidden sting, but when he realized Steve meant it, his tension melted away and a slight but genuine smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

It didn’t stay; the delight was soon tucked behind a wider smile and a sardonic tone, “By all means, tend away, Captain.”

But Steve remembered what he’d seen and resolved to see that smile again. Somehow.

#my writing #stoki #frostshield #birthday fic #gaslightgallows

[starscreamloki]

Loki Muse (Requested)

A/N: requested by @the-lady-witchitery; Loki is alone and musing to himself in the mirror about Frigga's death.

Warnings: heavy angst and one stupid purple grape.

If you had have kept your mouth shut, then she would still be here! the reflection of himself in the mirror sneered at him.

The air got knocked from Loki’s lungs as if someone had punched him in the gut. There it was; the guilt and remorse he had felt for so long laid out plain before him and spoken out loud.

Loki wasn’t sure if he was having this conversation out loud or in his head. It didn’t matter, he was having the conversation now - something that was long overdue.

‘You might want to take the stairs to your left.’

One simple sentence. One string of words that had meant to guide Kurse to the observatory, but instead it had led the foul creature to his mothers chambers. It had cost her everything.

It had cost him everything.

A single tear rolled over his cheek as if the grief hit him for the first time. He had destroyed everything in his meager cell, the grief, betrayal and anger he had felt at that moment overwhelming him so much he had lashed out.

The same feelings that overwhelmed him now weren’t dimmed compared to that day. If anything, they were worse and more intense.

How much are you willing to give to get her back? the reflection asked.

Loki was taken aback by seeing his reflection so emotionless in the mirror, whilst all he felt was a deep and bitter anguish.

“I would give anything to have her back,” he answered with a hoarse voice. The tears were flowing over his cheeks with such intensity that it felt as if he wouldn’t ever stop crying again.

Anything?

Loki gave a small nod. “Anything,” he repeated with barely a sound.

Are you sure, Asgardian?

Before the words even took root in his brain the image of himself in the mirror shifted and he was staring straight at the reflection of The Other.

Loki couldn’t look away from the mirror - it was as if his eyes were glued stuck to the smooth surface of the simple object that suddenly had turned to a hellish device. He squirmed in the back of his throat.

Had they finally found him? Had he run out of time? Was it time to pay his debt?

The Other mockingly laughed before it warped into that of a laughing Thanos. It will cost you everything, Asgardian!

Loki screamed.

----

A/N: If you have a request for a drabble, just drop the character (Loki, Clint or Bucky), the type of content (no smut, yet, for the latter two boys) and a prompt-line in my inbox. You can request x readers or these guys pitting against some other character.

#loki #loki friggason #loki fanfic #loki angst #loki muse #loki drabble #loki laufeyson

[endurraesa]

Recovery || Pre-Ragnarok Drabble

Any and all healing had to be done in secret.

When he had first arrived back in Asgard, Loki had to take quick advantage of the chaos that had been left behind by the Dark Elves, by an entire planet still in mourning and still on edge about the ever-looming threat.  If Thor wasn’t able to defeat Malekith, the entire universe would be consumed by darkness.

Of course, the trickster had no doubt in his mind that his brother was capable of such a feat.

All that left was the simple matter of freedom, and how to keep hold of it.  While Thor was well-aware that it was immensely difficult to kill a god, what the thunderer didn’t seem to grasp was that at no point had Loki ‘faked’ his demise.  He’d simply gotten lucky...or unlucky, depending on how one viewed the continuation of their life.  Falling from the Bifrost had been an intentional attempt on his life and, he supposed on some level, so had saving Thor from Kurse.  Loki had lost so much and so quickly after learning of Frigga’s death he saw little to keep living for.

The Fates had willed him to live yet again, though.  Still, he wouldn’t return to a cell, and he wouldn’t venture out into the cosmos with a Mad Titan waiting in every shadow and corner to strap him to a stone slab for another torture session; he had to find a means of remaining a free man.

So, he did all that he could.  With Odin so shocked, exposed after Frigga’s death, it wasn’t difficult to lure him into a spell.  With that done, it was a simple matter of getting the old fool to Midgard where he would blend in well enough and Thor wouldn’t be able to sense his presence there or lack thereof on Asgard.  Simple cloaking, displacement, child’s play.  The plan seemed to go off without a hitch, though he would be lying if he said he didn’t even feel a sliver a guilt as he watched what appeared to be a confused old man wandering into a room full of Midgard’s elderly to watch television.

Back on Asgard, Thor had been fooled and Loki had given the thunderer his blessing to protect the Earth, and he had told Thor that he was proud...it was something that he felt his brother needed to hear, and knew that it wouldn’t have meant much coming from the god of lies and tricks.  Loki meant it, though.

The days turned to weeks, months, a few years, the planet was prospering in its newlyfound isolationist stance and without the constant fear of war of the need for conquest, all seemed to be well.  That didn’t stop Loki from worrying though.  Even after his physical wounds had healed, he had to be sure that he was able to recharge enough to maintain the illusion of Odin, all while keeping an eye on what was happening in the Nine Realms.  One by one he saw the stones being lost, stolen, gathered, dancing just out of the reach of Thanos.  He couldn’t step in without compromising not only himself but all of Asgard.

