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iloveaustinelvisandmannymore · 2 years ago

Text

Dying love.

Pairing: Austin Butler x reader ft Austin x Kaia.

Warning: Predator-prey to lovers, Stalker & obsessive Austin, switch Austin? Slowly dying, Marking, Demon Summoning, Oral (Male), Creampies, Tail-job, Changing appearance, jealousy Sex, Angry sex, Slapping (Face & Pussy), Mating rituals, Baby-traping, Flirting, Mirror sex, Horn pulling, Spanking, Degrading kink, Praise kink, lot of sex.

Summary: It was just any other night, or that's what he thought when a woman so beautiful it hurt began to visit him in his dreams, every night that it stopped he couldn't deal with it he had to find this woman.

A/n: Enjoy!

Austin laid asleep in a dream he never wanted to wake up from, a smile on his face, he had a crush on Kaia the moment he saw her, but he was too shy to make a move, too afraid of her rejection but he loved dreams like these. In his dream, he was finally making love to the woman he loved, her moans echo in his ears as he thrusted into her with such passion, it sadly didn't last long as he woke up to see a gorgeous woman, her hair was a shade of (H/C) and her eyes like shining gems, the moonlight shine on her skin. That's when he quickly realized she was naked and her eyes were unusual (f/c) color with slits like that of a cat, and her shadow looks like she had horns, bat-like wings, and a swinging tail on the edge of his bed.

He didn't move back as she got on her hands and knees, crawling to him, slowly and gracefully, as she stepped more into the light, her wings, horns, and tail vanish, and her eyes were a normal (y/e/c), a small smirk laid upon her luscious lips "Aren't you a cute little thing~" her voice, sounded like it was dipped in the sweetest and the finest of honey as she teased him, her hands hold his face, her sharp almost claw-like nails dig slightly into his cheeks and she sat on his lap, despite the fabric of his pj pants and blanket, he could feel the heat of her exposed cunt on his boner. He didn't move back because he couldn't it was because he didn't want to she was too alluring plus it was a dream, could he oblige in a dream that would only come once? Austin felt a shiver come up his spine as her lips met his and her tongue..felt weird but he didn't have time to dwell on that as she used it like a weapon, her tongue explored his mouth and tongue as she'd never get the time too again, the kiss was sloppy and hot, drool leaked out the side of his lips, it felt draining yet so good like he could get drunk off of it but to his dismay, she pulled away, and his lips fellow wanting more.

"Easy there tiger." she giggled at him, making a blush spread across his cheeks. She trailed her eyes and her nails down his open hairy chest to where the blanket lay against his hips, she teasingly put more of her weight on his hardened cock coaxing a groan past his lips, she let out another giggle as she slowly pushed him to lay on his back, the plush mattress felt amazing along with the kisses she gave to his throat, chest, stomach and his hips, her hands gripped the soft blanket and pulled them as she laid between his legs. "Oh my," she said wrapping her hand around the base of his penis "it's beautiful. I guess everything about you is, huh?" she continued, her cheek pressed against his 7inch dick, her turned innocent-like eyes looking into his blue orbs, he didn't have time to reply and he didn't think he could when her tongue traced the seam of his shaved balls to the red tip bleeding pre-cum, a soft groan turned to a loud moan of pleasure and surprise as she, without warning swallowed his dick whole, she didn't even gag! His ex-girlfriends couldn't do that! They either choke or didn't want to try.

She wear a smug smile as if she heard his thoughts before bobbing her head, loud sucking, and slurping filling the room, her tongue licked at the sensitive vein on the underside of his member. She never once came up for air and if she did it was to wrap her skilled, long tongue around him akin to a snake wrapping itself around a tree, he was to lust filled to question it, he was close, the over-stimulation of her sucking, licking and massaging with his balls was too much. His hand reached to keep her head down again to cum down her throat but she just slapped his hand as he was cumming, spurt after spurt she swallowed every drop and she showed her wet muscle that was completely cleared of pearly semen once he had stopped "God-fucking-damnit." he swears with lidded eyes and deep breathes. The sight was purely exotic.

"We not done yet~" she grinned, straddling his hips and lining his somehow still hard cock with her entrance, unlike any other girl, instead of slowly descending into him, she slammed down with a delighted squeal Austin's eyes rolled back. Fuck her pussy felt better than he ever had, she was tight but not too painfully tight, her walls pulsed around him, her walls were gushy and her slick was like heat-up lube. Her ass jiggled as it hit his thighs, her nails digging into his sweaty chest, she bounced on his cock like she needed it to live, his cock head bullied her cervix as her hips swirled and grind. Austin was already close but he wouldn't until she did, putting his hands on her hips, he thrusted upwards hard, causing her to happily squeal as she bounced along his harsh pounding "You're close! I can feel it! Cum Inside you sexy bastard!" She screamed, doubling her efforts to make him cum, "Y-you." Was all he could muster, too far gone to think, too pussydrunk "Don't worry about me." she cooed, kissing him, her tongue wrapped around his, and the knot in his belly snapped, his hips stuttered and jerked as he filled up this fake woman with his seed. She leaned back with a loud moan, her back arched and head throwback, suddenly lightning came through the window, and for just a second, her wings, horns, and tail appeared once more but like lighting they disappeared again and the dream ended as he woke up.

