#THROW UP and mutate the DIRT IN THE GROUND

[bikelaned]

you know how Leo was IN A COMA for SEVERAL MONTHS and then had a broken leg?? Remember how he just- he just stopped

That leg is like a ball and chain holding you back!!!

Okay spirit world Shredder, if you say so *no longer has a broken leg*

[spicybunni]

Hi, if you have requests open can i interest you in a Karl Heisenberg x Fem Nomad Reader? Like i need Karl falling in love at first sight because she looks cool very pretty and is a real badass.

Ahh I love this! The concept of nomads are so cool. This was a fun request to write 💕💕I hope you enjoy!

KARL HEISENBERG X FEM!NOMAD! READER

WARNINGS ⚠️ BRIEF VIOLENCE TO READER / GUNS / BLOOD MENTION

As a nomad, you were traveling from place to place in Romania. This winter has been especially cruel to you unfortunately. Snow blizzards were repeatedly hitting your trail, forcing you to stay longer in cities, towns, and villages than you anticipate.

But you were off to a great adventure finally, no snow or rain while walking through the forests. Even if it did you had the tools necessary to survive such conditions.

Coming up on a mountain side, you see the view of a village with a castle overlooking everything. You get excited at the thought of finally reaching civilization and possibly warming up next to a fire. You could restock on supplies and water too.

Unbeknownst to you, the village has a ring of lycans that patrol the village from any outsiders, or villagers who wish to leave.

Sliding down the layered snow in the mountains, you could see the faint outlines of crouched figures in the tree line below, obviously waiting for your descending figure to reach them.

Your stomach flips at the sight and you halt your slide down. They can sense you’ve noticed them and reveal themselves in the overcast sunlight. Growling and snarling as they creep up to you.

As a nomadic woman, you couldn’t risk traveling without some sort of protection. You carried a shot gun, metal staff and a knife on yourself. Usually the sight of your shotgun hanging from your back is what set certain people away from you. But these creatures were different. You thought they were locals at first. They looked human enough but reacting nothing less than savage predators. Their teeth chipped and covered in blood. Arms and hands covered in dirt and blood. Skin having an unnatural color.

Firing a few warning shots didn’t scare them away. In fact, it made them even more determined to tear you to shreds. You fired again at one who got too close to you. He stumbles back but is quickly back up.

You consider this to be a losing situation if you just stand here and waste ammo. You decide to run and find better grounds to aim and defend yourself.

Big mistake though, because you just run into another group of them.

Cursing yourself, you find the next best thing to do, you start climbing a tree to get range with your shotgun. You kill about 3 of them before you reload. As you were grabbing ammo one of them jumps up to your level and grabs the gun from your grasp, flinging it into the bushes far away.

Finally reaching that point in fight or flight mode where you’re gonna do everything to survive, you start swinging at them. A few get knocked down and you manage to stab some in the face making them go limp. But there are still too many.

You’re panting for breath and hanging onto hope that someone heard your gunfire and come to you.

Oh someone heard you alright, but nobody that would be on your side.

“What seems to be all the commotion here boys?”

You blink at the sight of a man, casually walking through to the scene of you surrounded by 3 lycans twice your size. Carrying a giant hammer on his shoulder with a freshly lit cigar in his opposite hand. He doesn’t even spare you a glance, thing you’re just one of the many terrified villagers wanting to escape Mother Miranda’s grasp.

You notice that the Lycans see him and acknowledge his presence, but they don’t attack him. You conclude that he is somewhat of a leader for these mutated beings….

“Make it quick, I have a meeting to get to..”

What the fuck? He’s not going to help you? Now you’re pissed.

Before they rush you again, you take the knife within your coat and throw it at the man. The knife would’ve hit a bullseye within the side of his head, but it was stopped.

The lycans for some reason halt their actions to storm you. Just guarding you against a tree.

You gap at how the knife stops in mid air just hanging. The man turns towards you this time, finally looking at you. He tilts his head slightly, making his black glasses slide down to reveal his golden eyes, looking you up and down.

He grins, pushing his glasses back up with the cigar hand.

“Oh, you’re not local…”

His accent is so strange. It’s nothing like the dialects or foreign accents you’ve encountered before.

“Please help me, I’m just trying to pass through.” You plead, you’re not giving up your metal staff but you speak with him to see if you can actually make it out of this.

Your cheeks were flushed from the fighting and exhaustion of traveling, your adrenaline making your heartbeat pump faster and faster. Your (h/c) hair was sticking to your forehead and neck from sweat. You were very nice to look at.

Your facial features were different from what Karl was used to seeing in the village, he liked that. A traveling woman? All alone? And good looking? How was his luck so great?

“Nobody gets to pass through. Normally this is the end of the line for you poor travelers. But I think I can make an exception this once..”

Throwing his cigar out, he brings up his hand to snap his fingers. Before you could react, one of the monsters closes in and disarms you, while another one comes to knock you out.

“W-Wait!-“

The lycan strikes you against your face, hard. You sway in the others hold as your vision fades.

Against the odds of these creatures, you held your own pretty well in Karl’s opinion. Way more than any other riff raff that’s come into this village.

You start to drop and the lycan releases you. But you never hit the snow. Karl catches you and hoists you onto his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“You’ve got grit, kid. I’ll spare you. Let’s see if Mother Miranda will allow me to keep you…”

[cherrb333]

HEHEHEHEHE I FINALLY FINISHED THISSSSS AHHHH IM SO PROUD OF HOW IT CAME OUT>:D

Random ahhh story I thought up after seeing someone's art piece ;)

Part 1/???

Thanks for the inspiration @sunnyyyteaaa :D

Timeline: the 2018 turtles are about 7, 3, and 1. More explanation later

Thunder split the earth, rumbling the ground, and rain pattered in buckets onto the ground, leaving nothing but the sound of wet splats on the wet muddy ground. A mysterious cloaked figure can be seen running through the horrid weather. An infant's cries filled the air, complimenting the pound of rumbling clouds. Water fell like a waterfall onto the ground, loudly panging on the mysterious person. A hue of purple filled the air as the cloaked figure was hit with a ball of light. They yelped, dropping onto the muddy ground, dropping the grip they had on the older more spike child, who called out for his papa. The other three clung onto his fur, rain pooling on their bald heads. He quickly stumbled to his feet, pivoting and picking up his children, taking off once again as the hood fell from his head to reveal a mutated rat, fur brown in color, dull from grime and dirt. His clothes were ripped, an old uniform from his old acting career. He swerved left and right, trying to throw off the chasers, but despite all his attempts, they were relentless. It seemed the sky fit his mood as he suddenly ran into a dead end, cursing under his breath as he clutched his son's tighter into his chest. He froze as a familiar voice broke through the loud weather, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Nowhere to run, deary. Now, why don't you just hand over what's mine, and we can get this over with”

a voice chirped from behind him, heels clicking as the woman clacked her way over to the rat. A woman clad in purple business wear pushed her glasses up as she snapped her fingers, a bunch of men dressed in bellhop uniforms surrounded the man as he held a hand protectively over his son's head, holding out the other to shelter the red one from view.

“You know how big mama hates to wait!”

the woman , big mama as she had said, sneered, crossed her arms, digging her long nails into the fabric of her cashmere top jacket. How had she found him so quickly? The man, now newly formed as a rat mutant, pulled his hood over his head as he stared daggers at the taller woman.

“No. I will not fight for you, ever again. I vowed not to harm another innocent creature ever again. So you can send whatever army, I will not let you take me again.”

He hissed, clutching the strap that held his sons to his chest and back, a makeshift sling he made out of an old hoodie and string. Mama tutted, shaking her head disapprovingly at the man.

“No no, silly willy, I meant the little turtley wurtles you have for children. They would be perfect for my nexus, blood children of Lou Jitsu. The seats would be filled!”

It was like big dollar signs twinkled in her eyes as she swooned from side to side, humming a soft tune. The rat man scowled, holding his fists up as he handed the three brothers to the eldest, who blinked up at his dad.

“Papa? What's happening?”

Little Red called, grabbing his father's finger with his tiny tridactyl fingers wrapping them in a fist around the appendage.

“Don't worry, red, your old man just needs to take care of business. Take your brothers, and run, ok? Papa will distract them”

the older mutant whispered to his son, holding a warm but stern gaze as he gave one final forehead kiss before standing up, fists ready. Red watched as his papa lunged forward, stalling in a mesmerized haze as his father whipped his fist clean across one goon's face, tail whipping out and slapping another away by accident. raph trembled, stuck in a trance as his father was thrown into a fight, he slowly and hesitantly took tiny steps backwards, holding a firm grip on his siblings, who all cried at the sounds of bones crunching under flying fists. He shook his head, no, he had to listen to Papa. Focus, red, get your brothers out of here, he turned on his heel, long tail smacking against the floor anxiously, almost tripping him as he broke out in a long sprint, holding tightly onto his brothers as he high-tailed out of there, gasping as he muscles screamed at him, too young and weak to function properly.

He tried to block out the fading noises behind him, his breath getting harder and harder to take in as his eyes stung With unshed tears. He weaved through the alleys, rain still beating down on him, and making it harder to keep from slipping on the concrete. Lightning lit up the sky, sending a booming tremor through the air that left red anxiety to spike tremendously. He huffed loudly, breaths rugged and uneven as he slowed to a stop, looking behind him, and sighing in relief when he saw none had followed Him. He looked down at his brothers, frowning when he saw the droplets fall and roll down their chubby cheeks. They were going to get sick, he looked around for some sort of shelter, holding the 3 tighter to his chest to give them warmth, but stopping when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he screamed as the grip tightened, another strike of lightning brightening the sky and causing the younger siblings to break out in loud cries

Suddenly, They were all falling, the thunder becoming a distant noise that eventually settled into quiet as the person who tried to kidnap them was knocked out cold from The fall. Raph groaned as he landed on his shell, rubbing his big thumb along the young spotted box turtle's head, which chirred in response, the other two twins whined, squirming, one overstimulated, and the other trying to break free. Raph looked around, noticing immediately how dull everything looked compared to the usual vibrant tones of New York. He wasn't home. Not anymore.

Masterpost | next

[legend-collection]

Saci

Saci is a character in Brazilian folklore. He is a one-legged black man, who smokes a pipe and wears a magical red cap that enables him to disappear and reappear wherever he wishes (usually in the middle of a Dirt devil). Considered an annoying prankster in most parts of Brazil, and a potentially dangerous and malicious creature in others, he nevertheless grants wishes to anyone who manages to trap him or steal his magic cap. However, his cap is often depicted as having a bad smell. Most people who claimed to have stolen this cap say they can never wash the smell away.

Pic by Juliane Prenhacca Juneru

The legend says that a person can trap a Saci inside a bottle when he is in the form of a dust devil.

There are several variants of the myth, including: Saci-pererê, black as coal; Saci-trique, bi-racial and more benign; Saci-saçurá, with red eyes.

An incorrigible prankster, the Saci causes no major harm, but there is no little harm that he won't do. He hides children's toys, sets farm animals loose, teases dogs—and curses chicken eggs, preventing them from hatching. In the kitchen, the Saci spills salt, sours the milk, burns the bean stew, and drops flies into the soup.

If a popcorn kernel fails to pop, it is because the Saci cursed it. Given half a chance, he dulls the seamstress's needles, hides her thimbles, and tangles her sewing threads. If he sees a nail lying on the ground, he turns the point up. In short, people blame anything that goes wrong—in or outside the house—on the Saci.

Besides disappearing or becoming invisible (often with only his red cap and the red glow of his pipe still showing), the Saci can transform himself into a Matitaperê or Matita Pereira, an elusive bird whose melancholic song seems to come from nowhere. One can escape a pursuing Saci by crossing a water stream. The Saci dares not cross, for then he loses all his powers. Another way is to drop ropes full of knots. The Saci is compelled to stop and undo the knots. One can also try to appease him by leaving behind some cachaça, or some tobacco for his pipe.

He is fond of juggling embers or other small objects and letting them fall through the holes on his palms. An exceedingly nimble fellow, the lack of his right leg does not prevent him from bareback-riding a horse, and sitting cross-legged while puffing on his pipe (a feat comparable to the Headless Mule's gushing fire from the nostrils).

Every dust devil, says the legend, is caused by the spin-dance of an invisible Saci. One can capture him by throwing into the dust devil a rosary made of separately blessed prayer beads, or by pouncing on it with a sieve. With care, the captured Saci can be coaxed to enter a dark glass bottle, where he can be imprisoned by a cork with a cross marked on it. He can also be enslaved by stealing his cap, which is the source of his power. However, depending on the treatment he gets from his master, an enslaved Saci who regains his freedom may become either a trustworthy guardian and friend, or a devious and terrible enemy.

While some claim that the Saci myth originated in Europe in the 13th century such as the monopod, it probably derives from the Ŷaci-ŷaterê of Tupi-Guarani mythology, a magic one-legged child with bright red hair who would spell-bind people and break the forest's silence with his loud shouts and whistles. He was originally a creature of the night, and indeed the ŷaci (jaˈsi) means "Moon" in Old Tupi.

This indigenous character was appropriated and transformed in the 18th century by the African slaves who had been brought in large numbers to Brazil. Farm slaves would tell Saci stories to amuse and frighten the children. In this process the creature became black, his red hair metamorphosed into a red cap, and, as the African elders who usually told the tales, he came to be always smoking his clay-and-reed pipe. His name mutated into various forms, such as Saci Taperê and Sá Pereira (a common Portuguese name), and eventually Saci Pererê.

His red cap may have been inspired on the Trasgo, a mythical Portuguese creature with the exact same powers as the Saci. The Saci-Pererê concept shows some syncretism with Christian elements: he bolts away when faced with crosses, leaving behind a sulphurous smell – classical attributes of the devil in Christian folklore.

The concepts of imprisoning a supernatural being in a bottle by a magically marked cork, and of forcing him to grant wishes in return of his liberty, have obvious parallels in the story of Aladdin from the Arabian Nights. This may be more than just a coincidence, since some slaves were Muslims and thus presumably familiar with the Arabian tales. Moreover, the occupation of parts of the Portuguese territory (namely in the south) by the Muslim Moors, between the years 711 and 1249, provides another possible path for Arabian influence on the Saci legend.

[firstdraftblog]

Dungeon Crawlers - 1

By the yellow light of a sunrise, a large valley is lit. There are trees dotting the grassy landscape where a few domestic farm animals graze. A man stands with his son on top of a hill, overlooking it all.

"Look. All of this is ours. From the tree line over there, back to the hills behind us."

Something in the field catches his eye. He raises his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and squints into the distance.

"What is that?" he continues, talking more to himself now than to his son. "A... door?"

....

40 years later:

A giant crab swims up to an island and scuttles up onto the shore. On it's enormous back sits an old, brick house with smoke puffing out of the chimney. An anchor hangs from a side window. As the crab rises out of the water we can see a few blob-like parasites stuck to it's underbelly.

The shore is lined with cartoonish, mutated beach life. The little monsters stare at the crab creature, but most move out of its way without attempting to attack or impede it. The crab continues onwards inland, pushing aside or knocking down trees as it goes.

While the crab scuttles through a heavily wooded area, lightly spattered with monstrous wildlife a little voice from inside the house asks, "when are we gonna be there?"

The crab continues onwards and makes it's way to a hilltop. The front door of the house opens up and a squat, muscular man appears in the doorway. His eyes are wild and his smile is maniacal.

"This is the place!" he says excitedly. Then he turns his head slightly back towards the house and calls, "Drop anchor!!"

A small child appears at the window and opens it before saluting. "Aye , aye daddy!" she says, before pulling a lever that drops the anchor out the window and all the way down to the earth below. As it sticks into the dirt and impedes the crab's scuttle, the beast stops and seems to look around confused.

'This is the spot." the father says and produces three large, orange, watery orbs from within a chest just outside the door. He throws them down onto the grassy land below, and they hit the ground with a 'pop', bursting and releasing gooey, brightly colored liquid that soaks into the ground. The crab chitters and then bends down, as much as its body allows, and begins to drink it up.

As it is distracted, the father swings down to the underside and, with a shovel, begins prying the blob like parasites off of the crab's belly.

Once they've all fallen to the ground, he drops down with them and gives them all a swift 'thwack' with his shovel. They also burst, but instead of leaving behind a liquid, they leaving behind glittering jewels which he leaves where they lay.

A put-upon looking teenager strolls out of the house, jumps down and begins to pick up the coins.

"Geez man, these are probably valuable. Why do I have to pick up after you?" he grumbles to himself.

Behind him, we can see the crab slowly burrow into the dirt until all that is left above the surface is the house.

The door opens again, and the mom comes out, looking around. One excited child sits on her shoulders, and an identical one (the one who dropped anchor) follows at her heels. The dad beckons to them, and the family joins him, looking out over the hill.

The view is the same as from the first scene - an expansive valley in the dimming light - but now the land is absolutely covered in monsters.

"This was my father's land," the dad begins, "and now it is ours. From the tree line over there, back to the hills behind us. When the dungeons first appeared, a number of them appeared all clustered up on dad's land. He couldn't clear them so eventually the monsters spilled out and took over the land... we're gonna take it back."

The teen looks out over the land for a while. He looks off to the sides and sees a few other houses built just past the border of their land. He looks at the door in the field- the mouth of a cave, leading to a dungeon - and then he looks back at his dad.

"Why?" he asks, unimpressed.

[lilith-of-rivia]

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Summary: Ina of Cintra the Lioness's firstborn daughter has been a well-kept secret. her title as princess never leaving the castle walls, her abilities, abnormalities not being uttered without the blessing of the queen. She has her entire life planned and guided so she doesn't break the Crown's rules. She has been an outstanding model of good behavior, that's until she meets a certain witcher.

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Blood and gore, swearing, mentions of death

I

“Ma’am…” Knock, knock, knock. I had heard whoever it was coming to wake me up before they even got to my door.

“Yes?” I heard them hold their breath, they weren’t expecting me to be awake.

“Uh-uh yes ma’am, Druk is outside. He has sent for you.”

“Yes thank you. I’m awake.” I said as I rose from my bed. Folding at the hips my fingers gazed at the floor as I yawned in a stretch. My spins cracked along with my shoulders.

“Yes of course ma’am” There were no footsteps and the heartbeat was still there outside the door.

“You may leave now.”

“Right right, yes ma’am.” Scurried light footsteps filled the empty hall as they left.

With a heavy sigh, I contemplated the day I had ahead of myself. Mornings with Druk were never different. The day was was one full day of drills, day two was one different full day of drills than to day three, four, five, then repeat next week. Druk wasn’t like other witchers I had met. He wasn’t focused on the coin or glory. Maybe it’s because he saw his brothers and mentors be slaughtered when his Keep fell.

“Knock knock.” My eyes snapped to the door of my room, dragging attention away from the gauntlet on my. My mother stood at the door. She was still in her sleep clothes, a wool robe hugged her body as she smiled softly at me from the door.

“Morning mother,” I said looking back at my gauntlet, huffing in frustration as I struggled to get them tied.

Wordlessly my mother walked across the room, grabbing my arm as she sat in the chair across from the one I was in. her fingers delicately tied the strings tightly, the gauntlets tightening around my wrists. Once finished, she softly held one of my hands, her face was cold, stoic as always. But once she looked me in the eyes I saw the fear.

“You know, don’t you…” I nodded my head. Looking out the window of my room, breaking eye contact. I stood up walking from her to the armored cabinet in my room. I grabbed my two swords from their hooks looking over them and assessing their sharpness.

“I heard you and the court talking last night. Many in this castle forget I have super hearing.” I heard her sigh heavily, shakily.

“I’m so sorry, Ina…” I turned to her. Her gaze was on the floor, her chest rising and falling fast.

“Mum...don’t cry…” I crouched down by her side, my hands going to hers squeezing them. She looked back at me, one hand cupping my face. Her thumb softly brushed over the scar on my left cheek.

“I’m so sorry I brought you into this world...Into this life...I wish I had known your life would be so painful…” I leaned into her warm hand, my eyes closing as she spoke.

“Stop blaming yourself...everything happens for a reason...and no matter what happens after the meeting today...I will always love you.” Her hand moved from my face to my neck. She pulled me into her chest, hugging me tightly.

“I’m so sorry.” Hse sobbed into my hair, rocking us back and forth. I said nothing, just kept my arms around her, holding her while she sobbed. Her tears wetting the spot she laid on my shoulder.

“Don’t be…”

II

“You know princess, I do not normally wait. You are lucky the gold and wine your mother gives is so good.” Druk’s voice was below a whisper as we snuck through the damp dark woods. My hands felt the tree bark under us as we slowly tipped around the fallen trees, as to make as little noise as possible. Funny with Druk’s big mouth.

“My mother is very worried about the meeting tonight,” I whispered back, following him as he weaved in and around the thickly wooded forest. We were hot on the trails of a stray kikimore that had been terrorizing a southern village. Druk and I were sent to take care of it.

“Are you worried?” Druk asked, pausing to look back at me.

I stopped too for a moment, thinking about his question.

My eyes searched the forest around us while we sat in silence. The forest was no longer lush and green. Late Saovine meant the world was cold, covered in ice and snow. Nothing was awake. All the animals were in hibernation, birds had flown south for the winter. The only things still awake were the monsters.

“No. I’m not. Should I be?” Druk looks away from me, his amber eyes searching the forest around us.

“Tonight is the night a pannel of witchers, mages, and the royal court you belong to decide if you go through the trials...maybe a little of fear. It would be healthy.” I smirked and rolled my eyes.

“Fear isn’t necessary for my vocabulary.” Druk laughed softly, his head nodding as he looked me in the eyes again.

“Then don’t be afraid. Fuck em all. If any woman could survive the trials it’s you.” Once finished with his small sentiment, a cheesy grin spread across his face. He nodded his head in the direction of the kikimore and we both rook off after it again.

Our feet lept, ran, jumped, and sprinted across the fallen trees and rocks throughout the forest. The snow-covered ground would cause too much noise. Druk had gone to the Witcher school of the cat. He prides himself on his ability to remain stealthy and quiet, all while being just as lethal as witchers from other schools. He taught me to only put my feet on the ground when it really mattered. You’re much easier to be tracked and killed when you travel foot to the ground. But foot to a tree to rock is a different story.

Jumping from a rock onto a tree we scaled the side till we were above the tree line. Out heads stuck up and out of the dead branches. Our chests rising and falling heavily as we looked around, noses sniffing out the location of the kikimore. The high point giving us the advantage. Druk’s yellow eyes scanned the trees below while I sniffed the wind. He had better eyes than I. his mutations to thank for that. The wind blew softly and the thick smell of iron and rotting corpses seeped into my nostrils and filled my head.

“To the east,” I said quietly. Druk adjusted his direction eyes grazing the land elbow us. A small smirk graced his lips, he found it.

“It about four hundred yards northeast. Common princess no time to waste.” We quickly scaled our way down the tree till our feet were steady on the branches. He wasn’t wrong, we were already out way longer than we were intending. Meaning we were going to be late for the meeting.

Druk took the lead. His hand holding the hilt of his silver swords. His other hand out in front of him, his fingers gleaming with a soft blue tint. Aard was spoken in elder inaudible to the average human. He was prepared to blast the kikemore to give me more time to ambush it. Druk only ever took the lead, then he’d stand back and watch. He’d teach me a new skill by charging whatever beast. Whether it was a new sign manipulation, a new combat skill, or hell even how he wields his sword. He started, I’d then follow and clean up.

“Ready Ina?” There was a soft pop and a cork fell onto the ground below us with a soft thud. His head fell back the liquid pouring down his throat. He grimaced slightly before turning to me, his eyes were black as night, now white to be seen. The veins on his neck, face, and hands were dark black and bulging. The potion was vital for witchers, giving them heightened senses, and skills. Allowing their powers to increase.

“So fucking ready,” I said, a smile gracing my lips. He returned the smile, his more sinister with the help of his eyes.

My sword was in hand. The silver catching the few rays of sun peeking through the clouds above. We both moved silently through the brush. Out feet feather-light against the snow. We moved fast, never keeping pressure on one spot too long to not break the crust of the snow. Druk made it to the clearing first. The Kikimore was alerted to us as soon as we reached its small nest.

Druk’s hand thrust out in front of himself, a huge ball of blue light smacked into the kikimore, throwing it back and hard into the tree. Druk sheathed his sword and ducked behind me. The kikimore shook its head before it made eye contact with me. I crouched lower to the ground, eyeing the beast. It slowly started to move to its left, so I mimicked it. We slowly began circling one another. The Kikimore’s large gray limbs stabbed into the ground with every step. Its gross snarly face, red beady eyes looking me over, studying my every move. The only issue was I knew where and how it would be.

The kikimore pounced, its legs kicking up dirt as it tore after me. The short distance between us was gone in no time. I lunged out of the way. Diving and rolling away from the clumsy beast. I was much smaller, giving me an advantage.

