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lorei-writes · 3 months

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HC: Beast - Chevalier, Yves

x Reader Fantasy AU ~1.6k words

Content Warnings: blood mention, food mention

Inherited curse, something he has done nothing to earn, but was much rather born into along his riches and regal fate. A headache passed from father to son, a secret kept from even their mothers… A reality of being a beast in both name and flesh, although the latter occurs only under specific set of circumstances. The crests are more than just pretty decorations.

Chevalier

Few know just how accurate the Bloody Tiger moniker truly is.

Chevalier is a beast contained – he cannot simply leave the palace grounds unless he is to shed his humanity and lose his reason on behalf of claws.

His is the curse of carnage, of dying his white coat crimson, indelible ferrous taste tainting any of his meals. Ally or foe, brother or stranger, when in form of the tiger, he bares his fangs at any person… Almost any person.

Not you. You are the sole exception.

Chevalier does not leave the palace, not unprepared. He cannot walk the ground outside its bounds – there was not a word of riding, of carriages and such… But to wait until his horse is ready would be a waste of time. And he cannot afford it.

Things don’t surprise him often, and he isn’t surprised now either, at least not by the black tiger’s ploy. A battle of curses, he could call it. It’d be rational to simply let you go, to trust that you can return safely on your own… To accept his weakness, to admit to it…

But that he cannot do.

Chevalier strides towards the palace gates, the scarf you’ve gifted to him wrapped loosely around his neck, even though the night is much too warm for this.

Chevalier has always wondered what is so different about the dirt outside the palace grounds. Is it its constitution? Some sort of charm being buried underground? An ancient spell from the times of the old empire? Tonight, however, it becomes irrelevant. He rids himself of such thoughts. Chevalier clears his mind, one last step separating him from willingly activating his curse… And he takes it, with absolute confidence.

To become a beast is never pleasant. Chevalier falls to his knees as his joints reorganise themselves, the power of the curse forcing him to bow down and grovel, he the sinner and the act his penance, the admission to his guilt. It is as if he merely returned to what he’s always been. His clothing rips as his body expands.

Chevalier raises eventually, albeit changed. Monumental paws trample over the ruined fabric, only the scarf from you remaining in its place. He breaks into a run, black stripes striking fear into the hearts of any passers-by.

It is hard to control himself in this state – or to be more accurate, had it not been for your gift, Chevalier would have lost his reason. It is just your affection, your lingering scent, that enables him to chase after you, each breath as precious as a crumb of bread during famine.

Chevalier is as if dazed; he hates becoming a tiger, hates falling in and out of consciousness while his body is free to do as it wishes… He hates being fed mere echoes of the reality. Beast twice caged, he struggles against his prison, the scarf around his powerful neck a collar. This time, one he has chosen for himself.

It isn’t long before he finds you.

Rope binds you to a tree. How undignified you are, in your soil-stained skirts and with fear in your eyes. There is nobody around you, but… you wouldn’t just be left there on your own. You exchange a look, and some of your fright eases. You shut your lids, as ordered.

However, you cannot cover your ears.

Shouts. Gunshots. Screams.

You cannot stop your breathing, and in his breath you are enveloped. Viscous sweetness of blood is inhaled into your lungs, adrenaline evaporating in your veins, raising to your very head, and — And his fangs cut through your restraint. Chevalier lays down, his massive head nudging your side. Your hands tremble, but you run your fingers through his fur. The scarf is gone. He must have lost it, you realise.

“I’ll make you another one… I promise.”

The night ends well… However, it is also the night you learn that clothes are not cursed and most definitely do not return on their own once the princes become human again.

“C-couldn’t you have packed some spare clothes? Hidden them somewhere?!” you choke down your shout as you sneak – or much rather, you sneak and he walks – through the palace.

“To what effect? They’d be stolen by dogs.”

“How can you be so sure?!”

“Hmph.” Chevalier smirks. “Another curse. Pester Number One about it if it so interests you.”

Yves

Yves’ curse is that of broken decorum.

While his brothers are eagles, lions, wolves, foxes or other feared beasts, Yves is… a house cat. A particularly beautiful one, at that, with long white coat and bluer than blue eyes.

That, however, is a problem in and of itself. Due to his appearance, not a soul would confuse him with any of the palace cats. At the same time, it’d be a waste to chase him away… But for a servant to pass him onto their relatives? That is not unlikely at all. In fact, that is the very fate Yves has only narrowly avoided several times already.

Yves has never told you how to return him to his human form, even despise promising to multiple times.

And now? It is too late. It may be hard to talk with feline voice box.

You sit cross-legged on top of your bed, a white cat staring at you intently. His tail swishes from side to side, although his ears are perked. He tilts his head and blinks at you oh so slowly… And perhaps your heart would melt on any other day, but not today.

“Yves… How do I help you?”

It is not easy to convey his meaning. However, with a bit of patience, you at the very least understand you have to follow him – so you do, first to the wardrobe to retrieve a small pouch, and then to the corridor… Where you promptly pick him up.

An odd parrot of sorts, Yves perches on your shoulder. His tail brushes against you cheek whenever you intend to take a wrong turn and eventually, you arrive at the kitchen.

The old chef turns his eyes towards you, his eyebrows raising nearly past the thin line of the last hair still crowning his head. The breakfast is almost ready, however, so he does not question you, at least not verbally. The dishes are carried out at a hurricane speed, a hailstorm of suspicious glances raining on your every step.

A hand falls over yours the moment you attempt to set Yves down on the counter.

“No, my lady, I must object. Royalty dines on dishes prepared in this kitchen… Our heads may fly if the word spreads that we let animals roam in here.”

You are kicked out of the kitchen, Yves in tow. He nearly hisses at the cook who dares try to pick him up by his neck.

Swish, goes his tail! Swoosh, goes his tail! Yves begins to groom his coat… to then freeze mid-lick, utterly mortified of the instinct possessing him.

“What now?” you ask. Yves, however, seems to be occupied with matters of greater importance, a beam of light creeping up the wall. He dashes after it, claws extended and ears deaf to the laughter echoing through the corridor.

“Could it be that my little brother has forgotten to perform his duty? And I bet he’s also forgotten to tell you how to undo the curse?” An enigmatic smile emerges on Clavis’ face.

“Oh, just tell me how to turn him back, you fiend.”

“Why, of course. Have him knead some dough and bake it into cookies. That shall do the trick.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“He's a cat, bunny. If there’s one thing cats and our Eevie have in common, it is kneading the dough.”

You do not believe a single word of Clavis’, but what choice do you have? It must be said, though, he does step into the kitchen with you, thus purging it off any problematic staff.

The first step is to unravel the little pouch you’ve carried along. In it, you find a strange apron and a set of oddly shaped rubbler… gloves? Yves meows at the sight. He sits in front of them, rather expectantly, his eyes travelling from the items to you.

And you understand.

You have to help him dress up.

Yves the cat kneads the dough. However, you, the human, are the only one with opposable thumbs. So you roll the dough out for him and once he’s cut it (oh, what dexterous paws!) you transfer the cookies to the baking tray.

Hypnotised, Yves sits in front of the oven, his pupils devouring nearly the entirety of his eyes. He wraps himself in his tail… To then franticly claw at his apron. As panic-stricken as a cat can be, he turns towards you. You undo the ties at his back at the last moment.

There, in the kitchen of the royal palace of Rhodolite, stands Yves Kloss. The fifth Prince.

With only the cat apron to cover his front.

“C-Could you find me some actual apron?!” Bluer than blue eyes and redder than red face, he stares at you. “A-And they’re done baking! Now, hurry! Hurry!”

You needn’t have worried in the end. Clavis has occupied all the servants in the entire wing for the both of you to sneak to Yves’ room unnoticed.

You've seen a typo? Let me know!

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86 @rinaririr @keithsandwich @cheese-ception @bis-enti @claviscollections @queengiuliettafirstlady @sh0jun

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#chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen prince chevalier #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series #yves kloss #ikepri yves #ikemen prince yves

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lyrabythelake · 2 years

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Hey! I don’t know if you’re still doing writing prompts but I really like your writing so here goes nothing. I saw a lot of fics where twilight is in complete blind rage and can’t recognize friends from foe and the person I saw deal with it the most is warriors. But what if it was someone else to react to that, like time? Because they are so close, I think it would be pretty heartbreaking for time to see his descendant completely savage with blood that isn’t his all over his mouth

Aw thank you so much anon! Hope you enjoy this little Time-centric drabble <3

The woods eek seconds from his sanity. When he was young and lost and the pressures of the world weren’t so crushing, he had enjoyed the way time lost all meaning here. It left the children of the lost woods alone; the hours didn’t rule him then the way they do now.

He hates it now. The woods meant freedom once, but now all he sees in the crawling vines, twisting tree trunks, and the dark spaces between them is an insurmountable lack of control. He tries to count the seconds like a lifeline, a thread he can follow to stop himself getting lost completely, but in the end it is inevitable. Time is lost and so is he. Again. It is not ideal, particularly as this is one of those moments when absolute control is essential.

A twig cracks under his foot and he curses, standing, quite literally, as still as stone. The mask grates at the skin on his face, but he forgives its discomfort for the security it gives him.

He has hunted before when necessary, and it looked a lot like this: a bow, a sword and the Stone Mask to keep him unnoticed by the life that would otherwise startle like a warning bell. So why, this time, does it seem like he is not the hunter? Why does it seem like he is the hunted?

“Damnit, Pup,” he curses so quietly it could be mistaken for the wind. Twilight is out there somewhere with an addled mind and a crazed ferality in the yellow of his eyes. Their dark-blooded enemy broke something in him. Seeing Wild in danger like that had brought the wolf’s instinct out like it had never done before and Time can only hope it is reversible.

Time begins to move again, confident the wolf did not hear the snapping of the twig, but as soon as he takes a step the undergrowth behind him rustles and a huge, dark shape pounces. He twists, his shield arm held out in front of him, forearm parallel to his body, and before he comprehends what is happening, his arm explodes with pain.

Lips pulled back into a brutish snarl, fangs bared and buried deep into the flesh of its mentor, the wolf is clearly mindless, and Time comes to a conclusion that has been looming over him for hours. This wolf is not Twilight, it is not the hero he knows, it is a beast without an ounce of humanity in its eyes. His own blood drips from its maw, mixing with the black, viscous blood of the enemy they have spent months chasing. The enemy is dead now, but at this moment, it feels as if it has won.

Time lets out a shout of pain both physical and mental, raises his left arm and in it, his sword. He does not hold back in slamming the hilt of it down onto the wolf’s skull, and the feeling of it, the brutal thud muffled by fur, is sure to haunt him for weeks to come.

The steel-fanged grip on his forearm loosens and the wolf’s body falls slack to the woodland floor. Time scrambles after it and, never dropping his sword lest the wolf reanimate, he presses his hand to its chest. He feels incredible relief at the rise and fall of it, and as the adrenaline drains from his system, he grips at the fur hard, clinging to any remnants there may be of his mentee.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” he whispers. He cannot bring him back to the camp where the others lie exhausted and vulnerable from the fight. He cannot leave him here alone.

So, he does the only thing he can do. He removes the stone mask, sits on the ground beside the wolf, his sword held out ready, and counts the seconds. He prays that time will make this right in the end, that eventually Twilight will return to him.

#lyra writes #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu time #lu twilight #feral wolfie #cw blood #thanks anon!!#ngl i wrote this very quickly before work so i hope its ok haha #it really could make zero sense and i wouldn't notice i am very tired

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areadri · 2 years

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WITH THUNDEROUS CLAWS DOES HE SMITE HER ENEMIES; by any means he dispatches them, clamping down his jaws on their limbs, tearing them asunder. a ferocity takes hold, beyond that which he has ever before wrought--- but the savagery becomes him, as though it had lived in him all along. perhaps it has, and he ought not to be alarmed by it. it is natural of a beast, to bare its fangs, its claws, to kill, and he is no more than that. the gods have a cruel sense of humour, he thought at first, but it seems they merely see the truth of it. thus they have loosed on the world an abomination; a hulking leonine creature with twisted horns and a fearsome maw, a golden mane cloaked in furs and blue velvet, rending the opposition to naught but shreds.

once more he finds himself fighting by her side, willed by a yet unnamed compulsion. why? he asks nothing of her, wants nothing from her... and even so, she haunts him still. no--- not for her, surely, but for his own ends, for the satisfaction of killing, as only a monster could desire. the blood caking between his fingers, dripping from his claws, its rusted taste upon his tongue...

---it’s what i am meant for, is it not?

there is a lull in the enemy’s approach, and dimitri scarcely acknowledges her. in lieu of words, of which he offers none, rivulets of gore run off his claws in long, slow, viscous drips, tapping on the stone below. is this what she wants so badly to save...?

@fellstcr.

#fellstcr #██♚. ᶦʳ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗ. MASKERADE.#tw: blood #tw: gore #:")

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redrockvalley · 10 months

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The Hodag & The Hunter

TW: Violence, Guns, Blood,Animal Butchery,

A deafening roar reverberates through the desolate, lifeless expanse, shaking the very ground beneath his feet. Breaking free from the ominous shadows of its burrow, an enormous and intimidating creature of monstrous proportions emerges into sight, its outstretched claws and bared fangs accentuating its ferocious snarl. In this desolate land stands a hodag, a fearsome beast with the head of large ox-like horns and spikes protruding from its spine. Most unfamiliar would succumb to fear but the hunter knows these beasts intimately for he has encountered, the Hunter takes a deliberate, steady breath, fortifying his nerves and strengthening his resolve as he tightly grips his Rifle, embracing the imminent confrontation with the monstrous hodag. Maintaining his position, he meticulously examines his surroundings, the unbearable dryness and scorching heat of the Mojave desert relentlessly sapping any remaining traces of moisture within him, yet he remains still, unwavering in his determination. But the hodag is not alone in its sinister intent, as an entire pack of these menacing creatures encircle him, brandishing their razor-sharp claws and gleaming teeth, eagerly anticipating the moment to strike and claim their kill. They’re smaller, likely the beast’s offspring.

The Hunter’s calloused and weathered hand reaches towards a vial of oil nestled within the deep recesses of his worn satchel. The stench emanating from the concoction is putrid enough to repel even the smaller, less audacious creatures, causing them to instinctively recoil in fear. With a swift motion, he pops the cap of the bottle, revealing its viscous contents, and begins to slowly pour the pungent oil towards his feet. As expected, the grotesque creatures, driven by their insatiable hunger and sheer belligerence, snarl viciously, snapping their menacing teeth in a primal display of aggression. Yet their advance is halted momentarily by the repugnant odor permeating the air. Nonetheless, their mother seems undeterred, steadfastly advancing despite the warning signs. Sensing the imminent danger, the Hunter slowly steps back, maintaining a cautious distance while deftly circling the intimidating creature. Fully aware of the challenge at hand, he is well-versed in the fact that the hide of the Hodag is as impenetrable as solid obsidian, rendering it impervious to conventional methods of extermination employed against other formidable beasts. Like most fearsome critters, the Hodag can only succumb to the lethal touch of silver. Alas, dreaded silver comes at a steep price, a fact that weighs heavily on the Hunter's mind, as a single missed shot is a chance he cannot afford to take.