Austin woke up with a little bit of sweat and lifted the blanket and pj to see his cock coated in a glistening shine 'Could that...no, no it was a dream, a feel real dream.' Austin thought and rolled his eyes, got out of bed to take a shower and freshen up for a hang out with a few friends and Kaia. He put on a jeaned jacket, a black shirt, and deep blue jeans with black sun shades and head out. He grabbed his keys and left for the cafe where they have their meet-up.

Austin smiled around his strew at Kaia as she ranted about her co-workers and her job, even ranting she was beautiful to him. Apparently one of her messed up and she was blamed for it "I was like seriously?! you fucked up and can not even admit it—" Kaia's complaining was cut short when a worker put down the drink she's been waiting on "Finally." Kaia grabbed the drink and Austin took this time to look up at the waitress, his eyebrow raised just a bit, the woman had (h/c) and her company's baseball logo cap, hid her eyes, she was somewhat familiar, as Austin was gonna ask her name she walked away and went back to work so he continued to listen to Kaia but was not that interested anymore. He had another dream that night, instead of the alluring woman it was Kaia laying on the edge of his bed in a seductive pose, a smile on her face, needless say he fucked her, he always was sure he'd love a dream like that this one, that felt so real but it didn't feel right, her moans were cute but not so prettily sexy as the other woman, it felt like her but wasn't her and what feelings felt for Kaia seemingly disappeared. Austin woke up with disappointment sitting heavily on his bones, shaking his head he got off his bed and got ready for work.

The whole day his thoughts were about that woman, he wanted to see her again but it was just a dream, it had to be. He was taking a break when Kaia visited him, he would have normally been so happy to see her but the only thing he felt was annoyance, her voice was high pitched and she was again talking shit about other people, he barely listened to her and just nodded along with what she was talking about. His eyes wandered off, and a small glance of (h/c) hair enters his gaze, Austin immediately sat up straighter, frantically looking for the woman of his dreams "Hey are you even listening to me?!" Kaia spat, throwing her hands up "Oh..yeah sorry I thought I saw something, continue." he muttered and looked back at his ex-crush. His ocean orbs flickered open, and his brows frowned "Nice mirror." a voice said, Austin sat up so quickly and looked at the body-length mirror he had in his bedroom, there she was, tracing a finger along the black frame, her body gloriously naked "Thanks." Austin spoke in a tone a-like to disbelief as he got up and walked up behind her. She did nothing but smile coyly at him through the mirror before she put her hands on the glass, arched her back, pushed her fine ass out, and spend her legs just a bit showing her wet pussy to him in the moonlight and shot a faux innocent look over her shoulder as if she wasn't offering herself on a glass platter. "Fuck." Austin whispered breathlessly as he grabbed his cock and slide it between her lower lips, coating his cock in slick, his hands rested on her hips as he thrusted into her burning hot pussy, and he throws his head back. Her breast was pushed up against the cold glass as he pounded away at her pussy, like he'd never get the chance to, their panting and moaning fogged up the mirror "Fuck yess!" Austin hissed in pleasure, his hands holding her hips, pushed her back onto his cock at each thrust and he could almost feel something long wrap around his waist but all he could think about was the blinding pleasure "Oh~ you like my pussy huh? Then take it! Fuck me like your little toy!" she shouted watching him through lidded eyes as he thrusted faster, harder, bringing them close to their climax.

She suddenly laid her back against his chest, put her hand on his cheek, and kissed him, her lips felt heavenly on his, and like before he felt a little bit of something leave him, what? He didn't know and didn't care as they cummed together, that's when the dream ended and he was filled with satisfaction and disappointment, the satisfaction of having amazing sex and the disappointment of it all being a dream, He just shook it off and got up to start his day. Those dreams began to become frequent, after the sex, he and her would talk about everything and cuddle, What came along with those dreams he started to feel weaker and weaker. "Austin." that beautiful voice cooed as his eyes opened "How are you today?" she smiled at him but it looked almost sad and forced, "Better now that I'm with you." he flirted shamelessly causing a melodic giggle to leave the lips he loved so much "Good. Austin before we began...I have show you something." her tone serious, Austin sat up in bed, his blue orbs tracing her naked ass. She stopped once she was a foot away, her back to him for a second then she turned to him, taking in a shaky breath, and with a flash of lighting she changed, large bat-like wings sprang from out her back, long horns that curved in the middle stood tall on her head, a whip-like tail with a heart-shaped tip circled her ankle, they all was (s/f/c) leathery skin and her eyes a glowing (F/c) "I'm Succubus, and my name is (Y/N) I wanted you to know..." (Y/n) trailed off, her eyes cast to the floor, her tail switched to her other ankle and wings lowered, she acted as if she was afraid of his reaction.