“My my what an ugly fucker you are.” I mocked. The beast turned to me again, and let out a low grumbly growl. I was moving closer to its nest. I could smell the rotting bodies even worse as I moved slowly. My eyes never leaving the kikimore.

It charged again. I slashed my sword through the air, spinning around, splicing my sword up in the air. The kikimore squealed and screamed as its leg fell from its body. Spinning on my heels my sword slashed through the air again, making contact with its neck. The sword slashed through the beast’s thick, fat neck like butter. The screams stopped, the kikimore’s body falling limp on the ground, blood-spewing, and pooling on the ground and around my boots. I sighed heavily, a smile gracing my lips again as I whipped the dark black blood from my blade before sliding back into its sheath on my back.

Clap, clap, clap. “Very well done princess!! A full-grown warrior kikimore down in two strikes, no potions or magic!” Druk had a smile ear to ear, his potion still in effect. Seeing a laughing, happy smiling witcher with pure black eyes was a sight to see.

“Only as good as my mentor my dear friend,” I said with a laugh. Crouching to the ground, my hand gathering the small tuft of hair atop the kikimore’s head and lifted it so it was eye level with me. Blood dripped from its mouth, nose, and eyes. Its dark purple tongue hung out of its mangled mouth.

“Add another one to my list.”

III

“Common hurry Druk!!” I yelled through the rain as we ran up the cobblestone road towards the castle. The kikimore’s head swung over my shoulder. “We are already late they will have my head!!” Druk ran from the stables after me, quickly catching up with me right as I neared the doors.

The two guards opened them for us as we walked through. I breathed heavily, my lips blue as my teeth chattered. Despite my many abnormal traits I still got just as cold as the average human. The rain had come out of nowhere. The two of us speed walk down the corridor, our muddy boots squeaking against the marble floors as we got closer to the royal library. A place I’d only ever been when I was being threatened by the crown’s court. The doors appeared ahead of us as we both halted before we could be close enough to be heard. The floor below us was wet as we dripped head to toe.

Glancing at Druk I gulped, now that I was about to walk into the room, I was more than terrified. The prospect of the trials was so much closer than they had ever been my entire life. Druks hand went to my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ve got this.” He whispered, before giving me a soft push towards the door. I took a deep breath before shoving the door open, swallowing the fear and placing the stoic look of my mother back on my face.

The voices in the room stopped when I walked in. my boots stopping heavily on the floor. My eyes glanced around the room, everyone there were people I have known for many years. My mother stood in the center of the room by her throne, my sister who was not supposed to be here was next to her. They looked scared.

“Sorry, I’m late, had a prior arrangement.” I heaved the beast’s head over my shoulder and threw it on the floor. It flopped down and rolled a little its tongue falling out as its cold dead eyes stared up at Gadri, a member of the Crowns Court. His face scrunched in disgusts before he kicked it away from his shoes.

“You are nearly three hours late, Ina.” I rolled my eyes my attention going back to my mother and sister.

“What is she doing here?” I asked pointing to my sister.

“We think it’s important that the future queen gets to help make choices regarding her subjects.” Hazzez, a plump fat little man with a bald shiny head and large white mustache and beard said standing from his seat.

I huffed, the corner of my lip pulling into a sly smirk as I shook my head. Water falling on the floor.

“Yes, the future queen who passes her sister even tho her sister is the senior. Yes, and my sister needs to be in control of whether I will be subjected to the trials and if I’ll die or not.” Druks witcher attitude tended to rub off on me. Witchers are trained, to be honest, overly honest. Blunt and rude is what many present them as.

“Ina. enough.” my mother said sternly, her jaw tightening. I bite my tongue nodding my head. My fingers pulled at the buttons of my jacket, throwing it on the floor in a wet pile. The room was cold, making the wet clothes on my body send shivers down my spine.

I glanced around the room, eyeing the other members of the Crown’s Court. And then the other few people who were in the room. Tissaia, a mage from Aretuza smiled at me fondly as we made eye contact.

“Hello, princess, my how you’ve grown.” Her voice filled the empty room. I smiled back at her.

“Tissaia-” I bowed my head to her softly, “yes, it’s been a while hasn’t it? What 15 years?”

“17 years.” my mother chimed in behind me.

“Whos the mystery man next to you?” I asked her, she glanced over at the witcher who was perched next to her. Druk was seated next to him.

“Well get to that in a second. Please sit down.” Hazzez said, gesturing to a lone isolated chare in the middle of the room.

It was as if I was on trial, for simply being born.

IV

“Druk how has she been doing?” My mother asked, her eyes glaring daggers at the five men who were attempting to discredit the years of work and training I had done with Druk.

Durk rose from his seat next to the other witcher, a bored look on his face. “She is exceptional. Not only her physical talents in combat and swords but her book knowledge. I’ve trained three other witchers before her, and none of them come close to the skills she posses. She is a skilled alchemist, a skilled swordsman, she is skilled in nearly every talent she tries. I would trust her in a battle to have my back any day. It has been an honor training her for 15 years, your highness.” I smiled at him, a smirk covering his lips.

“With all due respect your highness we are not interested in what the witcher from a failed school has to say. The witcher to his right has been watching her and keeping track of her success. That’s who we care about.”

Before the witcher could address them, Tissaia stood up. “What is the problem here gentlemen. On her fifth birthday, you all made this a rule. You said her abnormalities would only ever benefit her if she was trained as an assassin or a witcher. She has been trained for 17 years by a witcher, as a witcher. She has proven time and time again she doesn’t need the trials and mutations to be as skilled as a witcher.”

“Thank you, Tissaia, but need I remind you that you are only here to as a stand-in for the mage in your court who can still perform the mutations. Please sit down and be quiet.” My mother shot Tissaia a look, making her shut her mouth and sit down. The witcher next to Druk stood up.

“I have been following her and her trainer. For months now. Even just today I followed them while they killed the stray Kikimore. She killed the Kikimore with two strikes something many of my boys have struggled with as fully mutated and trained witchers. She without a doubt has a talent and a heart of the witcher.” I heard my mother’s breath catch in her throat as she held my sister’s hand. My sister was stating at me, had been since I sat down. Her face was painfully still, her throat tight as she breathed heavily. She looked scared, so did my mother.

“Tissaia, you will take Ina to Kear Morhen. Along with the mages in your court. The mutations will be done by the end of the week.” My throat ran dry. Hazzez kept talking but my brain tuned him out. None of us thought they would go through with this. The chances of me surviving the trials and the mutations were nearly impossible. Less than 20% of the boys who face the trials died. And the mutations are designed for male genetics, not females. I was never supposed to be mutated, just trained.

“Hazzez you piece of shit!!” My mother screamed as she stood from her chair. Her hand reached for the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh.

Her hand came down quickly with the shinny dagger, flying towards Hazzez face. My hands quickly caught her arms and I pushed her back. Knowing if she killed one of her court members over me I would surely be sent away and killed, no chance of survival.

“Mother mother please stop it please,” I screamed into her red, tear-stained face as she attempted to fight me off. Her chest rose and fell heavily. She hissed through her gritted teeth, she was probably breaking teeth.

“Queen Calanthe-” Hazzez spoke. I turned to look at him, my back to my mother. Her dagger is in my hand. I threw it to the floor, kicking it away. “Do not forget the sympathy the crown, and your father gave you for your bastard daughter. She should have been killed out of the womb. But your father cared too much for you. Count your blessing that you got 20 years with her, and at least she will die with a little bit of dignity.” Hazzez stood up to leave, the four men ready to follow him, they gathered their belongings.

“Gentlemen.” My mother said, her voice harsh and cold like the wind outside. Her brows set in a low glair as she looked them up and down. “I am still your queen, you do not get to control everything. It’s clear you’ve made your choice, but when it happens. That is my choice. She is my daughter. I choose when she goes with the witcher. I do not know when that will be but it will be after her sister’s betrothal. If you have an issue with that, find a new court to control.” the five men looked at her, then each other before nodding and walking out of the room silently.

My mother’s hands held my arms as she dragged me into her chest. My sister came up to us both, her hands wrapping around both my mother and me I. her head resting on my shoulder. Wrapping one arm around her and one around my mother, I let my fear fall. My fear came out in silent sobs. My shoulders shook, my eyes clouding as I stared at the wall behind my sister. The tears pooled down my face.

My mother pulled back, one hand on each of my cheeks, her fingers brushing my tears away.

“You will be the first female witcher to ever be. You will make history.” my shoulders started to shake more violently as I cried more. The impending end of my life is on the horizon. My mother’s denial was just to help her cope, but we both knew how it would end.

“Mum...we both know what will happen to me...I won’t survive it.” my voice was broken as I spoke caving as I cried. Her fingers moved faster to wipe my tears as she shushed me. My sister’s hands are on my arms and back.

“Even if that’s the case, it won’t be for at least another month. Live your life for the next month the way you want to, no regrets,-”

“No hesitations.” I interrupted her, a small smile tugging at my lips. Her eyes softened at me. She leaned in placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

“You can do this Ina. You are the Lioness Cub. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

[ashiemochi]

aphrotitty - 53☢

✠ Aphrotitty ↳ Don’t do anything stupid ↳↳ does something stupid

~~ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ~~ genre: fluff, a slice of life, angst, gore at some point, smut/suggestive themes ~~ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

☢ Warning: more zombies, mentions of blood/gore, GEORGIEE, boring but interesting backstory is boring but interesting, more manipulation/lies, leon is only mentioned </3, chris and piers tho <3, I hATE this chAPTER, MAN-

prev -> next

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Prickling water drops fell from the broken pipe, hitting the rubble on the wet ground. Pieces of the concrete wall were scattered on and about while rats skittered on by, picking on the bits of flesh and rotten ones off of the rabid dogs from before.

The bottom of the abyss turned out to be the ground floor of this whole facility – basically where all defective experiments are thrown for the little mutated rats to feast on. It can’t be accessed by every scientist – only handpicked ones could.

And unless someone wants to throw themselves off of the upper walkways, they’d have to own a specialized keycard to enter it the safe way.

With that being said – a mechanical door slid open and a scientist in a clean suit walked in.

The aftermath of the fall was devastating and he could still see the tiny glowing fiery dot up above. A nearly charred mutated ape was in the corner motionless with its back split open for limp tendrils. The scientist observed the infected beast from a close distance, flashing a light on its face then letting out a tsk.

He was impressed – George was still breathing.

The man had heard and saw everything – the demolition. The inflammable blast filling up the west section of the floor, George’s screams, croaking of the tunnel, yells of the agent and cries of the subject – right.

The man’s eyes located the broken metallic tunnel on the opposite side of the room and made his way over there, the infected rats skittering out of the way from his clean leather shoes. With the light shining the way, he lifted the flashlight up to check the tunnel.

There were four main ones just for airing out the underground facility and keeping the atmosphere as clean as possible. Having one of them fall was something he did not expect to happen. It wasn’t going to have a drastic change on the facility; more like will make the oxygen smell like rotten bodies.

All in all, he wasn’t focused on that – no, his eyes stilled on the unconscious girl underneath the weight of it all.

It wasn’t new to see a body fall in this lunch bowl for rats. In fact, there were many incidents where workers would accidentally tip over. Emphasis on accidentally and change "workers" to governmental parasites.

It was all for the sake of science and keeping the virus safe – and money but that’s just an extra thing.

Letting out a concerned hum and illuminating the girl, her lips were parted with dirt on her face along with blood rolling down the corner of her mouth and a pool of crimson underneath her.

He kicked off the critter drinking said blood and knelt down in front of her. He noticed the awkwardly placed spine slowly pushing and pulling back into place. Gawking in surprise at the cracking sounds as her body steadily fixed itself up; he nearly fell onto his back.

With an excited but hesitant hand, he reached over and gently pushed her damp bangs aside then lifted up her chin to flash the light on her face. The colours were slowly returning to her skin, making her seem livelier than before – then a whimper escaped her lips.

An achieved smile reached his face, setting her head back down to which emitted a pained sound from her. Something was faintly blinking from the corner of his eyes and he looked down, seeing the dangling star on her bracelet. He narrowed his sight at it in distaste and unclipped it then tossed it aside.

He encountered enough in his life to recognize a hidden tracking device anywhere.

Biting onto the flashlight, he wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled. Grunts shook his light as he tugged again then stumbled back when the tunnel whined, efficiently shoved aside and he dragged the girl out.

His irises took in the bloody water dripping from her skirt before his head twitched – he didn’t like getting dirty.

And so, the executive scientist settled with dragging her body out to the mechanic gate.

✠✠

Faint beeping was the first thing to reach her ears – then the aching.

Everything hurts.

Her entire body was practically on fire but no sound left her throat, too exhausted to even speak. The light was too bright for her taste, glaring at her through her eyelids but she wanted to wake up.

She needed to.

By peeling her eyes open, drums were pounding in her head at how woozy everything was. As So Ah swallowed heavily, her eyes tiredly blinked before she tried to take in the strange surroundings– but the world was blurry around her.

An arm reached over her then the bright light above her dimmed and dull caramels trailed to the side.

“So Ah, can you hear me?” The Californian accent came in worried – it was Frederic.

“Fre... Deric... Am I...?”

Her family doctor laughed slightly before shaking his head and she felt warmth surround her hand as he smiled.

“No, you’re not dead.” Frederic said, “You’re in the ER in the underground facility of Green Life.”

“E... R?” Her voice came out hoarse and she coughed at the scratching in her throat.

He hastily grabbed the cup of water he had prepared before then stood up. As he gently put his hand under her head, he slowly got her to drink in the cool water – which she did in greed.

She let out a sigh at the relaxing sensation of quenching her thirst, lightly flinching at the iron taste. Her mind was racing in confusion at the whole situation and she looked over at Frederic who was checking her vitals.

“What happened...? Why am I...?”

She really didn’t know which question to ask – the vague pieces of memories didn’t help her puzzled case at all.

Frederic glanced down at her, furrowing his brows, “You don’t remember?” He asked before following it up with, “Dear me, I hope it’s not some sort of a memory loss.”

She felt his warm hands cup her cheeks to inspect her closer and she could only watch through her half-lidded eyes in confusion.

“Why am I here? Where’s...” The name refused to slip her tongue for a reason she didn’t know yet, “What happened?”

Frederic frowned deeply and sat down on a nearby chair, sorrow written all over his face as clear as day.

“So Ah, you fell off of the upper lift’s walkway... George, he...”

Frederic’s voice trailed away into a whispered echo in her head as now the puzzles began falling into place.

The heat of the fire along with the snarls of George reminding her of his hunger for live flesh, the pathway trembling wildly beneath her feet as she hung onto the railing for her life whilst staring down at the dark endless abyss, the yells to hang on and pleas of don’t do this were loud in her head and on repeat – then finally, her body was free falling.

Last thing she felt was her back fatally hitting a pipe before slamming onto the wet ground at the bottom, utter darkness as the tunnel cracked against her back.

Her chest heaved in air at the sudden dread washing over her, eyes going wide as her anxiety rode up her now perfectly healthy spinal cord.

“Hey, hey, So Ah – breathe,” Frederic was instantly by her side, holding onto her hand then got her to sit to aid with her stuttering lungs, “You’re okay.”

“Why are – aren’t I de – dead–” So Ah tried to speak through her shaky breaths but he hushed her, rubbing her shoulders.

“Breathe, So Ah.”

Inwardly, a wish of wanting someone else to calm her down never seemed more right. The man was ordering her to breathe as if she didn’t know how to – but she knew it was better than nothing.

It was Frederic after all; the same man who had been with her through every step.

So, she breathed and followed the exercise in her memory from a certain agent.

Breathe in for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight.

Repeat till you’re lungs don’t feel like they’re on a race with Usain Bolt.

God must’ve found it very funny when he took me wanting to get to the bottom of things literally...

Frederic nodded a little with a reassuring smile when the girl’s nerves had eventually calmed down and she swallowed thickly to look up at him.

“Why aren’t I...? Is it the antibody? Is that why I’m not...” Her skin shuddered to even say the word.

“Is that why I’m not dead?”

To her, Frederic seemed conflicted; a crease between his brows, avoidant nervous eyes. His hands slipped from her form as he sat back down onto his chair, clearly hesitant but then a defeated exhale left through his nostrils. The family doctor brought a TOP SECRET file from the operating table, regret written all over his face.

Then he offered it to her.

So Ah turned her head towards it and took it with her tremor filled hands before settling it onto her lap to open it, “What – What is this?”

PATIENT: SO AH HAN SEX: FEMALE D.O.B: 24/02/1980 STATUS: LEVEL 5

THE PATIENT HAS BEEN EXPOSED TO THE EARLY STAGES OF THE GOLGOTHA PATHOGEN. IMMEDIATE ATTENTION IS REQUIRED.

The file was filled with notes and scientific papers about her – pictures of her frail body and vitals were on every page. It made her sick to her stomach, seeing how her eyes were pale in those black and white photographs. Her skin was patchy with blue-green veins protruding and bumping out. It was all so graphic.

With tearful eyes, So Ah looked at Frederic who kept his gaze on the file then back at his lap.

“Your parents were in Arklay Mountains back in July of 1998 for their business trip – it was also the first one they took you along...”

Frederic used to be an intern for Umbrella. He had known the Han family for years on end ever since he was introduced to So Ah’s special condition case. Her immunity was always fragile, getting sick too easily and too much. She barely had gone to school, constantly passing out.

She was officially homeschooled at the age of ten when she went through a severe fainting episode at the school’s halls – and that was when Frederic came into the picture.

After that day, he’d constantly do daily to weekly checkups on her to make sure she was healing steadily. He prescribed her medicines to keep her conscious but her body was refusing it – and because of that, he began using the enhancer to forcefully encourage her bloodstream.

And she got better instantly – minus the tremors.

Her parents were ecstatic despite being diagnosed with anaemia. They paid Frederic handsomely and treated him like family – Michael and Sena were more than grateful. They invited him over constantly and even took him on family vacations.

Frederic had saved their little girl.

But they needed more – they wanted So Ah to be as healthy as her siblings. It confused them. The entire family tree was healthy as one can be; why her?

That was when their business trips began getting frequent – always looking and searching for an actual diagnosis; for a cure. Both Michael and Sena studied science as their major in university. They were more than aware of So Ah’s condition than ever.

Little So Ah took it as them not wanting to be around some sick child. Frederic continued on treating So Ah with care, being a fatherly figure to her when her parents were never around – so she opened up to him. For years and years growing up, he helped her study to ace the entrance exams for the university she had wanted.

He’s been there every step of the way. At some point, he had to be on leave for his work back in Umbrella. He’d deliver the refills monthly and her siblings would keep their eye on her.

Soon enough, Umbrella invited Michael and Sena over to discuss their work in hope of a collaboration. Eighteen year old So Ah kept begging and begging for them to take her along, wanting to see Frederic – and it didn’t take long to convince them. They couldn’t say no to those puppy eyes she always pulled.

It was in July of 1998; months before the outbreak.

No one knew how it happened but with So Ah’s teen curiosity like one of a cat, she stumbled upon the Bioreactors Room where the G-Virus was kept. It was still in its early stages so it was unstable. Unfortunately enough, she went through a fainting session and ended up knocking the test sample over, sending it airborne.

The room automatically got locked when the sensors detected the virus in the atmosphere and it alerted the laboratory. There were lots of commotions and orders thrown from one scientist to another, getting more frantic when they saw the teenager through the security cameras. Frederic came in a hurry and ordered for the doors to open.

But they’ve received direct orders from his supervisor to not do that as it would spread the virus into the facility.

After the ventilation in the room had cleared out the virus, the gates were opened and Frederic rushed in as her parents were forced to stay behind in case the traces of the strain were still airborne.

So Ah was officially infected that day. Researchers and doctors like Frederic worked day and night to synthesize a vaccine. Frederic’s supervisor, seeing how close the ex-family doctor was to the girl, allowed him to lead her case.

This was the very early stages of Project PANSY – used to be Project HAN back then but after the incident of Los Illuminados in 2004, it changed to PANSY.

Frederic didn’t mention that to her.

A year after that and the outbreak, her parents founded Green Life Pharmaceuticals in hopes of avoiding such horrendous incidents like one of Raccoon City and the nightmare of seeing their daughter snarl for living flesh – and then hired Frederic as the Executive Scientist of the laboratory.

With the enhancer and the antigen in her body, Frederic covered it all up with anaemia – again, he didn’t tell her that.

So Ah’s life was deemed as normal, having been on dates, had friends, graduated university; all with Frederic still refilling up her prescriptions for her ‘special condition’.

He admitted making EN-0X to keep her strain at bay as they had never found a permanent vaccine. Over the years, the strain evolved more and more, growing accustomed to her prescriptions and body. During his weekly checkups, Frederic had discovered that the pathogen that would deteriorate her insides each passing hour had changed to antibodies – an actual vaccine for the virus.

It shocked him to see that the virus itself was holding onto the same thing that would kill it.

“... And that’s why I’ve been trying to keep you safe, my dear.” Frederic sighed, grabbing onto her hand gingerly, “Those agents – Leon Kennedy and Chris Redfield – their organization is against us. God knows what they’ll do to you if they get their hands on you.”

To say she was shocked would be an understatement.

So Ah was more than so – so much that she nearly threw up if it weren’t for Frederic reassuring her and getting her to calm down again even though she had every right to feel that way. After years and years of living in the dark and knowing nothing about her condition, she thought she’d feel a sense of relief at finally having her questions answered.

All of the answers were given to her just like that and she assumed she’d be bouncing up and down – but she only felt worse. In fact, she nearly wished her questions were ignored more.

Because what in the actual-God-living fuck was that?

No, because it made sense. It, very sadly, made sense; all of her life suddenly made sense.

But wait–

“What... What about the files that uhm – that Chris found?” So Ah quietly asked as she looked over at him, “Ones that you wrote about some project?”

Frederic scoffed, shaking his head incredulously, “They’re trying to get to you – it’s what they do. They’re sly and cunning.”

His hold on her hand squeezed in certainty, “The pharmaceutical is against special cases – especially since you were exposed to the virus at a young age. None of the researchers would’ve aided your parents and I in finding a cure. So, we had to keep everything on the low.”

“But...”

“So Ah,” Frederic stood up, one hand shooting up to cup her cheek with a comforting smile, “We’re family – everything we did – we did it to keep you safe from them.”

“The BSAA and DSO are against biotech products,” Frederic spoke as he turned to the hanger where he got a lab coat when he noticed her shivering, “If the government ever finds out about you...”

So Ah watched the fear in his face swirling with a bunch of other emotions she couldn’t read as he helped her slide the coat on.

“We can’t let that happen, okay?” He knelt down a little to meet her eyes in his determined-protective ones, “I’m going to keep you safe.”

In case it didn’t click yet, Frederic was in no way talking to So Ah. He wasn’t reassuring the one who sees him as a father figure nor was he seeing her as a daughter he wished he had. No, no, no.

Frederic was talking to the plaga inside of her – to the virus. What he said was true to some aspect; the virus did mutate to antibody. His entire attention and focus were to keep that parasite inside of her hidden and out of harm’s way. He was worried about those agents; Leon Kennedy to be specific.

That man is a coldblooded killer – for a good cause of course but Frederic didn’t give a fuck about that. Frederic in fact gave a fuck about how to get the virus – err, So Ah – out of here where she’d be taken by his new supervisor and he’d get his money.

So Ah cares too much about family, it’s all that matters to her the most and Frederic found it pathetically adorable – she was very easy to manipulate. He deeply wondered if she ever really was a bright kid because as eye-rolling inducing as it is, he nearly felt guilty with how gullible she was.

All in all, Frederic knew what he was doing.

✠

“For us to save your parents, we need to head to the Bioreactor lab where–”

“Wait, where’s mom and dad?”

“Don’t worry, they’re safe.” Frederic reassured So Ah as he took out his keycard for the door, “When the system detects an airborne virus, it locks quarantine rooms down to lessen the spread of the infection. Your parents are in one of them.”

“How can we get to them?”

The door slid open to reveal a sterilization corridor that leads to a mechanical gate. Frederic moved on ahead and urged her to follow him, letting the cool steam clean and well, sterilize them from any outside contamination that would trigger the virus’s chemical compound.

So Ah watched as Frederic tapped the code on the gate and it began sliding open then he looked at her with purposeful eyes, “Only when the strain in the facility is taken care of can those gates open. They can’t be opened manually.”

Before So Ah can ask the golden question, her eyes gawked at the bioreactor laboratory – it was enormous.

Numerous human-sized capsules hung in the middle of the laboratory, all filled with some green substance and a parasite of the sort was inside idly, some moving around subtly – it owned tendrils just like the ones George had on his back.

Was this the Plaga?