As the anticipation builds, the Hunter notices how the creature's menacing clawed feet begin to rhythmically paw the ground, an unmistakable indication of its intent to charge. With his adrenaline pumping, the Hunter instinctively reacts in a split second, swiftly kicking the sand that is doused in the putrid beast oil right into the monster’s enraged eyes, causing it to momentarily reel back and buck in excruciating pain. Sensing an opportunity, the Hunter expertly positions himself and immediately executes a quick and precise shot, aiming directly at the exposed stomach of the Hodag. The bullet pierces through the soft underbelly and penetrates its lungs, bringing a violent end to the creature's rampage. A bone-chilling scream resonates once again, emanating from the vast, desolate wasteland, as the defeated beast futilely swipes at the air, its jaws snapping ferociously at a phantom enemy, before finally succumbing to the ground. Victory is achieved; The Hodag has been vanquished. With a sigh of accomplishment, seasoned with a hint of weariness, the Hunter wearily approaches the lifeless corpse of the fallen monster. Gazing upon the lifeless heap, his eyes momentarily shift towards the nearby den where the other Hodag pups are nestled. The task at hand seems less daunting as he contemplates the young ones since Hodag puppies, even as colossal as these, rely solely on their mothers for care during their first year of life. Judging by their size, it becomes evident that these pups are merely two months old and thus their survival instincts have not fully developed. The Hunter acknowledges that it wouldn't be challenging to provide care for them; given their nature, these pups would inevitably turn towards cannibalism, leading to their own demise.

He examines the creature closely.

“Odd…” He thinks, “I’d have to give Dusty some credit…he was right, Hodags really were down here…the beasts were mostly found in the forests of Wisconsin” His hands follow the beast’s skull, its thick features covered in spines, and claw marks. “Hm…dehydrated, not surprised…” the man muses to himself before checking the creature’s gums, still sticky to the touch. It’s saliva thick and viscous. He’s used to the dirty part of his job, It’s a fine respite from fighting such creatures.

He skillfully draws a gleaming silver dagger with an intricately embossed design of an ebony snake , using it to expertly slice through the thick hide of the formidable beast. The grotesque squelching sound echoes through the air as the beast's skin is peeled open, exposing its inner organs. With careful precision, the Hunter selects only the most vital components - the precious skin, for his client, and the vital heart, which will serve as a crucial alchemical ingredient to replenish his dwindling oils. Aware of the inherent toxicity and rapid spoilage of the meat, he takes swift action to incinerate the carcass, ensuring that the offspring of the beast will not feast upon their mother's remains.

The man arose slowly, meticulously wiping his hands clean of the beast’s blood.Standing up straight he stretches his back, relieving the pain that ravaged his weary spine. Due to his naturally slender frame, many believed that the harshness of existence would engulf him, leaving him to perish. Yet, it became evident that his grit surpassed the limitations of his own physical being. An unwavering scowl etched itself upon his countenance, he truly had a face only his mother could love. Despite his best efforts to look presentable, his thick mustache, adorned with mutton chops, failed to conceal the stories of his past etched upon his ebony complexion. He lets loose a sharp whistle as his steed trots over to him slowly.

His steed, a shimmering akhal-teke whose coat glistened like powdered gold which seamlessly merged with the colors of desert sand. He expertly fastened the Hodag skin onto the back of his loyal companion, provoking a slight whinny from the horse due to the unfamiliar scent, yet The Hunter skillfully soothed the steed's unease. "Steady now, Cisco... easy, girl," he murmured, his voice tainted with gravelly roughness and a subtle hint of venom, as if perpetually suppressing a raspy cough.

The hunter quickly mounts his steed, whose powerful hooves gallop towards the town of Red Rock Valley. His intention: to rendezvous with his client to collect on the bounty and to meet his colleague, a fellow hunter to discuss the change in environment in the Mojave area.…

#Western #Writing #writerblr #Fantasy #black protagonist #TW #Violence #TW: Violence Guns BloodAnimal Butchery #Just a test for now #if anyone sees this cool #if not #also cool #Hodag #fantasy creature

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years

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Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

Chapter 6: The Beasts

word count: 6.1k

chapter summary: Sophie is beginning to question her own resolve to her cause, but she doesn’t have the time so think it over before a new threat emerges.

warnings: lighting storms and chaos, being trapped (not the main characters), swearing, intentional misuse of grammar for dramatic effect, let me know if there’s anything else /g

taglist: listed in the replies. let me know if you want to be added or removed!

This chapter feels chaotic to me but I promise there’s some good moments peppered throughout it. Also it was a lot of fun to write so hope you enjoy! And yes there is a cliffhanger. Like always.

ao3 link here or read beneath the cut

Brrrr.

The hollow echo of a creature sat itself down among the vines near what had to be its head, a thick snare of sticking foliage wrapping around its skull, down its neck. Empty, beaded black pits wide as its mouth distended, no sound emerging.

No.

They weren’t empty.

Terror. Absolute, fucking terror clawed its way down its face, enough to still her in place, hovering above it. Tremors shook its emaciated body, bones visible through grey flesh, tearing as it thrashed--to no avail.

Time became fluid, lucid, viscous, and Sophie couldn’t stop it as it dripped down from the trees, seconds ticking away as she sat there stood there froze.

No. Not again.

Desperately, she forced herself forward, swooping closer to the vines, able to move more freely with this new agility, this strange body full of great terror. This monster was...enormous grotesque painfully distended.

And entirely helpless.

“Okay okay okay,” she whispered, easing down, reaching out and making contact with the veins of thick vines, strung so tightly between the trees she could rest her full body weight upon them, slowly setting her feet down.

She crouched down, trying to ignore the stick against her skin, similar to that of your thighs on a leather chair in thick summer heat. The bucking and thrashing of that thing didn’t make it easy, sending tremors through the entire web of deadly vines, upsetting her balance.

Those empty white eyes watched as she slipped, tilting backwards, gasping as her hands flung out behind her, catching her. She breathed. Too close.

Brrrr.

The echo creature was just ahead, and it leapt directly onto the terror-struck monster, rubbing its face against the other--comforting. The erratic movements calmed, enough for Sophie to resume her crouched position, slowly making her way toward that creature’s head.

Wait. What the fuck am I doing?

She slowed, and it was as though she’d broken a trance. Everything pounded against her senses all at once, like she hadn't been awake and all the sudden she was living living burning alive.

The stagnant air filled with the stench of the vines and the creature assaulted her mind the old sweat against her skin like a film and coating every inch of her and she hadn’t showered in days and was wearing old clothes and hair tickled the back of her neck and her fingers were coated in sopping sticking wet from the foliage and she could feel the vibrations in the air and hear the movements of the grass and her own heart screaming in her chest.

Brrrr.

Breathe. She couldn’t freeze, not now--not again. She wouldn’t freeze again.

“Talk it through, Foster,” she said, holding tight to the vines. “You’re in the forest. There are vines everywhere--they’re all jumbled together around the trees. There’s a monster stuck in them--and you were led here by another creature. Why are you here? What are you doing? It stuck and--”

She paused. Something...caught. In her mind. The monster was stuck.

The little echo had found her and brought her here.

“You want my help, don’t you,” she whispered, momentarily too awed by the intelligence of this tiny creature to comprehend the request. The moment didn’t last.

Her tongue soured, and the shudder of revulsion that spiked it way down her vertebrae had the wings shivering. No no no no no. Why had she done this. Why did she follow the echo? Why why why did she never think things through and why why why was she sitting here in these vines and why why why was it staring at her like that.

She’d never seen eyes so dark before, deepened by the dimmed light, the myriad of vines reaching above them, devouring the sun.

Vines coiled around its face, reaching down it’s rib cage, branching out along its upper limbs, thick bundles of muscles ending in--it had wings too.

Angry red veins pulsing bulging bursting beneath its skin reaching up out down around branching across those membranes growing maiming spreading from its back. She stopped. She couldn’t think.

All she could do was sit there, look, unhearing of its silent screams as her eyes remained fixed on those wings.

No.

Not again.

She wouldn’t do this again. Sophie pushed herself forward, fists clenching, nails digging into her skin. She wouldn't do this again. She wouldn’t.

Gritting her teeth, she climbed through the vines, all those human years at play places coming in handy, dancing her way up to its head--its head alone was nearly the size of her entire torso, each dripping fang longer than her fingers as it snapped its teeth--she flinched.

No. It wasn’t snapping at her. It was trying to reach the vines.

“Think, Foster.” She wouldn’t freeze. Okay. Think it through.

The monster jerked, but she held tight to the vines, allowing her knees to absorb the shift. It’s neck. That was most pressing. At least, it was in people.

Thick ropes curled around its skull, snaking their way down its flesh--that was the most urgent.

Her body moved as if she’d already made the decision, nothing but clear adrenaline flooding her veins as she moved, barely noticing the ick coating her fingers as she made her way around the side of the head, reaching out and running her hands along its skin.

It jolted beneath her touch. “Shhh shh shh; I’m helping, dumbass,” she consoled, then paused.

“I'm...helping you.” Why? Why was she helping it? She shouldn’t--she really really shouldn’t. This horrible, despicable creature before her was suffering--good. She should be glad. Creatures just like this one had torn everything from her, wrenched it limb from limb and scattered the pieces in the wind of its own screams.

Just like this one.

Sophie should sit here and watch it wail and cry and hurt like it had hurt her, a twisted vengeance of some sort. Or she should turn around a leave, pretend she’d never been brought to this place and had never found it. Let it die.

Monsters just like this one killed her life. Were slowly killing this new one.

She should hate it for that. Curse it out and scream at the sky and watch it writhe and suffer. Didn’t it deserve it? Retribution for the suffering it brought to her family, to her?

Sophie exhaled.

This monster--it could have done any number of things. It could’ve been the very one to first break through the fields of Havenfield all those months ago. It could’ve been the one to tear Eternalia to its knees.

It could’ve been the one to devour the gnomes that built those homes.

Could’ve could’ve could’ve could’ve could’ve could’ve.

She’d never know.

Slowly, deliberately, she braced both hands on the creature, skin coarse against her fingertips in a way that made her nerves tingle, vaguely painful. Something something something burning through her veins; she closed her eyes. Inhaled.

She curled her fingers around the vines, slipping her hands beneath that tight suction, the viscous syrup clinging to its flesh.

“On purpose,” she whispered. “Oh purpose on purpose on purpose. I’m going to help you on purpose.”

And

she

pulled.

The vines stuck to her palms, grating and slipping and sticking all at once and it was burning her alive but she refused to freeze. She wouldn’t.

With a grotesque, wet pop the vine released, giving as easily as the crystal grate had burst when she’d first decided to run away from herself. Easier than he knew it should’ve been.

“You’re okay,” she whispered as the creature flinched. Carefully, she ran her fingers alongside the opening she’d created in that seal, vine ripping away from its skin. She followed it around, and the creatures pitch black eyes followed her as she moved around it, carefully untangling it.

It panted heavily against her skin, rancid air brushing her legs as she worked. Deliberately. Intentionally. She was choosing to help it.

Each touch sent shivers and goosebumps raving across her skin, but she wouldn’t freeze.

Slowly, each vine fell away, and the creature gained more and more mobility, but it still didn’t move. It did nothing until she stepped back, panting and sweaty, palms red from whatever substance coated these vines, pollen dusting her skin. She hadn’t showered in days.

Then it shifted. Slowly. Deliberately. Carefully crawling up the vines, maneuvering through the spaces and sending tremors through the foliage--Sophie tightened her grip.

Brrrr.

The echo followed it, glitching towards the open sky alongside it, rubbing affectionately against its side as they moved in tandem so so carefully.

Sophie tilted her head back, palm pressed against the stitch in her side as she watched them move further and further away.

Her eyesight could pick up the way each muscle moved beneath its skin as it worked its way up up up towards the sky, towards release.

She stood there and watched. The vines thinned enough that it began to spread its wings, flapping them slightly as it prepared for takeoff, the echo beside it moving so quickly too and fro in place it was like a hologram she couldn’t concentrate on.

Then it looked back.

They both did.

They looked at her and they saw her.

For a few, eternal moments, they saw each other.

And then they were gone.

And Sophie was here.

Burning.

On purpose.

Pollen crusted her bare feet, accumulating and redistributing itself who knew where with each step Sophie took. She could’ve flown home. The wings had cooperated twice now, maybe they’d do it a third.

But not yet.

She needed this time.

The time it took her to walk back, using the faint presence of her friends to guide her way home to them, tracking them subtly. Hopefully they didn’t know she was gone.

They were used to her being alone, but they’d become such a part of her that maybe they’d sense something was different. Different different different.

She blew lightly across her palms--to ease the burning. Her feet and hands and legs and arms were coated in whatever those vines secreted and it irritated her skin, turning it faintly red.

Quietly, the forest seemed to hum as she passed by, flowers curling and leaves shivering and the air buzzing with something heady. The foliage beneath her feet began to thin and reshape itself, flattening out into a path that wound its way through and under the trees--it seemed to be leading back to the gnomish village.

So she followed it, followed until the trees opened just enough for her to glimpse the faint edge of a wooden patio up in the canopy.

She was back.

And exhausted. Climbing up the trunks a second time seemed like so much work--how had they done it the first time?

There was too much too many all the time going on around in her mind, so she did the first thing she could think of.

She took flight.

It shouldn’t have been this natural, this effortless. They shouldn’t have worked alongside her so easily--they should be fighting her tooth and nail against her every wish. They weren’t supposed to act like a part of her.

But she coursed through the air, curling around and around in an almost perfect spiral upwards until that platform was moments away and her dirty feet made contact and the wings folded themselves neatly against her back and those dozen and dozens and dozens of feet had turned to seconds and it had been over before it began.

On purpose.

She’d saved that creature on purpose and had the bruises the itching the scratches to prove it.

Now what.

An unnaturally cold breeze brushed itself against her skin, and she closed her eyes. Now what? Right now her skin was coated in something icky; right now her friend was hurt and she didn’t know how to help him; right now her parents didn’t know where she was; right now she hadn’t showered in days; right now the sun was setting and the sky was burning itself alive.

Right now the world was filled with monsters.

She opened her eyes. A shower seemed like a good first step.

“Sophie! There you are!” Fuck. Marella nearly crashed into her with her impatience, Sophie throwing her hands out for balance. Marella’s tiny braids were frazzled around her face, nose scrunched with vague annoyance, the light squeeze she gave her arm betraying her affection.

“Sorry--do you need me?” If something had happened and she’d been gone she’d never forgive herself for--

“No.” Oh. That...she didn’t know how she felt about that. Marella had turned, starting to walk away, gesturing for her to follow. She made a face, though, shaking off her hands. “What is that? Where were you?”

Ah. The one question she was hoping not to answer. Fuck. “Not sure,” she ventured, choosing her words oh so carefully. “It does burn though--I should wash it off before it gets worse. There’s a lot of unkempt plants in the area--I guess with my luck I happened to run into the wrong ones.” She’d technically answered the questions, but she hadn’t given the information she was unwilling to face quite yet.

Marella laughed slightly, shaking her head as she moved with determination, choosing bridges to cross and houses to walk through with intention, faint laughter sounding up ahead.

Finally, they curved around a particularly large tree and everyone came into view. Dex leaning to Keefe alongside a flowered bench, bandages wrapped around his back; Fitz at their feet beside Linh who was speaking animatedly about something. Wylie had suspended a dull ball of light in the center of the group, emanating rich yellows and oranges and pinks like some kind of faux campfire.

“Lose a fight with the forest, Foster?” Keefe called out when he saw her, raising a brow in amusement.

“You could say that,” she answered, smiling back slightly. Tension drained from her muscles, providing enough relief that she momentarily didn’t notice the itching. Something about other people just being there made it so much easier to exist. She wasn’t the only thing to exist anymore.