He knew he should scream, shout, and be scared of her but he couldn't find it in himself to be, he came to love this woman or rather whatever she was, to be honest, Austin didn't know what exactly a Succubus but he didn't care "You look...so mesmerizing." He spoke, smiling at her shocked look as her head jerked up to look at him, her eyes glossy and lips parted "Say...what can that tail do?" Austin smirked flirting with her, again and again, a sweet giggle came out of her and a smile on her face, her canine teeth longer and sharper like a vampire's but not, her long tail waged slowly behind her as her smile turned in a devilish smirk "Why don't we find out hmm?~" she purred, now standing in front of him, bending down to look into his blues and with a smack of her powerful tail he laid back on the bed as she ripped the blanket off and hummed in approval at his bottom half freed from any clothes and his cock stood strong. She sat between his parted legs and dragged her snake-like tongue up his shaft, lubricating it with her shining saliva before letting her tail coiled around his cock, she give it an experimental pump and she smirked, suddenly her tail squeezed and pumped his cock at a fast pace, the heart tip played with his balls. Austin let out a choked moan as he felt a shiver go down his spine as her fangs poked and prodded at his neck, the threat of possible death excited him more than he'd ever thought it would, every pump, every hot lick, every squeeze, it was like her body was made for pleasure. Austin bit his lips, holding back a moan as spurts of cum busted out of his dick and landed on his lover's tail, his chest moved up and down, sweat shimmering in the light

"That was...wonderful." Austin panted, smiling at (Y/n), who just licked his seed off her tail, a far way look in her glowing eyes "(Y/N), are you okay?" he looked at her confused, normal she would be grinning, happy but tonight she was...distant in a sense. he called out to her again as she got out of the bed and walked to the bedroom door and then she looked back at him, over her shoulder, a sad smile on her lips "This will be the last time you will see me, I can not feed from you...I fall in love with you Austin...and I refuse to hurt you any longer. So this is goodbye." she said softly and walked out his door, and his life . Austin jolted awake, tears falling onto his clenched fist 'it doesn't matter it was just a dream.' he tried to convince himself 'just a dream..' he repeated, laying back down to sleep.

It had been weeks since you left his dreams and Austin never felt so much pain before, he became a walking zombie, eat, drink, work and sleep was all that he did, he almost convinced himself that you weren't real until he saw you. A couple of friends invited him to a nightclub, he sat by himself slowly sipping away some whiskey when at the corner of his eyes, he saw (h/c,) hair and (e/c) eyes, that alluring smirk on your face, seducing a man, and leading him out the building. Austin rushed out of the booth with the grace of a newborn calf, calling out your name when he got outside you were gone, He decided to go home and find out what the hell you are. once he opens the door to his house, wasting no time, he went to his home office, sat down in his chair, and typed in Succubus in the Google search bar, Everything he read made so much sense, why did you leave? Was he not good enough to be your chosen mate? He didn't care he was all read yours and you were his, he just will have to show you, but first, he needed to do some shopping. He stalked you for a week, but you were none the wiser, he found out your human form identity, where you worked, lived and everything he deemed worthy of knowing.

Austin finished painting a trancing demon summoning symbol with the blood of a goat and lit up the candles, he breathed in as he sat on the ground of his basement, the big, black Magic book, laid heavy in his hands, the cover was a dark leathery brown with a 100-year-old paper, demonic symbols spread on top of the cover, taking another deep breath in and closed his eyes, reciting the chant he'd read so many times over "I call upon and demand (Y/N), listen to my order and command. I have chosen you, and bind our souls together, come forth." He spoke loud and clear, opening his eyes, the candles' flames went out before relighting, and this time instead of normal fire, orange and red, it came back blood red, black smoke ruptured from within the circle and your naked form appeared, eyes glaring at him turned to shock once you realized who had summoned you "Austin? What—" Austin didn't let you finish your sentence, his lips molded against yours as he manhandled you to the cool floor, not caring when he feels a part of his soul leave him, "You thought you could just leave after you made me love you? No, your mine." he growled, rushing to take off his hoodie and jeans, his chest and biceps flex as he threw the hoodie off to the side, his cock twitched from the semi-cold air once he took off his jeans, his arms hooked around your bent knees and pulled you closer to his dick "What? Speechless?" he mocked, slapping you hard enough to get you out your trance, his fingers dig into your cheeks as he forces you to look at him "I'm not good enough to be your mate?huh?" he growled, his other hand delivering a sharp slap to your wetting pussy, causing a yelp and a jolt of your hips "T-that's not it Aus, you'll be condemned to hell if you become my mate, I didn't want you too..." you trailled off, looking up at him with guilty eyes "Thats, not your chose to make." Austin frowned "Besides I'll show you why I should be your mate." his frown turned to a smirk, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and slamming into your soaking wet cunt, so hard your back arched from the ground as you squealed from pure delight "And you really think I wouldn't love you? Tch such a dumb little slut, my slut." Austin scoffed and set the pace, each thrust was hard and fast, hitting your g-spot so perfectly like no man or Incubus has.