The mechanism of this lab was way different from what she had seen before since she arrived at Green Life. While upstairs was straight to the action and actually offered a manual on how to use the machinery, this was made specifically for people who had their hands in too deep with the whole biotech thing.

There were levels and pathways leading up, all connecting to the main shaft of it all which was those capsules. It reeked of detergent and weirdly enough, hospital smell – this room was constantly cleaning itself on the clock to keep the virus intact. It didn’t take her long in her still dizzy state that this room was the one Leon and her planned on going to confront Frederic.

Right... Leon.

So Ah didn’t know why she hadn’t given her brain a moment to remember the man she liked, to the point she physically looked over her shoulder as if she would magically see the main lift where he held her hand as she hung on the edge – where she fell.

It hit her like bricks and she stumbled on her footsteps as Frederic went on and on about the mechanism and the history of blah blah blah – Leon saw her fall.

He never saw her coming back with Frederic; he never saw her walk through these rooms and corridors. To him, she’s dead.

Oh, no, Leon...

She didn’t have her communication device or her phone – all she had was the leather scabbard around her upper thigh where her combat dagger was hidden beneath her skirt. She knew she still had it because one, it’s a bit heavy, and two; she trusted Frederic’s morals enough that he had not raised her skirt while she was passed out.

So Ah wanted to contact Leon in some way – but how?

Fuck, even when he literally admitted that he knew everything from the start... Why is this stupid crush this stupid?

“Here, you stay in the control room.” Frederic led her up the stairs into a wide operating room filled with computer monitors and desks. Right in the middle of the main controls was the hologram TV, the same one back in the presentation room.

“What can I do to help?” So Ah asked, standing next to him in front of the controls of many buttons and levers of different shapes and sizes.

Frederic smiled at her, offering his hand which she took confusingly and he gently pulled her to the centre desk of different monitors – they were CCTVs.

“I want you to keep an eye on any hostiles while I head up to seal the virus away.” He ordered in a quiet tone as her eyes took in the zombies and mutated ones in each room. They were all hostiles – the hell did he mean?

“Hostiles like...?”

“My pansy,” Frederic sighed woefully, setting his hands on her shoulders to look at him as he tilted his head in... Pity?

“I know you have a thing for the agent...” He whispered, noting the redness rushing to her cheeks, “But you have to understand – both he and Chris are the enemy.” He even shook her shoulders lightly as if to convince her more.

So Ah frowned, trailing her eyes down at his revelation; but it didn’t make sense.

Her emotions played a big part in her past decisions; running from room to room, floor to floor in search of her parents to leaving zombies standing so the professionals can take care of them while she headed to the GreenHouse. Her phone would’ve grown hands and smacked her in the face from how much she attempted to call Leon – every choice she took was based on what she was feeling at that moment.

With that being said, she didn’t know if her heart would allow her to even bother blowing a whistle on the same man who gave her butterflies.

So Ah nodded slowly, blinking in surprise when Frederic pressed a lingering kiss on the crown of her head.

“It’ll all be worth it. I promise you this, pansy.” He muttered, sending goosebumps down her spine at his hot breath on her skin.

That... Made me feel uncomfortable for some reason...

“Let’s get to work, alright?” Frederic smiled at her, which she mimicked the slightest bit, “Once the virus is contained, we can get your parents and leave.”

“Wait...” So Ah stopped him from leaving the room and he turned towards her, noticing her nervousness as she asked, “How – or uhm – who started this outbreak?”

His lips formed into a frown filled with hatred, “Ada Wong... She released the virus in the facility and orchestrated everything...”

“Why would she do that? Who is she?”

“She’s a mercenary – that woman wants to take the G-Virus sample and sell it to the highest bidder.”

So, they got to work – with hesitance on So Ah’s part. She was still comprehending the fact the antibodies practically brought her back to life.

So Ah manned the control room, eyeing at Frederic who hurriedly made his way to the lift that led up – which she operated. He’d ask her what the status was on the facility or the pathogen itself and she’d use the intercom system to reply – boring stuff.

Till a light began flashing red from the corner of her eyes, catching her attention and the girl looked to the side in curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” Frederic’s voice came through the COM speaker.

“Uhm... It’s Chris.” So Ah answered in surprise, watching as Chris kept his attention off-camera whilst Piers was typing on the keyboard, seemingly trying to unlock something.

She’ll admit; out of everything that’s been happening so far, she felt deeply glad that Piers was finally with his captain like he always wanted.

“In which room? What is he doing?”

“Uhh... In the sublevel of the West Monitor room,” She said and narrowed her eyes at the screen before a popup came onto the main TV; AUTHORIZATION REQUESTED IN B4 WEST MONITOR ROOM.

“Authorization requested?” She muttered in confusion and Frederic picked it up, hissing out a curse.

“He’s trying to bypass the system... That bastard...”

“To what?”

“I don’t know but it can’t be good.” Frederic said before sighing exasperatedly, “Take me down.”

Without questions, she pressed a button that steadily brought the lift down, “What are you going to do?”

The anger in his voice did not go unnoticed, sending shivers into her bones at the growl.

“I’ll deal with him.”

[reactionimagesdaily]

I dont understand bionicles at all, so maybe a crash course into like. 1) what a bionicle is 2) general plot of the bionicle story? happy 5k btw <3 love ur page!

OH BOY OH BOY, this is a question I've been waiting for. Thank you so much for asking, and I’m glad you like my page!! <333

A couple of disclaimers, before I start: I'm going to focus mostly on the mainline plot, but let it be known that there WERE a bunch of serial stories and comics and games that added to the story overall. Bionicle was, I think, one of the first big instances of a plot that was consumed through a bunch of different mediums.

I'm also going to try and do a lot of streamlining - it's not that I DON'T want to talk about bionicle, but there's 10+ years of story to cover, so... yeah. :P

Also! Sorry in advance to anyone whose 'read more' function doesn't work, because this is gonna be a doozy

So, what is a bionicle? From a meta perspective, Bionicle is a Lego theme that ran from 2001-2010, and was briefly rebooted from 2015-2016. It's name is a mashup of biological chronicle, and it was hugely successful in its time, essentially helping to save the Lego company from bankruptcy. The idea is that you use finnicky technical pieces to build humanoid figures (and sometimes their vehicles!) and then. play with them

From a textual/lore perspective, I'm not sure Bionicle is an in-universe term lol. But the characters that we recognise as 'bionicles' are grouped into a bunch of different classifications - 'Toa', 'Matoran', 'Makuta', 'Glatorian', and so on. The characters are kinda like inverse cyborgs, where there's metal on the outside and flesh and muscle on the inside. They often function like robots (e.g. have removable and replaceable masks that they constantly wear over their faces) but are still essentially living creatures.

So, what's the general plot of the story?

...[inhales deeply] Okay

In the time before time, there's an island called Mata Nui that sits in the middle of the ocean. It's populated by these dinky lil' guys called 'Matoran' that live in six villages organised by elements - fire, water, ice, air, earth, and stone. They eke out a life as best they can, facing dangerous wild animals (collectively called 'Rahi') and worshipping the Great Spirit, who is confusingly also called Mata Nui. (They named the island after him.) The great spirit, they say, once watched over them all, but was long ago forced into an enchanted sleep by his evil brother.

(These are the matoran. Look at these cute little guys :3)

One day, six canisters wash ashore, on the island's golden beaches. And out of these canisters step six strange figures called Toa. Tall, strong, and heavily armed, there is one of these 'Toa' for each of the villages, and each of these guys have control over an element. They are the main 'heroes' of this story.

(These are the six Toa. Here's a fun game - spot the girl!)

Each of the six Toa are named characters - from left to right we have Onua (wise and grounded), Lewa (fun-loving and mischievous), Pohatu (friendly and confident), Tahu (hot-headed and impulsive), Kopaka (cold and quiet), and Gali (intelligent and compromising). Some of the Matoran are also named characters - there's Jaller, the captain of the guard at the fire village, Hahli, a sports player from the water village, Matoro, a translator from the ice village, and Takua, who's technically from the fire village but is also an 'outsider' who tends to wander the island. Takua is especially important because he becomes the Toa's 'chronicler', following them around on their adventures and writing everything down for posterity.

Without getting into too much detail, the Toa spend two real-life years getting into wacky highjinks. They hunt for masks (as aforementioned, the masks they wear can be removed and replaced) that grant them special powers, fight the Rahi, and also face up against a terrifying race of creatures with mind-control powers called the Bohrok that are determined to strip the island of all life. They also fight against a being called Makuta, a mysterious shadowy figure who claims to be the brother that forced Mata Nui into his slumber. When they first meet him, Makuta takes the form of a Matoran to throw them off, before turning into a nebulous black void and doing his best to murder them all to death.

(Makuta as he appears in 2001's 'Mata Nui Online Game'. As far as villain introductions go, marching out to meet all the heroes and then telling them "I bore you, for I am nothing. It is from nothing that you came, and it is into nothing you will go. The people of this world are builders, but look into their hearts, and you will find they also have the power to destroy. I am that power. I am destruction. And I will destroy you." is pretty fucking solid though I say so myself.)

There’s a lot of cool worldbuilding and mysterious details about the island. At one point, the earth Matoran note that they can only dig so far into the dirt before they come across some hard material - some type of metal - that they just can’t break through. Also, amidst the stars in the sky, there’s an ominous blood-red star that’s appropriately known as the Red Star. What’s it doing there? Nobody knows

Also at one point, the Toa also get mutated into new forms after falling into a liquid that's called 'energized protodermis' but should really be called 'McGuffin Sauce'. There's a lot of changing forms and characters being mutated in this series in general, which I'm sure has nothing to do with the fact that Lego always needed new figures to make into toys.

(This is how the Toa look after being mutated. In these forms, they're referred to as the Toa Nuva -and let me assure you that that distinction will soon become necessary. :P)

So, in 2003 in our world (I’m not sure about the timeline within the lore), Takua the chronicler finds a mysterious mask and brings it back to the Turaga, who are the wise old rulers of the Matoran (The most promiment of the Turaga is the Turaga of fire, who’s called Vakama. He’s an even-tempered and wise old man who’s not above hitting villains with his walking stick if they threaten his village.). It turns out that the mask is special - it’s the mask of Light, and it’s part of a prophecy that involves the arrival of a seventh Toa who’s destined to defeat Makuta. So Takua and Jaller go on an adventure to try and find the seventh Toa.

Meanwhile, Makuta isn’t just going to sit around and wait for the Toa who’s destined to defeat him to rock up: he unleashes his secret weapons, the Rahkshi, who are, in lore, suits of armour driven by slugs. Sounds corny - in practice, they’re hella intimidating.

(Look at these bad boys)

Some more adventures happen and, to make a long story short, the Rahkshi kill Jaller and Takua the chronicler puts the mask of light onto his own face, transforming into Takanuva, the Toa of Light. The audience surrogate and ‘weird’ character was the secret hero all along!! I love that honestly.

(Takua and Takanuva - before and after)

As someone with light powers, Takanuva is essentially the perfect counter to the big bad Makuta, who has shadow powers, so he finds Makuta’s lair intent on beating him. Makuta challenges him to a game that’s called ‘Kohlii’ but is basically this universe’s version of lacrosse - Takanuva accepts and proceeds to wipe the floor with him. During their fight, they fall into another conveniently-placed pool of energized protodermis and become merged, forming a new being called ‘Takutanuva’. Takutanuva doesn’t stick around very long, because he’s this weird contradictory being of both light and shadow, but before he fractures he opens a gate underneath Mata Nui and lets the Toa, the Turaga, and some named Matoran get through. Inside, they find a hidden city - a whole other world.

Takutanuva then manages to use his powers to hack the universe and bring Jaller back to life. Hooray! After that, he dies, and Takanuva is back. Makuta is nowhere to be found. [eyes emoji]

So now the Toa, the old Turaga, and a couple of Matoran are inside this whole new location, and they’re all wondering what the heck is going on. Well, not all of them are wondering. Vakama, the head Turaga, steps forward and admits that actually, the six (seven) Toa heros that we’ve come to know and love... aren’t actually the first Toa. Gasp!

The next two years of sets and story are essentially one giant flashback, as Vakama tells the current heroes about adventures past. It turns out that the hidden city they’ve found is called Metru Nui, and once upon a time, Vakama and the other Turaga were Toa themselves, fighting to keep the city and the matoran safe.

(New (old) Toa! The flying green one is Matau, who was a stunt-driving excitable madman, and then on the ground from left to right we have Whenua (nerdy chronicler), Nokama (schoolteacher-turned-superhero), Vakama (anxiety-ridden leader), Nuju (absent-minded stargazer), and Onewa (racist prick who needs (and gets) a character arc). To differentiate themselves from the Toa that we’ve come to know and love, these Toa are the Toa Metru)

They had a bunch of adventures of their own. They fought the Vahki (capture robots upholding an authoritarian police state) and the Morbuzakh (evil sentient vines), and they also had ‘arch enemies’ in the form of the Dark Hunters, who were mercenaries that hunted Toa.

Also, that story about Makuta putting Mata Nui to sleep? Not a story so much as a history lesson! Ultimately, the reason that the city of Metru Nui was abandoned was because Mata Nui WAS awake, watching over them all, but then Makuta forced him into slumber and essentially caused a cataclysm. The Matoran were rounded up and forced to sleep as well, and the Toa Metru had to flee the city. When they came back, it had been overrun with Visorak (basically giant spiders), and they had to fight hard to defeat the horde and its leaders and escape with all of the sleeping Matoran.

Once they left Metru Nui (and arrived on the island that would become Mata Nui), the Toa Metru sacrificed their powers to wake up all the Matoran - which is how they transformed into the wise old Turaga. Also, the Matoran woke up with no memories, which is how they’d never known about Metru Nui up until this point.

Anyways, after exploring Metru Nui and making plans to move back in, everyone does some digging around and discover something about Mata Nui: his spirit is fading. Whatever Makuta did to him, it not only put him to sleep, but it’s also slowly killing him. After presumably having an existential crisis, the gang come up with a solution: there’s another legendary mask, the Mask of Life, that should be able to resuscitate Mata Nui, or at the very least, keep him from kicking the bucket while he’s sleeping.

(The Mask of Life! If you look closely, you can see that the faceplate is shaped like a humanoid figure (because, yaknow, life) and if you think that’s not the tightest shit ever you can get out of my face)

So, the modern-day Toa (the Toa Nuva, if you guys remember the name) are like ‘okay, give us the location of the mask, we’ll go and find it’. So they get sent to another island, this one called Voya Nui, and they arrive and... get their asses handed to them? What?

A quick backtrack: a gang of thugs called the Piraka had already arrived on Voya Nui in search of the Mask of Life, wanting it so they can use its power to blackmail powerful organisations and generally get ahead in the criminal world. (From a Meta perspective, they’re,,, really interesting. Up until this point, the villains in Bionicle had either been wild animals, or villains with grand overarching plans. These guys are basically overpowered street thugs, complete with their own theme song - the ‘Piraka Rap’. Look it up on YouTube; it’s fucking hilarious, because the rest of Bionicle is generally timeless, but the Piraka Rap was basically dated as soon as it came out. I love it.)

(The Piraka themselves! Fun fact; in Bionicle lore, ‘Piraka’ is a slang term for ‘thief’ and ‘murderer’, and was also considered so vulgar that if a Matoran called another Matoran ‘Piraka’, war would be declared over it. These guys are really just going around calling themselves slurs. I have to respect that.)

So, yeah. The Piraka defeat and imprison the Toa Nuva when they get to the island. Now what?

Well, now it’s time for the Matoran to get involved! A group of named and previously-established Matoran set out to see if they can rescue the Toa. There’s Jaller, Hahli, and Matoro, who I’ve already mentioned, and then there’s Kongu, Nuparu, and Hewkii. And I need to take a break to say that all these characters have been with the story since 2001 (it’s now 2006), and they’ve all contributed to the plot before!! Kongu is a prominent Matoran from the air village who led a flight of giant bird-riders to save the day one time, and Nuparu is an engineer from the earth village who basically invented mechs to help the Matoran defend themselves against the Bohrok. These guys are BADASSES and I want to bring up how a really strong initial 3 years of storytelling laid a great foundation for so many small characters. It’s just neat! :D

Anyways, these Matoran travel to the island of Voya Nui in canisters (like how the original Toa landed on Mata Nui) and while they’re sailing the ocean blue, their canisters are struck by lighting from the mysterious Red Star. And that lighting, say it with me now, TRANSFORMS them! Specifically it transforms them into Toa. They end up calling themselves the Toa Inika, because they’re searching for the mask of life, which is also called the ‘Ignika’.

(The Toa Inika. Being transformed by a bolt of lighting means that in addition to their regular elemental powers, they also have electric/lighting abilities.)

Souped-up and ready for action, the Toa Inika manage to defeat the Piraka and rescue the Toa Nuva. However, through plot shenanagins, the Mask of Life ends up being sent to the bottom of the ocean around Voya Nui, and the Toa Inika learn that under the waves is a hidden city - Mahri Nui. As they descend, the Mask of Life does something odd; it sends out a wave of energy, transforming the Toa Inika so that they can breath underwater. So now, they’re the Toa Mahri. (Because they’re headed to Mahri Nui. You get me?)

Mahri Nui is ruled by the Barraki - ancient warlords who were imprisoned under the sea many thousands of years ago after they became powerful enough to threaten Mata Nui himself. They were put in a prison called The Pit, but during the cataclysm caused by Makuta putting Mata Nui to sleep, the city of Mahri Nui sunk into the water and slammed into the Pit. Many prisoners and Matoran died, but the Barraki were freed. Uh-oh, spaghetti-ohs.

Speaking of Makuta - guess who’s back! Thought dead after no-one could find him after Takutanuva died, it turns out that his spirit is possessing a robot body that had previously been a prison guard. He spends some time hanging out with one of the Toa Mahri, Matoro, basically playing mind games with him and trying to get him to turn to the dark side. Eventually, three different characters and factions smack the shit out of him, and he slips out of the robot body to go do... something else (watch this space). 

This year of story was REALLY plot-heavy and I kinda can’t do it justice here. The important developments are that the Toa Mahri eventually manage to reclaim the Mask of Life, and Matoro yoinks it. While his teammates act as a big distraction, he swims away and puts on the mask. It basically grants him ultimate power, but it also fuckin’ kills him. His final acts are to teleport his friends to safety, and then release a massive burst of energy that burns him up and saves Mata Nui’s life. The Mask of Life, with no-one left to wear it, sinks into the ocean.

(“In his last moments, Matoro feels no fear. He know he has succeeded--the Toa Mahri are safe, able to resume their lives in Metru Nui. The Turaga and Matoran will know that they became true heroes. Matoro does not see himself as a hero. As a Matoran, a Toa Inika, and a Toa Mahri, all he ever tried to do was his duty. Now that duty has led him to his destiny.”- Bionicle Ignition 11: Death of a Hero)

[dries tears] Anyways, now that Mata Nui’s life has been saved, the only thing left to do is wake him back up. To do that, the Toa Nuva (the Toa that showed up at the very beginning of this story, if you recall) need to journey to the core of the universe, and a civilisation called Karda Nui. Three of the Toa Nuva - Lewa, Pohatu, and Kopaka - are sent to a village in the clouds, where they protect the local matoran and battle the forces of Makuta. Because, as it turns out, the big bad Makuta that we know? Makuta is actually the name of his species. The guy just wanted to feel special, apparently. The Makuta that the Toa have been fighting for over half a decade is technically called Makuta Teridax (or just Teridax), while the other Makuta have other names that I can’t remember off the top of my head.

Anyways, while those three Toa are figuring that out, the other three - Tahu, Gali, and Onua - journey to a place called the Swamp of Secrets in order to find a set of keystones that supposedly contain instructions on how to awaken Mata Nui. And it’s there that they find an unlikely ally: the Mask of Life itself.

See, the Mask of Life has always been a weird one - if you recall, it released an energy pulse for no reason that transformed the Toa Mahri and let them breath underwater. (It’s also done some other fucky stuff that I haven’t been able to mention - there’s a short story about how one time, a guy touched it, and it gave him the ability to involuntarily bring everything around him to life, which ultimately drove him mad. So. You know. That’s fun.) Well, it turns out that when the mask sank into the ocean after Matoro’s death, it ultimately ended up in the swamps of Karda Nui, and it senses the battles raging about it. More than that, but it remembers Matoro’s bravery as he donned the mask knowing it would kill him, and remembers how his final wish was to save his friends. Wanting to know what it means to be a hero, the Mask of Life creates a body for itself, and ventures out into the swamp to discover its destiny.

(The Mask of Life has a body now!! Good for him! Good for him.)

There’s some more shenanigans that I’m skipping over - at one point, Takanuva (Toa of light, remember him?) rocks up to help. Long story short, our eight heroes - Tahu, Gali, Onua, Lewa, Kopaka, Pohatu, Takanuva, and the Mask of Life - fight their way through the Makuta and into the very core of the universe - the Codrex. Inside, after yet more shenanigans, the Mask of Life figures that in order to wake Mata Nui up, it will have to sacrifice the body it’s built for itself. The moment is sad, but the mask remembers Matoro’s sacrifice, and is inspired to act. He sacrifices his dreams of becoming a hero, and in doing so, becomes a hero... ;_;

The mask flies deep into the Codrex, its body dissolving; when it reaches the bottom, it creates a massive energy storm that the other characters have to escape. (Our heroes make it out - most of the villains end up getting vaporized, big RIP.)

And just like that, the journey is over. After years of battle, the Toa Nuva have completed their purpose, and awakened the great spirit, thus bringing peace back to the land. Everyone meets back up in Metru Nui - the Toa Nuva, the Toa Mahri, the Turaga, the remaining Matoran. It’s a glorious day. And as they gather, something happens.

Deep, deep beneath the ocean, energy pulses through rock, and machines that have been dormant for millennia begin to whirr and move. The island of Mata Nui - long abandoned as the Matoran moved back down into Metru Nui - cracks open like a wallnut, each half sliding into the sea. From underneath where the island had been, a tremendous head rises out of the ocean, countless galleons of water pouring off of it. Titanic shoulders follow. Then the chest, and the limbs, and slowly, surely, Mata Nui rises.

Meta context: for years, the nature of Mata Nui has been a mystery. Is he a metaphysical being? Is he a real person? No-one was sure... but they know now. That solid material that the earth Matoran couldn’t mine through, all the way back in 2001? That was his skin. The mysterious red star that created the Toa Inika? That was a failsafe machine orbiting Mata Nui, poised to create new Toa as necessary. The island of Mata Nui was atop his head, Metru Nui was his brain, Karda Nui was deep in his guts. The Matoran were workers to keep him functioning, the Toa were basically his immune system (the canisters they arrive in are literally shaped like pills)... All this time, all these stories, all these characters, this entire world - they have all been inside a robot the size of continents.

(Fucking hell. Look at this. The clouds come up to his ankles.)

Celebrations ripple through Metru Nui as everyone realises what has happened. The great spirit is awake again! The Toa have won! But as the Turaga raise their voices to try and congratulate the Toa, a chill spreads over the spectators as the air grows cold. Everyone stops and looks around. What’s happening now? And then, from everywhere and nowhere, a voice rumbles. It’s a familiar voice. An unwelcome voice. A voice that most of the gathered heroes thought they’d never hear again.

It’s the voice of Makuta - the original Makuta. Makuta Teridax.

And what does he say?

“I AM EVERYWHERE. I AM EVERYTHING YOU SEE.”

Matoro’s sacrifice had ensured that Mata Nui’s body did not die, but before the great spirit’s consciousness could return, Makuta supplanted it with his own. After that, all he had to do was wait for the Toa Nuva to achieve their objective. And as they finished the fight and won the day, they handed victory to him on a silver platter. No longer does he need to strive to rule the universe - he is the universe.

(Meta perspective again but like: FUCK, man. I can’t emphasise enough how mind-breaking this was for the kids who were invested in the series. Think Thanos snapping his fingers in Infinity War, except probably more devastating, because there wasn’t a direct sequel lined up to give the heroes another chance, and there wasn’t a way to ‘undo’ it. This was a plot development that we all had to live with T_T)

(You can tell things are bad because his eyes changed from green to red.)

And what of Mata Nui? What about the spirit that the Toa were actually trying to wake up?

Oh, Makuta stuffed Mata Nui’s consciousness into the Mask of Life - and then blasted the Mask into space.

[inhales deeply]

man...

Okay, in all honesty, part of me wanted to end it there. But you know what? We’ve come this far. And there is more to the story. So I’m going to ignore my concern I won’t be able to do it justice and blunder on.

 Bionicle’s last chapter (2009-2010) follows Mata Nui himself - no longer an abstract spiritual concept, but rather a concrete character. A god felled from his pedestal, struggling to find a way to save his people. And it’s AWESOME. Armed with only the Mask of Life and a sentient shield named Click, he wanders the shithole deserts of the planet he crash-lands on, bringing the disparate tribes together, uncovering secrets about who made him and what his ultimate purpose is, and learning what it means to be a regular person. Also, at one point, in a move very reminiscent of the god that he once was, he turns a guy into a snake. You know. As a ‘fuck you’.

