vermin

@hackles-up it's ya boy

@deluxewhump whoops they're my baby now

tw body horror, animal death

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it's like this:

you're a monster, now. and just because you've decided that you own this body--that it's yours, instead of theirs--doesn't mean you immediately know how to use it.

You were asleep when they brought you to the lab. You remember sitting in the professor's office, and then you remember waking up on the table, with the gag already in your mouth. When you pushed the outer door open (after minutes of struggle; your fingers were too long for the knob and in the end you had to rip it off its hinges) it opened on a dense forest, and you have no idea where that forest is.

it doesn't matter, much. a forest is a pretty good place for a monster to live. and when you saw the trees--still green, it isn't winter yet, you must have been in there less than half a year--and beyond them the sky, cluttered with stars, your eyes filled up with tar-thick tears that smoked when they hit the dirt below you.

'where am i' isn't a useful question. you have others that are more pressing; for example: what do monsters eat?

when you opened this mouth--your mouth, it's yours, even if your mother didn't make it, even if it's not the one you lost your baby teeth out of, even if you've seen it in a mirror once and haven't been able to successfully count the number of teeth inside it--you were too distracted to really feel it opening, your cheeks splitting all the way back, almost to your ears. The second time was worse: you could feel the air against your new gums; pressed your tongue (carefully, this time) against the backs of your teeth and realized it was much too long, to match the shape of your new mouth, and that must be new, too, they ripped your tongue out and put something else in it's place, and then you had to lean over and be sick.

Your stomach acid ate right through the dirt; made a smell like overheated asphalt.

You could probably eat metal if you wanted to.

But it's not a philosophical question, there's a thousand practicalities: if you can catch a rabbit--and you can, you're faster than you ever were, faster than you want to be, once you get the hang of your two-long double-jointed legs-- (the first time you try to jump you launch yourself three times too high, vault over the tree you were trying to land in, hit your head hard on a rock when you land on your back; it doesn't break the skin--you think you might need special tools for that by now--but you have to lay there for a while to catch your breath, even with your increased lung capacity.) --even if you can catch one, what do you do with it then?

well. the first time, you're so hungry you tear into it the second it's in your hands, swallow the whole damn thing in two bites, crunch the bones between your teeth; and then you spend the rest of the evening trying to wipe the blood from around your mouth and spoiling the little forest creek with your tears. But surely you can't do it that way every time.

you always liked rabbits. didn't see many, way out in the suburbs, so you got excited when one would run across the road in front of you, or whatever. you'd never have eaten one. you barely ate meat at all, actually, so many of your friends were vegetarians.

monsters can't be vegetarians, though, can they.

there aren't enough nuts and berries in the world, to feed the thing they've made of you.

Problem Bear (it's not a bear)

@deluxewhump

The Baby from this and this still lives rent free in my head, you see.

TW for: animal death, body horror, (aftermath of) lab whump and non consensual body modification.

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Something is stealing from the campsite.

That isn’t really a surprise—most of the reason Carlie is here is to find a problem bear that shouldn’t be in this part of the preserve, this time of year. Problem bears steal from campers—that’s half of what makes them a problem.

The surprising part is what it takes.

At first she thinks she must have just dropped her lighter, because she’s never had one of those stolen before. It’s far too little, and it doesn’t smell like food; big things, like bears, don’t care if things are shiny, and she isn’t here to catch a giant magpie.

(She isn’t sure she’s here to catch a bear, either. The Rangers say it must be. Carlie is reserving judgment. She’ll know what it is when she sees it for herself.)

Then it takes her spare flannel, and there’s no doubt about that: she couldn’t drop a whole bulky blanket without knowing it. That’s funny, too, and creeps her out a little: it was rolled up, on top of her pack, and anything should have made a sound by taking it.

Bears don’t sneak that much, in Carlie’s experience. They’re too big to be silent, and they know it. They’re not ambush predators, for Christ’s sake: they shuffle, and they sniff, and Carlie’s been doing this long enough for either of those sounds to wake her with a start.

Whatever took her blanket—it was quiet. It maybe took the lighter, too, and Carlie doesn’t like that thought at all—the thought of something pawing through her things, something dexterous enough to take something small, and clever enough to want something shiny.

The first Roach. Geralt is a young witcher, he couldn’t afford the young four year old gelding or the six year old mare. Instead the second year witcher settled and put all his coin down on a nameless 17 year old mare. She was cheap and story was, “she showed up in town without a rider, but still fit for riding”, that was all Geralt needed to hear. He knew little about horses at the time and honestly couldn’t care. By time the grey became noticeable in her coat, Geralts opinion had changed. Roach had became more than just a horse. She became a friend. When she showed signs of slowing he knew it was time to complete their last journey together. In the foothills of Kaer Morhen Geralt turns Roach free. The mare passes naturally at 25, Geralt at her side to wish her farewell.

I made this at 2am..forgive grammar errors ^^ Also, sorry for the feels <3

The werewolf is caught in a snare eerily similar to a fox snare. It was set there by the local log cabin owner, specifically to catch them after the werewolf killed their dog. And, well, it worked.

As they struggle and choke and cough and wheeze, they see the axe-wielding human approach them with nothing but contempt.