Your claws scratched the concrete surface, and moans, whines, and mewls were all you could let out, eyes closed from the blinding pleasure, you gasped eyes shot up as Austin smacked your ass and lick his fingers, letting his hot saliva cover them and rubbed your clit, your tail circling his thigh to ground yourself and you came, coating his cock and the floor with your cum. You yelped, heat flooding your cheeks as you were once again manhandled onto your hands and knees, his ringed-covered hand gripping your tail at the base, pulling gently on the sensitive skin, and his hand on your hip, shoving himself back into you "You like this, do I make you feel so good, pretty girl?" he granted, pounding upwards into your pussy, his cockhead bullying your cervix "Answer me." Austin growled grabbing onto your long horns, and pulling your head back "YES! Fuck I love it! More, more please. So good." you cried, tears of absolute pleasure leaking from your eyes "I love you!" you whined as you came again, panting like a bitch in heat. Austin pulled out and pushed you to lay your back, his fingers intertwining with yours as he thrusted into your pussy, pounding and grinding his cock just right, already close to bringing you to your third orgasm "Do it, I love you and you love me, Do it." he panted, you whined and shook your head "Please." he begged, you look into his eyes, seeing face sincerity in his eyes and nodded, he made you happy, so why not give in, you performed symbols over his chest while chanting in a language unknown to mankind. Austin moaned, he felt amazing like nothing could ever hurt him again, he could feel your feelings, your souls bonded together "Fuck." he whispered, leaning over your tired body, pushing his cock deeper, his thrust growing faster, you pulling him into a passionate kiss, and smiled against his lips, you no longer felt his soul enter your body, it worked.

You moaned into his mouth as his tongue swirled around yours, a hard thrust from Austin had you coming for the third time tonight, Austin growled as your pussy clenched down on him, pushing him over and milking his cock, impregnating your eager womb. "Yours.." you spoke tiredly, smiling at your mate "Yours.." he replied back a happy but tired grin

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"I'm back honey!" Austin yells as he opens the door to your shared house, setting his travel bags down, the light of the bright sun shined on his golden band.

"Daddy!" a little girl giggled as she ran up to her father, her small tail wagging "Lulu." Austin grinned bending down to hug her, "Little girl what did I say about showing your true form?!" you said walking up behind her, "Sorry Mama" Lulu looked guilty "It's okay baby" you smiled at her "Well, hello there handsome" you cooed as your husband pulled you into his arms "Gorgeous." he greeted before dipping you into a kiss, you both broke apart as little ewws leave your daughter "I got some food coming tonight, he's quite nice " he winked at you before grabbing his begs and walked into the house Lulu following him.

"How did I get so lucky?." you had a smile still on your face as you closed the door, and walked after them.

@edgeofrealitys-blog @18lkpeters, @galaxygirl453, @rizzoosworld @purejasmine, @faithblack , @dem6nnn, @mnessasstuff , @a-x-o-l-t-lb-i-t-e-s, @pennyroyalcreep, @plasticfantasticl0ver, @crash-and-cure, @kendralavon7, @flwersgarden.

#elvis imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis smut #austin butler smut #austin butler x reader #elvis 2022 #yandere!elvis x reader #austin elvis imagine #yandere austin butler x reader

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todaysbat · 3 years ago

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Bat Nose Reference by shortybat on deviantArt

#vampire bat #common vampire bat #leaf nosed bat #golden crowned flying fox #flying fox #spear nosed bat #short tailed fruit bat #fruit bat #wooly false vampire bat #false vampire bat #proboscis bat #slit faced bat #hoary bat #sheath tailed bat #bulldog bat #fishing bat #hairy legged vampire bat #white winged vampire bat

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indouloureux · 2 years ago

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hi mama! are requests open again? if not ignore this but if they are:

i’m thinking of eddie w calling his gf mommy/mama and being all needy and maybe he goes into subspace and then some sweet cute aftercare.

-🦷

hey baby!! yes requests are open (but only for a bit <;3)

18+ mdni. cw: oral (m), blowjobs, cum eating, mommy kink, overstimulation, ball play, degradation (whore) aftercare. fem!reader

"h-holy fucking shit,"

eddie's moans are loud, almost pornographic, with the way your mouth sinks and your head bobs fast and unstoppable on his very sensitive cock. he's lost count of how many times you'd made him cum, and honestly, he couldn't find it himself to complain.

just because having his cock sucked by you was practically better than heaven and hell itself.

your left hand splays just on the skin adjacent to where the tush of his coarse curls rest above his girthy dick, right in the middle where the inked bat wings spread across his v-line. the head sinks down to your throat, and you swallow, his salty taste of precum and your spit being consumed. eddie yelps, his hands on your hair clenching.