(There’s something really cool to me about a main character being someone who essentially lost all the power of the cosmos. Mata Nui might just be my fave character in this whole story honestly.)

Eventually, Mata Nui discovers some crucial pieces of information. Firstly: the planet that he’s landed on, Bara Magna, is his ‘homeworld’ in that it’s where his giant god body was built. Secondly: the two moons orbiting Bara Magna (the jungle moon of Bota Magna and the ocean moon of Aqua Magna) were once part of the planet itself, and split off during a planet-destroying cataclysm, leaving behind a desert wasteland in their wake. Third: the function he was ultimately built for (his ‘destiny’) was to reunite the three celestial bodies into one planet, bringing life back to Bara Magna’s harsh desert environments. He was on his way to complete this task when Makuta crashed his systems with a computer virus - which was what forced him into the ‘slumber’ that he was in for most of the mainline story.

His fourth, and probably most important discovery, is that he’s essentially his makers’ second attempt at a world-fixing giant robot. Before creating him, his makers (the ‘Great Builders’) constructed a giant robot that malfunctioned and exploded. Long-deactivated, the pieces of it are still scattered through the deserts of Bara Magna - in fact, many of the villages on the planet are set up in or around these giant robot pieces. Mata Nui figures that if he can reconstruct this old robot, he can use it to complete his destiny, and maybe even save his people.

It isn’t easy. He has to convince the villagers he’s come to befriend (the Agori) to give up their homes and their safety, and he has to find an experimental power source that’ll actually get the giant metal body moving again. But eventually, he figures it all out. Powered by the experimental source, the Mask of Life, and probably also friendship, he inhabits this enormous form and rises once again. Without missing a beat, he reaches out and begins to pull the moons towards the main planet. As far as he’s concerned, he’s going to fix everything, or die trying.

(The power of skybeams)

However, it won’t be that simple. Makuta senses that Mata Nui’s spirit has inhabited a new form (and I don’t mean that in a metaphysical way, I mean that in a computer/technology way), and he quickly jets over to Bara Magna. Obviously, flinging the fucker into space wasn’t good enough. It’s time for him to destroy Mata Nui, mano y mano. Giant robot y giant robot.

(Makuta and Mata Nui, facing off. God I love this picture.)

It’s the final battle - for real this time. The two giant robots begin to punch each other, and Mata Nui is up against some obvious disadvantages. For one thing, he can’t risk attacking Makuta with all his might, because he doesn’t want to hurt his people, who are still inside the giant robot. (Inside, they’re fairing... poorly. It’s like facism, but if facism was being actively enforced by God.)

In the fight, a hole gets blasted in Makuta’s body, and out pour a whole LOAD of Rahkshi. (Remember those guys?) However, Tahu and Takanuva also manage to escape, and join a ground battle that’s breaking out between the Agori (and their protectors, the Glatorians), the Skrall (a tribe of warriors native to Bara Magna who are absolute dicks - I’ve had to gloss over them, unfortunately, but believe me when I say that they’ve been major antagonists for as long as the narrative has focused on Bara Magna), and a bunch of guys who are called ‘Piraka’ but aren’t the gang of thugs from Voya Nui. (I think they’re the same... species?) Long story short: large-scale shitfight is happening at the feet of the two robots that are slugging it out. Makuta, being a dick, decides to try and literally stamp on all of Mata Nui’s friends down below, and Mata Nui has to desperately hold him off.

Around this point, the Mask of Life (which is really the MVP of this whole story) uses its convenient energy bursts to imbue Tahu with a set of golden armour that allows him to release energy blasts of its own. (Why it singles out Tahu, I’m not sure, but I’m presuming it’s because Tahu was the first face of the series and it just makes thematic sense for him to be a major player in the final battle.) Tahu uses his new golden armour to disintegrate ALL of the Rahkshi - and there were a lot of them on the field of battle, let me assure you. Makuta feels the loss of so many creations at once, and falters, and Mata Nui seizes his chance. He’d done his work well before Makuta had arrived, and the jungle moon is now in low orbit above the planet. Pouring every last ounce of his strength into one more push, he surges forward and up, pushing Makuta up and making sure that his head is right in the path of the falling planet.

Crunch.

(Kudos to Makuta Teridax for being such a persistent antagonist that the only way to get rid of him for good was to drop an entire damn planet on his head.)

Mata Nui guides the falling body carefully to the ground, letting it open and freeing his people. The remaining Skrall and Piraka surrender. The Matoran and Toa meet and mingle with the Agori and Glatorian. Mata Nui raises his hands, and completes his purpose; aided one last time by the Mask of Life, as well as his body’s innate systems, he enacts a synthesis on the now-united celestial bodies. Lush forests and large bodies of water appear in the desert. Life flourishes. Birds probably start to sing. Mata Nui has completed his purpose, and vindicated all of the heroes who fought for him for so long.

He feels himself fading. He lets his spirit withdraw into the Mask of Life. A new slumber - this one, earned, and of his own volition.

Perhaps one day, he will return.

(“We will honour Mata Nui, and all those who fought for him, in our memories. But the time has come to move on. His destiny is fulfilled, and for many of us, it has yet to be written. My friends, it is time to go.”- Tahu, The Mata Nui Saga, chapter 34.)

And there we go! Very, VERY long, but that’s the general plot of bionicle. There are an absolute tone of details I’ve missed out or skipped over, and I encourage you to search them out for yourself if you’re interested. But them’s the basics! :D

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 2- Together We Stay

Bucky Barnes x (f)reader Series Rewrite (Civil War, Infinity War/Endgame, TFATWS) 

Summary: After learning that you’re on a national watchlist from the exposure of Hydra, and seeking the only other person who’s lived a life like you have. Now you and Bucky adjust to being around one another in Romania.

Warning: big fluff, SMUT, more fluff i promised

Masterlist

5 weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since you’ve been allowed to stay with Bucky in his little one bedroom apartment in Bucharest, Romania. Fortunately for you, he’s kind enough to let you take the shit excuse for a bed while he claims the hardwood floor on the opposite side of the room, just about every single night. That’s just how its been, through true at it is, either one of you could handle sleeping on stone, but this bed is admittedly nicer, and you’ve got someplace to stay for the time being.

And Bucky.

He’s a quiet type for sure, keeps to himself, only really speaks when spoken to or when asking if you want something from the marketplace. But you’ve begun to witness first hand how he’s kind, funny in his own right, and respectful of your space and body within the time that you’ve had the chance to really know him. Which is more then most could say while you’ve been on the run in the past, from authorities and the Winter Soldier alike. 

Most days the two of you wander the various streets of this large pleasant bustling city, watching for any signs of danger or an odd person out of place as you go about your day. Other times the two of you would go hiking to the outskirts of Bucharest where no one could be of a bother, there, the two of you would spar each other for hours. Gotta keep alert, he’d always say. 

When he did speak.

But the nights when the city was sleepy with brightly beaming stars blanketing overhead, now those became your absolute favorite. You and your new found companion would spend those hours playing cards against one another, lasting deep into the wee hours of the morning when the sun was just barely rising into the sky.

Although as of late, Bucky has begun to speak more and more to you, even just yesterday when you shit talked some cheap vendor who was being very persistent as he wanted you to buy his ugly scarves, Bucky cracked a smile. Maybe even stifled a laugh. If you weren’t so invested in messing with the annoying little man, you would have seen the way Bucky’s eyes trailed adoringly over your mischievous face.

Maybe you would have seen how the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement as you flipped the guy off and practically swaggered away like the coolest person he’s ever met. Too bad you didn’t, but you would have loved to have seen it. Even for just a moment.

That’s what it’s been like recently between the two of you, small fleeting glances here and there, friendly nudges when you’re walking out in the park, and more time spent laying side by side with one another after an excessively intense workout session. Granted you’re sprawled out in the dirt and grass, sweaty and appearing like you just ran through a dust storm, but next to Bucky, things feel pleasantly different.

It’s strange, you can’t remember the last time you’ve actually felt comfortable around anyone since your mother, but that was a very long time ago. And she’s dead, and you’re not.

Unlocking the apartment door, you quickly turn the faded golden knob and walk into the dull sunlit room. The windows are covered in thin faded newspapers for the dying sunlight to struggle through, as this appears to be the only real source of efficient lightning since all lights are currently turned off. Though you can see well enough due to your body’s enhanced vision, small perks of the serums mutation that made you.

It’s almost 7pm on this cool breezy evening as you walk into Bucky’s apartment, shutting the door just as swiftly; letting your black cotton trench coat slip gracefully from off of your shoulders, you kick your boots off next before walking over to the kitchen and setting the coat on the back of the old wooden chair.

A tired sigh escapes from your parted lips as a sudden smirk begins to break out upon your sleepy face, “James.” You muse with a genuine smile as you turn to face your mattress for a bed, and the man sitting on it, “Nice to be greeted when I come back.”

He hands you an apologetic look before swiftly rising to his feet, “Just making sure you’re paying attention.” He quips with the flash of a grin, “You passed.”

“Alright smartass I brought you a sub from that little coffee place.” His cheeks dust pink as you hand him the sandwich from out of your bag, God he loves your accent, Bucky hands you a pursed lipped grin as you wink, “Just how you like it, old wet lettuce, a chunk of rat, and a moldy bun. Your favorite.”

He lets out a breathy snort as you practically swagger over to the fridge, opening it up to grab two beers before finding yourself a chair right across from him. “Here.” He quickly accepts your thoughtfully brewed offer of friendship, “Drink up Barnes it’s a new day tomorrow and we’re still kicking.”

He watches as you laugh before popping open the glass and taking a hearty chug, a small yet joyous grin pulling at the corner of your lips after you set it down again.

“To another day.” States Bucky before doing just the same.

Soon enough the two of you find yourselves seated comfortably on opposite sides of the old mattress with cards in each of your hands. A solid look of determination and fake suspicion on either of your faces as you stare each other down.

“Got any fives?” Asks Bucky with a raised brow as you simply roll your eyes, then biting your lip while you watch as he tucks a stray tuff of dark hair behind his ear.

“Fuck you.” Slips from your mouth as he bursts with the sweet sounds of laughter, his cards fall from his hands as you throw yours at his stupidly attractive yet winning face. Dammit you could have won.

“I can’t help that you’re a sore loser Y/N, I’m just that good.” Brags Bucky as you throw him a deadly glare.

“Whatever. It’s nearly 4am I’m off my game tonight.” You retort, shrugging as a yawn approaches right on cue.

Bucky glances at the wall clock before looking back at you, an tinge of disappointment lacing his soft voice, “Right. I’ll just head over to my spot then...”

Rolling your eyes yet again, you gently slap his folded thigh before he can attempt at leaving, “Awh come on Buck, you’re back has got to be shit by now. Let me sleep there tonight okay, it’s only fair.”

“Y/N I’m fine, seriously.” Admits Bucky kindly as he shows the flash of a smile, “Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”

Your teeth press firmly against your bottom lip as you think of how to thwart his stubborn mind, soon you look down to pick up some cards, “No, we gotta take turns. And don’t say “I’m good” because if you go over there I will have no choice but to fight you.” Words wrapped in sarcasm, you lay it on him, yet your face appears to flash with something different. 

“Fight me? You’d fight me for the shitty hard wooden floor?” Asks Bucky in bewilderment as you simply nod, agreeing to your last stated truth.

“See! You even admit it’s shitty.” You exclaim with a humored laugh while shaking the cards in his beautiful face. Y/N don’t you dare think about it, stop flirting idiot.

“Well...yeah.” Mutters Bucky as you both suddenly sit in an awkward silence, nothing heard except for the wind as it rattles against the old windowpane. You both are breathing a tad more heavily from the teasing argument a couple seconds ago, but now, some unseen yet intrusively felt emotion shifts the air. Is this what you think it is, or does your underlying feelings for him just like fucking with your better intuition.

Something is afoot, however your mind still doubts it. God he can be so hard to read sometimes.

Bucky’s blue irises flicker from you, to the floor-like-bed across the room and then back to you again, conflict clear in the way that his face shifts apprehensively, suddenly he moves to stand, “Wait.” You command with urgency, causing the man to stop dead in his tracks, curious eyes on you in a second.

Letting out a nervous breath, you decide to make sure he gets some proper rest for once, “Just sleep on the goddamn bed.” You deadpan as his face keeps unusually stoic, his body as still as a statue before without so much as a warning does he swiftly lean over and immediately crash his lips to yours.

Within seconds the cards are left for tomorrows cleanup as they flutter to the hard ground, completely forgotten as he presses a metal hand onto the bed for some stability while his lips move sweetly against your own, his flesh one positioned comfortably against your left jaw and partial cheek.

The shock you feel quickly gets shoved to the back of your mind as your hands immediately begin there exploration as they sift through his long dark hair. He tastes impeccably more delicious then you could have ever even imagined, not that you fantasized about tasting the Winter Soldier or anything, though maybe it popped into your mind as a harmless curiosity. Now however, you’re pleasantly satisfied to find out by the way his soft plush lips dance across your own; it’s enough to send your heart fluttering into a thousand excited butterflies, more like an avalanche for Bucky.

All too soon does be abruptly pull away to seat himself next to you while you begrudgingly retract your hands from exploring him further. His eyes quickly find the floor in embarrassment as you smile adoringly at him, “Sorry that was...”

“Fucking hot?” You muse as his flustered face immediately snaps over to yours, hope clear in his shimmering gaze and a tad bit of puzzlement. Guess he didn’t expect his little move of bravery to produce such an apparent positive reaction.

“Uh, well...that’s uh, good..” He mumbles while rubbing the back of his neck, eyeing shifting across the bare mattress before they slowly glance up to find yours once more. This time he hands you a shy nervous smile,”...can I kiss you again?” Wonders Bucky with the sweetest puppy dog eyes you have ever seen in your entire life.

Smirking mischievously, you gently caress the side of his cheek while he happily leans into it, “Bucky Barnes....you can do a lot more then just kiss me.” And with that said does your sweet man press his lips against yours, admittedly more hungry then the first.

He kisses you with such vigor and passion this time, becoming more bolder by the second as he gently tugs at the bottom of your shirt. Smiling against him, you quickly break from his charm to give him your approval, “Shirt comes off if yours does first.” You tease as he plants a chaste kiss to your cheek, then jaw.

Rolling his eyes while continuing to plant love marks around your neck, you take that as a positive sign to reach over and hastily remove his top, he then wastes no time in carefully slipping yours off as well, taking a second longer to unclasp your bra and fling it to the side. Problems for finding later. After the introductions are had, you both immediately take a long heavy moment to trail your eyes over every curve and blemish of each other’s body. You’ve never done this with him before, never even witnessed him without a shirt on, God is he ever more divine then you could have ever even imagined.

Trailing your eyes over ever muscle and crevice in the dull shadowed lighting of the room, your heart begins to sink with sadness and anger while you study the scarring on his left shoulder, the area between where metal meets flesh. Bucky watches as you frown before he takes your left hand in his, eyes softening while he holds it gently, “They hurt you like they hurt me.” He whispers.

Your eyes quickly flicker over to see his shadowed face, and the dark hair that frames it so perfectly, “They hurt everyone.” You whisper back as he brings your wrist up to his mouth, a second later be places the softest of kisses against your weathered skin, right where your tattoo is. The one you’ve had since you were eleven, the one Hydra gave you.

“Did they do this too?” He wonders, already knowing your answer as you slowly nod in silent reply; the black inked marking shows 00X13 as it sits horizontally against your wrist from where those bastards essentially branded you.

Frowning deeply at the black ink on your wrist, you take a slow breath as Bucky watches your every move, “I’ve tried to cut it off of me a couple times long ago.....but they did this to me before the second serum altered my body so that I could heal faster. I guess my body registers it as part of the skin now, but I’ve grown to live with it. It’s a reminder of my past and survival, I cannot stay angry with the dead forever.” You mutter thoughtfully, referencing to the former doctors and scientists who did this to you, understanding that those people are all dead now or incredibly old.

Bucky bows his head, dark hair tickling your hand and wrist as he holds it close to his stubbled face, brows furrowing you wonder what internal turmoil he may be processing, soon he rises his stormy ocean of blue to find your gaze, “I hate them. All of them.” He grumbles lowly, the icy dark storm clouding over in hidden rage that flashes within his eyes.

Not wanting to darken the blessed moment a second more, you push a piece of hair out of his eyes before placing a gentle kiss against his lips, pulling away he slightly follows, “It doesn’t matter now. We’re two lonely souls together in this fucked up world and I want you to make love to me.” A small grin replaces the once bitter frown as he leans in closer.

“Then I will.” Answers Bucky, his voice as soft and velvety as the most precious flowers, he soon moves forward to gently push you on to your back, stealing another kiss along the way while he hovers over your heated body.

His form is much broader then your own as he pins your vessel to the bed, hands drag lazily through his increasingly messy hair as you slowly part your legs for him to rest his clothed nether regions against your own equally as kept queen jewels. Now he lays flush against your clothed bodies, fitting perfectly like two golden pieces of a Kings prized puzzle.

The growing friction of his hardening member against your sensitive nerves is enough to make you growl in frustration from lack of satisfying contact. Tugging his head back from your lips, you smirk as he pouts, “I’m enjoying this Buck, I really am, but our pants gotta go.” He promptly breaks out into a knowing grin.

“I was thinking the exact same thing.” Muses Bucky in agreement as he leans back to give you some space for safely kicking off your pants and undies as he fumbles with his own from the spot next to your left. Naked and shining in all your magnificent glory, you watch in amusement as he struggles to shove down his jeans before a small giggle escapes your lips when he frustratingly throws them across the floor.

Knees guarding your hidden treasure below, you smirk while resting your arms against the bed, eyes flashing in entertained contentment as they glance up at him, “I’m not going anywhere, Buck.” You quip as he shakes his head in embarrassment.

“Yeah. Well...” He’s quickly interrupted as you pull him back down against your naked form, “oh, hi.” Whispers Bucky as his face keeps mere inches from your own, pieces of black hair tickling the sides of your face.

“Hi.” You mutter back with a shy smile before raising a brow and glancing downward for a brief moment, “Care to take those off?” You ask in referral to his underwear that’s still keeping it all in, his poor manhood that looks just about ready to rip through his boxers any second now.

Glancing down as well, he quickly smiles as a dust of pink coats his stubbled cheeks, “oh, right......just a moment.” His body leaves yours once again to kneel on the mattress as he almost trips out of them, you stare on in anticipated excitement as he swiftly pulls down his undies to reveal a very hard member indeed. He was packing this whole time!

Cheeks flushing pink once more, he gives you a shy nervous grin before placing his hands on either side of your closed legs. With pleading eyes of dashing cobalt, they flash a stormy sky of hunger and lust. Bucky draws his lips closer to your knee before suddenly placing a gentle kiss against your naked skin. “Is this okay?” He asks cautiously incase you might have changed your mind about everything, still completely uncertain if this is all some cruel dream and he’s about to wake up at any moment.

Parting your legs on your own accord, you smile fondly at him, “Of course. Now come here.” You beckon with a confident nod of your head, openly inviting him to join you now in the most intimate of ways.

Heeding to your pleasing command, the super soldier hovers over your naked body once again as you part your legs even wider for his wanting hardness that just barley brushes past your inner upper thigh, so close to your entrance. You could just about melt into a puddle of goo.

Your breaths are more heavy now as you both anticipate the sweet moment to come; both flesh and metal arm fall to either side of your face as his lips ghost over yours, breath hot against your smiling face, “I haven’t done this in awhile, I’ll admit. Sorry if I don’t do grea...”

Kissing him roughly, you shut him up real quick, “It’s fine. No judgment here, I promise.” You add honestly with another sweet kiss as you feel downward for his hardened cock, finding it rather quickly he hums in surprised delight as you grasp it before leading him to your slick entrance.

Once close enough to get there on his own will, do you smirk up at him with a face more valuable then all the diamonds in the whole entire world; your hands grasp either side of his biceps, as he studies your nodding face, “I’m ready.” And with that does his tip touch your fiery skin, slowly he pushes into you with a pleasurable groan escaping from his parted lips. 

Immediately do you gasp in surprise at his fullness graciously stretching your walls, “Did I hurt you?!” Worries your new lover as you wrap your legs around his hips before sending him a confident wink and a kiss for good measure.

“Nothing can hurt me.” You confirm with another heated kiss to his lips, soon you begin grinding into him the best you can manage as he starts moving pleasantly against your core. His strong hips pushing you back into the mattress in the absolutely best way possible.

Bucky soon finds an effective pace and with that begins thrusting into you harder now as he gains more and more confidence with your wanting body of pure flame and desire; only the delicious sounds of skin on skin contact making itself present in the tiny apartment, besides your labored breaths of intense love making.

Your mind is nothing but foggy mush as he pushes himself deeper and deeper into your slick entrance with each beautifully graceful stroke of his godlike hips. Soft moans and muffled grunts continue to leave his throat as he pumps in and out of you over and over again. Ugh, you could just about die happy.

Causing you to whimper in pleasure as the tiny growing coil inside you gets tighter and tighter with every new thrust to your center walls. His hard cock twitches against your sensitive nerves as his own orgasm begins reaching its inevitable climax, he’s so fucking close.

With a couple more powerful thrusts does he finally succumb to your glorious body and cum hard inside you, his voice gravely and deeply enthralling as he moans in pleasure of the golden release. Feeling his member twitch angrily from within is enough to send you over the edge with ecstasy, causing your walls to clench instinctively against his dexterously slick cock. Fuck he feels good.

More whimpers and moans fall helplessly off of your tongue as your fingers trail pink fiery lines across his glowing skin, he’s without a doubt just as sweaty as you are by this point, and all the more beautiful.

Kissing your lips hungrily, Bucky pounds relentlessly harder into you now as the two of you silently decide to continue on for a swiftly approaching round two. In no time he has the both of you cumming even harder and messier then the first, with moans and groans of plenty reverberating off the aged old walls of his tiny apartment.

Leaving your body a shaking and sweaty mess as he thrusts a couple last pumps into you for good measure, pink swollen lips not once leaving yours until at long last does he gently pull out for the first time in what seems like hours. Though you definitely weren’t complaining, both of you have a plethora of stamina to spare, though you did wear him out.

Falling into an exhausted heap of Bucky next to you on the messy bed, his chest quickly rises and falls with heavy breaths as your does the same. For a few long moments do the two of you keep silent, just the sounds of your heavy breathing the only thing of any significance in the darkly room lit room.

After giving yourself a couple minutes to cool down, Bucky blissfully chuckles, causing you to turn your head towards his beaming face as he stares up at the ceiling, “Something funny Barnes?” You muse in that gloriously prominent accent of yours that drives him wild. He turns his sweat covered head over to you, pieces of long hair sticking to the sides of his handsomely beaming face.

“Are we dead? This feels like a dream and I’m going to wake up alone any second now.” Mutters Bucky, eyes blinking in hopes this is real and true as life itself.

Laughing, you move from your back to lay flush against his left side while watching your every move, kissing his chest you hum, “Well, you’d have a real mess in the morning.”

Bucky immediately scrunches his nose up in slight disgust as you sling an arm over his bare chest, “Thank you for that image Y/N.” He retorts with a short burst of air leaving from his nostrils, indicating he did indeed find it rather amusing.

Kissing his cheek you shrug, “It’s not like your load isn’t still....in places, it’s sex Buck. It’s messy and beautiful and I’m glad I could do this with you. Seriously, I thought we’d never get here.”

Bucky’s face appears rather thoughtful for a long moment before he finally speaks, “I didn’t think you liked me like that.”

“What!?” You exclaim in bewilderment, causing him to snicker as you continue with your explanation, “Was I not obvious enough with the stolen glances and whatever else I could get away with? I was trying actually if you wanted to know....in my own way, but still.”

“I did try to kill you once.” Confirms Bucky as you lay comfortably against his metal arm, head resting on his upper chest while his eyes flicker back up to the ceiling.

Scoffing, you flick a piece of his hair, “I didn’t take it personally.”

Thinking for a moment, he finally looks down at you, “I’m glad you didn’t. And I’m glad that you found me.” Whispers your lover as he reveals the most dashing smile you’ve ever seen, while his flesh arm gently caresses down your shoulder in a blissfully comforting manner.

“Me too.” You add, pressing another soft kiss to his lips as you trail a finger down his side, “Now let’s take a shower......and probably change the sheets.”

“We don’t have sheets.”

——

An annoying ray of golden sunlight shines brightly in your closed eyelids from a small tear in the middle of the window newspaper, as your senses slowly come back to the world. You squint before taking a deep breath and shifting your gaze to make a full circle of the room, since you do happen to be facing away from the wall.