Maruca snorted, walking into the area from a bridge on the opposite side of the platform they’d gathered on, Tam and Biana a few steps behind.

Sophie flushed slightly, smile turning to a full-on grin to try and hide it. She never should’ve walked away from these people. All the time alone in her own mind had created monsters that weren’t even there, fantasies to scream and run from when there were people right here who loved her and she loved back.

She briefly met Dex’s eye and he shrugged slightly--alright. He was alright right now. She didn’t press for details; he’d provide them if he wanted. Maybe that episode had just been a fluke, maybe he’d just get better and better with time.

“Seriously though, what happened to you,” Fitz asked, bewildered, looking her up and down. Sophie brushed some of the pollen off her arms, but it just smeared in that vine ick.

“I haven’t showered in days, Fitzroy, and the plants are mean.”

Linh leaned forward, an uncharacteristic grin slicing her face. “Here, let me help!”

“Help with wha--” Sophie asked, starting to move back.

A torrent of icy water blasted her from head to toe as Linh slammed her wrists together, fingers closing hypnotically until her hands formed a mock spout--aimed directly at Sophie.

It lasted for a few brief moments, absolutely soaking her all the way through. She was left standing, sputtering, dripping water onto the patio.

Linh was grinning, flushed and suppressing her laughter, as if embarrassed by her own joke. Keefe took one look at her, stilled with shock, and snapped his hand to his mouth--it didn’t do anything to mask the giggles. And he wasn’t the only one.

Biana laughed openly, Tam shaking his head with amusement right beside her.

“Hnnng thank you Linh,” she breathed, voiced unnaturally high from the overwhelming cold, shivering slightly. “I love you so much I just can’t believe how helpful you are. Really, uh, really appreciate that. O-oh” She braced her hands on her knees. “Cold water was uh--that was a choice. I’m so, I’m--really appreciate you.” The last syllable lasted a lot longer and a lot shakier than she meant for it to.

She gave a thumbs up as she stood, gently pulling the fabric of her shirt away from her skin as she did so, shaking it out a little. Now there were smiles all around the circle, everyone enjoying her comedic suffering.

“Want me--want me to--” Marella couldn’t even get the words out, trying to force her face into a neutral position of superiority as she raised a hand and snapped, sparks flying.

“Set me on fire? Go for it--sounds nice.”

Before she got the chance to, Linh reached out, drawing the water out of her clothes and hair, sending it floating around her in tiny dew drops, dispersing into the air.

Sophie shook herself off--as humorous as it had been, it had actually gotten rid of most of the substance and helped the burning. But it seemed it had been even better for morale.

She didn’t know what the atmosphere had been like before she’d arrived, but now there was an undeniable air of ease, a lightness. It reminded her of Keefe in a way, the effect he tried to achieve through his humor.

“Sorry,” Linh said, still smiling. “You just set it up so well. I had to.”

Sophie smiled back, lowering herself down to sit around the faux-fire--Linh had even cleared the water from the wood.

“It seemed like she could use it,” Dex mumbled, eliciting a few laughs that had Sophie flushing. Maruca shook her head slightly, smile tugging at her lips.

Now seemed like an excellent time to change the subject. “What’s everyone doing out here?” She’d just been brought here by Marella, she didn’t actually know what was going on. Which...wasn’t great if she was supposed to be the leader. Although everything was more of a group effort most of the time.

Biana stepped forward, sitting on the bench on the other side of Keefe, who put his arm on her shoulder and leaned against her like she was a counter. As she did so, she spoke. “Why not, you know? We can’t exactly go anywhere right now, and there’s no one to boss us around--so why not have a little fun!” She swatted at Keefe’s arm with annoyance, but he just stuck his tongue out at her. “Also, just a little check-in, see where everyone’s at--although I wasn’t expecting anyone to be fighting plants, much less losing to them.”

Had she lost, though? The question screeched painfully through her mind, catching her off guard. They’d made a mess of her, yes, but she’d technically gotten the creature out. Wasn’t that a victory? Or were they all losing, fooled by their own misguided wants that they tricked themselves into believing otherwise.

“I live to surprise.” She didn’t want to be thinking about it either way; she’d had enough moral quandaries to last at least the rest of the week. Propping her head against her hand, she surveyed the group. Chatting amongst themselves and sitting and existing peacefully--Biana was right. They didn’t have moments like this often. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d existed so carelessly.

Biana smiled at her, then turned away, attention caught by Tam as he leaned in to say something. She could hear it if she wanted, knew there was so much more to each of them than they'd ever have time to discover.

She didn’t. She tuned it out and let the moment be. Biana pushed lightly at his arm in mock annoyance, and Tam’s eyes caught the light of the fire, reflecting it back like a cat. Maruca flicked her fingers a few times, messing with the faux-fire in little spikes of flashing force fields. Marella leaned over, asking Wylie a question.

He nodded and the fire shifted colors, turning a rich magenta and melting into purples and blues and aquamarine and cycling through the whole spectrum of color, bathing all ten of them in faint rainbow light.

This is nice, Sophie thought, watching the colors play across her skin. A brief reprieve. A few moments stolen from time. A few moments where none of them worried about anything except for who could talk the loudest. A few moments where their world hadn’t ended and they weren’t so alone.

Where they were nothing but a group of teenagers enjoying each others’ company in the fading sunlight, content to stay with each other eternally.

Sophie’s eyes caught on a fraction of movement off in her peripherals and she blinked, trying to find it. Strange. She could’ve sworn there was something there. Something hollow and white staring at her, through her.

Then Fitz laughed and the moment was over.

This wouldn’t last, but it was nice to imagine it would.

“Did Linh show you what she did in that house near the outskirts?” Tam asked, walking beside her. The group had dispersed as the night got darker, Biana, Linh, Marella and Maruca disappearing somewhere; Fitz, Keefe, and Dex discussing something animatedly, Wylie straight-up vanishing--which left Sophie and Tam together.

Their arms were interlaced as they walked about, ensuring the other didn’t wander off somewhere. Despite his adeptness in the dark, Tam didn’t seem to be seeing very clearly.

He kept squinting, the shadows only thickening in his presence--luckily, there was enough moonlight that they could glean general awareness of the area.

“No, what did she do?” She grabbed his arm, pulling him along so he stopped straying to the edge of the bridge; she didn’t think he’d walk off it, but she also didn’t know how well he could see. Whatever had happened to his eyes, they way they reflected light, it had clearly affected his night vision. Not that she had the energy to think about that right now. Her head couldn’t take much more, she could feel it.

“Rerouted some of the old irrigation systems into a functioning shower system.”

“Ah. I see.” It seemed she was the dirtiest among them, everyone else changing clothes on a reasonable schedule and such. And they loved to bring it up.

He smirked at her slightly when she glanced back, amused suspicion written all over her face. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “You’re mentioning this because…” She raised her eyebrows at him and he gave a sort of half-laugh.

“Just thought you should know.”

She rolled her eyes, then looked out around the scenery. Fragrant flowers curled against the edges of the porches, leading into those quaint, decaying homes. She hadn’t been out this way before--then again, she’d spent the better part of the day untangling a monster from a snare of vines. But damn she’d love a shower. After this little moment, this calm, then she’d shower. Reset her mind and prepare to face herself in the morning.

Maybe even check her imparter.

Just the thought sent a pang of something so strong and repulsive through her gut she nearly stumbled. Accompanied by all the hairs raising on her arm, she couldn’t resist the urge to rub the sensation away, scouring her skin quickly, small poofs of pollen floating into the air.

Tam sneezed a few times. “Sorry,” she mumbled, trying to shake off the sensation.

He squeezed her arm, glancing around uneasily in a way that made her pause. “Do you feel that?”

“What?”

“That.”

Sophie glanced around, the unease oozing through her skin growing with each second, and the realization curdled her blood--this was not just her nerves.

Each pollen-coated hair on her arm raised, something deep, instinctual buzzing through her veins, wrapping its vice around her heart, squeezing squeezing squeezing her tight and lighting her cells into pyres, eating its way through her sanity.

Then the rain hit.

It descended like a sheet; it hadn’t been there, then it was everywhere. Droplets pelted her skin, the downpour so heavy she couldn’t see anything but the blurs of them falling in front of her face, could barely see Tam a foot away, arm still wrapped around hers.

Shit.

Petals and leaves whipped their way through the air, torn from their stems and trees, flailing about in the gusts. The bridge beneath them shuddered, their weight upon it the only thing holding it slightly steady--they had to move.

Sophie reached out blindly for a few steps, recalling those memories from a few moments ago when she could see the railings, and grabbed hold. She clung tight to the railing of the platform, other arm interlocked with Tam’s as they stared across the crossing paths of bridges waving and completely unstable in this torrent, barely able to see more than a dozen feet in front of their faces.

Rain mixed with the wind, chilling her to the bone as it whipped her hair back and forth, pelting those delicate wings at her back.

WHAT’S HAPPENING, several someones screamed, and Sophie winced, hand shooting to her temple to massage the ache forming there. She’d already been low energy, but--every few weeks or so, the strain of maintaining the mindbubble gave her a horrid headache; the more it was used the worse it got.

Everyone.

Everyone was talking. Yelling. Trying to find each other through the storm, shoving images of locations into the space to try and find each other. None of them could see through the rain--the rain that had fallen like a thick sheet, suddenly there all at once.

Cacophonies of Who started it and Can you feel that and Where are you and What’s happening and--

Quiet. Tam sent an aggressive streak of shadows alongside the scathing message, shocking the others enough to shut them up.

Thanks, Sophie and Fitz whispered as one, voices strained enough that an immediate wave of guilt washed over the others, detectable even in their minds.

Her head pounded, her neck scrunching up instinctively to try and force the feeling away. She needed to concentrate. Why did her head have to be such a bitch now? Each pulse of blood reverberated through her skull. She was so tired. She’d had such a long day, why couldn’t she just have a little break. A few hours where nothing went wrong.

Tam’s arm snaked its way around her back, drawing her closer to his side as she pressed her face in his shirt. The sudden humidity and change in air pressure hadn’t helped. Why was this affecting her so? What even was this?

Something prickled in the back of her mind--Linh. Linh was drawing her hands up towards the sky in a great sweeping arc, drawing the rain out of the air and suspending it above her, above all of them.

The incessant pelting against her skin stopped, the water drawn out of her clothes and hair, all of the moisture flattening out into a slightly curved circle, a lens held above them.

She’d blocked the rain.

Sophie turned her head, watching as Linh stood in the center of that circle, tiny droplets floating rhythmically to join the configuration. They could see again.

Linh turned, surveying them all, skin unnaturally alight, almost iridescent, dew drops coating her limbs and running down her arms. Why hadn’t she taken the water off herself?

The wind still whipped violently at her face, pollen dusting off her skin and scattering in the wind, Tam holding her tight as she massaged her temples. Everyone was scattered, but with their eyesight they could all see each other, all the panicked faces down to the dilated pupils.

Linh and Marella both stood in the center of her shield, the latter staring vacantly into the sky, an almost entranced look creeping over her face. The former was more stoic, seemed to see, no, sense something the rest of them could only imagine.

The fuck is happening right now, Maruca hissed, but quietly so as not to hurt Sophie and Fitz. Considerate. Sophie had to search for a moment before finding her off to her left, covering Wylie’s back with a cloak--the wings.

Fuck. The wings at her own back buzzed with a phantom pain--could the insect wings get wet? Would that damage them? Why did the thought frighten her so?

Some of her panic must’ve gotten through to the others, enough to pick up on the source.

Both Keefe and Fitz, the latter massaging his temples, took up a stance on either side of Biana, shielding her back despite Linh’s cover, and Tam shifted her so that none of the stray droplets tossed by the wind could hit her back.

There’s something up there, Marella whispered, voice too light too soft too steel. She drew everyone’s attention.

What do you mean? Sophie asked, but she received no response.

Marella? Multiple voices echoed throughout their minds, then out loud. She didn’t respond to any of them.

Sophie eyed the bridges between them--no way in hell were they going to be able to cross those. The vines were shredding themselves, stray flowers whipping about as the area self-destructed. A window somewhere behind her shattered, the sound of falling glass shocking her to her core.

Wait.

There was a shattered window in that room she’d claimed. What had broken it so thoroughly?

“Marella what are you--” someone screamed, and Sophie was snapped back to this horrid reality, Tam at her back, wind pelting her body, thoughts that weren’t hers clouding her mind.

Marella had crouched down--

“What the fuck,” she whispered. Tam inhaled sharply behind her, hands tightening on her arms.

Glowing. Each of Marella’s veins was luminescent beneath her skin, crawling beneath her flesh, lighting her up from the inside-out as she stared vacantly into the sky. You could trace the map of pulsing blood, everything leading back to the center of her chest, a concentration of light glimmering there.

That’s cool and all, Dex said, voice shaking. But what are you--

Lightning struck, ravenous thunder shuddering through the sky. Again. Again.

Shit. Lightning like that--they were literally in the trees, this was not a good place to be.

Something boomed high above.

The rain flickered.

It was gone for a brief moment, completely halted before it crashed down twice as hard a moment later. Everyone’s hands were pressed tight to their ears, the torrent of rain drops pelting to roofs, the platforms, the shield of water above absolutely deafening.

Yet...Linh and Marella stood in the center of them all, staring through the sky.

“I don’t like this!” Tam yelled by her ear. She agreed. But she didn’t know what this was. Much less how to stop it.

Another resounding boom came from overhead, halting the rain for a few seconds more.

Sophie watched as Marella’s head cocked, tension lining her muscles as she stayed crouched there, eyes half-lidded as she tuned into to some frequency far beyond her own understanding.

Brrrr.

The breath caught in her throat as Sophie froze, gaze whipping around, trying to find it--that little echo. She knew she’d heard it.

There.

Barely, across the clearing, she could see it for a moment. Watched as it glitched it’s way across the dilapidated roof of one of those gnomish houses, seemingly untouched by the downpour.

It made eye contact with her, those empty whites piercing her as it blinked once, then was gone.

Another flash of lightning struck, the hairs on her arm raising, dread coiling in the pit of her stomach. Goddammit. That echo was here again, but why? What did it want with her?

Wait, did that mean--

Sophie Foster wasn’t known for thinking. She was known for doing.

There was strength beyond her understanding lurking beneath her skin, ripping through those vines had taught her that much. Breaking the grate had taught her just how far it could go.

She flexed her biceps, jerking her arms out on either side, breaking Tam’s hold. He wouldn’t let her go any other way, she knew. And she loved him for it.

Using the adrenaline she’d generated, she rushed to the edge of the platform, there in an instant, everything around her so so so painfully slow as she did not think.

She jumped.

And the wings snapped open.

Clear, unadulterated determination spurred her forward, over those unstable bridges. Levitation too risky with this wind, walking an impossibility. They’d thought themselves stranded, unable to reach each other until the storm died down--no. They weren’t bound to human--or even elven--limitations anymore.

Rushing towards Linh and Marella, the center of that water shield, she aimed her trajectory upwards, all that practice from earlier today, weaving in and out of the trees giving her just enough knowledge on how this body worked to twist backwards in the air, face to the sky as she adjusted course.

The apex of that curved lens beckoned her, growing closer and closer as she aimed up up up.

Something snapped in the mindbubble, echoes and reverberations sounding out like something irreversible had broken.

She glanced down.

Marella took flight, Linh a moment behind.