"shit- yes. yes, mommy," he lets out a blissful laugh, and it makes you smile around his length. your vacant hand tugs and fondles with his sack, heavy with cum and clenching tightly as he nears his orgasm. you look up to see his eyes rolling to the back of his head, placing the bats on his hairy arms over his eyelids. "god- your mouth feels so amazing."

you discard your mouth from his aching cock, finger tracing the bulging vein from the bottom of his shaft up to beneath his almost red tip, to which you grant his slit with the flick of your tongue that makes his thighs shake. "oh, i know you do. you're such a whore for my mouth, aren't you? going out with your little friends and- oh fuck- just going on and on about how i kept on talking so much about this and that but look at you, crying for me. i wonder what they'll think knowing their precious dungeon master's all putty for some girl."

he whines in disdain. "fuuuck, mama. you're gonna make me cum,"

"fuuuck," you mock him, laughing sardonically when your hand comes up to jerk him off, flicking your wrist to squeeze at his head before it applies pressure to his shaft when you move down. "go ahead and cum for mommy, think you can do that?"

eddie nods. "mhm, y-yeah. yeah- fuckin' ozzy- i can do that for mommy. 've been a good boy,"

he cums a minute later despite his cries because fuck — your mouth was pleasure; hellfire with your searing tongue bringing him close. he cums in your mouth, and eddie sees stars.

his vision then goes white before it reels into a void. he thinks he might have passed out, but when he feels your gentle hand caress his face and a half panicked voice that brings him back to life, he's resurrected.

"oh, jesus," you laugh worriedly, placing your hand on his bare chest. "thought i might have killed you, eddie."

"you definitely did," he pants, eyes droopy.

"gonna take care of you now, 'kay baby? i put your boxers back on when you passed out and was able to get some water," you reach for the glass on the table. then he sees you pick up a wet rag that you placed beside his leg. "gonna clean you up now, yeah?"

eddie nods.

you press kisses to the purple bruises you left on his chest, caress the scratches you painted on his alabaster skin as you wipe the sticky substance away from his thighs and his sex. eddie sighs, body going lax on his lumpy bed.

and once you're done, eddie pulls you to his chest, placing your head right where his heart was.

"sorry i was mean to you earlier, mama," he whispers. "guess i was just kind of out of it, babe."

"but honestly," you turn, resting your chin on top of the tattooed spider. "if i get to punish you like that and have you moaning like some fuckin' pornstar, i'd let you talk shit about me, baby."

eddie laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #x reader

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foulserpent · 4 years ago

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ned meets sheogorath (1836 words)

cw: suicide mentions

"HELLO Nedirael! Glad you could make it out here!" the voice boomed, familiar and all the more alien for it.

Ned stood across the hall of a grand throne room, weary and bedraggled and half clad in a weak leather armor he’d found himself not needing. A great tree loomed in back, its leaves an autumnal blaze of reds and oranges that bathed the room alien sunlight. Two torches burned a bright icy blue and a pink to either side of the throne, setting the stained glass to either side into a dizzying array of sparkles far too overwhelming to see what they depicted. Everything seemed to bend inwards, space itself being pulled to a singularity at the center.

There sat Sheogorath.

They looked a lot like Xikeel, much as they did when they had appeared to Ned weeks before, almost a decade after he had last seen his friend alive. They were a brighter red and crowned with teal horns, with scales that reflected with iridescence in every color he could imagine and some beyond that. They wore a robe almost equal in vividness and fluttering ceaselessly. It hurt Ned's head to try and see where embroidered fabric ended and tiny, colorful butterflies began.

Perhaps most striking of all was the beard. How the hell had she grown a beard?

"Hi, Xikeel." Ned said as he made his way down the aisle.

Sheogorath shifted in their seat, resting their hairy chin on three hands with an expression of exaggerated annoyance. Some butterflies swarmed upwards, before settling back into the shape their sleeve.

"Don't you know my name?" Sheogorath asked. "I didn't work so hard just for nasty little mammals to come in here and call me all manners of nonsense words."

The butterfly-robe scattered yet again, their little bodies intertwining and blending like paint on a brush to form another scaly arm. The daedra began to drum that hand onto the throne.

Ned grimaced. If there was any doubt that his old friend had really changed into something else, it was dead and buried.

"For fucks sake Xikeel," he said, ignoring the daedra's many eyes rolling. "I thought you were dead, I thought- I thought the Blades took you out, or you went off and, uh,"

"Tried the same thing you did? And did a better job at it?" Sheogorath grabbed the edge of thin air and lifted off of their throne. They made a great show of crossing their legs in midair, before slouching into another relaxed position.