Your eyes trail over to Bucky’s usual spot only to reveal absolutely nothing, your heart suddenly jumps in your chest as the pleasurable memories of last night come flooding into your head once again, and some of the leftover smells, you can thank those fucking scientist for that. 

That’s right, you think, you slept with Bucky, and he’s literally snoozing away right behind you.

Smiling into the morning sun, you quietly sit up before turning your head to look down at Bucky, his hair is an absolute adorable mess as it lays across his face in various dark strands. He’s currently shirtless with the exception of some sweatpants and the thin blanket he owns that’s positioned across his torso.

You’re clothed as well, deciding it best to be dressed and comfy after the heated shower session you two shared; oh to be back in that moment for another minute longer, how nice that would be.

Slipping away from your daydreaming of Bucky, your heart skips a beat as he stirs, soon enough does his beautiful blues open up to the world. Finding your adoring gaze, he rests a hand on your folded leg, “Mornin’ Y/N.” Mutters Bucky in that raspy early morning voice of his, the actual greeting sounding more like a toddler learning to speak for the fist time then anything truly coherent. Or like a drunken man.

Rubbing a hand through his dark locks, you smile lovingly down at his stubbly morning face as he closes his eyes yet again, showing pure bliss while your fingers run through his scalp. “Touch starved much?” You quip as he opens his eyes and yawns like that of a sleepy old bear, metal arm flashing a quick stray beam of light when he shifts.

“Maybe.” Teases Bucky as he silently beckons for you to lay down with him, heeding to this hopeful inquisition, you scoot yourself onto your side and graciously welcome as his flesh arm reaches over your torso to pull you in closer.

Noses mere inches from one another, you raise a brow as he stares lovingly into your eyes, “Cozy?”

Gently kissing your lips in reply, he pulls back to reveal a positive lazy grin, “I think so.” Jests Bucky as he pushes you onto your back so that he can sling an arm over your rib cage, essentially pinning you to the bed with no real intention of letting you go any time soon.

The both of you stay like that for a good couple of minutes, just enjoying each other’s company in the late morning sun before he finally decides to speak, “Was last night....uh, good?” Wonders Bucky in nervous apprehension as his head rests comfortably against yours.

Giving him a light peck, you grin, “The best I’ve ever had.” And you mean every single word.

He gently squeezes your side in reply before muttering, “You were great too.”

Lightly chuckling, your eyes squint as you smile brightly at him, “Well that’s good to know. Glad I hadn’t lost my incredible seduction skills.”

“Yeah, I was thoroughly seduced.” Quips Bucky as you snicker.

-

Tagged: @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @diegos-butt​

[mwolf0epsilon]

Febuwhump Day 11 - Chronic Pain

Summary: Pox is chronically ill, and chronically depressed. But what else is new?

Warning: Use of experimental bioweapons on unwilling test subjects, mentioning of excessive vomiting and bad hygiene.

[It's bullying clone oc hours!]

[THIS STORY IS NOW ON AO3]

---

---

CT-9996 didn't think he'd ever get a name. Not for lack of wanting one, or of trying to find something that fit him specifically, but because he honestly thought he was destined to die a slow and painful death.

It turns out, life was far too cruel to let him go that easily...

They'd been told it was a test of some kind. A special one of sorts, where they'd be wearing Phase I armour out in the field despite not having graduated yet. At first he'd been excited about it like the rest of his batchmates. All of them had wanted nothing more than to prove themselves to both the Kaminiise and the Trainers. Show them that they were real soldier material.

Like the rest of their vode.

But none of that mattered in the grand scheme of things. Their willingness to serve. Their gullible nature. Their innocence... It was all meaningless.

Like the crack of a canister as it hit the ground right in the middle of their group. Several hundred men gasping in thick teal gas that set their lungs on fire. That made it hard to breathe without there suddenly being blood and gunk coming up in waves.

CT-9996 watched as his brothers fell, succumbing to some strange agent he was never trained to combat. Bore witness to the most brutal of deaths he could have ever imagined. And then he began to throw up so hard that he couldn't help but to pass out.

The rest... The rest was history. He survived. His brothers did not. Nor did the experienced squadron sent after to rescue them. The whole area was a hazard zone. He, the lone survivor.

Pox. His name became Pox. And he wished he'd died.

Being the lone survivor was never a good experience. Not only did he have to carry the burden of a crushing guilt that wore away at his conscience on a daily basis, but he also had to endure the lingering affects of the bioweapon that had taken out his vode.

The disgusting thing that had seemingly mutated him.

The pustules he could deal with. He'd learned quickly enough not to scratch them, since they scarred hideously after they popped. The cracked, dry and flaky skin he could certainly do without. And the throwing up...

God, he wasn't sure what was wrong with his stomach. Breathing clean air, hurt, and caused his gagging reflex to go off. When it was triggered... Well, projectile vomiting was more common in infants than it was adults, but Pox had grown used to it by now.

The acidity of all the extra bile that came up was not normal at all, and it ate away at organic and even a few synthetic materials. Whether or not that was the purpose of whatever virus he'd been afflicted with, he wasn't sure. But it certainly made keeping his teeth from rotting or even going outside without a helmet on all the more of a hassle. That wasn't even mentioning the fact he was extremely contagious and that anyone that got this from him didn't survive.

He was a walking cesspool of disease. Lethal. A plague... And the loneliness hurt worse than the constant ache of his body. The only option was to seal up his Phase I kit that he then painted bright yellow and black.

Stay away. Biohazard.

Not that the visual warning was required. Usually people smelled him coming before they ever even saw him. He stank to high heavens. His skin was encrusted with dirt and grease and other gunk that accumulated in between the weeks that he went without a cold dip in some puddle or showering out in the rain. His hair and beard were matted, and his nails and toenails cracked and dry. Breaking against his body-glove whenever they got caught.

No one wanted to go anywhere near a diseased and smelly clone. Not unless they wanted to try to get the handsome reward that came with the bounty on his head. Usually when he had someone trying to get him into custody, a quick way to deal with them was just removing his helmet and letting them see why he marked himself to be so visible. The acid was strong enough to melt the flesh right out of their skulls.

Pox had long since gotten used to listening to the gasping slow death rattle whenever he killed a person.

It was a concept just as chronic as his own condition...

[mosswillow]

Try again, and again, and again - Maybe you’ll be free this time.

Dark!Charles Xavior x Reader (fem), Dark!Erik (Magneto) x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Adult content, Rape/noncon/dubcon, oral (male recieving), manipulation, abuse, mind control, posessive behavior, glove kink, blood, violence.  

Word count: 2222

A/N: Eek, I finally finished this. I hope ya’ll enjoy it. This is different from my original plan of multiple parts. I like how this came out though, it feels right with the vibe of part one. Hopefully it’s the right amount of confusing to make it fun and interesting but not stressful.

By clicking keep reading you confirm that you are an adult over the age of 18 and understand that this content is dark and potentially triggering.

You’ve done this too many times, stood at this window remembering it all. It’s exhausting; you’re so tired, so worn down. It’s a lie, all of it. You never married him. He forced you into this, erased your memories and added his own. He stripped you of your agency, moulded you into what he wants. A happy wife, someone to control - to submit.  

“Are you ready to stop this now?” Charles hisses from behind you.

A tear runs down your cheek and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. You step back from the window and slowly force your body across the room to your “husband”.  

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling you down and kissing away your tears.

You close your eyes and let him kiss you. His tongue pushes in your mouth and you open for him, tasting the slight saltiness of your tears on his tongue.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he smiles.

You lie next to him and turn your body away, stiffening as he puts his arm over you protectively. Your life has always been like this since you were born, it was stupid to think you could ever find happiness in this fucked up world. You feel his hand snake down your body and take a deep breath before opening your legs for him.

He was the first mutant you ever met, found you scared and starving in an alleyway and gave you food - love - family. He made you feel like you weren't alone for the first time in your life. For so long everyone around you made you feel like your power was bad but he didn’t think that. He thought that your power made you better than everyone else. He taught you to embrace it, to carry your mutation with pride. He told you to never take abuse, to throw everything they did to you right back at them.

Comical, really, how the one who brought you to a place of acceptance, who taught you not to take abuse, turned around and abused you. He had taught you well, too well. As soon as the first bruise showed up you chose to leave. You deserved better.

“What do you think you’re doing,” He said as you packed a bag. You should have left while he was gone but it was too late now.

“I just need space Erik, some time to think about what I want.”

“No,” his voice was quiet but serious, the tone more alarming than any of the times he had yelled. it made you stop packing and look at him. He took a small step forward and you noticed the disheveled appearance. His leather costume was torn in several places and sweat was beading on his forehead.

“This is what I’m talking about, I need to be able to have my own life. You dictate everything and won’t even tell me where you go. You… you hurt me,” you grabbed your arm gingerly, looking at it and frowning.  

The familiar sound of metal being manipulated came from Erik and you looked up just in time to see pieces of silver fly towards you. Your wrists were suddenly encased and you tried in vain to move against them.

“Let me go,” you said.

“No,” he replied almost too calmly.

“I’m leaving you Erik, you can’t do this,”

He walked to you and ran a gloved hand over your cheek.

“I can do anything I want, baby.”

Your wrists suddenly slammed into the floor and he was grabbing your head, tilting it back so that you looked up at him. He brought his other hand to your cheek, smoothing his thumb over your lips. “Anything,” he said as he pushed his thumb in your mouth. The earthy smell and taste of his glove overwhelmed your senses and you struggled against him. It was no use though. He was stronger than you would ever be. You relaxed your jaw and closed your eyes and he removed his hand, replacing it with his dick. He grunted as he pushed into your mouth, slowly pushing further into your throat with every thrust. When his cum finally filled your throat you swallowed and kept your eyes down. He crouched in front of you and kissed your cheek before leaving to shower. He left you there all night and by the time you were finally released from your chains you were too exhausted to fight. He carried you to the bed and fucked you gently and you let him.

You spent months alone in the prison he created for you. He said you would be let out once he was confident you wouldn’t try to run or use powers but you weren’t sure that would ever happen. Even when you followed all his rules, when you acted like you loved him. He would still find reasons to keep you isolated. Your life revolved around him, a cycle of trying to please him, eventually acting out and the inevitable punishment that came with your rebelion. It wasn’t a way to live.

“You’re thinking about him.” Charles' voice has an edge to it, one you’re familiar with.

You nod and turn your face away.

“You’re not there anymore sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.”

Charles grabs your chin and forces your head towards him. He kisses you softly on the cheek and pulls you towards him until you’re settled against his warm body.

He’s the same though, it’s the exact same suffocating love you ran from almost two years ago.

It took five years of trying to finally do it. Erik made a mistake, He left the back door open and you took your chance without hesitation. The first barefooted step onto the dirt was euphoric. Being kept away from the earth was like torture. Silent tears fell as you dug your hand into the ground and felt it move. It sucked away the fear, leaving you with a sense of peace. You had power again, could feel it like electricity move through your body.

Sounds of fighting came from nearby and you hid.

You could feel where people walked. The earth was talking to you, telling you when and where to hide. You made your way to a helicopter and crouched in the back, making yourself as small as you could and praying that whoever was attacking would get away and take you with them.

You held your breath as a group of mutants piled in quickly and the helicopter lifted from the ground. You stayed hidden for an hour before someone noticed you. A woman, red hair and drenched in sweat looked at you.  

“Who are you?” she asked. her bright green eyes widening in shock.

“I’m not like him,” Charles says “You’re happy here,” The anger in his voice becomes more evident by the second.

“Stay out of my head!” you yell.

A headache starts burrowing into your brain and you cry out in pain.

“I’m not like him,” he reiterates.

You struggle in his arms, turning to your back and looking at him from inches away.

“You’re even worse. He always knew he was a monster, he wanted liberation at any cost, me at any cost. He was…” you search for the words to explain “a poisoned cup of water.”

You grit your teeth and stare in his eyes, bringing your face so that your noses almost touch. You don’t care, there’s nothing he can do to you that hasn’t already been done, no way he can hurt you more than he already has.

“You pretend like you’re a hero but you’re not. You're a glass of juice laced with the same exact pison as him. You look good and taste good but you’ll kill me the same way.”

He uses his power against you, reminding you who he is and what he can do. You scream as your body bursts into invisible flames. With Erik the bruises would remind you that it was real.  Charles doesn’t even afford you that. Everything with him is invisible, all in your head. They’re not the same, Charles is worse.

“Is she ok?”

“She’s fine Jean, give her some space.”

You groaned as you returned to consciousness.

“She’s waking up!”

You jolted up, turning your head to stare at your surroundings. The last memory you had was crouching in the helicopter, now you were laying on a couch surrounded by mutants.

“I’m Jean,” a soft voice said.

“I’m sorry I… there were no other ways out,” you whispered.

“We know,” You looked over to see Charles pushing himself towards you. He stopped and looked you in the eyes.

“We’ll take care of you,” He smiled.

You smiled back, feeling safe and free for the first time in a long time. The X-Men, you had found a true family at last. Everything was going to be ok.

You’re expecting him to knock you out again, for you to fall asleep and wake up his loving wife but The pain stops suddenly and you whip your head towards him in surprise.

“You didn’t take my memories?” you ask.

“I’m not like him,” Charles insists.

You sit up and pull your knees to your chest.

“Show me you aren't, let me go.”

He looks up at the ceiling and inhales.

“I can’t.”

It started so slow with Charles. He gave you personal lessons, treated you kindly. You started to actually fall for him.

But then a new mutant came in and the chemistry was like nothing you had ever felt.

Charles got jealous almost immediately. You slowly started to see him the same way you saw Erik, recognizing the signs, there were so many red flags. You weren’t going to stick around, you had to leave while it was still an option.

You packed a bag and ran without a word, finding a job far away.

You should have known better. It was your hope that he would just let you go but of course he didn’t. Charles found you easily, and he was angry. You had never seen so much rage, it was like you were looking into Eriks eyes. You begged him not to do it, cried for help.

They stood there complacent as he forced you to your knees and rewrote your history, wiping your brain for the first time. They said they were your family, you loved them, and they betrayed you.

“It would be easier if you just accepted this, I don’t like using my powers against you.” he says.

You roll your eyes. He does like using them, you see it behind his eyes every time he does it. He loves the power. You look at his face and see a slight twitch in his eye. The wheels start turning in your head, a theory forms.

“You’re losing your ability to control me,” you say.

He sets his jaw and you know you’re right. Your lips lift into a small smile as hope starts to bloom.

“What will you do once you can’t just erase memories?” you ask.

A headache starts again and you stare at him, fighting back. You’ve never fought back before like this, didn’t know you could.

“I’m going to leave you,” you say before the world goes black.

Jean was the one who made the memories return for the first time. She unlocked them for you, cried and apologized as you sat there panicking.

Nobody said no to Charles. he wanted you and they were too afraid of him to stop it, she told you. The team was happier, Charles was happier. They sacrificed you, pushed the abuse onto you so that it wasn’t on them anymore.

It was all a show.

Your husband of three years had only kidnapped you a week prior. It was stressful and confusing, you ran to the bathroom and vomited. Charles called your name from the kitchen and you bolted out of the house. You made it halfway through the yard before you were tackled and held with your hands above your head. The only thing you could reach was a little bow from your hair. You took it and jammed it into the ground, letting the earth take it and hoping that one day it could somehow help you. You had to fight, keep trying no matter what.

“Good morning my love,” Charles says.

“Good morning,” you smile back.

You give him a kiss on the cheek and stretch out before walking to the kitchen. You look out the window and your memories come back in a sudden burst.

You turn around to see him in the doorway. Fear washes over his face as he realizes how fast you escaped this time.

You smile and raise your middle finger at him. The window shatters into small pieces as your fist breaks through. Blood drips down your hand but you don’t care. You’re free.

“I’ll find you,” he calls.

Maybe he will. Maybe he’ll find you and bring you back, keep you locked up. Maybe he’ll add chains to your hands and feet like Erik did. He won’t chain your mind though, never again will he control you like that. He can try again, and again, and again but you’ll always break free.

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 16: Bloodmoon’s Dawn

Warnings: strong language blood/gore, body horror, dead bodies, fire

Summary: Heisenberg searches for Juniper the morning after the hunt.

Feedback appreciated. 18+

Heisenberg trudged through the village. The sun had just started to rise in the pale dawn, the village trying to regroup after the Hunt.

He’d heard the gunshot, over the screams and howls. It made his blood run cold, fear and worry churning his gut into a mess.

The feeling didn’t leave him as he wandered the somber streets, the smell of blood and shit assaulting his nose.

But, above that, the horrid odor of burning hair and flesh rose with the wind. He rounded a corner to see a collection of men throwing bodies into a fire, the heat of it reaching his skin from that distance.

Most were Lycans, but there were a few dead and mangled villagers added to the blaze. Their fear of the dead turning spurred the villagers to burn both the creatures and the felled alike.

The thought of finding her on the pile….

He shook the thoughts away, trying to avoid the darkness that crept the corners of his brain.

He heard the wails of a woman, mourning a lost husband or son. He didn’t care to listen for details.

He continued along the street, looking into every fire for a familiar shape. His pale eyes scanning the charred bodies for anything resembling a varcalac alpha.

He sighed with relief when none were in the masses. Heisenberg had found her boots and coat discarded in the snow, her compass not far after. He deposited them in a safe location before searching the rest of the village.

The sound of bells echoed through the cold morning. He sneered, watching as the villagers began to flock towards the church. Mother Miranda, no doubt, was there to welcome them with promises of safety.

A few of the villagers stopped, falling to their knees before Heisenberg. Their voices were low and desperate mumbling for a mix or forgiveness and pity.

He reeled back a bit, before hurrying around them. He didn’t have time to waste coddling.

What he was looking for obviously wasn’t here anymore. He set his sights for the stronghold.

He walked the paths, over countless paw prints and bloody drag marks under his boots. The Lycans always retreated to the stronghold after hunts, to eat the dead they stole and to rest.

Heisenberg saw a few on the way, scrabbling around the rocks and tying up body’s for safekeeping.

The smell of gore was stronger as he entered the already opened doors, he could hear the creatures shuffling around within. If the villagers weren’t so fearful, they might have half a mind to torch this place.

He didn’t use caution as he strode through, the sound of his boots echoing off the ancient walls.

In a shadowy corner there was movement, something much bigger than a Lycan, and too bestial to be Urias.

He came forward, eyes adjusting to the darkness. His breath caught with relief: she was here and she was alive…

Juniper was still in her mutated form, laying bunched up along the old stone. Other Lycans and varcolacs were piled around, resting after the hunt.

Heisenberg stepped closer, seeing blood leak from a wound on her arm.

She raised her beastial head, a low growl coming from her chest.

“Hey now bitch, it’s me,” he lowered his voice, showing her his hands, “It’s Karl.”

She pulled her wounded leg closer, head dipping down. Her bloodied lips curled up as her wet nose twitched.

Sniffing at his offered hands, her hackles lowered.

Juniper leaned down and licked her wound gingerly.

Heisenberg knelt down by her, trying to look the leg over. It looked to be a bullet wound. Juniper’s tongue lathed it over, blood oozing out of the hole as soon as she licked it away.

“Got caught?” He frowned.

He could sense the metal still lodged in the flesh.

He reached out and gently touched her muzzle. Her multiple green eyes flicked up to him as she closed her unnaturally elongated jaws.

He scratched the bridge of her nose, easing as he watched her close her eyes.

There was a pleased rumble from her throat as she nuzzled into the contact.

“What I have to do is going to piss you off.” He admitted, worry etching into his features.

“Hies….en…” her voice croaked out, distorted and garbled in her mutated jaws.

He smiled weakly, “Yea, Doll. It’s me.”

“H….urt.” Her eyes of liquid green looked into his.

He squared his jaw, feeling a thorn in his chest.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better.” He focused on the metal. Being as careful as possible, he began to dislodge the bullet with his powers.

Her form tensed, muscles bunched under the skin. She made a sound of warning, baring her teeth.

He didn’t waver, his eyebrows bunching with concentration. Suddenly, with a wet sucking sound, the bullet came free.

Heisenberg released it, the metal tinkling against the stone of the floor.

Juniper’s pointed ears came forward at the foreign sound. She sniffed the bullet with interest.

“Now what will we do with you?” He sighed, “Did you eat anyone?”

Juniper stood, shaking like a dog before padding closer to him. Her large head nudged him, causing Heisenberg to fall back on his butt.

She snuffled his shirt, pressing him down onto the stone.

He chuckled, trying to push her massive head away as her tongue came out.

She lapped at his face, her breath smelling of blood.

Heisenberg pushed her head to the side, “Damn, who's the nasty one now, bitch?”

She warbled pacing back into her spot, sitting down. Frowning, Heisenberg scratched his chin.

How to get her home?

He made a makeshift collar out of a piece of sheet metal folded in on itself, hooking a chain through it like a leash. Seeing her collared and chained sent a pang though him.

He frowned, his aggressive handling involving her throat still a stinging thorn in his mind.

He was surprised however how easily she followed the lead.

How much of her mind is left in this form?

He thought. Now that she was tired out and fully fed she was better behaved then the Lycans, padding after him as he led her out of the stronghold. The Lycans outside tilted their heads curiously as they passed.

Juniper’s back tendrils lazily flowed around her, like sea grass in the ocean current. They would sometimes bat into Heisenberg or disturb the snow covered branches overhead.

The trip back took much longer than expected. Heisenberg was forced to avoid the outskirts of the village entirely, making the way back longer anyways. Not to mention, in this form everything smelled new and interesting to Juniper’s sensitive nose. Heisenberg would get stopped every few feet by her shoving her face into a log or trying to scratch around in the dirt. It was akin to walking a large dog, he mused.

With the factory grounds in sight, his patience waned in wake of her most recent pit stop.

“Buttercup, you are really pissing me off.” He hissed, yanking on the chain. She whined, looking at him dejectedly as she padded up beside him.

Her head shot up, sniffing at the air. Her ears perked up as she looked towards the factory excitedly.

Heisenberg chuckled, “Yea, we’re going home.”

Before he could brace himself she went tearing off towards the factory, almost ripping the chain from his hands. He was forced to take a full run to keep up with her.

When they got to the fence he let go as she scrabbled over the top.

Falling off onto the other side with a thud, she looked at him expectantly.

The gate rattled open, as he walked through. He paused to ponder what to do with her now. He had hoped she would have changed back during the journey over, but her mutated form was locked in like a tick. She was also filthy, caked in a layer of blood and grime.

He led her to the back of the factory, practically having to push her onto the larger elevator. This was saved for when he had to transport larger scrap into the underbelly. But she should fit fine.

He took her to base level four.

Once there he hooked the chain to the wall, positioning her over some grates. She tugged at the bonds until she heard the sound of a faucet turning.

He came back brandishing an old rubber hose.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He said as he pointed the nozzle at her.

Heisenberg hosed her off, blood and mud washing away. The dirty water trickled away through the metal grates she stood over.

After he shut the water off, Juniper stood dripping and shivering. Her mane of dark curls, heavy and waterlogged, she resembled a drowned sheepdog.

“K-Ka….rl?” Her monstrous voice eked out. She pulled her twisted legs closer to herself as she shivered.

He frowned, “Yea, Yea…I know the water was cold.”

She gave a small whine like a dog, looking down.

“You should dry off soon, it’s warm here.” He soothed.  He made sure the ventilation system kicked on, forcing dry air though the lower sections of the factory.

He heard a hollow clinking sound, spinning around to find Juniper’s jaws biting at the large pipes. She pulled at them, shaking her monstrous head a bit.

“Hey!” Heisenberg shouted, “Don’t eat my shit!”

One of her many eyes flicked over to him as she continued.

He stomped closer, hearing a growl from deep in her chest.

“Hey!”

She paused for a moment, peering at him before starting to tug at the pipe again. He pulled on the chain, causing her to stumble back a bit with a whimper.

“Juniper, stop it!” He scolded her like a dog. She huffed.

He noticed the tendrils on her back began to recede, pulling into the bubbled flesh. Her scar also looks less angry.

Seeing her safe and starting to calm gave him time to think. Questions pooled around his head:

Miranda had to know Juniper could turn…but why was she testing the limits of it? Did she want to use her as a weapon or was it just more of her sick curiosity?

He didn’t know, but it made him feel sick. He hated seeing Juniper like this, twisted and bloodthirsty.

Seeing her start to get even a shadow of control over this form brought him some relief. If she could control it fully she’d be much less of a danger to herself.

Was it hunger related? Or just moon patterns, maybe?

The bloodmoon had definitely affected her much more deeply than any moon faze had prior. He scratched his beard, deep in thought.

[purplesauris]

A World In Monochrome

My brain is firing on like, almost all cylinders to pump out all of the sweet sweet ideas I obsess over. This one stemmed from playing the game and realizing that Cat causes total loss of color from Geralt’s sight until the potion wears off 

Enjoy it on AO3 here!

