Twitching limbs and regions of Lukas’s body subconsciously tested the transmitting signals stemming from the brain and spinal cord's motor neurons inside of the Perchten. The cross DNA stemming from mutated and human genes spent the better part of this process of healing at war with one another. To bring him back to his original state would be to rip apart the pieces of a chemically charged puzzle that made him the creature which lay dormant. Like a tattoo forever being identified as a foreign intruder, the perchten's mutation confused Lukas's body as it patched muscle and grew flesh. He would awaken weak and disoriented, but the beast would be alive.

A steady dosage of sedatives kept Lukas from awaking, monitored by his handler who held his tongue from offering the next direction. It pained Klaus to sit in on these training sessions. Doctor Hart, although incredibly considerate of the well being of the creatures within the facility, heavily drowned these pupils in an ego boost to see how well they handled pressure. Of course, at the end of the day, it was Klaus who knew everything there was about Lukas and the perchten mutant (at least, whatever there was known about their species). Most ignored him altogether and gave demands. A few asked for his input or advice about certain things pertaining to Lukas's state and temperment. But he was a good sport either way. He stood patiently, eyes flickering from the pad to the witch and waited until she was finished with whatever hoodoo voodoo was needed to piece humpty dumpty back together again.

Like an imprint of footfalls on the sand, Zenya could feel the beast even after her magic retreated. Her eyes saw him clearly now, tangible and real; yet she could see beyond it too. Could sense the battle between both halves of one whole, followed by the steadying heart beat, the deeper breaths, the calm that washed over the beast once the impending doom of death had vanished.

As much as the witch would’ve liked to keep watching him, to be swept up by sensation, other matters demanded her attention. Hart’s order was received by a curt nod, moving towards the medical wing; leaving behind the still asleep form of the now healed Perchten.

Eyes locked on Yanek the moment she stepped inside. Even in his human form, Zenya was far more scared of him than Lukas, her heart beat spiking, stomach churning. On the outside, the witch made sure to maintain a solemn expression, made sure to keep her hands from shaking.

“Yes. Lukas will be alright”, she replied, her voice soft and careful.

Slowly, the witch stretched out a pale and cold hand, palm up, offering it to the mutant.

“May I?”

A more traditional assessment, considering he was in stable condition. And that he couldn’t accidentally shear through her with his claws.

Starter for -> @s-somatize

Oliver Hart, senior director of staff of the Health and Medical Treatment Department, had been dutifully employed at KorTac for nearly three decades. Gray hair and seniority status was not all that he had to show for his efforts, for a gash of scar tissue ranging from the top of his brow to his chin joined a range of scars littering his body. If not for the insatiable yearning of knowledge involving the supernatural, he would have quit before his first days end. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was devoted to his studies and took his scars as reminders of his determination. It was this commitment which ensured that every single employee of his department was personally trained by him for three months before being assessed and deemed worthy of employment. After all, not only were they charged with the care and maintenance of monsters and beasts alike, but were surrounded by the danger associated with caring for them. 

The stress of taking on so many shifts at the local hospital had been getting to her. Long sleepless nights had bled into each other, until her work as a surgeon had been affected. Little by little, Zenya had found her hands shaking, her wrists aching from the inside, her mind clouded and foggy no matter how many pills were prescribed by her psychiatrist. Lowering her work load hadn’t done her much good, though; it had only granted her mind more time for torment.

She’d done something reckless, perhaps, in choosing to lean into the half of her essence that had been happily working as only a tool for all her life. No more would her magic aid her in human endeavors.

Zenya would nurture it as its own skill now. One thing had lead to another, until the young witch had ended up training at KorTac under Doctor Hart, an older man more human than any other. Yet she had learned plenty about the supernatural and in turn, about herself.

There was no fear in her heart as she listened carefully to his instructions, falling into step at his side, long white coat swishing with the movement. Only determination shone in her dark eyes, flickering over the hall that stretched on before them. Fluorescent white light guided their way, sterile, tile floor squeaky clean and still smelling faintly of antiseptic. Zenya had seen the perchten colonels before, but mostly in passing, watching Dr Hart and others deal with them. They were impressive, frightening creatures of old that still remained just out of her understanding.

But they could bleed.

And so she could heal.

The witch halted to a stop beside her mentor, nodding.

“I understand,” her voice was soft, steady, even as her fingers twitched slightly where they hung at her sides.

The cell made it hard to see the perchten fully, the thick coating of blood probably hiding some of his wounds. In the OR, she would deal with it by cleaning first, searching for the origin of the hemorrage. But getting close enough to do that would place both of them in great danger.

Focusing on the magic thrumming through her veins, the sound of her beating heart echoing in her ears, Zenya felt it. The long, deep gash running down from the base of the beast’s neck all the way to his hip, cutting through sinew and rib to reach the tender organs beneath. The blunt damage to his heart and lung, the caving of its skull near the horns. Silver eyes turned gold with magic, her dark hair beginning to curl and lift around her head like a crown of thorns.

Zenya had the faint impression of hearing a growl, but she felt its reverberation through the air. Felt the vibration of Yanek’s vocal cords travel up her spine like a shudder. She pushed it away, repeating Doctor Hart’s warning in her mind as she lifted her hands infront of her now unseeing eyes. The witch drowned in the sensation, in the copper tang in the air.

Golden strings sprung from her fingertips, attaching themselves to Lukas’ spastic form. Like a weaver or a spider or an old crone, Zenya began to stitch him back together. Blood vessels closed, viscerae became whole again, slowly but surely. The perchten would only feel warmth, her magic finding the screaming nerve endings to calm the pain while she worked.

Me at 3am when the Inspiration Juice kicks in:

Me when it's actually daytime:

halp i need an adult

(wait i am an adult)

halp i need another adult

absolute menace but still such a good boy :')))

Spooky shadow creature can’t find its favorite stick

He found it (sort of)?

Inner Rage Because we can't always let it out, so it just grows and grows until it consumes us.

blue and magenta!

(mix of silly, emotional, messy, sweet, and chaotic)

tiger girl mania