"No, no, no, your friend just got lost. Can't blame her. It's sooooo much nicer here than out there!" They punctuated by even more arms flinging themselves into existence in a gesture of pride, before dissipating into more fluttering insects.

"So, what actually brings you here? Surely not just to stand around and gawk."

“I-” Ned started, but he was interrupted.

"I hope you like my palace? And my realm? I changed things up around here. My saints really want to kill you, and most of the beasts here wanted to eat you or lay eggs in you, but I told them, 'no! This is a guest of honor!'"

The Golden Saints half hidden in the dizzying light of the room gave no acknowledgment, though they all stared down at him with unblinking needle-slit pupils. Ned continued to ignore them.

"Okay, so if you aren't Xikeel, then what makes me the goddamn ‘guest of honor’?" He asked.

"I mean, if you want my Saints to hunt you for sport I guess I'm open to-"

"No, no, I'm good." Ned interjected. “I’m just. What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened to me. Well, something did. Happens every thousand years or so, but I’m back to normal. I’m my own man. I’m brand new!” Sheogorath cheered, then lowered their head in seriousness. “And to answer your obvious question, your friend helped with that. So I returned the favor. Said goodbye for her. Like, ten or a hundred years or something late, but I did. Sorry, I forgot.”

Ned felt his head start to ache.

“I didn’t come all this way to listen to this, I mean holy fuck are you getting this?” He threw his arms out. “I thought you were dead.”

“Well, that’s kind of a you problem, isn’t it?” Sheogorath yawned.

Ned’s rubbed his face in exasperation, sucking air between his teeth.

"Xikeel... Can you please-" He paused, a stupid question forming in his throat. He already regretted it before it clumsily fell from his tongue. "Please just stop it?"

Sheogorath gave him a blank stare.

"Oh, okay!" The daedra said.

With a puff of smoke, Xikeel stood before him. She was as he remembered, small and spindly, dull red and broken-horned. She wore the same cheap shirt and trousers as that final day. Everything was just as he'd last seen her, standing in the doorway ten years ago, saying "I'm going out" and getting only an "okay" in return, walking out of the door and out of his life and out from the world.

Ned froze at the sight of his friend. He could scarcely bring himself to breathe, feeling as if the very act would blow her away. She gave him a smile - just slightly parted teeth. Not an argonian smile, but one she would give to him, to Martin. A gesture that could soothe a mammalian friend more easily than the subtleties of argonian facial expression. She smiled under blank, golden eyes.

"Did you really think that would work?"

Ned went cold.

Xikeel's body twisted back into oblivion. It stretched and lengthened until they were something like a dragon, long and blazing and too familiar. They danced in airborne circles around Ned, trailing sparks as they passed.

"Alright, here's one for you. Imagine you find the last surviving shard of your family, blackout drunk, drowning in a river!" They spat the words like venom.

Ned's stomach dropped even further.

"And you pull it out and pull the water from its lungs, and you say, 'Please don't go! I need you!'" They shrieked. A mockery of tears bubbled up from Sheogorath's many eyes as the daedra swam in dizzying loops around the man. "I need you so much! I can't do this alone, please!" They cried.

"And after all that, after everything, it does it again. And it punches your idiot face when you try to stop it!" Sheogorath spun one last loop, catching the tears in their cavernous mouth before swooping up towards the ceiling.

"I'm sorry." Ned said.

He had just wanted to die. He had enough of getting back onto his feet only to have everything he built be ripped out from under him again. He had been so tired of being kicked and beaten until he was reduced to some scarred thing that somehow hadn't yet learned not to rest its head in any open hands that were offered to it. He had only seen one way out. God, he didn't want to hurt her.

Sheogorath now twisted in tight spirals, filled with some frenetic energy and half screaming. "Yeah, that really is the kind of thing that changes a person! You're getting it now!"

"I'm sorry." Ned said. "I'm so sorry, Xikeel."

Sheogorath dropped like a shot bird, landing on four legs with a heavy thud. They crawled towards Ned with a terrible speed. The man flinched but did not move. The daedra loomed to their full height, sticking their whiskered snout into his face.

"Who are you apologizing to?"

Ned's face contorted with pain. Finally, a sob tore through his throat.

"Who are you apologizing to?!" Sheogorath roared, yellow eyes flashing like stars far beyond the border of their face. They cut golden fractals through his tears.

"Who are you apo-" Sheogorath was cut off as the man flailed, batting their face away. Ned stepped back, frame now wracked with sobs. He dragged in a shuddering breath, and screamed.

"Fucking STOP IT!"

The palace was silent. A heavy absence now choked out the air. Ned's shuddering gasps came to Sheogorath as if through water, a thick dark river their gills fluttered against in vain.

"Xikeel.. I know... I know..." Ned trailed off as he broke into sobs.

Sheogorath hadn't felt the man's touch. They weren't this body, they were the whole room. They were the whole city. They were the whole realm. The body was merely a face for it, cradled in the daedra's own churning belly. How had it felt the man's touch?