Marella’s eyes shone with something ravenous, her movements unstable but forceful as she propelled herself after Sophie, the same determination written in the lines of her face. Linh rushed to meet them, swaying slightly in the wind.

And as a group, a unit, they burst through the top of that shield, shooting up up up into the sky, rain pelting their skin, Linh suspending it away from the delicate insect wings just in case, ever so considerate. And they charged.

Right into the center of the storm.

Sophie couldn’t hear the buzzing of the wings at her own back over the crackling lightning splitting the sky. She couldn’t hear the screaming in her head, a solid wall of power clamped around her, Linh, and Marella so thick not even Fitz would have a chance to get in.

Thunder rumbled through the sky so powerful so close so everywhere she could’ve sworn she could hear her bones crunching, her brain rocking, the nerves screaming in her body as the world reoriented itself, her body only a fleck of dust amongst the storm.

The others gasped alongside her, senses overwhelmed by the sheer force of the chaos.

What now?

Oh fuck what now?

What the hell is your plan, Foster! Marella ground out, teeth gritted. Her hands were clasped over her ears, trying to block out that deafening scream, nature’s fury.

Plan.

She was becoming woefully negligent when it came to planning.

That echo had shown up and suddenly she’d been flying through the trees not thinking anything through just living breathing doing on purpose on purpose on purpose. She’d seen the creature and thought maybe maybe maybe this was--

Something bellowed above them. Screeching deep and pained and hollow and angry and alive alive alive.

That wasn’t thunder, Linh said.

That was living breathing alive. There was something above them, something screaming it’s mind into this echoic sky.

Each passing heartbeat reminded her just how bad of an idea this was, just how much she hadn’t thought it through and now she’d dragged two of her friends alongside her into this chaos. Linh was holding another shield around them, water droplets pelting an invisible sphere and collecting, distorting the image beyond.

Lightning flashed, setting her eyes burning as the electricity sizzled and popped through the air, a continuous arc from one dense cloud to another.

Wait.

Marella surged from her stagnant hover, something inhuman in her face as her lip curled, eyes set solely on the origin of that lightning. That unnatural lightning.

“MARELLA--” Linh screamed, moving after her, tearing at the clouds the mist the storm with her hands, rending the world to shreds in an instant.

Linh

tore

the

sky

apart.

All the condensation clouding the sky shredding and dissipating, leaving everything else remarkably, unbearably clear.

Sophie could see everything. Linh just ahead, reaching desperately for Marella; Marella, wings on full display behind her, hypnotized by the beasts in the sky; the beasts--

No.

The wings at Marella’s back beat behind her, glistening red against the dark storm, scales crusting the thick muscles, leading out to taut membranes and wicked talons, scratching against the fabric of the night.

As they moved something swarmed beneath the surface, glowing hot beneath her skin.

No.

Marella continued her advance, eyes focused only on those beasts in the sky, like calling to like.

Lightning crackled against the scales of one, its teeth at the other's throat as electricity lit its eyes. Smoke curled from the mouth of the other, wings beating furiously as it scratched and clawed and bellowed.

Two dragons battled for dominance in the air.

And Marella was drawn to them, carried by blood-red dragon wings.

#that was fun #how's everyone doing after that #was kinda worried too much happened in one chapter when i wrote it but i've decided eh #why not #anyways feel free to scream about this in my asks #/g #I have many thoughts about the wings au all of the time #spectacular #i'll stop now but hopefully you enjoyed that as much as I did #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fanfic #kotlc fan fic #kotlc fanfiction #kotlc wings au #shattered upside down #shattered upside down chapter #do i need anymore tags or was that all of them?

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years

Note

Could I request something super fluffy and light if you have time? Just lost my fur baby 5 days after getting back to college.

I’m so sorry to hear that. Losing pets is heartbreaking.

I’ve had this fluff in my drafts for a while now, seems an appropriate time to break it out. XXXX

----

There are very few things in the world that can stop a Trauma. And bullets – you're sad to discover – are not one of them.

The hulking mass of flesh and muscle advances slowly, pressing you further back against an overturned lorry that blocks your path, as though the universe itself has decided to punish you for sneaking out of the Maker Tree – alone - to hunt for supplies.

One thought breaks through the panic.

Your best friend, Jones, is going to kill you if you make it back alive.

Of all the demons whose attention you could have drawn, it would be one of the largest and deadliest variety. The tusks jutting from its jaw gleam with copious amounts of stinking, viscous drool and when it opens its mouth to roar, flecks of the vile spittle manage to spatter onto your face and arms as you raise the meagre revolver you'd brought with you for defence.

Another round explodes from the chamber and like the others, sinks no more than an inch into the demon's head before its momentum is brought to an abrupt halt by the toughened hide. Helpless, you can only watch as the Trauma gives its skull a rough shake and the bullet wiggles loose.

Your eyes follow the tiny projectile down to where it lands, tinkling softly on the tarmac and rolling to a stop near your feet.

There it lays, innocent, devoid of even the slightest inkling that it's done anything wrong by you.

Reality hits you like a sack of bricks. This is it.

You can't run...

You certainly can't fight. And there's no way Ulthane will hear you from the tree if you scream. Even if he could, he'd never be able to reach you before the Trauma gets its jaws around your neck.

Like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, you remain frozen to the spot, but there's just enough fight left in you to try raising your head up in a final show of defiance. If you're to die, you don't want the demon to know you're afraid. Although, the fear rolling off you in palpable waves is liable to be picked up by those flaring nostrils.

“Come on then!” you holler, scrubbing furiously at the river of tears that stream from your eyes, “W~what are you waiting for!?” The shape of its jaw doesn't allow for much expression, but somehow, you just know the demon is smiling, as if enjoying this terrifying game of cat and mouse, and if there's anything worse than knowing you're going to die, it's waiting for it to happen.

Before the Trauma strikes, a fat, bulging tongue lolls out of its mouth and it drags the slimy muscle slowly through the saliva coating its jagged fangs, savouring the taste of your fear.

And then suddenly, faster than you thought it could, the demon lunges.

An enormous, meaty paw swipes at you from the left and you let out a scream as it connects, knocking you sideways and onto the hard ground. Your jaw is the first thing that cracks against tarmac and immediately, your vision turns white before little spots of colour start to bleed into view, crawling about like bugs on the insides of your eyelids.

Gasping for air, you heave yourself onto your back and bring your hands up to brush gingerly over your throbbing chin. Teeth grit through the shrill ringing in your ears, you have all of a second to register what had just happened when the Trauma's palm suddenly appears above you and drops down heavily onto your midsection.

Another scream tries to leap out, but you hadn't had the time to draw in a breath. What comes out instead is a pathetic wheeze that you wish you could take back when the demon starts to press down, hard, crushing the air out of your lungs until you aren't sure what will break first. The road beneath you, or your bones.

Two claws, each longer than you are tall, sprout from the Trauma's knuckles and you peer up through the gap between them, frantically scrabbling at the ground to try and find any sort of purchase that might help you dislodge yourself from beneath the ten-tonne goliath. Alas, you know there's about as much hope of that as there is of a mouse fending off a hungry tiger.

The Trauma's bulbous head looms down towards you and you'd swear the grunts and chuffs that roll from its throat are some, twisted form of laughter. You can't help it. A scream rips out of your mouth before you can swallow it back down and your captor responds by revelling in the sound, its nostrils flaring excitedly.

With an agonising slowness only meant to torment you further, the demon pries its jaws apart and your ears are abruptly met with a tumultuous, infuriated roar.

Only....

The roar doesn't come from the monster above you.

You barely have time to contemplate the pounding footsteps that rattle your teeth and amalgamate with your heartbeat before something big slams into the Trauma's side and the weight that had been slowly flattening you against the pavement is suddenly gone.

With one, tremendous gulp of air, your lungs are once again filled to burst.

Overhead, the Trauma bellows, and this time, it receives an answering howl of outrage.

Squinting through the haze of dust kicked up by the newcomer, you see your former assailant wrestling valiently with another creature, one that's equal in size.

You've seen all manner of demon since the world ended. Big and small, fat, thin, ugly and some, even arguably beautiful.

But never have you seen one quite like this.

A silver titan stands between you and the Trauma on a pair of long, graceful legs with plates of armour strapped to almost every inch of its body. Even the tail that sprouts from the middle of the creature's back has plates of metal affixed to the tip. The entire appendage curls up and over its head like the tail of a scorpion, poised and ready to strike at the Trauma, whose yellow eyes are still bulging out of their sockets.

With a hiss, the newcomer grabs its opponant by a tusk and gives it a brutal shove, effectively forcing the Trauma to stagger back several metres, teetering on its disproportionately small feet as its weight is thrown off balance.

You swiftly decide you don't want to stick around and find out if it wins the fight.

Aware that this may be your only chance of escaping to see another day, you scramble up onto your feet and make a run for it, barrelling clumsily past the armoured giant.

The blood in your ears is pounding so fiercely, you don't even notice that behind you, there's a screech, and before you know it, you're jerked to a sudden halt when a long tail darts out and curls around your waist.

Crying out a frantic, “NO!” you begin to struggle, slapping your palms on the warm metal and grunting with the effort of trying to wriggle free from the strangely gentle grip. Your new captor lets out a sharp bark that sounds more avian than canine before it deposits you on the ground right behind its heel, your back to the upturned lorry once more.

As its tail unwinds from your torso, you roll your gaze up the monstrous body standing protectively between you and the Trauma and wonder what the Hell its motivation is. Why would it stop you from trying to leave?

Whilst the demon shakes itself and paces agitatedly, assessing this tall, lanky threat, the silver giant turns its head to glance briefly down at you, and for the first time, you meet its luminous, golden gaze. The eyes burn into you for what feels like an eternity, unblinking, devoid of any pupil or iris and your throat turns dry as you realise something chilling.

They're the eyes of a predator.

Suddenly, you can't seem to swallow. Only when it turns to face the Trauma once more do you realise you'd been holding your breath and you gasp, sucking in a deep lungful of oxygen.

Perhaps if you move slowly and quietly, you could escape its notice and make a break for the nearest alleyway, one that's too narrow for either demon to slip down. Steadying your nerves, you begin to edge your way along the lorry, never once taking your eyes of the creature in front of you.

Glancing back at you, the beast's mechanical jaw parts and out slips a growl as it lowers its tail again and uses the rounded edge to block your retreat, nudging you back into place behind its legs, all the while ignoring your squawks of protest.

You can't help but feel somewhat like a bone that's being guarded by a ravenous dog. Because that's all this is, isn't it? This silver titan is doing nothing more than defending its next meal from a contender.

A gutteral snarl snatches your attention and you glance through a pair of towering legs to see the Trauma.

Apparently, it has grown tired of sizing up the newcomer and lumbers towards you with its arms spread to its sides, the claws protruding from its knuckles pointed forwards like the tusks of a charging elephant, ready to gore.

Heart booming, you blurt, “Look out!” though why you would ever warn the silver giant is beyond even your own comprehension.

Still, it hurls its gaze forward again and raises its left arm, and you only then notice that what sprouts from its sinewy shoulders is less of an arm and more of a long, daunting rifle, as though someone had sawn the appendage off at the elbow and welded a gun in its place.

The Trauma is almost upon you as the strange appendage lifts to meet the demon's chest and before you can clap your hands over your ears, an explosion of gunfire erupts from the barrels. Round after round, the silver titan fires on the Trauma, who now seems far less incensed and tries to spin itself around mid charge, its flesh torn to pieces before it can get too far.

You have to wonder where the bullets keep generating from because they leave their chambers with no sign of slowing or running dry. When the lumbering demon turns to cover its head, it instead finds its back shredded to ribbons by the neverending hail of ammunition and in just seconds, the Trauma crashes heavily to its knees. Even when it crumples, dragging itself away on its belly, the second creature doesn't relent. It takes a few, long strides to the downed demon and swings its gun up, emptying dozens of rounds into the thick skull.

You're so perturbed by such a display, the prospect of getting out of there yourself slips your mind and by the time you realise you should be moving, the gunfire abruptly cuts off.

Smoke trails lazily from the barrels of that terrible weapon as its wielder's silver helm slowly swivels in your direction.

“No, no! Stay back! G-Get away from me!” you half shout, half plead with the angular beast when it tilts its head to one side and treads over to you, and though its weaponised arm is lowered, you're all too aware that this thing poses a sizeable threat.

It stops in front of you, still regarding you with wide, almost curious eyes. Then, gradually, it lowers itself down into a crouch, legs bending at the knee and ankles until it rests back onto its haunches.

After a few more moments of silence, the silver head drops down close, far too close for your liking. You'd need only reach a hand out and you could touch its chin. The horns sweeping forwards from the sides of its face hover to your left and right and it feels very much like being surrounded by the bars of an impenetrable cage.

Licking your lips, you stammer out, “Wh-what do you want?”

Predictably, it doesn't reply. It instead continues to stare, the slitted nostrils winking open and closed, sniffing.

Then, without warning, its jaws part and you let out a squeak, slamming your eyes shut so you won't have to see the grey, pointed teeth that sit behind its metallic lips. A slow second ticks by in which you wait for the inevitable and painful bite that’ll end your pathetically short life, and then...

Your fear is momentarily thrust aside to make room for disgust.

Something rough and warm and wet smacks against your bloodied chin and suddenly, your whole face is engulfed in the sticky softness of what you're almost certain is the creature's sandpapery tongue. It drags up over your features in one, long swipe before flicking off your forehead and a throaty rumble fills the air around you.

“EUGH! Gross!”

Spitting an unthinkable globule of your lower lip, you wipe frantically at the stuff coating your eyes, coughing and spluttering like you'd just survived drowning.

Once your vision is no longer obscured, you blink rapidly and find that, as you'd expected, the beast is retracting a dark, slimy tongue.

It occurs to you that it might be having a preliminary taste but before you can ponder too long on whether or not it finds you appetising, the creature begins to...

Well... shrink.

Metal plates slide over one another as its body collapses in on itself and the purple mane billowing from its head shortens and is swiftly replaced by spiked, black hair. The tail that had scooped you up retreats between a pair of shoulder blades and in just seconds, you're no longer staring up at a colossal beast. Instead, you're looking at a man, dressed from head to foot in a full suit of bizarre and alien armour.

Although he's still heads and shoulders your superior in height, he's nowhere near his previous stature. An ounce of dread fades from your chest.

The man rolls his neck, a hand pressed to the back of it for a moment before he seems to remember where he is and he suddenly snaps his gaze down to you again, a soft huff drifting out from beneath his mask.

You simply gape back, speechless. If you hadn't just seen the transformation with your own two eyes, you'd never believe it had happened at all. Hell, part of you is still in denial.

Gradually, you feel words start to form on your tongue. “What the he~EEY!”

In the blink of an eye, the stranger cuts you off mid sentence by throwing himself at you, arms wide. You try to dodge him, failing miserably when he swiftly scoops you up into his thick, metallic arms and promptly buries the front of his mask into your hair. The action is so far from what you'd been expecting, you stop putting up a fight altogether and merely dangle limply from his grasp with your feet hanging just below his knees.

Clearing an awkward lump from your throat, you sputter, “Uh... I'm sorry. Have... have we met?”

For a moment, you feel the man's hard chin rub against your hair as he nods and you're about to ask where on Earth you'd met him when he suddenly stiffens and drops you back to the ground, stepping away to frantically shake his head. A sound starts up in his throat, like he's about to speak, but seems to reconsider a second later and you hear the distinct snap of his jaw as it falls shut.