Sleep had eluded Loki most of the time, he often read in place of it but one night he had finished his tome and when he got up to get another, he realized that he had read through much of his personal collection.  His eyes ventured to a large side room that he knew held many of Frigga’s belongings that hadn’t been burned with her, things that Odin had refused to let go of...surely there would be books there.  He made his way over, his hand stopping just before the doorknob as he felt emotion welling up within his chest.  It would seem that even a god could only withhold his feelings for so long.

He fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands, allowing himself to break.  He wept until he was sure that he no longer could and spent the rest of the night curled up upon the floor, feeling hollow, alone.

Afraid.

#drabble

[daughterxofxnight-blog]

Kursed

Hi! This is a random fantasy drabble that I just wrote in a state of stress induced panic that I thought I'd share with you all. It's currently 1:20am in my timezone and this is very raw and very much unedited. There is some light swearing (the word shit).

-------

The roaring in her veins was almost too much to bear. Her very being was telling her to turn back, to leave, to make sure that no-one even glimpsed her, but that one burnig ember inside of her drew her from the shadows of the city's entrance.

In the years that she had been gone from this place, from these people, absoloutly nothing had changed. It was market day, an occurance that was never rare, not with the wealth dripping from every pore of the castle city.

Even the gods damned stalls were in the exact same places as they had been all those years ago. There was the jeweller in the corner and the baker with the perpetually broken scale still sold his confectionary in the stall just before the city square's walled entrance.

She pulled her heavy cloak farther over her head. She knew her knuckles were white as they strangled the fabric, she knew that every passer-by would be able to sense the obvious tension in her if they so much as glanced at her, but it could not be helped. She needed to find a good place to hide until nightfall. If the city had not changed, then slipping through its cracks would be much too easy. Especially...

Her eyes flickered to her wrists, which glittered with a bronze light from the cuffs that encircled the bruised skin. She grimaced and cast her gaze ahead, to the magnificent courtyard that marked the halfway point from the gate to the castle. She ignored the grand sculptures, the billowing tapestries and the...

Her heart beat into her throat and a pressure, one that had nothing to do with the nostalgia roaring through her pushed against her skin.

Two children, both barely into adolescence were playing a game of knights and dragons together. They were freely using their magic for all to see and one of them... One of them was Kursed. She knew that mischevious little face. Gods, he had been eight the last time she saw him. She turned her head to the castle.

Had they achieved what they had set our to do? Had they-

A roaring wave broke through her, setti g the ends of her nerves on fire, but she grasped it tightly before it could spill over. It would be a catastrophe if she lost control now. She was only here to observe. She'd be gone by the next mornig.

Or so she told herself.

She kept walking, heading in the direction of the harbor. Oh, how she longed to see the waves break over the sand once again. How-

Her thoughts were interrupted when she spotted them. The two of them were smiling brightly as they bartered with the salesman, who looked like he was about to break to their will. The salesman... She remembered him he was...

The marriage bands they were inspecting were gorgeous.

Grief and guilt and despair rolled in her gut. She'd known. Gods of the Kursed hells she'd known that he'd moved on by now, but seeing him looking at wedding bands with another woman undid her. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and turned away from the sight. Her hand curled around her throat, ensuring that no sobs escaped it. That cursed cuff dug into the skin on her chest and she dig her nails into the soft tissue around her throat.

She hated the gods damned Black for this. She hated them with all her soul.

But now she could leave. She'd seen that he was happy and although she had not seen any of the others, if he was happy then that meant all of them were. She'd completed the mission she'd risked more than her own neck to complete.

These tumultuous thoughts were the reason she did not see the man in front of her. They were still on her mind as the two of them went down - arms flailing to catch themselves.

She landed harder than she had in years and she cursed as she inspected the cuts on her hands.

"Please forgive me," a silken voice pleaded kindly, "I-"

He stopped when he looked at her fully and the senses that had been stolen from her awoke in full force as she felt the hot breeze on her cheeks. She looked at the man in front of her, wide eyed and terrified beyone measure. She knew him. He knew her. And her hood had fallen back. Of all the people in the city, why did she have to run into the Crown? She was up and sprinting for the courtyard in a matter of seconds.

How in the hells had she gotten this far into the city? She turned down a fairly abandoned corridor. It had felt-

A wall crumbled above her and she instinctively threw her hands up releasing the hold on the power within her to shield her from the falling rubble. She kept running as it rained down on her. She could not be caught. Grandor would strangle her and the Masters would flay her before putting the strips of skin back onto her body piece by piece. She burst into the courtyard, only to be met with a wall of steel.

Shit. Shit.

They had perfected the technique it had taken her seven years to teach them. A kernel of pride glowed in her heart, but it was overwhelmed by the need to get out.

Oh, the Masters were definitely going to kill her. Slowly.

Even though everything screamed at her not to do it, she drew her dark power from the depths of her soul and slammed it into the soliers, still running. She vaulted over them, barely avoiding a skewering.

The city gate game into view. Just a little farther. She was grateful that they had not glosed the gate. That would have been-

The breath was knocked out of her as she ran through the gate. Her body seized and she fell to the ground in agony.

It seems like they took my advice, she thought.

She did not attempt to crawl away. Her pride forbade it. However, her pride soon disappeared as the Crown and her former lover emerged from the city. The latter's face was a portrait of devistation and joy, which comforted a small part of her. She had seconds of conciousness remaning, she had to...

He said her name so tenderly that all plans of escape vanished entirely. She had missed him so.

Her lip quirked up as much as it could and in the seconds before she lost conciousness she rasped, "Hello Rhan."

#magic #fantasy #story #random #i have a semester test today #i have no idea what i'm doing