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The daedra did not have tear ducts. Their eyes could hardly even be called eyes, really. They came and went as they pleased.

"I'm sorry."

Sheogorath did not know if it was the man who now spoke, or their own. They didn't move closer. They just sat on the ground and bent their head.

Bridged in misery, the two rode out their sobs.

"This place isn't safe for you." Sheogorath finally said. Their voice came out a soft monotone. It was smaller now, too much of a fragile hollow-boned thing to come out of a god's mouth.

"I know, I know."

"People who come in here have a hard time getting out, sometimes."

Ned laughed. It caught in his throat and shuddered into another sob. "You think?" He asked.

Sheogorath slithered next to him. He didn’t look at them, far too occupied with wiping tears from his face, which fell in spite of his efforts. His wet face sparkled in the firelight, and he was smiling in a way hurt things do. Sheogorath took one last look, setting all these features to memory and holding them close.

Ned finally looked her in the eyes.

Without another word, Sheogorath opened their mouth and swallowed him. For just a split second, Ned saw an alien sky full of stars. He was a weightless mote, adrift in a sea that stretched shoreless long past any horizon. Wind whipped his sides, eroded him away to a core and back again.

Then, warmth. A sun that was not his sun caressed his skin yet again. He realized, with a start, that he'd been holding his breath.

He opened his eyes.

Ned stood on the edge of the portal where he had come in just a day before. Brightly colored butterflies drifted around the edges, burning to sparks as they hit the barrier and flaring back into life as they bounced away. He was alone again. Unharmed and untouched, with eyes still burning with stars and tears. His breath came in shudders.

He was facing the twisted reflection of his own world, far away beyond comprehension and close enough to touch. It was morning. There was the lake near Bravil, the treeline in the distance. He thought he even saw the dim outline of the tent Shap had pitched to wait for him.

The message was clear. It was whispered in the wind, punctuated in the beating of chitinous wings.

Go home.

"I’m sorry.” Ned whispered.

Go home.

#idk how to content w4rn specific4lly but this is 4lso re4lly like n4sty 4t one p4rt 4nd might be evoc4tive of emotion4l 4buse? its not but #might feel h4rd to re4d if youre sensitive to th4t #4lso my 'a' key h4d been working for 4 few d4ys 4nd now 4s you might be noticing its fucked up 4g4in #NOT IN THE WRITING LOL I REPL4CED IT #my writing

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Monster

SHIP (if applicable): Geraskefer PROMPT DAY: 6 MEDIUM: Books WARNINGS: Self-loathing, more accidental self-harm than deliberate, canon typical suicidal ideation SUMMARY:

“What a hideous smile I have, Geralt thought, reaching for his sword. What a hideous face I have. And how hideously I squint. So is that what I look like? Damn.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, Sword of Destiny

“Do you know, Visenna, what is done to witchers’ eyes to improve them? Do you know it doesn’t always work?”

“Stop it,” she said softly. “Stop it, Geralt.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, Sword of Destiny

WORD COUNT: 11891 AUTHOR’S NOTES: Read on Ao3

@geraltwhumpweek

Geralt hated sorcerers. They were never good company, with the except of Yennefer who still had her moments, and they were usually unnaturally cruel whenever given the chance. He had, of course managed to run afoul of this one, he always did. If there was a sorcerer involved, he was going to suffer. That was simply the life of a witcher, or any other poor soul who happened to cross paths with them.

“Geralt of Rivia, Geralt of Nowhere. Geralt of Kaer Morhen, Geralt of No Parentage. Geralt the Witcher, Geralt the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt the Monster.”

Yes, that was all true, as far as Geralt was concerned. Nothing new, no worse than anything anyone else had said to him.

“I curse you.”

Fuck.

“I curse you so that you will look on the outside as you are on the inside. You will be the hideous monster you truly are. The monster you know yourself to be.”

Pain racked him so hard he thought he might die. His bones shifted like they had during the changes, his face stretching, cheekbones raising and flattening, jaw jutting forward and expanding as his mouth filled with sharp teeth, his lips pulling back and tearing as they failed to keep up with the changes to his skill. He screamed with the pain of it, and horror swamped him when an alien sound came from his mouth.

“Kill me, and it’s permanent,” the mage informed him.

The changes continued, his hands stretching into claws as his nails thickened and turned black like a wolf’s, his silvery hair spreading across more of his body. Geralt’s eyes turned true yellow, and he cried out again, the hoarse howl of a monster as his legs lengthened and thickened, making him taller even as his spine curled forcing him to hunch forward.

“However, true love, the purest kind can break the spell. Someone will have to love you as you are, seeing you as you truly are, for the spell to break.”