While the behaviour is odd, you decide it best not to provoke a man who can turn into a twenty five foot monster at the flip of a switch. So instead, you gesture to the Trauma behind him and offer what you hope is a genuine smile, despite the edges of your mouth quivering in protest.

“Um.... Thank you?” you whisper feebly, “I-I'm assuming you meant to save my life?”

The man's chest jerks as he snorts and nods again, but otherwise remains silent.

Curious as to his wordlessness, you cock your head and ask, “What's the matter? Can't you talk?”

He hesitates, hands clenching into fists and a look of uncertainty flashing across his amber eyes. Then, following several, awkward seconds, he shakes his head.

“Oh... Bummer.” You purse your lips, at a loss until you start to wonder if he's expecting some kind of repayment. “I'm sorry.” You anxiously begin to tug at the hem of your shirt. “I really am grateful, but I don't have anything I can give you to say a proper thanks.”

It's as if you'd dealt him a physical blow. Immediately, he backs up and throws his arms forwards, hands waving hastily as if he were appalled by the very idea.

Inwardly, you sag with relief. “Oh, well. In that case, I guess we'd... better be on our separate ways.” Turning to walk away, you’re stopped when the man suddenly leaps into action, striding in front of you and blocking your path.

“What!?” you blurt, startled, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling, “What’s wrong”

He points insistently down the street you'd emerged from in your attempt to flee the Trauma. Glancing after his hand, you realise he's indicating the Maker tree's uppermost branches that are poking out from behind some of the distant skyscrapers. Blinking, you pause and watch as he points to you, then the tree, then back to you once more.

“You're... asking me why I'm not going back to the tree?” you guess.

Huffing, the man simply folds his arms across a broad, silver chest and stares at you expectantly.

Just then, you're struck by a thought and a slow frown creeps across your forehead. How would this stranger know that you came from the maker tree?

He hasn't done anything wrong, so far. But something about him doesn't sit quite right with you.

“I... I can't go back. Not yet.” You edge around him, never once turning your back. “You don't understand, I need to get more supplies before I return.”

Your unusual rescuer doesn't seem to like that response one bit. His eyes suddenly flash white-hot and he takes a single stride towards you, reaching out to grip your shoulder and only holding it tighter when you try to pull away. This time, he raises his other hand slowly and jabs a finger right in your face, centimetres from the tip of your nose before the appendage swings in a wide arc towards the maker tree.

Ah. He wasn't asking you why you weren't going straight back to the maker tree.

In fact, you don't think he was asking anything at all.

As though he'd read your mind, the armoured brute suddenly swivels you towards the tree and moves his hand down to give you a gentle yet direct nudge in the small of your back.

Apparently, this is nonnegotiable.

“Okay, okay! No need to push. I'm going.”

Beneath his mask, you don't see the man's frown ease, nor the way his lips part to release a small sigh of relief.

---

At the risk of sounding like his eldest brother, Strife reminds himself to give you the sternest talking to you've likely ever received once he delivers you back to the safety of Ulthane's tree.

As Jones, of course.

As Jones.

#Strife doesn't speak because you'll recognise him as Jones #Darksiders #Darksiders 3

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capricornus-rex · 3 years

Text

In the Face of Fear (4)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by @stellar-trinity

Summary: Kashyyyk has its own charms and surprises, but what if one of those said surprises rear its ugly, unpleasant head right in front of you in the form of a spider that’s the size of a boulder?

Tags: Arachnophobia, Wyyyschokk, Matriarch Wyyyschokk, Kashyyyk, Arachnophobic! Reader

A/N: My bad! Realized just now that I didn’t put the links of the chapters! ;;;A;;; So sorry!

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 | Previous: Part 3 | Next: Part 5 | Masterlist

4 of ?

The glow of your lightsabers have either attracted or irritated them enough to make them crawl out of those holes in the wall.

Literally back to back with one another, you and Cal are being circled by the spiders. There are at least five closing the ring.

“BEE, BEE-TRIIILL!!” shrilled a panicked BD-1.

“I know, I know! I see them!” you shrieked back.

Your fighting grip falters around your saber, your swings are flimsy, and your strikes bore little damage—it could only graze their hides and anger them more, which is never good. One Wyyyschokk had its head full of eyes on you, flickering its mandibles with a gluttonous excitement, it lured closer while you backed away. The normal-sized ones were somewhat less of a challenge for you to overcome your phobia, still a challenge nonetheless. You’re only hoping the mother doesn’t show up and get itself involved.

Cal cut through their numbers effortlessly. You envied him. Envied the fact that these arachnids don’t bother him to the same degree as they do to you. Fighting these humongous crawlers felt taxing, though you still fought them to get it over with; when this wave finally settled, the two of you went on the move, going in blind into their labyrinthine dwelling.

“This way!”

“Are you sure?!”

“I know it!”

Holding his saber over his head, Cal leads the way—twisting and turning, you don’t know anymore if you’ve turned left or right this time but you still followed him. Hope burning within you that both of you will get out of this horrendous place alive soon. The two of you continued running, hand-in-hand, you looking out for the rear while he takes the lead; eventually, you got to the edge, and hopped along the rock platforms which vaguely resembled the path to the Gorgara’s pit in Dathomir.

“We’re just going further in!” you gasped at the realization.

“Don’t worry, there’s surely a way out,” reassured the boy.

There was barely any light in the deeper pit that you’ve jumped into. You strained your neck, tilting up to examine the area, searching for any visible opening that could serve as a way out, until you found one—high up in the ceiling of the cave is a rabbit hole of sorts.

“Look overt here!” you pointed to the cave’s oculus.

Cal scanned the hole and its surroundings, planning out the climb route. He knows you’re not equipped with climbing claws, instead you’re armed with a grappling hook appendaged to your gauntlet. You were doing the same thing: mapping out where to shoot the hook.

“There’s a small enough ledge I can perch on. From there, I can wire my way through...” you paused. “I think.”

He shot you a look that easily translates to “You think?” and he stares at you for a considerable amount of seconds until you look back at him, throwing back a look that responds as “What?”

“It’s doable!” you argued.

“I don’t doubt that,”

As you navigate around the deeper pit, something about it gives off a different ambience. Waving your saber around, you notice that the tree bark and the walls made out of rock were dappled with silky, white wisps. You even shone a light on animal carcasses and insect husks—you even spotted the remains of what ought to be a juvenile Tach.

“Trill... Beeep...”

I know, BD-1, we’re getting out of here sooner than you think,” Cal calmed the droid on his shoulder.

Looking around some more, you find more and more animal carcasses—many of which have fallen prey to a trap that rendered them immobile and defenseless against the monstrosity that created such an elaborate trap.

“This is no cave,” you said as-a-matter-of-factly. “This is a nest.”

Cal held his head up, using his saber as a torchlight, and absentmindedly spun around to register that it is indeed a nest. However, his ankle slighted backwards, the heel of his boot sticking to the web-trap laced with a viscous adhesive; strings of the substance formed between his shoe and the soil, hindering his footsteps. He didn’t feel it in the first few inches, only did he realize he was in trouble and the Wyyyschokk that had been lurking and following you around had gotten him in its grasp before he could alert you.

His grunt caused you to turn around and just when you think this day couldn’t get any worse, the Wyyyschokk that got him is the Matriarch Wyyyschokk.

“[Y/N]!!” Cal cracked, squirming in its coiled legs around his body.

Poor Cal saw his life flashing before his eyes, he could see it all replaying past the wide-open maws and fangs of the great Wyyyschokk. For a moment, he knew what your phobia felt like, and had a deeper understanding of it. The sheer horror overtook him and rendered his throat voiceless.

You melted to the muddy floor, you knees have lost their foundation, and your senses have dulled with your eyes glued to the monster. You blindly patted the soil, searching for anything, holding your unwanted gaze at the vibrant, prismatic color of the spider like that of a crow to a shiny trinket.

As the Matriarch Wyyyschokk slowly puts her would-be prey closer to her mouth, a hard, solid thump interrupted her—you had picked up a stone and lobbed it, hitting her head. When she turned around to face you, the creature was expressionless but somehow you can feel that wave of wrath gradually boiling within her.

“Oh damn it!” you immediately regretted it and scrambled to your feet, your heels failing to hold themselves upright, along with the wet soil not being very helpful.

You attempt to outrun the Matriarch Wyyyschokk at the last second; knowing full well that you’re literally an arm’s reach, the spider stretches out her free leg to your direction. It’s a twisted imagining to think of her holding these two humans and wave them about like dolls.

Saber in hand, you thumbed the switch. A radiant beam of light wildly growling out of the emitter. You could almost feel the hair of the Matriarch’s leg just centimeters away from your spine; with one swing of your arm, in result, she lost hers. The mother spider reared back in pain, though, remarkably, she was able to keep a firm grip on Cal—she just thrashed him around, suspended in mid-air, her swerving throes dizzied the poor boy.

You crawled into a thicket the size of a bramble bush, offering enough protection from being grappled by the Wyyyschokk, but you wouldn’t leave Cal behind. While the Matriarch was distracted in trying to claw you out of the thicket, Cal had finally broken out of her grip and scrambled away himself. Immediately igniting his saber, he watched the lumbering beast of an arachnid look at her now-empty leg, turn around in search of her prey, and hiss angrily at him for escaping.

Now that the Matriarch isn’t after you, it’s the perfect time to get out. Cal was holding out on his own just fine, but you knew you had to help him—the intent is there, but your fear was the main hindrance of you doing so. Cal turned to you.

“[Y/N], get to safety! I can handle this!”

“No, I’m not leaving you!”

While the two of you argued, the Matriatch Wyyyschokk—which is too smart for an animal—took the opportunity of her preys being distracted with each other and quick tucked her legs closer to her fangs, they moved with great precision and speed. The glands just underneath the spider’s jugular were doing its work, excreting a substance that’s greenish-white and thin as string, her amputated leg was still capable of holding it while the other spun and spindled the threads.

It was too late when Cal returned his attention to the spider. At the last minute, the Matriarch Wyyyschokk lobbed her spooled creation towards the boy—instantly trapping him in a cocoon of her own web. He discovers the material to be stronger and thicker than the regular Wyyyschokks’ thus harder to break out of. He can’t even move his fingers to get to the switch of his saber!

You shrieked out Cal’s name; he squirmed as he plopped to the ground, essentially helpless and immobile—like the remains of prey during their final hours—the Matriarch must have thought she’s finally resolved this one nuisance. The spider closes in on the cocooned redhead writing on the floor, when she towered over the Jedi boy, he felt like the only thing that could break out of this silky prison is his wildly beating heart. In the spur of a moment, you threw yourself between the Matriarch’s jaws and Cal, and deflected her as she was about to lunge and sink her thick fangs into the boy. Effectively, your saber singed her mandibles and perhaps the roof of her mouth when she “bit” into the blade. The Wyyyschokk stepped back in a fit of burning pain, while doing so, you turned to Cal and figured out how you’re gonna get him out of there.

You broke one of the most fundamental rule of fighting.

Never turn your back on the enemy—until it’s truly dead.

“The web’s too thick!”

You straightened your back while kneeling and held your saber mere inches over his body, “Stay still so I don’t burn you!”

“W-Wait!” he fretted, his clear green irises popping out of the whites of his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I got a steady grip,” you reassured, clueless of what he’s really panicking for.

“No, [Y/N], look out!”

The Matriarch had snatched you the same way she did with Cal. While you wriggle in her leg, she pulls you in closer to her face—it doesn’t matter if her mouth’s burned, all she needs to do is devour you, thus you’ve been rid of—though it was an opportunity: you gathered all the power in one leg and stamped her face hard with the sole of your boot, so hard in fact, that the mud that had caked the sole left a mark on the spider’s face. Afterward, you kicked her in th eeyes with the point of your boot, and did this repeatedly until the Wyyyschokk budges and lets you go.

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vampire-the-askerade · 4 years

Note

One or more of these with Strauss? “Take my bed tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch.” “Shh. Come here. It’s just a nightmare.” “You’re cute when you’re half asleep.”

[I decided to use the first two suggestions :)]

You never imagined that you would ever feel this awkward in your own apartment. You had been talking to a witch named Maximillan Strauss who was debating on taking you on as an apprentice. Now, he was very secretive about most of the details, but you figured that it was like that with most things like this. You had looked for a long time for someone to teach you magic, and when this man approached you, you jumped at the opportunity he was offering. Not to mention that even though it might seem a bit silly you thought he was a rather handsome man and he charmed you into agreeing fairly easily. The hitch in everything was that he apparently had to get permission from some higher-ups in his sect or something for permission to take you on.

So, when you got the letter from him saying that he needed to meet with you as soon as possible you were estatic. But, then you realized your place was a wreck. You've never cleaned faster in your life. Since he did want to meet you that evening to be sure he got you into one of the few openings his sect had (with profuse apologies, as he is very much a gentleman) you thought about shoving all the clutter in your room and hope the door didn't pop open, but after the way things went down you were glad you actually cleaned properly, bedroom included. After you had finished your inteview and Strauss went to leave, it turned out that someone was murdered of all things and practically on your doorstep too! How neither of you heard it was beyond you! The police wouldn't let anyone leave the area, and, that meant that Mr. Strauss was stuck in your home for the night. It wasn't like he could give a statement to the authorities and go home; they probably wouldn't really like the whole, you know, actual witch thing he had going on.

"Take my bed tonight. I'll sleep on the couch." You figured the least you could do was give him his own space to stay in the night so he could have some privacy. "A very kind gesture. You have my thanks." He gave a slight nod and headed to the other room. You hoped to whatever powers that be that he didn't see the shiver that his deep voice sent down your spine. That was one of the only things that you were kind of worried about; how your nerves would handle being around him all the time. When you heard the door to the other room close, you flopped onto the couch with a frustraited groan. What a great first impression as an apprentice. Sure, the two of you had been in contact for months now and at least somewhat aquainted this was still a rough night for the official start of your relationship with each other. You thought that there was no way you were going to be able ot go to sleep, but appreantly the events of the evening exhausted you. It wasn't long before you faded off into unconciousness.

It was a dreamless sleep at first; nothing too relaxing but also not stressful either. Soon though, there was something that seemed very off. Though it seem a bit different than what it usually entalied, you seemed to be having a case of sleep paralysis. That was the only thing that you could think of to describe what was happening. Eventhough you were positive that you were still asleep, you were looking at the small living room of your apartment from your place on the couch. Seemingly out of nowhere there was a creature in corner of the room; a sort of indescribable beast that was slowly but surely stalking toward you. Yet, you could do nothing for it; your body frozen, unable to make even the slightest of movement. When this unnamable terror finally got to where you were it bared a set of horrible fanges and in a flash lached onto your neck.

You didn't get the sharp, excuciating pain that you were expecting, but instead the feeling was soothing and almost sentual in a way that made your head spin and your mind foggy. After this had faded there was a burning that consumed your whole being. Every inch of your body felt like it was being pulled and contorted then put back into place as if your very being was being ripped from you and replaced by a mockery of itself. You shot up with a cry, but were quickly met with strong hands on your shoulders steadying you before gathering you into a gentle hold. "Shh. Come here. It's just a nightmare." A familiar baratone soothed through the haze of all that was happening so suddenly. You wanted to be mortified that Strauss was seeing you in such a state you were in too much searing pain to really give such a seeminly meainal emotion as emabarassment much mind. "Why... Why does eveything hurt so much?" You almost sobbed, the croak in your voice making it sound alien to yourself.