Geralt hated fiends. Well, he can’t say that with any honesty- for as brutal and base as they appeared, there was an elegance to them. They left people alone for the most part, content to wander their forests, caves or swamps, and only attacked if necessary. They were huge yet moved with incredible speed, and if necessary, their third eye opened, stunning and allowing them a chance to escape. To be compared to a fiend among friends was almost a compliment. 

What he hated most about them was how often they took him into caves; the dank, musty smell of old corpses and fiend dung clung to him for days after he’d finished the hunt, and he couldn’t carry a torch with him to light the cave. Not that he hadn’t tried when he was young and just set out on the Path. After too many times plunging into darkness without anything to light, Geralt prepared himself more carefully. Relict oil for his blade, Thunderbolt and Swallow on his belt, and Cat, choked down at the last minute to give himself all the time he needed. 

He hasn’t fought anything cave dwelling in a while, and isn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary when he takes his latest contract. Jaskier had wanted to bargain for a higher price, since this was Skellige and the fare back to Velen was expensive, but Geralt couldn’t. Mutation’s took all Witcher’s feelings people claimed, but his heart had gone out to Ohden, worried over his son, and he gave Jaskier a glance to keep him quiet. Jaskier hadn’t pushed, just hummed thoughtfully and thanked the man for his account of where to start. 

That was another thing that Geralt hadn’t expected. When Geralt told Jaskier he was headed to Skellige for the summer he fully expected Jaskier to disappear wherever he goes for the winter. Instead, he was met by Jaskier waiting on the docks, bag slung over his shoulder and lute clutched against his front. He’d only complained of seasickness in the first two days, and spent the rest of their trek across the sea singing bawdy sea shanties and learning new ones from the crew to delight whatever crowd he could find in Skellige. Geralt had spent his time making potions and sharpening his blade, sat atop a barrel to keep a sharp eye on the bard under his care. He tried to look casual, but half the crew gave him a wide berth and the others stared in open hostility. The only thing keeping them somewhat friendly was Jaskier and that magnetic charisma he seemed to exude. 

“Stay here.” Jaskier perked up at the sound of Geralt’s voice, then rolled his eyes. 

“Geralt, how am I supposed to tell of your exploits if I never get to go?”

“How are you going to if you follow me and die?” Geralt’s throat tightens at the thought, and his voice sounds particularly grating when he talks through it. “You’re staying here.”

“At least let me see you track. I’ve never seen that even!”

“No.” Jaskier gave him a look, blue eyes glancing up just so through his lashes, and Geralt’s heart gives a wild leap at that. He sighs wearily, rolling out his shoulders. “Fine.”

“Yes!”

“But-” Geralt silences him, eyes narrowing a bit. He hears Jaskier breathe in sharply, but finds him staring with that same eager intensity. “If I let you come, you have to promise you’ll run if I tell you.”

Jaskier grins, eyes sparkling, and bows low at the waist. “As you command, White Wolf.” 

Geralt finds someone to care for Roach while they’re away, and only has to narrow his eyes to ensure she’ll be taken care of and their stuff won’t be plundered. Skelligers are hardy, but even they know not to mess with a witcher, let alone Geralt. Geralt heads southeast, toward where Ohden had gestured to, and it isn’t long until he finds footprints. They’re from a male, that much he can tell, and that puts him on the right track. 

They hike in relative silence for a while, Geralt occasionally pointing out a footprint that Jaskier would be able to see and explaining when Jaskier seems lost on how Geralt is leading them. The dirt road becomes pebbly a couple of miles later, and it’s then that Geralt spots the crumbling castle ahead of them and smells blood. 

“Quiet.” Geralt hisses, Jaskier trying his best to stay as quiet as he can. Geralt’s silver sword slides free from his sheathe with nary a whisper, and he rolls his wrist, careful not to hit the bard behind him. He can hear breathing, heavy and bovine, and he creeps forward, Jaskier at his back. Geralt slips through a gap in a broken wall, nostrils flaring as the scent of decay and musk hits him. He holds out a hand, telling Jaskier to stop, and moves a bit further into the clearing of what used to be a courtyard. The ground near the south wall is saturated in blood, and flies buzz around it, grating to his ears. 

He straightens up a bit, casting a glance around; whatever caused the gore doesn’t seem to be here, and this is the best lead he’s gotten so far. Gravel crunches behind him and he whips around, Jaskier freezing as the sight of Geralt, pupils mere slits and nostrils flared. “Nothing then?”

“I told you to wait.” 

“Right, except I couldn’t see anything and I-” Jaskier’s eyes are pinned on the background behind him, and the hairs on the back of Geralt’s neck raise. His medallion hums angrily against his chest, and the sharp, eye watering scent of a fiend hits him hard. 

“GO!” Is all he can say before throwing up Quen, grunting as the barrier around him crystallizes and shatters, having effectively warded off the fiend’s first charge. He won’t have time for a second, and all he can hope is that Jaskier heeded his command as he dives out of the way of a second charge. It’s a narrow window at best, and Geralt rolls to his knees, throwing a plume of fire in front of him. He almost chokes on the scent of burnt fur, the fiend roaring and hopping back a couple of steps. Geralt downs a dose of thunderbolt while he has a chance, throwing the glass away. He can come back and hope it isn’t broken later.

He falls into the fighting as easily as breathing, spinning on his toes and grunting at the twinge that goes through his knee and up his thigh. So it’s going to be like that. He can ignore it for now, and a dose of Blizzard has his blood singing and muscles working double time as he whirls and dodges the blows that the fiend throws. The fiend seems slow as Geralt hacks at the black and white patterned hide, tiring with the effort of trying to hit a target that won’t stop moving. This fiend is old, Geralt can tell just by the scarred hide and brutal efficiency in which he goes after his target. 

Geralt can tell that the fiend is almost done for, blood oozing out of multiple cuts that regenerate before his eyes. He finds his opening when a well placed shot of Igni has the monster stumbling back, Geralt lunging to drive his sword through the beast’s skull. A flash of red catches Geralt’s attention, and he watches with a helpless kind of fury as the fiends third eye flares open, stopping his blow in its tracks. The fiend swings a meaty paw and sends him flying back into the wall of the abandoned keep, Geralt wheezing as the air is knocked out of him. His scabbards dig roughly into his back, sure to leave bruises later, but they might have just saved his spine. 

In the time it takes Geralt to stumble to his feet, gasping for air, the fiend has fled the field, out of the ruins. He’s off like a shot, following the scent of blood and decay and singed fur through the rest of the ruins and down the bank of the river. It’s there he finds a cave, reeking of gore and pitch black. 

“Fuck.” Of course he’s going to have to use Cat. He downs the potion as quickly as he can, not wanting to give the fiend more time to recover than is necessary. He skids down the rocky entrance as color leeches from his sight, every inch of the cave lit up in a murky haze. The fiend is crouched in the corner, tearing away at the entrails of some poor soul. This time the fiend won’t surprise him, and Geralt leaps onto the offensive, slashing a gaping wound through the beast’s left flank. It should slow the beast down enough, and Geralt is already leaping away when the beast roars and swings wildly behind itself.

Geralt dispatches it with another quick blow to the throat, silver blade digging in so deep that he lodges against bone for a moment. Geralt isn’t a fan of denting his blades, but the fiend has fought long enough, and Geralt just wants a quick end to the fight. He pants as the fiend twitches, crashing to the ground and eyes rolling sightlessly. One last blow ends the fiends suffering and severs the rest of the head- he’ll need it if he’s going to prove he killed the beast. A quick glance around the cave shows that this was definitely what was killing all of the travelers on the road, and though he can’t see it, he highly suspects that the lighter tone of the tunic he spies has to be yellow. He cuts a swatch to bring back with him, and drags the beast’s head up and out of the cave. 

                                                          -*-

Jaskier had scrambled to climb the ladder when Geralt had yelled for him to run. He’d noticed it earlier when they first came in, and figured height would be a good advantage against whatever had charged at Geralt. Watching the fight was better than anything Geralt could have described, and Jaskier takes it in with reckless abandon. The way that Geralt’s hair had flown about him as he spun, the sun glinting off his blade. The way that his shield, brilliant orange in the light had shattered after the first charge. 

He’s going to have the best ballad to write when they get back to town, and already a melody builds in his throat. He hums it while he watches, nervous to see Geralt go up against such an impossibly large foe. He trusts that the witcher knows what he’s doing, and he winces, gripping the craggy wall as Geralt crashes into it just below his hiding place. A normal man would have snapped his spine from the impact alone, but Geralt struggles to his feet and runs off, following the fiend wherever it fled to. 

Well, he can’t miss this, can he? Jaskier creeps down the ladder, stooping to pick up the vial Geralt had tossed aside earlier before plodding after where the two disappeared. He isn’t able to leap off ledges like Geralt can, so he has to pick his way down the side of the ruin and hope he doesn’t trip and fall. By the time he makes it down to the bank and follows Geralt’s footprints he can hear the dying bray and gurgle of a large animal. It comes from a cave in the hillside, and Jaskier is loath to go inside. Especially if it smells as bad as he thinks it will. 

“Right, uh, I guess I should get a bit closer…” The bard says, not moving an inch from where he’s standing, staring down into the pitch black of the cave. 

“No, you shouldn’t.” The voice has no owner for a moment, ragged and deep, and it takes Jaskier longer than he’d like to admit to recognize it. 

“Geralt? Are you alright? I’m coming in, let me just-”

“No.” Geralt’s voice is sharp enough to stop Jaskier in his tracks, and he wrings his hands together in a nervous habit. “Go back to town.”

“I can’t just leave you here, what if a-a bandit or something were to come?” There’s a rough chuckle, and Jaskier thinks he spies a lock of white hair, dyed pink at the ends by blood. “Geralt, come out? Please?”

                                                         -*-

Of course the bard had followed. Geralt had asked one thing, one thing of him, and wasn’t even granted that. He had hidden at least, because Geralt had no clue where he’d gone in the rush of the fight. He doesn’t want to step out into the sun, not while everything is too much, too bright, but the longer he stays down here the worse it’ll be to adjust. And the more likely it will be that Jaskier comes in anyway, despite the stench he knows keeps the man away for now. 

“Move.” Is all the warning the bard gets before Geralt tosses the head out of the cave, listening to the dull thud of its landing and the sharp yelp Jaskier lets out at the sight. He limps from the cave as his knee gives another sharp twinge of discomfort, hissing at the brightness of the sun filling his eyes. It blinds him- leaves everything in washed out shades of white and grey and he hates it. The wildflowers bunched around the rocky ground sway in the wind, but Geralt can’t see their true colors. He knows the stems should be green, the flowers a pale blue or white, given the local flora, but all he sees is three different shades of black and white. 

He hears a sharp intake of breath near where he tossed the head, and his body goes taut, attention snapping to the source of the noise. Jaskier stares at him, eyes wide and pupils blown wide within what Geralt knows should be blue irises. But they aren’t. They’re so pale they almost blend with the whites of his eyes, and Geralt’s heart drops into his stomach. Jaskier’s heart pounds a frantic, steady rhythm in Geralt’s ears, and his scent, usually so dominated by lavender, has taken on an edge of what Geralt can only describe as cloying spice. He isn’t sure what it means, at least for Jaskier, and he draws in another breath, trying to sniff discreetly, or as discreetly as a witcher hopped up on potions can. 

Jaskier reaches out for him then, to lend him a hand or- he doesn't know what- and Geralt flinches. He can see the hurt in Jaskier’s eyes, can smell the scent of dying roses on him, and he struggles to push words from a throat more ready to strangle him than talk. 

“Potions.” He looks at Jaskier again, eyes searching every inch of him for any sign of blood or injury, and grinds his teeth in frustration when he can’t differentiate the difference between what’s the stitching of his doublet and what’s the silky chemise underneath. They’re all the same color. 

“Oh.” Jaskier sighs out, breathy and soft, and that confuses Geralt more than his lack of color or his racing heart. “Do you need anything right now? Water, stitches?”

“Stitches?” He manages to mumble, taking a step back into the cave where it isn’t so damn bright. 

Jaskier’s lips quirk in a soft smile, and he shrugs. “I can’t see if you’re hurt. So, stitches?”

“No. White honey?” Jaskier winces, shooting Geralt a sympathetic look. 

“Back in the packs, I think. Should I go fetch it?”

The offer is tempting; Geralt’s heart is still racing and every nerve in him screams that Jaskier is an enemy and he can’t fucking see color, but he doesn’t want Jaskier to leave. Not with his humanity still crumbling within him as he tries desperately to hold himself together enough to talk. He closes his eyes, hoping that taking away one sense will help with the noise in his head, but he’s not sure anything will help right now.

“No. Gotta meditate.” 

“Well, come out of the cave then, I’m sure you’d rather not smell whatever it is that’s in there.”

“Bright.” He hears Jaskier chuckle, and the soft shuffle of fabric and leather creaking as Jaskier moves toward him. The thought makes him want to run deeper into the cave, where he can’t do anything that might scare the bard off, but something warm and reeking of lavender is being draped over his head. The light burning through his eyelids lessens immediately, and he gasps as Jaskier gently takes his hands. His grip is iron on Jaskier’s poor hands, but the bard doesn’t protest or pull away, just talks soft and low. 

“Do you trust me?”

Does he? He tries to think of all the reasons he shouldn’t trust the bard, but fails to come up with anything meaningful. “Yes.”

“How long till this wears off?”

“Couple hours, maybe more.”

“Okay. Let’s head back for the keep, it’s a bit safer I think. Can you carry the uh, head?”

Geralt nods, and Jaskier leads him over. Geralt can navigate by the scent alone, but he doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier if he can help it, and uses one hand to lug the head along by the horns. Jaskier leads him up the path he must have taken to get down, and settles him in the shade underneath a small ledge. He only lets go of Jaskier’s hand once he knows they aren’t going to move again for a while. 

“Okay, go ahead and meditate, I’ll keep watch and let you know if I see or hear something.” Jaskier goes to move a few steps away, but Geralt’s hand shoots out, gripping his wrist. 

“Stay here.” Jaskier’s heart gives a little stutter, but he laughs softly and settles down next to Geralt. It’s nice, Geralt decides, and though he doesn’t actually feel it much, he figures he has a right to complain. Blizzard has an apt name, both for making everything seem to go in slow motion, and for shooting ice through his veins.  “S’cold.”

“Fire?”

“Too noisy.” Jaskier hums for a second more before suddenly leaning against Geralt’s side. It’s near impossible to notice through the leather armor he wears, and must be wildly uncomfortable, but he can feel the heat seeping into him and his heart beats just a bit faster at their closeness. Jaskier being so close also drowns out any other scents around him, and slipping into his meditation is easier when he has one thing to focus on. It's also the closest that Jaskier has gotten to him in days, and he finds he misses the contact. He tries to shut out the noises around him, bouncing through his skull, but where Jaskier has settled them has created some kind of echo around him, and he grits his teeth. It might not be so easy after all.

Jaskier reaches for something, dragging it across the ground before the distinct sound of two metal clasps pops close by. A note is hummed, a string strummed, before Jaskier begins picking away in earnest. The song is new, one he's never heard before- or maybe he has? The melody picks at the edges of his brain, and he finds himself slipping into that trancelike state he was looking for. 

When he comes to a couple of hours later, dusk has fallen behind his lids, and he cracks an eye open experimentally. His heart and brain have calmed, and he doesn't feel nearly as cold as he did before. The potions have mostly worn off, except for the Cat, which should be gone in another half hour or so. He hopes.

For now, he'll just have to be content with the watery color bleeding slowly across his vision. Jaskier has stopped playing, lute tucked away, and has his jacket back on to ward himself from the cold. Now he scribbles in his notebook, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he concentrates on whatever he's writing.

"A new one?" His voice is rusty, and he clears his throat while Jaskier jumps, sitting up and clutching his book, cheeks red.

"You should warn a man you know, I could have done something drastic."

"Like what?" Geralt's lips quirk in a small smile, and he's glad he can somewhat recognize the teal of Jaskier's doublet again. Jaskier doesn't seem as amused, and pins him with a withering glance. "New song?"

He tries it again, hoping that showing interest will soften Jaskier's apparent anger. Jaskier regards him with suspicion for a moment more before sighing, nodding while also shrugging.

"I have a lovely new ballad coming, yes, but I was… drawing." Geralt hums low in his throat, nudging his companion and dipping his head toward the journal still clutched to Jaskier's chest. A silent question of can I see it? Jaskier hesitates, holding on a bit tighter before he sighs, holding it out for Geralt to take. "Don't laugh. Poetry was more my strong suit."

Geralt says nothing as he pulls off his gauntlets- they're covered in dried blood, and he doesn't want to ruin the page. Upon taking the journal and seeing what Jaskier has drawn, he almost wishes he had. It's a sketch of him, he can tell by the line of his jaw and the straightness of his nose, but he hates what else he sees. His eyes have been filled in with black, a spiderweb of inky veins creeping over his face and down his neck. His hands shake as he stares at himself immortalized in a state he never wanted Jaskier to see. He was too hopped up on potions to care at the time, but looking now, he feels his heart constrict. How could Jaskier touch him, sit beside him while he looked like this?

"Do you like it?"

"No." Shit, that's not what he meant to say. He glances up, can smell and see the hurt on Jaskier's face, and his throat tightens, strangling his words.

"Give it then, so you don't have to see it." Jaskier takes the book back quickly, closing it with a snap and standing up.  He grabs his lute case, slinging it across his back and pacing a few steps away. Ready to go back to town. Geralt struggles to his feet, his damn knee cracking painfully as he rises from his kneeling position. He has to take a second for it to settle before he can bear any weight.

"Jaskier-"

"Let's go, Geralt. I'm tired of being outside." He finds that hard to believe, seeing as they've only been out half the day, but Geralt doesn't know what to say and Jaskier doesn't want to hear it. Geralt follows him in stony silence, hoisting the fiends head away from the ground and wincing at the congealed blood that saturates the ground under it. It reeks. He's not sure how Jaskier could tolerate the smell, let alone sit by it for hours.

Geralt collects his reward from the grieving father and hands over the scrap of what he can now see is mostly yellow fabric. The man laments his son's fate, and Geralt can't do more than stand there and promise he was avenged. The man waves them off, wanting to be alone, and Jaskier heads off with a brisk comment about finding an inn for the night. Geralt goes to check on Roach and gather their things, wanting to give the bard time to cool off. He's brushing Roach down, sneaking her a couple sugar cubes when Jaskier comes to fetch him, leaning with his arms crossed against the doorframe. Geralt follows without complaint, refusing to let Jaskier carry his own pack despite the hand held out for it. 

The room in the inn is sparsely decorated, and there's only one bed, but a steaming tub of water waits for him, and his heart gives a strange leap. Jaskier’s doublet is off, tossed carelessly on a chair with his boots sitting nearby, and Geralt has to force himself not to stare at the dip of Jaskier’s chemise. "Bathe."

The command is rough, but Geralt complies easily, stripping himself out of his armor and the soggy clothes beneath before sinking into the water. Heat prickles uncomfortably at his skin, but he lets out a small groan and sinks a bit deeper. Jaskier perches wordlessly behind him, tugging the tie from his hair and working any blood out with whatever soap he'd managed to get from the innkeeper. It smells a bit stronger than Geralt would like, but he doesn't say anything. Maybe now he can try again, while he's relatively safe.

"It was nice." Well, that's a start at least. Jaskier's hands pause in his hair, nails digging in a bit too hard, but Geralt groans and leans up into the touch. Jaskier scratches along his scalp, nails digging in, and Geralt relishes the sensation. His vision is almost back to full color, and he stares at Jaskier's doublet, discarded on the chair. "The drawing."

Jaskier scoffs. "You don't have to lie."

"M'not. Just don't like seeing it. The monster." Geralt adds on the end, not wanting to fuck things up twice. Just saying what he feels makes his skin crawl, but Jaskier gives a soft oh, continuing to scratch at Geralt's scalp. 

"So you weren't insulting me then?" Geralt shakes his head, going still when Jaskier clicks his tongue. He begins scrubbing at the blood under his nails while Jaskier talks, needing something to pay attention to. "I thought you looked… Gorgeous, ethereal, effervescent- I could wax poetry about it endlessly.”

Geralt snorts, shaking his head, causing Jaskier to press his fingers in harder to keep him from moving. “Don’t. Don’t pretend.”

Jaskier scoffs this time, fingers tightening in Geralt’s hair and pulling until Geralt is straining to look back at him or risk his scalp. A hot wave of arousal washes over Geralt at the sensation, but all he does is grunt, looking back at the bard with a mixture of annoyance and hopefully- suppressed lust. Geralt notices, faintly, that his color is back completely as the two of them lock eyes, glaring at one another. 

“I’m tired of you telling me what to do and how to feel, Witcher.”

“What am I telling you to feel?” Heat creeps along Geralt’s spine, and oh he’s playing a dangerous game. Maybe those potions aren’t as worn off as he might have thought.

Jaskier looks at him, brow furrowed, and Geralt feels Jaskier’s grip in his hair loosen. He misses the sensation for an instant before Jaskier leans forward, pressing his lips to Geralt’s in an awkward, upside down kiss. It’s almost painful- Jaskier’s chin and nose dig into him at an odd angle, but his hands come up and out of the water instinctively to grip Jaskier’s hair, keeping him from moving away. Jaskier takes that as a good sign it seems, because he nips at Geralt’s lower lip before pulling back. Geralt doesn’t want to hurt him, ever, and he lets Jaskier go, breathing hard and pupils contracting to mere slits. He tracks Jaskier’s every moment, listens to the way his heart is hammering, that same cloying lavender scent oozing through the room.

Geralt leans forward as Jaskier moves around the side of the tub, a pale hand smoothing over his shoulder. He wants to know what’s going on, wants to ask Jaskier what he thinks he’s doing, but nothing escapes him other than a low growl. Jaskier laughs softly, almost mockingly, and leans forward to kiss the corner of Geralt’s mouth. The witcher moves faster than might be necessary, but just barely catches Jaskier before he leans back again. 

“Bard.” Geralt warns, voice vibrating with the steady growl that’s built up. Jaskier glances at him, eyes darting down to Geralt’s lips for an instant as a smug, self satisfied smile lights up his face. 

“Witcher.” 

“Say you want this.” Geralt’s mind moves slow, so slow that for a moment he fears he’s drunk off of the scent of Jaskier, so incredibly close yet just out of reach. He can’t think with Jaskier so close, grinning at him like he’s a cat who’s just gotten a delightfully fat mouse, and his fingers twitch on the edge of the tub. 

“I’ve never wanted anything more.” That’s all that Geralt needs, and he reaches out, snagging Jaskier by the hips and bodily hoisting him forward. Jaskier laughs as he slips against the edge of the tub, a hand splaying against Geralt’s chest. 

“You’ll ruin my clothes and the floor.” Geralt grunts, not caring, but Jaskier is undeterred. “Out.”

Oh, this is dangerous indeed. He groans, impatient, but Jaskier is already stepping away and tugging at the ties on his chemise. A moment of hesitation slices through the haze in Geralt’s mind, and he pauses in the water. Jaskier has seen him naked more times than he can count, but it’s different this time. This time, he’s allowed to look, and Geralt isn’t sure what to do with that thought. He’s waking up slowly from the raging of his heart, but Jaskier reaches out, fingers brushing under his chin and tipping his head up. He kisses Geralt slowly, luxuriating in the action and nipping gently at his lower lip. The small bit of pressure from Jaskier's teeth has Geralt gasping, and he stands up blindly, stumbling out of the tub as Jaskier continues kissing him. 

That one point of contact, their lips sliding against each other, is the anchor that Geralt clings to. His hands come up, fingers shaking before finding purchase on Jaskier’s shirt and gripping it tight enough that he can hear the fibers straining not to rip. Jaskier hums against his lips, hands sliding over Geralt’s chest and pushing him back and away from the tub. Geralt walks blindly, and every time he breathes, opens his eyes, the world is skewed with vibrant contrasts of color. Geralt’s calves hit the edge of the bed, and he tips back, dragging Jaskier with him and wheezing out a laugh as the bard lands on top of him. It feels good to have Jaskier’s weight on top of him, and he hardly lets him get far. He can feel Jaskier’s cock pressing against his hip, and he groans, glad it isn’t just him affected. Jaskier kisses him harder for that, and Geralt whines against his lips. 

“The potions.” Geralt hums, glancing up at Jaskier with half lidded eyes. His hair is a mess, lips red and cheeks redder, and the sight steals his breath. He props himself up on his arms, sighing when Jaskier settles astride his hips. “Are they still affecting you?”

“I don’t know.” He admits softly, humming when Jaskier leans to lay kisses along his jaw. He arches his neck, giving the man atop him more room to work and huffing when Jaskier drags his teeth lightly down his neck. “Why?”