"That is simply the process of your new magic adapting your body to its need. Your new blood taking hold." Strauss assured you as he pulled a vile of something off of the floor next to him and placed it to your lips. Whatever was in it was bitter, coppery, and slightly viscous, yet you couldn't help yourself from consuming it as quickly as you could. "This will help to ease your pain. Embibe it then takes your rest. When you reawaken, childe of the night, we have much to speak about."

#maximillian strauss #vtmb maximillian strauss #vtmb strauss #strauss x reader #maximillian strauss x reader

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

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Egotober Day 16: Runaway Rail Line

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Prompt: Train

Summary: One train. One trio of heroes. One hour before they reach the city.

A/N: this story takes place at the same time that Day 14. So forgive the break tomorrow it was how the prompts and plot bunnies worked. This is kinda like a part two of Day 14.

Also the big blocks of italicized paragraphs are Abe’s greyscale monologues.

Warnings: body horror, minor gore, dead bodies

Trains, steel racing along iron rails. The backbone of the country had been laid on lines like this.

I should have known when I boarded the train that this ride was dangerous, but I was without a detective partner since my last’s rather unfortunate demise. Without backup or aid. But I was hunting down a killer, a monster on the loose and I couldn’t just afford to let this opportunity pass me by. It was—

Abe was suddenly violently shaken from his inner monologue by J.J who looked concerned and relieved to see him. Cautiously, he signed, “Abe?”

“Jay?” Abe asked before he stood up, “great, I’m in need of some help. So I guess you’re my new partner.”

“No,” J.J told him.

“It’ll be fine,” Abe promised, waved him off, clapping his hand on J.J’s shoulder. “Come on partner.”

“I’m not your partner,” J.J informed, his hands moving quickly in exasperation. “I need to show you something.”

“Lead the way,” Abe motioned and J.J led him along the length of the train. During their entire trek down the length of the carriages. They didn’t see a single soul. There were overhead luggages, dinner placements in the dining carriage that had various states of consumption. There were even wine glasses left on the tables and the bar counter. Where someone had been there and eaten but no one was there now.

But the passengers and train crew were gone.

Abe looked as worried as J.J. Then with a slow, soft lurch the behemoth of metal let out its horn and began moving.

“Shit!” Abe said, turning towards the front of the car, “that means there has to be a driver.”

Some invisible force rolled over both him and J.J made an abrupt heel turn and raced for the back of the train at full speed as Abe ran for the front.

Little did I know the horrors that awaited us. The unfathomable, unspeakable horrors of death that awaited to swallow us whole. And the fate that J.J had saved us from.

The Detective raced through train after train empty, without a soul or ticket taker in sight. But despite his hopes, the front car was empty. Instead of trying to turn the train off and make it worse, Abe headed back down the train to find J.J.

Abe walked out of the conductor’s car to see J.J walking in from the opposite door with Roman.

“How long have you been here?” Abe asked Roman.

“Just got here,” Roman told him, looking around. “J.J helped me get on, Wil’s been chasing me all day.”

“Is he on the train?” Abe demanded.

“No,” Roman reached up to touch the side of his face, the one with a slightly burnt scratch on it. He hissed in pain a bit. “No, I think we lost him.”

He looked at the empty seats, “Hey, I’m going to get some rest.”

“I’ll comb the train for clues,” Abe told them, turning to J.J, “partner you’re with me.”

J.J rolled his eyes, but as Roman laid down on a group of seats, the mute hero looked around the room, but walked out with Abe, watching Roman as he walked out.

tkk tkk tkk tkk

Went a noise somewhere along the ceiling of Roman’s train car.

Evil lives not just in the heart of humanity, but in the world around it. I’ve seen a madman kill and maim, a demon corrupt towns from the inside out. And a herd of maniacs in horse masks stampeding through a cornfield.

But I shouldn’t bore you with the details.

Evil lives, it breathes, it sinks its claws into its unwilling victims. Today it had burrowed and crawled its retched way into a train.

Roman was peacefully napping on the chairs as the train roof seemed to bulge out right above Roman. A low pitched, almost infrasound hiss let out as the camouflage began to drop and what looked like a huge insect that resembled a spider but had too many legs and body segments to be a spider. The face looked like a melted, bloated, pale doll’s face. A liquid dripping from its face and when it contacted the cotton seats it hissed and burned holes into the fabric.

That was that sound that woke Roman up, he blinked awake and when he saw the monster in front of him, Roman let out a scream and summoned his sword as the creature lunged at him, jaws splitting open like a snake.

J.J seemingly came out of nowhere and hit the creature with a crowbar, the two weapons able to knock the creature fell against the floor as Abe burst in with his gun in hand.

“What’s going on in here?” Abe demanded before he looked at the monster. “Sweet fuck what is that?”

It hissed at them, “Feed!”

“Sweet severed heads of the hydra!” Roman exclaimed. “How long has this monster been here?”

The beast turned its head and charged for the door, it was faster than expected but not faster enough that Abe couldn’t easily dodge out of the way.

The chitterious creature surged through the door and towards the end of train.

“What is that thing?” Roman demanded.

J.J pulled out some of his premise cards, the first one read: “Train heading towards Egoton. Have to stop it beforehand.”

He passed the cards to Roman and they quickly lined out some information. But the warning on one of the cards came a bit late when the three of them ran into the dining cart and found some of the missing passengers. They were stuck to the walls and the ceiling and there seemed to be some pulsing egg sack stuck to the corner.

All the passengers were dead, their faces not melted or warped but completely missing. Roman immediately got sick to his stomach. Their skin a chalky pale.

The creature turned back to hiss at them, sharp fangs bared at them.

Roman was readying his sword. “You fiend!”

Abe readied his gun, “Please tell me it dies.”

J.J signaled yes.

Roman jumped at the beast, easily rolling out of the way when the creature tried to snap at him. Abe took aim at the monster from a distance as Roman kept slashing at it until it fell over and was just a twitching mass.

J.J took care of the egg sack.

The creative Side stepped away from the beast, burnt and hole patches on his clothing and other parts splashed with a viscous slime. “Ugh,” Roman complained. “My fabulous uniform.”

“We need to stop this train before it crashes into something,” Abe reminded. “Then we can worry about everything else.”

“There is no need for the heroes to worry,” the Host announced himself. “The Host has already ensured that the train will stop safely.”

“Did you have anything to do with this?” Abe holstered his gun and stomped over to the Host, Roman rushing to get out of the car with the bodies. The other three followed him.

“No,” the Host said. “The events here are the product of a new direction. A changing of hands, of sorts. The Host didn’t know the extent of the action until he realized that the Detective, Creativity, and J.J were in danger.”

“So it was you,” Abe accused.

The Host smiled at them, “No, the Host would never do something off-page that no one could witness in the hopes that a third party wouldn’t realize they were being deceived.”

“Can you stop speaking in riddles,” Abe demanded.

The Host looked down the corridor, “Well whatever happened, that the Host was certainly not present for, it shuffled both the League and the Coalition around.”

“Well what were you doing then?” Roman demanded.

With a smile, the Host pulled out a headset with a small microphone attached to it from his coat. “The Host was merely getting this microphone. It is quite convenient.”

“Well I hope it was worth it,” Abe told him. “You frustrating maniac.”

“It was, things should return to normal now that nothing was happened,” the Host promised

“Right,” Abe grumbled in frustration. “As long as I don’t fight another face monster.”

“That is not in the plans for the Detective, but the Host does have something to tell him,” the Host leaned in close to Abe and whispered, “The Host does not like to be interrupted.”

“I didn’t interrupt you,” Abe responded.

“The Detective interrupted the Host three times,” the Host corrected. “Do not do so again.”

Rolling his eyes, Abe told him, “Taking a nap, have fun being cryptic.”

In a half-hour’s time, the train would pull into the closest Egoton train station. Police and other heroes flooding the area as the train was searched and investigated.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Egotober2020 #body horror #minor gore #Abe the Detective #Jacksepticeye #Thomas Sanders #J.J #Jameson Jackson #Roman Sanders #illusions

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sciencespies · 4 years

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The Lab Saving the World From Snake Bites

https://sciencespies.com/nature/the-lab-saving-the-world-from-snake-bites/

The Lab Saving the World From Snake Bites

In a patchy ten-acre tract of grass in Coronado, a hilly exurb northeast of the Costa Rican capital of San José, a weedy horse paddock and corrugated metal stable stand adjacent to a building of pristine laboratories and climate-controlled habitats. Through one door is a necropolis of dead snakes preserved in glass jars arranged helter-skelter on a counter, reminiscent of a macabre Victorian cabinet of curiosities. Through another is a sterile-looking white room full of humming scientific instruments.

A variety of snakes preserved at the Instituto Clodomiro Picado, in Costa Rica, a world leader in venom antidote production.

(Myles Karp)

The Instituto Clodomiro Picado, or ICP, named after the father of Costa Rican herpetology, is one of the world’s leading manufacturers of snake antivenoms, and the only one in Central America. The need for antivenoms is far more urgent than a person living in a developed nation blessed with a temperate climate might suppose. Globally, venomous snakebites kill roughly 100,000 people each year, mostly in South Asia, Southeast Asia and sub-Saharan Africa. In these regions’ poorer corners, local capacities for antivenom production are limited or nonexistent; the ICP has stepped in to help fill the gaps. Beyond meeting its own country’s needs, the institute has supplied or developed lifesaving antivenoms for victims on four continents, each treatment customized to protect against species that still pose lethal threats, from the West African carpet viper to the Papuan taipan.

At one time, snakebite deaths were common in Costa Rica, as Picado himself documented in his 1931 book Venomous Snakes of Costa Rica. He reported 13 in just one month—a death rate, given the population of about 500,000, higher than the current global death rate from lung cancer. Largely because of the ICP’s antivenoms, snakebite deaths in Costa Rica today are negligible, typically one or two per year in a current population of some five million—about the same per capita death rate as powered lawn mower accidents in the United States.

Celebrated for its abundance of tropical wildlife, Costa Rica is a place where it pays to watch your step. It is home to 23 species of venomous snakes, including the Central American bushmaster—one of the world’s largest vipers, growing up to 11 feet—and the bocaracá, whose indigenous name means “devil that brings death when it bites.” Yet none is more feared than Bothrops asper—the terciopelo, also known as the fer-de-lance. Across a range extending from Mexico to northern Peru, the terciopelo is dreaded for its tenaciously defensive temperament: In situations that would cause other vipers to flee, it strikes. And when the terciopelo bites, it injects a remarkable volume of venom, around ten times as much as a copperhead.

Among the most feared snakes to inhabit Central and South America is the terciopelo, or fer-de-lance, a venomous pit viper up to eight feet long.

(Alex Hyde)

For the stricken, the result is hellish. Terciopelo venom destroys the flesh at the injection site, causing severe swelling, tissue death and excruciating pain. As it travels through the body, it induces internal bleeding and, in severe cases, organ failure and death. Blood can seep out of the nose and mouth, among other orifices, which Mayans compared to sweating blood. Picado described the late stages of such a snakebite this way: “If we ask the wretch something, he may still see us with misted eyes, but we get no answer, and perhaps a last sweat of red pearls or a mouthful of blackened blood warns us of the triumph of death.”

* * *

“Are you scared?” asked the ICP snake handler Greivin Corrales, with a touch of concern and some mild amusement. I was standing in a small room with a six-foot-long terciopelo, unrestrained on the floor, only a few feet away from me. Corrales had witnessed me tense up when he removed the snake from a bucket with a hook; I had heard of the terciopelo’s reputation. Corrales’ colleague Danilo Chacón referred to the specimen as a bicho grande, using an untranslatable term that falls somewhere between critter and beast. The snake exhibited the characteristic scale pattern of diamond and triangles in light and dark brown, and the trilateral head that inspires the common name fer-de-lance, or lancehead. Though the snake was highly conspicuous on the terrazzo tiles, the markings would blend seamlessly with Costa Rica’s forest floor, making it all too easy to step on such a bicho.

The ICP has mastered the process of antivenom production, and I had come to watch the fundamental first step: the extraction of venom from a live snake, sometimes called “milking.”

The bucket from which the snake had been drawn was full of carbon dioxide gas, which temporarily sedates the snake, making the process less stressful for both animal and handler. Chacón, the more experienced handler, only recently started using carbon dioxide after nearly 30 years working with unsedated terciopelos. “I think it’s about not getting overconfident,” said Corrales. “Once you’re too confident, you’re screwed.” Even while occasionally handling unsedated snakes, the technicians use bare hands. “You have to feel the movement,” he said. “With gloves you don’t feel the animal, you don’t have control.”

The handlers bent down and picked up the groggy terciopelo, Chacón grabbing the head, Corrales lifting the tail and midsection. They led the snake headfirst to a mechanism topped by a funnel covered with a layer of thin, penetrable film, which the snake instinctively bit. Venom dripped from the fangs, through the funnel and into a cup. In its pure form, viper venom is viscous and golden, resembling a light honey.

One challenge of producing an antidote to snake venom is that you first have to produce the venom. Above, in the serpentarium at the Instituto Clodomiro Picado, Danilo Chacón and Greivin Corrales handle a live terciopelo, Bothrops asper, after sedating it with carbon dioxide gas. The men don’t wear bite-resistant gloves because they want to feel the snake move. Above right, when they place the fangs through a film stretched over a collection tube, the reptile’s venom glands, located below its eyes, discharge the honey-colored venom through ducts, out the fangs and, far right, into a cup. Small amounts of such venom will be repeatedly injected into a horse over several months, and the horse’s immune system will generate antibodies to the venom that will serve as the basis of an antivenom treatment. Left, Chacón and Corrales open the snake’s mouth to reveal its tongue and substantial fangs.

(Myles Karp)

Antivenoms were first developed at the end of the 19th century by the French physician and immunologist Albert Calmette. An associate of Louis Pasteur, Calmette was stationed in Saigon to produce and distribute smallpox and rabies vaccines to local people. Alarmed by a surge of fatal cobra bites in the area, Calmette—who later gained fame as an inventor of the tuberculosis vaccine—applied the principles of immunization and vaccination to snake venom. He injected serial doses into small mammals in order to force their bodies to recognize and gradually develop antibodies as an immune response to the toxins in the venom. In 1895, he began producing the first antivenoms by inoculating horses with Asian cobra venom, drawing the horses’ blood, separating the venom-resistant antibodies, and mixing them into a fluid that could be injected into a snakebite victim.

An institute staff member checks the temperature of a horse involved in generating antibodies to snake venom it has been exposed to. Technicians will collect the horse’s blood and separate off the antibody-rich plasma, which is purified, sterilized and packaged as an antivenom. The institute produces about 100,000 vials of antivenom annually, for treating people in Central and South America and sub- Saharan Africa.

(The Instituto Clodomiro Picado)

Today, the ICP produces antivenoms in much the same way, but with more advanced processes allowing for a purer product. “Our antivenoms are basically solutions of horse antibodies specific against particular venoms,” said José María Gutiérrez, a former director of the ICP and a professor emeritus at the University of Costa Rica, which oversees the institute. The ICP’s roughly 110 horses live mostly on a farm in the nearby cloud forest and are brought to the stables to take part in antivenom production periodically. Venom is injected into a horse’s body in tiny amounts every ten days for two or three months initially, then once every two months—enough for its immune system to learn to recognize and create antibody defenses against the venom over time, but not enough to harm the horse. Afterward, blood is extracted from the horse in a quantity that is “like donating blood at a blood bank,” according to Gutiérrez. “We have the horses under strict veterinary control.”

Once the blood settles, the antibody-containing plasma is separated, purified, filtered, sterilized and mixed into a neutral liquid. The antivenoms are sent to hospitals, clinics and primary health posts, where they are diluted with saline and administered intravenously into snakebite victims.

Top, Clodomiro Picado, who was reared in Costa Rica and studied in France, was a zoologist, botanist and author of a 1931 book, left, about venomous snakes. He worked at a time when snakebites were a significant cause of death in Costa Rica. Far left, Albert Calmette, c. 1920, a French physician celebrated for his contribution to the tuberculosis vaccine, produced the first snakebite antidote in 1895, having studied venomous snakes while stationed in Saigon for the Pasteur Institute.

Antivenom counteracts venom precisely on a molecular level, like a lock and key. Because venoms vary chemically among species, an antivenom to protect against a specific snake’s bite must be prepared with venom from that snake, or from one that has very similar venom. To produce an antivenom that protects against multiple species, called a “polyvalent,” different venoms must be combined strategically in production. “That specificity makes anti-venoms sort of difficult to produce,” said Gutiérrez. “In contrast, tetanus antitoxin is the same all over the world, because tetanus toxin is a single toxin.”

The ICP maintains a diverse collection of live snakes, mostly caught and donated by Costa Rican farmers and landowners, some bred in captivity. From these, the ICP technicians have built an impressive stock of extracted venoms, supplemented with occasional imports of exotic venoms.

“Venom, more venom, and more venom there,” said serpentarium coordinator Aarón Gómez, opening a freezer in a laboratory room, exposing dozens of samples. After extraction, most of the venoms are immediately dehydrated for preservation. He unscrewed the top of a plastic container the size of a spice jar, revealing contents that looked like yellow ground mustard powder. “That’s terciopelo venom,” he said. “We have 1.5 kilos,” he said with raised eyebrows. That’s enough to kill 24 million mice or probably thousands of people.

The snakes that produce the world’s most potent venoms inhabit deserts, tropical forests and warm seas. Many pose a grave threat to people, but others are seldom encountered. Below the map, learn about ten of the most lethal snakes, ranked in descending order by venom potency. —Research by Katherine R. Williams

(Eritrea Dorcely)

Enhydrina schistosa

(Alamy)

Lethal venom dose*: 0.6 micrograms Venom yield**: 79 milligrams Common name(s): Beaked sea snake, hook-nosed sea snake, Valakadyn sea snake

This highly aggressive species kills more humans than any other sea snake. Its venom is so potent that one animal may carry enough to kill as many as 22 people.

*Estimated amount of venom, in micrograms, to kill 50 percent of laboratory mice in a sample, if each mouse weighed 30 grams. A microgram is 0.001 milligram, roughly the mass of a single particle of baking powder.

**Maximum amount of venom, dried, in milligrams, produced at one time by an adult snake.

The ICP’s success in maintaining and breeding snakes that otherwise fare poorly in captivity has allowed for the collection to include workable quantities of exceedingly rare venoms. For example, an innovative technique involving a diet of tilapia filets sustains about 80 coral snakes in the serpentarium, a rare quantity. “Most other producers don’t produce coral antivenom,” said Gómez. “But because we have the snakes, we can produce the venom, so we can produce the antivenom.” A potent neurotoxin, coral snake venom is about four times as lethal as terciopelo venom. In powdered form, it is pure white.

* * *

There’s no question that historical factors like accessible health care, the migration from rural to urban areas, and even a decrease in barefootedness contributed to the decline of snakebite deaths in Costa Rica. But without the ICP’s antivenoms, bites would still carry a grave risk. Traditional remedies popular before the proliferation of antivenoms—such as drinking an elixir of tobacco leaf or rubbing a bone on the bite—were no match for snake venom.

At a Doctors Without Borders clinic in Abdurafi, Ethiopia, a 24-year-old farmworker received antivenom after a snake bit her on the forehead as she slept.

(MSF)

Other countries, however, cannot claim such progress. India alone suffers nearly 50,000 venomous snakebite fatalities each year, chiefly from the saw-scaled viper, the Indian cobra, Russell’s viper and the common krait. Nigeria’s snakebite mortality rate has been reported at 60 deaths per 100,000 people—more than five times the mortality rate from automobile accidents in the United States.

A combination snakebite treatment produced by the Costa Rican institute consists of antibodies to three venomous snakes that inhabit sub-Saharan Africa.

(Susanne Doettling / MSF)

“We want to expand the knowledge and expertise generated in Costa Rica to contribute to solving this problem in other regions and countries,” said Gutiérrez, who is also a member of the board of directors of the Global Snakebite Initiative, a nonprofit that advocates for greater recognition and understanding of snakebite mortality worldwide, especially in impoverished regions. Since the near-eradication of snakebite deaths in Costa Rica, the ICP has endeavored to fill antivenom vacuums in these faraway places where antivenoms have been inadequate, inaccessible or nonexistent.

Even the United States, with its advanced medical science and robust pharmaceutical industry, has experienced occasional antivenom shortages. Despite the exorbitant prices for which the product can be sold in the U.S.—generally over 100 times what ICP antivenoms go for—the relative rarity of venomous bites and the esoteric, labor-intensive manufacturing process have kept antivenom production a niche industry there. Only two entities in the United States currently produce snake antivenoms for human use: Pfizer (to counteract coral snake venom) and Boston Scientific (to counteract pit vipers like rattlesnakes).

Clark’s coral snake, native to rainforests in parts of Costa Rica, Panama and Colombia, is nocturnal and doesn’t often trouble people. ICP scientists have decoded its venom and found three toxic compounds.

(Alamy)

That leaves labs like the ICP fulfilling the supply of antivenoms where the demand is greatest. Founded in 1970, ICP began steadily furnishing the drugs to other Central American countries in the 1990s. To develop new antivenoms for regions in need, in the early 2000s it began importing foreign venoms with which to inoculate its own horses; the institute doesn’t import live snakes because of ecological and safety concerns.

For a decade the institute has been distributing a newly developed antivenom to Nigeria, capable of protecting against the venoms of the West African carpet viper, the puff adder and the black-necked spitting cobra. Bites from these deadly snakes had been treated in the past mostly with a polyvalent antivenom manufactured by Sanofi-Pasteur, but the French pharmaceutical giant, citing a lack of profit, ceased production in 2014, leaving a dangerous gap in the market. The ICP’s antivenom is now being used in other countries in the region, from Burkina Faso to the Central African Republic. “Doctors Without Borders is now using our antivenom at their stations in Africa,” said Gutiérrez.

Named for the unusual scales protruding from its head, the eyelash viper is a venomous tree snake found from southern Mexico to Venezuela.

(The Instituto Clodomiro Picado)

“The Instituto Clodomiro Picado has been doing this production for many, many years, and they’ve got it dialed in,” said Steve Mackessy, a biochemist from the University of Northern Colorado, who has collaborated with the institute. “They produce an affordable product that works very, very well. So applying that to a situation where you have anti-venoms that either weren’t available at all, or were poor quality, or poor efficacy because they’re mostly designed against other species, that’s a godsend for those countries.”

An estimated 250,000 people have been treated with ICP’s antivenoms in Central America, South America, Africa and the Caribbean. The institute has recently developed new products for Asia, specifically Papua New Guinea—home to the extremely venomous taipan—and Sri Lanka, where imported Indian antivenoms used there have been described as largely ineffective.

The largest venomous snake in the New World is the bushmaster—here, the Central American species, which may grow to 11 feet. Its inch-long fangs inject prey with copious venom.

(The Instituto Clodomiro Picado)

Antivenoms may not be a lucrative business, but Gutiérrez stresses that access to such essential medicines should be considered a human right rather than a commodity. “This is a philosophical issue here,” he said. “Any human being that suffers snakebite envenomation should have the right to receive an antivenom.”

* * *

Clodomiro Picado himself—whose imposing bust adorns a sign outside the ICP’s entrance—was not generous in his estimation of the character of snakes. “He who dies victim of snakes does not fight, his death won not by conquest but by thievery,” he wrote. “For this reason the serpent, together with poison and the dagger, are signs of treachery and treason.” Gutiérrez is more measured, pointing out that snakes have been both gods and demons in mythologies around the world: “They’re fascinating, yet they can kill you.”

#Nature

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space-blue · 3 years

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Skin of the Jaguar God

This is a love letter to Mike Mignola and his incredible writing of Ben Daimio as a character... I'll revisit it one day.

The messenger had come alone on a pirogue, with dark circles under his eyes and many poorly tended wounds. He'd ran to the centre of the village yelling his news as he went, swatting off people's helping hands. There had been a massacre in the Great Temple, by the treacherous Spanish–the rites and dances of Tezcatlipoca interrupted by the slaughter of all present! Women, children, all!–emperor Moctezuma was held prisoner. It was war, and the spark of it could be seen in the messenger's burning eyes. He was searching the empire for members of Tezcatlipoca's cults, and so Ocelotl had stepped forward through the chaos of the erupting village.

Ocelotl remembers this clearly because his arm burns still, where the messenger had grabbed him, and his ears ring with the words he'd waited all his life to hear spoken.

"Moctezuma bids you do your duty by your people and Gods."

Gods, yes, but duty now is a thought like a strange flavour in his mind. He can't quite place it, yet he knows somehow he must go on, to wherever the enemy camps, at the end of all the trails, where more blood can be spilled and offered to the Gods' great thirst–and his. Blood he understands more than ever. It drips along his purplish jaws, patters on his broad red chest, makes the ground stick to his paws. It saturates the air, and yet there was not enough of it, not enough death in these two lone men to satiate the jaguar Ocelotl is becoming. He had not expected to find Spanish foragers so idly camped by the river–but no matter, they must all die.

Surely this is his duty, it feels so right.

His claws click on the blade of his obsidian dagger, lying on his discarded loincloth. The contact stills his fragmented mind: the night shatters in its infinite sounds before growing quiet and dark, like a blindness of the senses. His limbs convulse, twisting, shivering, reshaping themselves. The chill of the wind increases as his skin grows hairless, and the blade is cooler under his tapered fingers.

Ocelotl rises, man again.

He walks to the black water and finds it to be like his blade: an undulating, smoking mirror reflecting the infinity of the night sky and its countless fires. A gateway to the soul of his God. He steps into the flow, arms spread out, his long hair agglutinated by blood across his bare back, wearing nothing but the scars of his murderous quest and the naked blade in his hand. Ocelotl immerses himself. The blood washes off him but draws no predator–big or small, all keep away from the jaguar roiling under his skin. He lets the currents lift him and carry him slowly along the cultivated shores of lake Chalco, down where he knows the main body of Spanish camp by Atenco. A city of traitors, rebels, allies to the white demons. The man inside him whose whole life was devoted to religious fervour craves to turn against them all, to claw through them and remind them of who conquered them. But he cannot take on an entire city by himself.

Loud foreign voices ricochet on the water and guide his paddling hands. The fires of the Spanish camps shine brighter as he approaches, making the stars fade and the night pale. Though his memories of being a man have wilted like a jungle flower plucked too long ago, Ocelotl knows the warmth of the flames for what they are: a place to gather and look upon closed ones, to eat and share. A ring of light to keep safe at the edges of the jungle. A fatal mistake. He will slay those like all the others before. Unaware, unprepared. Even though there are many fires with more men than he's ever fought before, Ocelotl doesn't stop to plan, doubt or reconsider.

There are no spells or incantations needed to call forth the spirit of the Jaguar God, master of night skies and night winds; no show to put on for the god of the north, of obsidian and beauty and war, earth, sorcery and divination. The antics of priests are to inspire the people, but Tezcatlipoca will drink the blood of all and hear their silent prayer. The obsidian glides through Ocelotl's flesh and blood gushes out in shinning rivulets. Ocelotl has already spoken the words that sealed his soul and body into willing servitude, so the transformation comes immediately. It is like water spilling out of a jar: a being flowing out and around another, layering flesh, warping and hardening bones. His chest expends and his heart struggles to pump viscous blood through his thickening limbs. Fangs break through his elongating jaws, his tongue unfolds, red spotted fur rushes out of his skin, growing coarser on his ridged back and softer inside his twisted legs. A tail balances his upright stance, whipping with a mind of its own behind him.

Blood is reddest in the firelight, but under the smiling moon it is black as obsidian, too. Somewhere under the animal frenzy, Ocelotl is annoyed by that little detail, that the white demons would bleed the same colour as him, that their veins hold the same godly nectar. There are yells and cries and supplications–what sounds like it–and Ocelotl wishes he could be sure, and take more pleasure in ignoring them. With each snapping bite his body grows taller, more feline and less human. His clawed fingers hold the men like corn cobs to be devoured, his clawed feet trample the discarded and the dying. The men organise themselves and pick up weapons. Many panic and try to retreat through the fields and reach the streets of Atenco, but some lash back. Laughter rattles out of Ocelotl's chest. Incredible. They mean to drive him out, to kill him? Can they not tell the claws shredding them are the vengeful attack of a threatened god? Can they not see his duty has eaten him alive, encompassing him so that he could never stop?

The metal blades pierce him relentlessly, wielded by warrior after warrior trying to own his death and failing–for his death was freely offered to Tezcatlipoca, long before it came. There is no fear in his heart, no hope in his future and only joy in his task. It doesn't matter that there are too many, that they slowly overpower him, that his claws sometimes only scratch across their armour.

As the last of his blood mingles with the red-black sludge of the killing ground, Ocelotl turns to the night sky and the night wind, ridden by the moans of the dying, and he wonders, in the small human part of his heart that still cares, if he'll be remembered and his god still sung to and doused in blood, in the centuries to come. He wishes he could have done more, but the beast only understand the glory of the present.

And so Ocelotl dies with a smile baring his fangs.

~~ March 2017 – Theme : Through the beast's eyes

#original story #original work #competition #fantasy

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seerow · 4 years

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Ooft, Morning Sickness is awful.

The People of the Stars

Year 2 for Draco Vita:

The time had come for the denizens of Draco Vita to prove themselves. The Tyrant spoke at length about the needs of the people, how they would need food and materials. All of these, the Tyrant would not provide. To build a stronger, more powerful settlement they would need to form hunting parties and set out.

Estel was busy, for she had still so much to learn but she assured the hunters that she would be joining them on another hunt. In her stead Queveran would be venturing out. Solace Who Shaped, Enear who Watched, and Undomiel who Guarded comprised the remaining members of the hunting party. Queveran took the lead, he was eager to prove himself even more helpful. Their quarry? The very creatures brought on by the storm.

They are large mammoth like beasts that they hear in the night with their wailing calls to another. The Tyrant described them as bulbous horrific mockeries, but would say little else. Queveran felt confident they would surely know the beast when they saw it.

Hunt Phase:

As they ventured out, the group came upon a man encased in armor. He grinned with tremendous pride surrounded by a small cadre of slaves as they cut and gutted the flesh of the armored man’s latest kill. When he mentioned his prey had been a Gorm, Draco Vita became interested and he invited them to witness the glory of his kill. The armored man warned of some dangers that awaited Draco Vita and sent them on their way.

As they moved through the dark the Hunters were caught by a flash of terrible light. Enear was caught by the weird light and fell to terrible seizures. Something in his mind broke, and he never managed to recover even after the others rallied. With heavy hearts they could only leave him to his terrible fate.