“I don’t want to do anything if you aren’t in full control of yourself. Not unless we’d agreed upon it before, of course.” 

“It’s not like being drugged.”

“No, but how do I know this is because of sober thought?” Jaskier grinds down suddenly, and the friction of cloth against his bare skin has him hissing, hips snapping up of their own accord. Geralt chokes on a breath before glaring at the very smug bard atop him. 

“Don’t-” Jaskier laughs, kissing him in apology and lifting himself up a bit. Geralt is both grateful and infuriated, hands clenching into fists. He’s definitely more affected than he thought. “What did you mean, agreed upon?”

Jaskier looks at him, humming softly and shifting to sit back on Geralt’s thighs. It sends a shimmer of pain through his knee, but the sensation grounds him further, and he sits up fully. “Geralt, if I can be frank-”

“When aren’t you?” the bard pins him with a look and Geralt raises his hands, gesturing for him to continue. 

“I find you in all your witchery, black eyed glory incredibly attractive. I’m surprised you haven’t smelled it on me by now.”

“I don’t like to pry.” He can’t help himself now though, leaning a bit closer and taking a deep breath. He smells sweat, the lavender oil Jaskier uses, and most powerful, the sickly sweet, almost spicy scent of Jaskier’s arousal. “Really?”

“Really.” Jaskier shifts off his lap now, padding over to their packs and digging out clothes for Geralt. “So, get dressed before I decide to ravage you fully.”

Geralt catches the clothes as they’re tossed at him, flexing his thighs and steadying his breathing to calm himself down. He dresses slowly, skin hypersensitive and every sense trained on where Jaskier tidies up across the room. Now that the other man isn’t kissing him senseless Geralt takes a moment to think, and to admire him in full color. Jaskier catches him looking, but merely smiles and nods toward the bed. Geralt crawls under the covers at the silent request, and lays back, watching as Jaskier strips down to his small clothes and blows out the candles, leaving just the hearth for faint light and warmth. He crawls into bed and into the waiting arms of his witcher, pressing their legs together and grinning when Geralt loops an arm over his hips.

“Have I told you why I hate fiends?” Jaskier shakes his head before tucking under Geralt’s chin, cheek pressed to Geralt’s collarbone to feel the vibrations.

“Does it have to do with caves?” Geralt grunts, squeezing a bit tighter and reveling in the pleasant squeeze Jaskier gives back.

“Yes.” 

[handwrittenhello]

where the road then takes me

Prompt: Law of Surprise Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Renfri, Geralt/Renfri, Geralt/Jaskier, Jaskier & Renfri Rating: T Warnings: None Summary: When Jaskier runs into a pack of wild dogs while searching for his lost hen, he's lucky that Geralt is nearby to save him. But he has nothing to repay the witcher with except the Law of Surprise, and who do they find upon returning to the farm, but Jaskier's sister, Renfri, back early from marauding?

For @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo!

(ao3 link in reblog)

--

Jaskier, eighteen, had grand dreams.

They were little more than dreams, unfortunately, because seeing as how he and Renfri had grown up fending for themselves, stuck in a tiny village on the border of Creyden, he didn’t have much opportunity to go to school or learn to play the lute or anything, really, besides tending to the farm while Renfri got… freelance work elsewhere. That was all he cared to know about it—she would leave, and return home every couple of weeks with a decent bag of coin and blood-spattered clothes, which Jaskier would bitch about cleaning. She made enough for them to live, though not comfortably—Renfri had kept him fairly sheltered, but he knew that they were one of the poorer households in town.

Which was why Jaskier only dreamed of traveling the Continent, singing songs and weaving grand tales for the commonfolk. Instead, he was stuck here chasing down their old hen again, after the coop had blown down in the storm for the fourth time. Henrietta was a sneaky fucker, already gone by the time he woke up in the morning. He cursed but pulled on his boots and stumbled out into the cold morning air to look for her.

He cursed all the way to the edge of the forest, where she’d apparently disappeared into, judging by the tracks and the few scattered feathers he found. “Damned hen. Ought to just eat you and be done with it,” he muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around him before heading into the forest.

He followed her trail as the sun slowly rose, stopping when he heard barking in the distance. Fuck, he hoped that was the hunters’ dogs—he hadn’t thought to bring a knife to defend himself with. Whatever it was, he trudged onwards, because they couldn’t afford to lose a hen. Renfri would kill him if—when—she found out.

And then he heard it—familiar squawking, accompanied by those same barks, louder. He crept closer and saw exactly what he’d feared—a pack of wild dogs circled Henrietta, one of them darting in every so often to snap at her slashing claws. She was fending them off pretty handily, actually—Jaskier knew how vicious she could be firsthand.

But the dogs would no doubt attack in force soon, and then she’d have no chance. Without thinking, Jaskier picked up a rock and threw it at the nearest one, hitting it square in the nose. It recoiled and turned its attention away from Henrietta, which was exactly what he wanted.

Unfortunately, it turned its attention towards him, which was exactly what he didn’t want. “Oh, fuck,” he spat, and turned tail as the pack gave chase.

He dashed over tree roots and fallen logs, blind stupid terror coursing through his veins. He had no plan beyond don’t get caught—and he could only run for so long before tiring. He threw a glance backward and saw that they were gaining on him—and fast.

Not looking where was going, he was taken completely by surprise when he slammed into something hard, bouncing off it and landing with an oof on the mossy ground.

Dazed and still half-blind with fear, he didn’t even notice that he’d slammed into a person until they moved, stepping over him and taking on the dogs with an easy confidence, sword swinging with preternatural force.

Two swords, armor, incredible speed and fighting skills? As the man finished dispatching the last of the pack and turned around to reveal mutated cat eyes set in a heavily scarred face, Jaskier realized who the man was. He sucked in a sharp breath.

The witcher sheathed his sword, holding out a hand as if to calm Jaskier. “It’s alright,” he rumbled, voice full of gravel. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Jaskier picked his jaw up from where it had dropped. “I know that,” he answered, getting to his feet and half-heartedly brushing the dirt off himself. “You’re a witcher.”

“I am. Usually fight more dangerous things than wild dogs, though. Also don’t usually see unaccompanied kids running around being chased by them.”

“I had to get their attention somehow. Henrietta was—wait, Henrietta!” Jaskier, remembered, abruptly spinning on his heel and dashing back to where the pack had cornered her.

“Wait!” the witcher called from behind him, but Jaskier paid him no heed.

He was gratified to see that while he’d been running for his life, Henrietta had seen fit to begin making herself a nest right in the same spot. “Oh, aren’t we cozy?” he grumbled, creeping closer in an attempt to grab her. He was almost upon her when the witcher ruined it, crashing through the underbrush behind him and sending her clucking away just as Jaskier pounced.

Jaskier sighed and turned to face the witcher, who at least had the good grace to look a little guilty. The guilt soon disappeared, though, when Jaskier rounded on him and began to lecture. “Now look what you’ve done. It’ll take me ages to catch her,” he complained, watching as the witcher’s eyes grew incredulous.

“You risked your life for that scrawny thing?” the witcher asked, amused disbelief coloring his tone.

“That scrawny thing is probably the most valuable thing we own, so yes,” Jaskier snapped. He couldn’t stand it when out-of-towners looked at him like that, like he was a stupid farm boy who knew little more than dirt and chickens. Which, to be fair, he didn’t, but it wasn’t as if he wanted it that way.

The witcher’s face cleared to something more akin to understanding—thank the gods it wasn’t pity. “Then I suppose I owe it to you to help catch her,” he said, and in the blink of an eye he’d snatched Henrietta up. Jaskier accepted her into his arms somewhat stunned.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed to stammer. The witcher said nothing in return, and they stood there for a long, awkward moment, before Jaskier realized he was probably waiting for something. “Oh! I don’t—I don’t have anything to pay you with…” he trailed off, recalling all the old adages, that witchers never worked for free. Fuck. Renfri wouldn’t be home for days if not weeks still, and the only coin he had he needed to save for the market day after tomorrow.

The witcher began to speak—what it was he was going to say, Jaskier didn’t know, but he interrupted as an idea struck him. “But I can offer you the Law of Surprise!” he suggested, recalling the ballads of children promised to witchmen. “We’ve a bitch due for pups soon—perhaps we’ll return home and you’ll find yourself with a companion to warm the long nights on the road!”

“Hmm,” the witcher replied, but it wasn’t a no, so he figured that it probably meant he wasn’t about to be forced into the witcher’s debt. Humming, he led the way back to the farmstead, the witcher a silent, hulking protector at his back.

Once they arrived, Jaskier was quick to secure Henrietta in the barn, where normally there would be pigs, but now, after sickness had taken their only sow, there was only dust and hay and the occasional mouse. He left Henrietta to her mouse hunting and led the witcher to the cottage, throwing open the door, excited to see what surprise he might find.

“Jaskier, why the fuck have you brought a witcher home?” asked Renfri, perched on the table and cleaning underneath her fingernails with one of her many knives.

Jaskier paled. “Renfri! You’re—you’re not meant to be home yet,” he choked out.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” she drawled, eyebrows knitting together. Jaskier, helpless, threw a glance back at the witcher, who was wearing a thunderous expression. Shit.

“I—not in this case, no,” Jaskier said tersely. “Fuck.”

“Some welcome,” she said faux-calmly, hopping down off the table. Jaskier recognized the tenseness in her form that spoke of a predator preparing to pounce. Sure enough, she lunged a moment later, her knife held a half-inch away from the witcher’s throat. Jaskier yelped. “Did he hurt you, Julek?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the witcher’s face.

“No, nothing of the sort, now put that down,” Jaskier hissed, tugging ineffectually at her arm. “He saved me, in fact, and…”

“And?” Renfri asked lowly.

“…and I may have promised him the Law of Surprise in return,” Jaskier finished all in a rush, wincing. “I swear, Ren, if I’d known…”

“That’s the thing about surprises,” the witcher interjected. “But you needn’t worry. I have no plans to claim your—sister?” Jaskier nodded. “As I said before, I need no payment.”

Renfri lowered her knife, and Jaskier breathed a bit easier for it. Renfri was a formidable fighter, but Jaskier doubted even her strength against a witcher. If a fight had broken out, he’d have had to—well, not help, because he was rather useless in a fight, but it was the principle of the matter.

“I suppose I could do worse for myself,” Renfri mused, looking Geralt over critically.

“Wait you’re—Renfri, he said he wouldn’t claim you, you don’t have to.”

“And what if I want to?” Renfri answered. “He seems a decent sort. And not too hard on the eyes, either.”

The witcher, looking uncomfortable, stood there and said nothing.

Jaskier threw his hands up. “You’re insane. And you!” he said, turning to the witcher. “Are you agreeing to this?”

“The life of a witcher isn’t well suited to… companionship,” the witcher replied, face twisted. “Walking the Path is difficult.”

“And if I promise that I can handle myself?” Renfri asked, twirling her knife in one of the many tricks she was proud of. “I’m no stranger to the road. It’s Jaskier you’d have to watch out for.”

“I resent that,” Jaskier said mildly, mostly out of principle. But the prospect was too exciting to dwell on it for long—was Renfri truly proposing that they set out with a witcher? “Ren, do you mean it?”

“If your witcher is fine with it, then I don’t see why not,” she replied. “What do you say, witcher?”

“Geralt,” the witcher corrected her. “If we’re to travel together, you ought to at least know my name.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. It rolled off the tongue wonderfully. “Oh, this is so exciting! I’m going to write so many songs, just wait,” he gushed. “The Witcher and the Shrike—I can hear it now.”

Renfri pulled him out of his thoughts with a cuff to the shoulder. “Ow,” he said mildly. “Wait—you are planning on sharing, right?” he interjected. “Because, I mean, look at him.”

“Am I a toy to be shared among siblings?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that a no, you don’t want to sleep with both of us? Because I’ll respect that, I will, but also, not to objectify you or whatever, but dear gods please, I think my poor heart might break if I didn’t get to fuck you at least once.”

“Jaskier! Leave my Husband Surprise alone,” Renfri said, shoving him away. “Go get packed. Essentials only!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Jaskier placated, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t get up to anything while I’m gone, you lovebirds.”

As he left, Geralt turned to Renfri. “Is he always like this?”

“Yeah, he’s chronically stupid. Gets it from our father.”

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Don’t know, but it’s too late now. You’re stuck with us, witcher,” Renfri replied, looping an arm around Geralt’s.

Geralt made a show of sighing, but in truth, he wasn’t annoyed as all that. At least it would make life more interesting.

[uratowel]

Fear will fade but the fade is fear

Chapter 3:

The temple of the holy ashes was gone. Nothing from the once so imposing and exalted building that she had admired with fascination days prior was left anymore. The foundation was completely blasted, the nave as well as the adjoining buildings were razed to the ground. Occasionally you could find remainders of the once stately stonewalls, only now they looked brittle and charred like they were made of gray, bunred charcoal - a single touch and they would crumble into ashes like everything else. A thick layer of dirty ash, mixed with dirt and soot, covered the debris, the ruins, the floor and was still softly falling down on anybody nearing the rift. Just like freshly fallen snow, the ashes engulfed everyone and everything into a blanket, muffeling all the sounds - only thing you could hear was a disturbing loud crunch from the footfalls of the heavy armouread figures wandering about. If you found a spot where the wind was able to blew the covers away, all you would see was burned-black, dead earth. Looking around, the ruins, wreckage and shards scattered around within a radius of over a mile seemed like silent witnesses of what happend.

The temple now was only a mere fading memory of what it once was. The airy and wide hall, whose ceiling was supported by marble pillers, the noble cloisters, the shining white floor in which you could see yourself and which reminded you of a huge frozen lake in winter - all gone froever within the blink of an eye. And with it all the life in its vacinity. In the outskirts of the side, in between of all the debris you could find the bodies, or what may have been the bodies, of a handfull of the victims. There had been hundreds of people at the conclave - elfes, humans, dwarfes, templars, mages, clerics, innocent souls that were brutaly ripped out of their lifes. The corpes were twisted, burned beyond recognition and formed into bizarre sculptures of black and still smoking coal. The picture was horrifying but the smell was even worse. The biting stench of sulphur mingled with the heavy and sweet smell of melted grease and burned flesh... more than once Mara found herself on the verge of throwing up.

And as if the cruel sight of destruction and death wasn't bad enough, dark red stalagmites some as big as the storey of a building, some as small as the hilt of a sword, sprouted from every crack in the mountain and earth. Red Lyrium - an eerie and abnormal mis-product of nature, the mutated and malicious cousin of blue Lyrium. Supposedly the destructive might of explosion combined with the sudden death of hundreds veered it from the depth of the fade right into the waking world. The deeper they went into the ruins the more frequent and bigger the stalagmites became and the closer they got the louder became their song. It was a steady ethereal humming, like the sound when you circling the rim of a wineglass with your finger. This sound, no, melody was somewhat welcoming and pulling you in but it made Maras head swim, made her vision blur and her stomach nauseaus like beeing seesick. She didn't like it one bit.

"Maker be with us!" You could hear the murmured plea of some of the soldiers standing by. Their heads were hanging low and you could see their pale faces. Some of them were angry, others shocked and overwhelmed. Just like Mara but she had no time to linger on grief or fear - there would be time for that later. If there even will be a later for me.

The breach hung right at the center of what was once the temple of holy ashes. It was a huge, garish green billowing rift lingering in the midst of the empty space. From it the unnatural energy of the fade oozed out like thick vapour. Every so often the power discharged itself from the breach with foreboding electrical crackling and hissing. Everytime it happpened the mark in her hand flared painfully.

With a shudder Mara teared herself away from her hand and forced herself to take a look around the soon to be battlefield that now lay before her. Instinctively her hand grabbed the hilt of her weapon. She was relieved that the seeker had decided to free her from the handcuffs and, after some hesitation, had allowed her to fight with the swords she had found on the way. But even with the both of them fighting they had a really rough time going against all the enemies they encountered. Luckily for them they found some very reliable additional pair of hands on their way. Cassandra and Mara had to face one problem after the other. They were shot with projectiles made of green energy and where the debris had hit the ground, murderous demons and shades peeled themselfes from puddles of greyish green ooze. Shortly before they reached the forward camp, they heard fighting sounds coming from a ruin a bit further their way. Nearing it they found the source of it - in the middle of crumbled walls a small group of people was desperately fighting against a never ending flood of demons that emerged from a small rift. The fight wasn't going well for the defenders. Without thinking twice Cassandra had jumped down the small drop the two of them had been standing on and stormed across the yard sepearting them from the fighters - with a shake of the head but a smile on her face, Mara sprinted right after her, drawing her swords slamming them into the first enemy that had barred her way. Less than a minute later the demons were gone. That had been the point things had become... lets say weird or weird-er.

"Quickly before more come through!"

Suddenly everything happened at once. Someone grabbed her marked hand and yanked it towards the rift. She barely heared the words the person had spoken. The second her hand had been raised the mark somehow had connected to the rift, building a sickly green sizzling bond between them. The feeling was highly uncomfortable - her hand and arm felt like burning, she felt a sharp pain throughout her whole body, a ringing in her ears, a strange power pulling on her. For a second it felt like the rift would suck her in but she withstood the pull and instead concentrated on the energy connecting her to the rift. Right in that moment she became very aware of energy flowing between her and the fade. With all her willpower she commanded it to SHUT THE FUCK DOWN! Then, suddenly, the connection broke apart, the rift flared one last time and imploded with a dull blast wave, knocking her back a few steps. Mara had felt lightheaded and wobbly on her feet but to her relief the pain had subsided and all that had been left was the steady thrumming of the energy she could feel surging through her hand. She had stared at the mark in confusion, then at the person standing right next to her. They only had smiled at her and had answered her unspoken question with a gentle nod. Maras eyes had widened in realisation. She had done it, she had closed a rift.

After everyone had calmed down Cassandra introduced the man next to her as Solas. The elfen mage had been the one pushing her arm and telling her how to close the rift. It seens as he knows quite a bit about the fade and the veil. According to the seeker he also was the one taking care of her after they had found her. While she was out cold Solas had barely left her side, tending to her wounds and studying the mark. Seemingly the insight he could gather led him to belief that the mark in her hand and the energy seeping through the rifts are similar and thus the mark could have the ability to manipulate the fissures of the veil. Luckily for them Solas' theory has proven to be right. If she concentrated on the power in her hand and forced it towards the rifts she somehow was able to close that damn things. She might not know exactly how it worked but at the moment the HOW was irrelevant. What mattered was THAT she was able to help.

Besides Solas a dwarf, who introduced himself as Varric Tethras - rouge, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong, joined their group. He was a man full of sarcasm, witty remarks, questionable vim and an impressive display of chest hair. Oh, and lets not forget about his companion Bianca - love of his life and deadly precise crossbow. Mara decided the moment they met, that she would like Varric.

After that they managed to get to the forward camp without bigger trouble where they were greeted by a frowning Leliana and a very unfriendly clerc, named chancellor Roderik who both had been in midst of an argument. Unfortunatedly, Mara somehow managed to get herself involved into said argument partly because of her unwelcome presence and partly by reminding them that there is a bigger problem than her presence. Then, all it took was a little flare of her mark and she had become the center of attention and suddenly had been pressured to decide on their next move. Sadly, it had been a lose-lose situation: A) Take the remote mountain path which would be the saver route and they could possibly save the lifes of a missing scout squad but it would take a lot of their non-existing time and cost the lifes of the soldiers who would pose as a distraction. B) Continue on the direct path to the breach and fight alongside the soldiers which would spare time and thus save the lifes of many soldiers on the field but would also abandon the scouts to their fates and put Mara and the others into higher risk of dying themselfes. Eventually Mara decided that time was the crucial factor and, as cruel as it seemed, people would die either way. As much as she would've liked to rescue the scouts, their fate was unclear and the chances of finding them alive seemed too small. The chances of saving more lifes altoghether the sooner she closed the breach had carried more weight at the moment. So, Mara decided that they should join the forces and rush to the breach as fast as they could. Unsurprisingly not everybody was happy with her decision but they had been in kind of a hurry with no time to think of an option C that could have made all of them happy. Leliana seemed like a resonable person and would get over it with time. I mean, she could've just commanded us to use the path through the mountain instead of dumping the resonsibility on me.

Mara could understand why they made her choose. There were the obvious reasons Solas and Cassandra had mentioned, sure, but there was also another reason. She was their bad guy. It didn't matter if the people hated her because of her decisions - because they already did. Even if her choice of action would turn out to be a sucess the poeple won't suddelny praise her and forgive her that she may or may not be responsible for the events at the conclave. Best case, it could be a first step to make amends because they start to consider her story to be true. Worst case, they still vote for her to be hanged because they still don't belief her and dismiss her actions as petty attempt to deceive. In the end, it didn't matter, she promised to help those people and she indented to do so, no matter what.

Mara took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment to calm her nerves. I. Can. Help. All I have to do now is close that damn big one over there. Piece o'cake, right? She opend her eyes and examined the area around her, giving that big green gush infront of her a wary look. After fighting even more demons and fade creatures back to back with the remaining soldiers and closing two other, smaller rifts they had made it to the breach - partialy hurt but still in one piece. Together they managed to clear the path of enemies and rifts with only minor losses on their side. Now, that the path was secure the backup from the forward camp was able to easily close ranks. Now the destroyed temple premises were figuratively swarmed with soldiers and additional voluntary hands.

Besides these people there was their quartett, consisting of Cassandra, Varric, Solas an herself, and Lelilana together with two squats of archers. Leliana herself was equipped with a neat longbow which was swung around her back and a quiver full with arrows at her side. She and her archers positioned themself on the elevated areas around the clearing. Mara watched them ready themself and she was bound to notice that in the long run the marksmen would have way too little arrows. That was not the only thing concerning. The soldiers may all wear armor and weapons but they were a potpourri of different sets and the quality was... mediocre. Well,it was not as bad as it might sound. As far as she could tell, most of them actually knew how to fight - on a reasonably trained level - and even if not, all those fighters were brave und determined men and women who they did their damnest to fight against their fears and whatever was coming. When everything would be over they would celebrate, drink and sing as the heroes they undoubtedly are and praise the names of the fallen. Mara envied them for that.

Way down on the soon to be battlefield she watched the soldiers running around to take their positions. As small group of them had gathered around an outstanding figure. A tall and broad man with straw blond hair yelled orders and gestured them where to go. He wore a crimson red coat with a big, dark fur collar that covered most of the heavy silverite armour he wore underneeth. At his side dangled a lether sheeth with an impressive longsword inside and a silverite kite shield was fastened to his back.

He looks so different now. Mara grinned a little to herself. Where's he hiding that ridicious lion helmet of his? She couldn't see it anywhere near him. Maybe he wasn't very fond of waering the helmet at all? It seemed excessively ostentatius, needlessly pretentious and highly impractical - to her at least. He just could've worn a simple silverite helmet without loosing any of his authoriative aura. Or he was just indifferent about it or, maybe he even enjoyed wearing it? Eitherway it didn't seem to hinder him in his ability to fight. Mara had to admit that, even despite the helmet, the Commander was quite the impressive figure both aside and inmids the battlefield. A fact that came not only from his outstanding appearance but also from his formifable skill as a fighter. The way he moved and fought on the battlefield and the way he commanded made clear that he had seen his fare share of battles in his life.

Feeling suddely self-conscious Mara gave herself a quick once-over and had to surpress a heavy sigh. She was still wearing the armour she usually wore while she was traveling. It consisted of a short breastplate, a thick special leather gambeson and a pine green tabart beneath it (the breastplate was affixed to the thick leather front of the gambeson and the back had various small metal plates embedded in it), light silverite pauldrons and vembraces, thick leather gauntlets, tight leather trousers, lether boots and metal greaves and, if she had to, a helmet. She always liked her armor to be as light as possible to not restrain her mobility but still heavy enough to ensure good protection. She was well aware that there were spots on her body the armor did not or rather only partially cover, like her back, thighs and her neck. But she was quick and agile enough to avoid hits to exposed areas and avoided having enemies at her backside.

Normally Mara did take care of her equipment as best as she could. She made sure that the single parts and especially the bindings were in good shape and even tried to maintain it as clean as possible. Sure, her armour hadn't been all shiny and new or impressive but she had worn it with confidence and pride. Every new mark has been a silent witness either to her achievements in battle or to the journey of her life - it has been part of who she was. Now her armour was all grimy and stained with goo, sweat and blood. The breastplate was completely dented and scratched, some of the clasps were broken and the whole gambeson has suffered some severe damage. Besides the demage she was missing her left pauldron and gauntlet as well as her helmet. She barly recognized her former self. Gone was Mara Trevelyan, representative of the esteemed Trevelyan family. Gone was Mara Trevelyan, the proud and respected soldier. What was left was Mara, disgraced prisoner and main suspect of killing hunderets of people by blowing up a whole temple. Mara crincled her nose in disgust and grimaced at the thought that occured to her. I guess my armour fits me quite perfectly then, isn't it?

Mara was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the person approaching her. She startled as someone laid a their hand on her shoulder and squeezed frimly. She jerked her head around to find Cassandra stepping into the space besides her. The seekers gaze was stern and fierce while she was starring up to the sizzling green crack in reallity a few yards away.

"This is our chance to end this! And yours. Are you ready?" Cassandras voice was as ferocious but also filled with hope.

Am I ready? Duh. I don't know what this mark in my hand really does, how I got it or how it works. I rather use it out of pure instinct. Nobody knows if the mark is going to work with the breach as it did with the small rifts before. Everyone can sense that there will be some kind of attack from these demonic creatures but nobody knows how many enemies there will be - and if we can defeat them. Acually, nobody has a damn idea of what happend or what will be happening, so... NO, I am NOT ready. Seriously, can anybody really ever be ready for shit like THIS? On the other hand - nobody CAN be ready for this. Seeing it like this, I'm already the most ready I can really get, sooo... Fuck it. I'm ready to kick some ass. Let's do this!

Maras lips turned into a lopsides smile as she could feel a well-known prickling and tightness spreading from her chest. There was tension, anticipation, impatience and also fear. Together these feelings were forming an almost wild beast that was rageing inside her chest. It was relentless and it would break free as soon as the storm of battle would close in on them. For some, this feeling would be unsettling but for her it was welcome like an old friend. She was positively thrilled. Mara looked at the seeker and gave her a confident nod.

"As ready as can be. As long as you got a plan to get me up there 'cuz I don't think I can reach the breach from down here."

"Breach IS a long way up." Mara and Cassandra both turned around to see Varric approaching them, his eyes following the shining green column of light up into the darkend sky. Cassandra frowned and growled at her tagalong.

Cassandra opend her mouth to give them a retort but was interrupted by Solas. The elven mage appeared from behind a near wall right after Varric. His face looked pale an calm but his eyes shone. "Yes. You can not seal the breach with your mark."

"What? What is that supposed to mean?" Cassandra closed in on Solas; her eyes ablaze and voice low and growling.

Solas didn't flinch. He kept his unnerved composure and just shurgged. "This rift was first. And it is the key. Seal it and perhaps that seals the breach." He said as a matter of fact and made a protruding gesture towards were the green energy hovered above the charred ground.

Mara took a step closer to the stone railing before her and looked down. Of course Solas was right and Mara metally facepalmed herself for not noticing that herself. If you examinded the whole breach closely you could see that the greyish green stream of unnatural energy errupted from a sickly green crackling and rumbling gash in the vail between two worlds.

Upon absorbing the sheer dimension of that first rift and the inevitable danger that it entailed, she could't help but feel the beast inside her chest getting eager to be set free. The impatience inside of her rose minute by minute. But she had to play it cool. No one of the others needed to know about her pugnaciousness. Mara took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Well, perhaps sounds good enough. Like you said seeker 'this is our chance'." She mimiced Cassandras gesture from earlier and squeezed her shoulder firmly while searching the womans eyes for a reaction.

Cassandra locked eyes with Mara and nodded before she shared that determined look with their two companions "Then let's go down and finish what we came for." The seeker turned on her heels and briskly walked towards the way down.

Mara, Varric and Solas followed shortly after the seeker. To reach the rift they had to descent about one storey, down to the floor that once was the great hall of the temple with a now shattered statue of Adraste in its center. Unfortunately all the stairways down had been destroyed due to the explosion. The only path down was a rather steep ramp on the opposite side of the hall.

Half way around the preimeters of the hall and through a forest full of debris, strange rock formations and of course stalagmites of red lyrium Mara suddely felt sick. Her vision blurred and a newly surge of pain flooded her body and made her head feel like a qunari smashed it with a huge hammer. She stumbled and stooped in her tracks to regain her composure and willed the pain to go away. And here I thought I was gettin' used to being hit with fade energy... That was when she heard it. A distant yet loud and clear voice, deep and contorted with a dark rumbling.

"Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice."

Mara scanned the area but couldn't find the person speaking. This was odd. It seemed like the voice was coming from... the breach? That was impossible. Next to her she saw Varric throwing the clusters of red lyrium disgusted looks while Cassandra came jogging back to them. She looked as startled and confused as Mara was.

"What is this? What are we hearing?" The seeker asked no one in specific.

Solas' eyes wanderd over towards the breach while he thoughtfully rubbed his chin. His calm and low voice almost sounded scarier than that otherworldy one they just had heard. "At a guess: The person who created the breach."

"Keep the sacrifice still!" - "Someone help me!"

Another bodyless voice, the voice of a woman, reverberated from the ruins of the temple. Cassandras jaw dropped down and her eyes widened upon realising whose voice they heard. "That, that is Divine Justinia!" there was no room for mistake. But who is the other person then? What had they done to the Divine?

"I have a strange feeling about that. But we should get down there already and see whats going on." Mara felt dizzy and a strange sense of impending danger and sudden alertness made the tiny hairs on her arms and her neck stand up.

Right before climbing down the slope to the lower level the mark in Maras hand flared again. This time the agony that washed over her was at a much more tolerable level so that she didn't have to stop in her tracks. She slided down the ramp as gracefully as she could and almost sprinted towards the evil green. Again, they heard Justinias desperate plea for help.

"Someone! Help! Please!" - "What's going on here?"

Wait a moment, was that... "That was your voice!" Cassandra shouted. Indeed it has been Maras own voice she just heard. What the hell? Damn it. Why can't I just remerber already? Just as if the maker had heard her the moment the group stopped infront of the massive rift its energy flashed in a bright green light that engulfed the whole area. Mara instinktively shut her eyes closed, covered her face with her right arm and ducked away from the outburst.

Slowly, hesitant Mara opened her eyes. She had to blink a few times as she rightened herself and tried to see what just had happened. The air around her was wafting like it would on the most hottest days of summer. But there was no heat, in fact the temperature kind of felt like it had dropped a few degrees instead. She turned around herself and imedeately stumbled a step back as she found herself looking in her own face. "What the..." was all Mara mumbled. The other She had just slammed open the doors to the great hall and rushed into the non-existing room - right throughout Mara. She froze in space and sucked in the air sharply. I'm fine, I'm fine. Fuck the maker, that was wired. Let's never do that again.

"What's going on here?"

Mara spun around on her heels to see herself stopping infront of the Divine Justinia. The picture that enfolded itself infront of her was cruel and distressing. The holy mother was captured and held in the air by what must have been magic. Her feet dangleing a foot above ground and her arms were streached apart like she was crucified. She turned her head as far as she could and looked at the other Mara in panic.

"Run while you can. Warn them!" The Divines voice was hoarse from screaming.

But instead of herself immediately leaving, a telltale deep growling emerged from somewhere to her right. Both Maras turned their heads towards the sound and that was when they saw it.  A huge, faceless figure of black smoke with burning dark red flames were the eyes were supposed to be stepped from the fade.

"Ahh. We have an intruder. KILL HER!" It shouted furiously.

Its deep, contemptuous voice morphed into an angry and loud rumble that echoed in her mind and made her ears ring. Her temples throbbed vigurously and her head felt like someone reached right through it, grabbed her brain and squeezed real hard. It almost felt like her mind was strenuously trying to dig deeper into her memories but couldn't. Something, a barrier of sorts was effectively blocking its attempts and causing her headache in return. Strangely enough though, Mara wasn't too frustrated about that. Even if she still couldn't remeber the event that has been revealed or anything else for that matter, she felt so, so relieved. She had been there, at the conclave with the Divine but it hadn't been Mara who attacked her. No, she had been there to help Justinia and it seemed the Divine had trusted her. She was the good guy. But then again, who was this angry creature that had orderd her death? There was no doubt that it has been responsible for the destruction of the temple, the explosion that killed everyone but her. What or who was it? Why did it do it and how? Who are its collaboraters? How many henchmen does it have? Are they still alive? Is IT still alive?

C'mon strange fade vision, show me more! Wait! No, no, no, no, no...

This time she could feel it before it happened: the energy rushing through her arm, the tingling of her skin, the numbness in her fingertips and the burning pressure that accumulated in the palm of her left hand. On instinct Mara snapped her eyes shut and threw her arms up in the air. The mark in her hand errupted with green energy at the same time as the illusion before her shattered in a nova of dazzling bright light.

"Damn." Mara muttered under her breath. She open her eyes and as her eyesight recovered Mara turned around to find her companions standing only a few steps behind her. Cassandras mouth was wide agape and her face wore a shocked and confused look. Their eyes met and the seeker decidedly strode up to Mara.

"You were there! Who was this, who attacked? And the Divine, is she...? Was that vision true? What have we been seeing?" There was urgency in her voice but also bitterness and fury.

Mara slowly shook her head in an apologetic manner. "I'm sorry, seeker - Cassandra. I don't remember." She spoke in a calm, almost soft tone.

"Echos of what happened here." Solas walked up to the other side of Mara, reliably filling in their gaps in his sober fashion as if what just happened was the most obvious thing. "The fade bleeds into this place. This rift is sleeping. It is not sealed, but it's closed - albeit temporarily. I am sure now that with the mark, the rift can be opened again and then be sealed properly and safely." With a smooth motion the elf reached behind him, grabbed his staff of his back and propped it onto the dusty ground, causing the fine black sand and ashes to swirl around the base of his staff. "However, opening the rift will likely attract some attention from the other side." The corners of his mouth tucked up into a sad smile as his gaze wandered away from the rift to meet her and Cassandras eyes. The look on his face was meaningful. He knew what was about to happen - they all knew.

Cassandras features hardened and you could almost see her whole body tense. Mara could feel it as well: anticipation was rising, her heart began beating faster and faster and she could practically hear the rushing of her own blood. Finally the time has come for her to seal that marker forsaken green bleeding wound, to save all those people from all the monsters and bring them a little bit of peace. And maybe fighting for the sake of all those people, fighting in their name was destinys way to show Mara her purpose? Was this her fate? Was it predestinated to her to be at the conclave, to be the sole survivor, to burry that mark so that there would be a tool to close the rifts? Was this a fate she could accept? What about Marcus? Was it possible that a person could have more than one fate? Anyway, fate or not was a question for later, if she survived this - maker be damned she would survive this or Marcus would kill her. No, all she had to do now was to seal that one fucking rift and kill some demons. She could do that.

Mara took a deep and long breath and slowly exhaled to tame her exitement when a saying her uncle told her popped into her mind 'Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing'  It may sound precocious, but felt fitting non the less.

Mara smiled to herself. She unsheathed her weapons, locked eyes with Solas, Varric and Cassandra and with one last nod to the seeker opend the gates that barred that restless beast inside her chest.

to be continued...

-------------------------------------------- 

read on AO3:

Fear will fade but fade is fear (english) or

Angst ist nichts, Nichts ist Angst (deutsch)

Anyway, love your faces. Stay save everybody

Your UrAtowl aka Chullia <3

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Teeth

Tags:  @salamancialilypad  @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee  @ashintheairlikesnow   @haro-whumps   @moose-teeth @vickytokio​ @yet-another-heathen​ @orchidscript

@finder-of-rings

Chapter 5

CW: detailed description of intense stab wound pain (to the arm), fighting for their lives against giant spider, it as a pronoun in a very brief flashback, blood, powering through pain,

Sahars blood thrummed in his ears like drums heralding disaster.

Adrenalin spiked blood rushed through his veins.

His muscles twitched.

Every fiber of his being buzzed electric.

With feet barely connecting to the soft forest ground, Sahar felt trapped in the worst kind of flight.

The kind that had driven him through dark alleyways, reduced to prey running from its predators in a cage the size of a city.

He’d sworn to never forget the lesson he’d learned, back then. When the little boy he’d saved had ratted him out and sicked a seething horde of citizens onto him.

It had been a warm night back then, too. Like and unlike today in so many ways. 

Only that today, he knew how to fight. To defend himself. He was no longer a scrawny eight year old, trying to save a neighborhood kid from some angry teens, mouth running a mile a minute, words tumbling from his tongue, trying to sooth, to deascalet. But words hadn’t been enough, between them and their rage against a world that had banished them behind fences, trapped them in Berlin's slum. Words had done nothing against their butterfly knife. And it had sunk into his arm as they stabbed him, sliced through skin and muscle and planted a searing pain under his skin. His mutation had gone off, outside the safety of his mothers apartment and for all the world to see. What had followed, had been pure terror. 

That night had never stopped breathing down his neck, lurking around dark street corners or whispering from beyond his locked bedroom door.

Get it! I saw it dive behind a dumpster! Up the street, the little pest ran into the carpentry. Fuck, fuck we lost it. No wait! There, there it is. It jumped into the river! Then let it drown. Or drift outside the city. It’ll die there anyway.

Haunted, wide eyes flitted over the trees, nearly expecting a hate and fire spewing crowd to break out from between them at any moment.

Bitter fire taste burned on his tongue.

Sahars foot caught on a branch and he slammed into a flower stem. Hard enough to jostle him out of his vicious memory storm.

A painful dull throb pulsed through his shoulder. Nothing compared to a knife buried in his right arm, but enough to let his consciousness snap back into the here and now. Back into his shuddering body. Back between giant leaves and flower petals that rustled in the warm evening breeze. 

Sucking in a shaking breath, Sahar felt the axe’s weight in his hand. Heavy as the burden of his conscience. His panic subsided, morphed into something akin to stubborn righteousness.

No.

No matter what had happened back then, he’d done the right thing in saving that boy. And he would do the right thing now!

Even if it meant the whole village would find out. Even if Charlotte would hate him.

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he turned his back on them. If he’d let them die while he hid like a coward.  

Not if he could do anything about it.

“You you you can do this. You’re no no no damn child anymore.”

You have an axe now.

An axe to slay an insect. The idea was hysterical, really.

An axe to turn a monster into a hero, maybe?

He ignored that small hopeful whisper, shoved it back deep inside the hole it had crawled out of and ran.

 Sahar nearly lost his balance as he dodged a branch, speeding down a mossy root right towards the clearings edge.

Children’s screams, shrill with terror, echoed from below, cutting through the forest’s silence like a rusty knife. They were so loud Sahar nearly missed it in between the first seconds of shock and his thunderous heartbeat.

This rattling, bone chilling hiss, biting and burying itself deep into one’s very core.

Every hair on Sahar’s body stood. Electrified with fear.

Could it be?

His chest crashed into a thick vine of ivy before he could react or bring his feet to a halt on his race down the slippery root.

Grabbing blindly for the vine, somersaulting thoughts scattering every which way, Sahar caught  himself somehow, avoiding a fall down the rocky hillside and meeting certain death as a graceless heap of flailing limbs.

Chest rose and fell with every shuddering breath. He allowed himself to just hang there, hidden within the thick ivy leaves, fighting to get his shaking legs back under control.

The axe’s handle threatened to slip from his clammy fingers and Sahar gripped on tighter, forcing himself to peer through the thick foliage.

A few feet under him, it’s pulsing hairy abdomen turned his way, it stood.

A giant wolf spider.

Its jaws rubbed together in endless agitation, creating this god awful noise.

Sahar wished he could scrub it off his skin.  His fingers twitched, rubbing frantically over the smooth wooden handle, as he stared and stared and stared.

Charlotte and the children had encircled the beast somehow, yelling and throwing whatever they could find on the clearing’s rocky ground at it in a desperate attempt to confuse it, keep it from attacking.

So far it seemed to work.

Whenever the beast's eyes looked onto someone, the kids from behind it would hurl stones and mushrooms at its back, forcing the spider’s attention onto themselves.

Its long thorny legs crashed into the ground, kicking dirt and gravel everywhere in its furios thrashing.

That’s when Sahar saw it. Its eyes. He hadn’t noticed at first, between all the movement and blue luminescent mushroom pulp dripping of its body.  But one of the spider’s eyes was missing.

The head hunter’s spider!

The controlling device, still rammed deep into its ugly head, had stopped blinking.

The machines malfunctioning must hurt. 

No wonder that thing is all over the place.

This was Sahars chance. Hurting, distracted and one eye short, the spider shouldn’t notice him. Not if he came down from above.

Clutching the Axe in both sweaty hands he raised it far above his head. And jumped.

Air rushed past his ears. A storm of raging blood roaring from inside, crashing through his head and drowning his every thought.

There was only gravity left.

Gravity pulling on his limbs, drawing him down faster and faster towards inevitable eight legged death.

But he fell too fast for all the thoughts and fears of disaster to possibly catch up to him. Utterly focused, for the first time in his life, every other thought, the fabric of reality itself ground to a halt.

The only thing still moving were the flexing muscles in his arms and the spider. Abdomen pulsing with its erratic heartbeat. If he could hit that, split the soft flesh there and spill all its blood and guts on the rocky earth, everyone else would live.

The muscles of Sahar’s stomach pulled tight, transforming his body into a bowstring ready to launch.

The children’s surprised shrieks faded to background noise. His biceps bulged, feet drawing closer, his whole body readying for impact.

When suddenly, a pebble, small like a penny, came free from the sole of his heavy work boots. And dropped. Hitting the spider mere seconds before he would. But for vicious instinct carved from hard moving flesh, seconds were more than enough.

The world narrowed to a flash of glistening lidless eyes and pain as a leg, heavy like a tree trunk, bashed him into the hillside. Sahar’s spine lit up in agony. Pain spread through his arm like wildfire. It took everything in him to keep it from exploding.

Just let it. Let it. Don’t waste your time holding back!

No! No no no no, I can’t.

I’m scared.

“Sahar!”

Charlotte’s shriek cut through the storm of his mind, a lighthouse siren guiding all his scattered thoughts in one direction. His eyes snapped open, met midnight black teeth, sharp like daggers and dripping poison. The creature towered over him. Its liquefied promise of pain dripped to the ground.

Sahar’s body felt heavy, a disconnected breathing stone, teetered to the hard earth.

“Sahar! For fucks sake move!”

His limbs had forgotten how to obey his commands. A silent scream existing solely behind clenched teeth. The neurons in his head all failed to fire.

My Axe? It’s gone!

His eyes dropped from the spiders clicking jaws, searching frantically between its thorny legs. As if that thing would do him any good now.

Not against this seething monstrosity.

Dirt danced under its body, swirling up with every shuddering gusts of hot air exhaled through the breathing holes along its abdomen, so hidden under its body Sahar would have missed them if he wasn’t practically cowering under that thing.

He could see children’s legs storming off to safety, scattering and disappearing in between bushes and behind mushrooms. Their bluish glow grew stronger with every second of fading daylight.

Good.

At least he had been able to save them, before-

“I said. Move!”

Charlotte charged at the spider, pale fingers wrapped around the Axe in a death grip. Debris crunched under her shoes, flying every which way.

The weapon swung back into a wide arc, twisting her whole body with the force of her attack.

There was a visceral sort of grace to her, in that moment, in the flexing of her muscles, in the way her soft pink lips twisted back into a snarl, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth.

She was fury incarnate.

Her conviction alone seemed enough to strike that beast down.

It jerked its abdomen high into the air, stubby spinnerets twitching, the only warning before it fired. A wave of white glistening silk erupted from its silk glands, hardening as it flew towards Charlotte. The force of the impact knocked her backwards and she crashed down, fighting for balance on one knee.

Only her head and right arm remained spared from the silvery, hardening restrains that bound her to the ground.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

The Axe’s blade barely left a dent in the silk as Charlotte struggled to cut herself free one handed.

Terror held Sahar’s heart captive, had it flutter and beat with all its might, trying to escape anxiety’s iron grip.

He watched in horror as the spider turned towards Charlotte, its remaining seven eyes flashing green in the mushroom’s glow.

Its mighty body tensed, a barely there tremble rippling through pulp splattered legs. The hiss of slowly opening jaws rung over the clearing, shrill like funeral bells.

“No!”

Finally, Sahars legs moved. Launching him forward with the force of a slingshot projectile. 

A gust of breath brushed his left shoulder, warm and surreally alive, as he dived past the spider's abdomen and dashed towards its mouth.

Its hairs tickled the crown of Sahar’s head.

Poison slicked fangs flashed in the last rays of dying daylight as massive jaws moved. Opened. Struck down. 

A tooth burrowed deep into Sahars right arm, slicing skin and muscle like a glowing knife would butter. He felt something hard crack and splinter inside him, felt the resistance and inevitable give of his bones as the fang pierced through.

Excruciating agony exploded in his arm, threatened to devour him whole.

His body’s torment broke free with a deafening crack.

The cells of his right arm crystalized. Growing muscles twisted and hardened into an impenetrable shield, crushing the fang still buried deeply in his flesh into a hundred pieces.

Venom welled from Sahars wound, dripped down solid skin, unable to pass the armor of mutated flesh.

He could feel the pressure of the spider’s tooth stump against the wound as it bared down.

New waves of pain welled up, crashed through him like a storm flood, drowning every other sensation, every thought.

Unrelenting jaws squeezed tighter still and tears trickled over Sahar’s cheeks, down his nose, falling to the dusty ground like raindrops.

The other fang graced his ribs. Threatened to break skin. 

Oh god. Oh please no.

Conjuring every last remnant of strength hidden in his muscles, Sahars pushed back. The spider’s cool hairy flesh gave under the press of his elbow, the tiniest bit, and its fang pulled back.

He hadn’t thought it possible for this pain to climb higher still, but here it was, whisking him away to a dimension composed solely of suffering.

The scream tearing from his throat didn’t sound like his own. But he could feel it, as it clawed its way out, bursting past his lips in raw desperation.

“Sahar?” The whisper of a voice found its way through the pain filled fog his existence had been reduced to and he forced his eyes open. Whimpering.

When had he even closed them?

Charlotte’s pale freckled face hovered centimeters from his. Splatters of blood trickled down the birthmark of her left cheek and dried in the copper curls of her bangs.

A faint, shuddering part of Sahar realized that this blood was his own.

Her eyes were blown wide and the blue of her irises danced in the surrounding bloodshot white of them. 

“What have you done? Oh god what have you done?” There were tears, imprisoned in the tremble of her voice.

I don’t know. My body just moved.

The words were nothing but a whisper in his head, unable to escape a body shuddering and hurting and trapped on the brink of collapse.

He knew how it felt to lose control, over his senses, his mutation, his emotions but nothing had ever felt like this. He’d never felt as disconnected, as betrayed from his own flesh as the moment his knees gave out and he crashed to the ground. The fangs tip tore through his linen shirt, soaking the fabric with poison.

Screwing his eyes shut in terror filled anticipation, Sahar didn’t see Charlotte’s face morph into a ferocious scowl. All bared teeth and fierce determination.

The Axe’s wooden handle splintered under short sharp nails and fury as she swung it, with the strength of 17 years’ worth of hard work living in her muscles.

The spider’s left jaw split with the sickening tearing of flesh.

Sahar’s red blood mixed with the spider’s blue in the dirt as it gushed from the wound and dripped down the Axe.

The spider’s nearly dismembered mandible flapped uselessly from side to side as it sprung back, unsure if to retreat or attack.

With the pressure of its jaws gone, Sahar collapsed onto the blood soiled earth. A few dirt grains danced in the gusts of his labored breaths and the tears Charlotte had so desperately tried to hold on to burst free without restraint The spider webs still held her to the ground as she began to frantically claw at the silken sticky mess, desperate to break free.

Sahars tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he rasped, “Hey. Hey hey hey ‘s fine….. fine now. Let… let me-”

Words failed him, all washed away by a new wave of hot boiling pain as he willed his mutilated, mutated arm to move, despite every fiber of his being wailing protest. Sharp pointy fingertips dug into the silk and tore it apart like a clawed animal clumsily disemboweling its prey. A howling hissing one at that.

He wanted nothing more than to get out of here and for this unbearable pain to finally, blessedly end.

Oh god please just make it stop.

Charlotte’s free hand found its way into Sahars brown unruly hair and scratched over his scalp in slow soothing circles. He leaned into the touch, this something-other-than-all-consuming-pain-feeling and whined softly.

“Shh shhh. Almost done. It’s almost over.”

He continued to rip the silk to shreds until Charlotte was finally freed. She shot up, dragging Sahar with her. He howled in agony.

Hunted blue eyes darted back to the spider, cowering low on the ground. Its seven eyes stared back, glowing in the mushrooms light.

“We have to move, Sahar. That thing‘s not done with us.”

He willed his shaking legs to stumble alongside Charlotte, when a shot rang over the clearing. Loud like a thunderclap announcing a storm.

Flinching hard enough to make him cry out Sahar witnessed the spider collapse. A thick metal stud pierced through its head, painting abstract patterns of dull blue blood and glowing mushroom pulp over its twitching body.

The ferocious predator transformed into a corpse bleeding starlight.