Battle With the Quarry:Gorm (Level 1)

One day, great woe fell upon the settlement. Unrelenting storms raged overhead. Out of the squall a giant beast came to gobble up the strongest and most beautiful, then wandered back into the darkness with a lonesome cry, searching for a mate.

Draco Vita saw it, the great lumbering beast. It’s large bulbous eyes shimmering with a strange luminescence in the dark. Queveral grinned, this would be their chance. The group began to creep toward the Gorm, weapons ready and willing. Then it turned as if anticipating them and from the dangling bulb that sprouted from its forehead there came another brilliant flash of light. The very same that felled Enear, the very same that could be seen from Altera Lumina.

In their blinded state Queveran could see the beast before it was upon him. It snatched him up in its strange toothy maw and thrashed the poor hunter. He fell to the earth wounded terribly, his blood spilling over the cold ground. Somehow he was still breathing, but barely.

The Hunter’s retaliation was bloody and swift. Queveran slammed his stone shard into the Gorm’s side, and Solace cut up one of its rear feet. Undomial smashed its jaw, causing blood and viscous bile to dribble from its massive jaws. The creature had caught them unprepared, but they had retaliated in kind.

Solace had gotten too close, too confident. She stabbed the beast again and found its shadow cast over her. She looked up to find it rolling toward her and lept to escape. She failed. The sheer weight of the Gorm pressed down upon her and its mass of sinew and fat crushed her, she could hear the snapping of bones, the popping of joints as she screamed in terror and pain. It moved and she rolled out from under it, a small miracle kept her alive… but she couldn’t feel her right arm at all anymore.

The creature was massive, unbeatable. Queveran rose to his feet and found himself the target of the monster’s ire. The Gorm charged and stomped over poor Queveran leaving nothing but a broken bloody torso under its massive limbs. He would not rise this time.

The great Gorm was a terrible enemy. It trampled and destroyed without pause but its size was to its disadvantage. For every unstoppable attack, they learned. Undomiel drew its attention drawing it toward the tall grass where he could find cover as needed. This was the opening Solace wanted. She gripped the stone shard in her hand and moved in, her off arm was useless but she felt sure she could tear plenty of flesh yet. The Gorm howled and stamped trying to crush Undomiel underfoot but Solace was ready. Just as the beast seemed distracted she drove her weapon deep into its side, disemboweling it where it stood. She leapt back, remembering the creature’s size was a danger. It gave its death knell and finally the Gorm fell, settling into the dirt. Solace took a moment to take in the victory. They had been successful, but the loss of two allies hardly seemed worth it.

Settlement:

Solace and Undomiel returned with their prize, enough meat and resources to keep the settlement alive for sometime. The Tyrant was pleased, though dismissive of the losses. Solace could not save her arm and was forced to amputate. Her remaining hand suffered from a contracture. Given her conditions, Estel thought it best she remain in the settlement from here on out.

Undomiel and Solace began to argue heatedly about the events of the first hunt. Each believing the other at fault for the failures that plagued the very first hunt. Days turned into weeks and the arguments never seemed to dissipate. It nearly caused a fight as the shouting would grow nearly violent. Estel has forbidden the two from conflict, but it seems the Tyrant has suggested the only solution is for the two to simply have it out.

Once, there were two boys. They argued about everything. As the boys grew into men, their enmity bloomed into rivalry. With each hard-earned battle scar, they sought to outdo each other. One day, one of the boys did not return from a hunt. The remaining boy felt no victory over his rival, only the loss of a brother. Unable to find him in the world, he refused to leave his bed, hoping to see him in his dreams.

Time passed, until one day he felt a strange vibration. Then, he heard the familiar voice of his lost brother just outside his hovel! He rushed outside, only to see the decaying body of his friend swaying awkwardly in the air. Horrified, he heard a dry rasping that could only be a laugh. For a moment, the monster was revealed before it vanished into the dark, whisking the corpse puppet away. Fang swore vengeance. He would kill the monster.

The weather took a turn for the worse it seemed. The storms never let up, and the winds cut like razors. Queveran’s previous efforts proved to be the saving grace of Altera Lumina. The hovels built to endure the weather held through the long days of rain and thunder. Though he had been killed, his work still benefited his people.

Estel knew she would take on the next hunt. With Solace out far too hurt and two dead she needed to bring in two new survivors. Fang who Trained and Sahlie who Knew made for prime candidates according to the Tyrant. Though Estel wondered if Fang’s eagerness wasn’t for the loss of his brother. As Solace had discovered, being distracted out the Kingdom of Death often had fatal consequences.

~~Whoooo boy. So with the loss of three settlers this year I took a rather nasty blow to my population count and lost some halfway decent starter survivors. I did get a number of upgrades and a few weapons and pieces of armor. I had forgotten much of what the Gorm could do and my poor settlers paid the price womp. So I’m going to do my best to get them armed and utilize all the early innovations I have thanks to sheer dumb luck. Good luck Draco Vita!~~

#Kingdomdeathmonster

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plutoandpolaris · 5 years

Text

Walk the Line Chapter 2: In the Belly of the Beast

Summary: While Jackie’s brothers prepare for their rescue attempt, Jackie awakens to another day of torment in the belly of the beast.

Warnings: Blood, injury, psychological damage, strong language (minor) manipulation, self harm (minor), Anti generally being a creepy motherfucker.

It wasn’t the torture that got to him, in the end.

He could grit his teeth through it, ride it out. He’d dealt with pain his entire life, Anti’s knife could only do so much.

What broke him was the spaces in between. The weeks of waiting alone in the dark, with nothing but his own thoughts and the wailing of the wind against the walls of his prison. It was the anticipation, eyes trained on the door, expecting Anti’s silhouette but getting nothing. The days spent talking to himself, to his reflection, to the old bones scattered around his prison cell. Days spent in and out of dreams, never knowing what was real and what was just a hallucination.

But still he fought tooth and nail against the loneliness fighting to consume what little sanity he had left. Anti had taken much from him, but Jackie wouldn’t let him take that.

Never.

And so Jackie woke to the first day of the rest of his life.

I’m never gonna get used to this thing, he mused halfheartedly, rubbing at the raw skin under the manacle clasped around his neck. His arms and legs were also shackled, heavy chains connecting them to the rusted legs of his cot. Those he could usually deal with. The collar? Not so much.

Though he perceived it as morning, I could’ve been the middle of the night for all he knew. His cell was windowless, the only light coming from the hallway outside in the form of lanterns that inexplicably never went out. The light cast unsettling shadows on the walls of his prison, flickering phantoms watching him from their stone facades.

“How’d you sleep?” He called into the dark, not expecting a reply.

The skeleton didn't answer, obviously, but Jackie didn't mind.

“Well, I guess you're always sleeping since you're dead, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Common courtesy.”

The corpse stared back at him, each empty crevice in its skull seeming to fill with a darkness more viscous than water as they regarded him.

They had been there since the first day of his imprisonment, and by the looks of it, much much longer than that. Their arms and legs were still shackled, much as Jackie’s were, the chains nearly at the point of disintegration. A rusted short sword, so weathered away it was barely recognizable, stuck out of the space between their ribs, right over where their heart would be.

It didn’t take a genius to deduce what had happened to them.

They could nearly be misconstrued as human, had it not been for the ram horns protruding from their scalp and the large fangs still present in their mouth. This was a demon skeleton, a prisoner of war left here as a warning long after their story had ended.

But still, Jackie mused, their situations were frighteningly similar. He had bonded with them, however one sided the conversations usually were, out of a primal a human need for companionship. It was more or less like talking to an inanimate object, but they were once living, and Jackie thought that was close enough.

“Kindred spirits, you and I,” Jackie mumbled, laying back down in his cot to observe the jagged lines in the ceiling. “I wonder what this place was like when you were alive.”

He had often pondered this question as he studied the carvings near the corpse’s corner of the room. Jackie often wished he could read them, but all of it’s carvings were in a strange hieroglyphic language he couldn't understand.

Somehow it comforted him, knowing someone else had endured this torment before. It obviously didn't end well for them, but that fact didn't bother Jackie as much as it probably should. As much as it did in the beginning, at least. Death was the least of his worries.

His thoughts were cut short by a sound, a low pounding sound so crushingly familiar that his blood froze in his veins.

Footsteps.

He sat bolt upright in his cot, eyes glued to the door, the footsteps a haunting metronome in his ears.

Terror so potent it was almost tangible pooled in the pit of his stomach as his eyes stayed trained on the door, every muscle in his body screaming for him to run. But yet he stayed frozen in place, waiting for that ever familiar silhouette in his doorway. There was nowhere to run anyway, and if there was, he’d given up looking for it.

In the beginning he would've stood defiant, meeting the glitch halfway, never letting him see his fear and desperation. Those days had long, long passed. It sickened him how pleased his fear made Anti, but there was nothing he could do. Not now. Not anymore.

Anti had made it very clear from the beginning: Jackie will never be strong enough. Not strong enough to protect his city, not strong enough to protect his brothers, not strong enough to protect himself.

And after all this time, he had finally begun to believe it.

The footsteps continued, louder and louder, each one echoing like a gunshot in the crevices of his mind. Static joined them, sizzling just under the surface, crawling along the grooves in the wall, in the cracks in the floor, filling them with his presence.

The cell door swung open.

The moment the static touched his skin, Jackie’s entire body reacted, each muscle tensing at once, his breath catching harshly in his throat. The feeling spread, ghosting over the skin of his arms, probing their way under each manacle, settling into the raw skin of his neck and wrists.

Then, it began to solidify, forming into a hand gently cupping his cheek. Every muscle shook with strain as he tried not to lean into it, his mind screaming with the effort, but it was a battle he'd lost before was destined to lose again.

His eyes squeezed shut as he relented, relaxing into the touch. A cold, calloused thumb brushed against his cheek, sharp nails scraping the skin.

“͜Di̛d ́y̷ou̵ m͘iss me?”̧

Anti’s voice washed over him, working its way into his head until it was the only thing he could comprehend. Jackie felt himself nodding, though it was distant, like watching himself from the third person. The hand shifted, tilting his head up until their eyes met.

Jackie went rigid again, gaze locked onto Anti’s. The demon’s eyes narrowed, red flooding into the green like blood in water until they glowed a crimson so intense Jackie’s eyes began to burn.

He heard them before he felt them, the low buzzing of Anti’s strings deafening in his ears as they wrapped loosely around his skin.

“I h̵a͏v͘e̕ s͢om͏é goo͟d͘ n͜ew̢s̷ f͝o̶r͘ y͢o͜ư,͝” Anti murmured, leaning in until they were nearly touching. The red in his eyes filled Jackie's vision, flooding his brain with the endless buzzing. Anti’s strings continued their course, wrapping tighter and tighter around his limbs, ripping open still healing wounds, filling the cracks of his mind with him.

“̧You̵ŗ b͞ŗothèr̸s ar҉e c̡oming for҉ y͠o͠u a̶s w͞e҉ s̸peak̴.͞ W̵on͘'t t̶ha̧t ̕b̵e ̛a t͟re̸at? Y͠o̷u̸ wơn͝'̡t̨ ̕be alo̵ne͟ ̵an͢y͡m͠ore͜.”͢

That cut straight through the haze in Jackie’s mind, the buzzing cutting out abruptly as he lurched in his restraints.

“No…No! No, they can't, they can't-”

Anti stepped back as Jackie pulled more desperately at his chains.

They couldn't be coming here. They just couldn't. This was Jackie’s hell, a hell he endured for their sake. As long as he remained here, his brothers would be safe.

That was the deal.

If they came for him, they'd never leave. Jackie knew it as certainly as his own fate.

“If you so much as touch them I’ll rip every bone out of your worthless body!”

Anti’s face twisted in amusement as he watched his puppet struggle and devolve into anguished sobs, almost angry in their intensity.

Jackie didn’t want to cry. It was just another weakness for Anti to exploit. But the crushing agony of imagining his brothers being captured wrung brutal sobs out of him with enough force to crack his ribs.

Eventually he crumbled, curling into a ball and letting the tears flow. He could feel Anti’s eyes still on him, but at first, the demon didn't interfere.

Then, after a few minutes, the cot dented as Anti sat beside him. His hand rubbed up and down Jackie’s spine, static and smoke settling over his captive’s skin as he did so. As much as he fought it, Jackie could feel the white noise settling in his mind again, stealing away his short moment of clarity. Eventually the touch began to feel comforting rather than invading, much to his initial disgust.

“͡S͡h̀hh̶h…” Anti soothed, his hand migrating from Jackie’s spine to his hair, settling there. “̷Y҉o̸u͘’͜r͟e̵ ha̵p͢p̵y̸ hȩr͠e, ̢ar͢e̡n͟'t y̴ou?̡”͝

No! I’d rather die than spend one more minute in this hell.

“Y-yes.”

“͞A͜nd y͢ou̧ ̕w͜ant ̵you͘r̛ ̧ṕr̕éciou҉s ͢ba͏by͠ ͡br̶o̶t̡her̨s ̧t̴ó ̴b̡e h̛a̡p̢p̀y͡, do͡n'͝t̨ ̛y̕ou̕?”̀

“Yes.”

“͞Th͜ȩn,”́ the hand in his hair disappeared, coming to rest under his chin as his head was tilted up again. Anti had moved from the bed to the floor, his face inches from Jackie’s. ̧“͜Y͜o҉ù’ll g̷i͢ve̸ th́em ̴a ͠w̸ar̷m ͢ẁel͝c͜ome͏ f͝or̢ ̸me, won̵'̛t you̡?͡”

I’d cut out my own spine before I’d do anything for you.

“Yes.”

"̛Ỳes?"͘

“Yes, master.”

A monstrous smile lit up Anti’s face. He’d said it, with barely any prompting. It had taken months, but he’d finally done it. It seems Jackie wasn't a lost cause after all.

“Ģo̴òd ͢pu̕ppet.̕”͠

Anti stayed for a few more minutes in silence, petting his puppet’s hair, watching as he slowly relaxed into the movement.

Jackie was almost asleep by the time Anti left, taking his static influence with him.

The haze covering his mind began to fade as soon as the static receded, and all he could process was how disgusting he felt. The words were burned on his tongue, bile rising in his throat at the memory.

Jackie retched over the side of his cot, each attempt coming up dry. He hadn’t eaten in days. Yet still he tried desperately to dislodge that horrible word from his chest, to somehow forget he’d ever uttered it.

Master.

When he finally looked up, he could swear that the skeleton’s empty gaze had turned to one of disappointment.

“ NO!” Jackie screamed at the top of his lungs, as loud as he could muster. His cries echoed down the long corridors, fading into a desperate whisper only audible to the floor panels.

He kneeled there in his chains, pulling at his hair, scratching at his skin, trying desperately to dislodge the glitch’s touch. Small droplets of blood sprang up under his jagged nails as he brutally scratched and scraped at his skin, but it wouldn't budge. It was lodged deep within him, melded into his skin, running through his blood. There was no escape. No escape from the burning, crawling corruption in his veins. No escape from that word, that horrible word running through his mind on an endless loop.

No escape from the truth, the fact that his brothers were doomed and there was nothing he could do to help them. To warn them, to stop them. He’d failed them again, just like he always had.

Hot, burning tears gathered in his eyes again, threatening to spill over, and he let them. He knelt there in his chains, eyes wide and trained on the grooves in the wall as he let the tears slither down his cheeks.

He had nothing left to give.

Guess who had to format this twice because tumblr mobile sucks?

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