As his nose changed, growing sharper and hooking slightly he felt more shifts in his bones and tears in his skin where it failed to keep up and he moaned low in his throat. His voice had been unpleasant before, but now? Now it was the guttural sounds of a monster utterly incapable of speech. He tried. He tried to curse the mage before him, tears and snot running down his mutated face. When he tried to run his forearm across his face, he noticed the sinew and muscle standing out and the once fine dusting of milk white hair was now thick like pelt over his arm. He screamed again, hardly able to think. Geralt tore at it, the thick claws digging into flesh as he tried to pull some of the hair free.

He accidentally raked his own face in horror at the damage his claws had done, lifting them to try and cover his eyes and feeling them pierce the skin around his eyes and howled again.

“I suppose you should get used to your knew form, enjoy it, Geralt. After all, who could learn to love a beast?” The sorcerer opened a portal and stepped through it, smiling. Geralt lunged but was too late.

While his figure was mostly human, he felt, he couldn’t be too sure. His neck had changed and he had more trouble looking down at himself than he had before. Stay calm, focus, breathe, control your heart rate, control yourself. He looked down and saw his clothes mostly hanging in tatters. Something moved behind him and he twisted in panic raising his hands to defend himself with a cry of surprise. But nothing was there. But he could see something from the corner of his vision, and he twisted painfully to look down at himself and saw that he now had a tail.

The shock of it dropped him to his knees, cracking them painfully on the stone floor of the mage’s tower. He gripped it and thought about simply cutting it off. All that stopped him was that when Yennefer reversed the spell, it might hurt him in some other way. All of this had come from his body and to remove some of it might mean he would be less whole when returned to his natural state.

He tried to speak again and again but all that came out of his throat were horrible hoarse sounds. Wasn’t Dandelion always telling him all he did was grunt and grizzle? Now that was true. Perhaps a letter. He could send her a letter.

When he tried to pick up a writing implement from the desk his hands… claws, his hands were very nearly paws, and blackness edged around his vision again. He couldn’t hold the quill. Could barely pick it up, it was too fine, too delicate. Then he realized, who would mail the letter for him? How would he pay? A horrible chuffing sound came out of him and he realized that was his laugh. He screamed again, unable to help it.

It was daylight. He was effectively trapped in the tower until nightfall. If people saw him they would hunt him down and kill him and he couldn’t even speak to them to explain. Couldn’t write them a message… or perhaps… perhaps he could.

It didn’t occur to him to use the inkwell, which would have been smarter. Instead, he dug his claws into his flesh tipping them in his own blood as he carefully wrote a message to Yennefer on the parchment. He had no idea if she’d ever find it. It said very little, and he had no way to mail it… no coins… but perhaps somehow it would make its way to her.

Yennefer- Mage. Curse. Help. -Geralt.

When he wiped at his eyes again, the fur on his forearm was streaked with blood. Bloodied tears? His heart squeezed. Was no part of him left human? He had to get out of there. He paced around the tower room and stopped when he saw a mirror. It was slightly warped, the silver bent and twisted, not good quality. But it was enough to make him sink to his knees in horror.

His clothing had torn around him, in some places digging into his skin and cutting him. He pulled it off where string and thread still tore into his flesh and looked at himself. While he had never been especially hairy fur had mostly replaced natural body hair and he uncomfortably touched his cheeks. He never even wore a beard, and now he had an odd coating of fur that started an inch or so away from his eyes and ran halfway down his neck. It picked up again at his sternum in a large circular shape before continuing over his abdomen and down to his groin.

“I envy you this, you know. It looks so low maintenance. I’ve never seen you trim or shave any of it,” Dandelion told him softly, stroking along his sides and hips. “Does it truly just grow this way? Nice and neat?”

“I don’t know if it’s neat,” Geralt protested lightly. “But it’s true, I don’t alter it.” Who did?

The poet gently stroked up the insides of his legs and over his hips, circling his groin with gentle touches. Geralt would have given anything for those delicate fingers to never stop. Being comfortable and safe like this was far better than sex. “I do, I spend quite a bit of time on it, maintaining it.”

“Why?” Geralt asked, he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other about Dandelion’s body hair.

“Oh Geralt,” the bard teased, eyes twinkling. “As much hair grows here, if I didn’t keep it trimmed,” his fingers gently ran through the hair above Geralt’s cock, “people would think me much smaller than I am. Too much hair and you hide too much and even if there’s plenty no one will believe it.”

Geralt snorted in shock and laughed. Dandelion grinned at him, pleased to have made him smile. The bard gently leaned over to press a kiss to Geralt’s hip, and the witcher knew he was being given a choice. They could just continue to lie like this, or they could make love. He found both options tempting, but he didn’t feel like the amount of movement the latter would require. He gently cupped Dandelion’s cheek, guiding him up to kiss him on the mouth.

“Just sit with me,” Geralt asked, voice husky.

“Of course, love,” Dandelion agreed easily, continuing to let his fingers trail over and explore his lover. Every so often Geralt twitched a little, and the bard knew he’d found a new place to touch and tease during their lovemaking, but for now just being together was enough.

Thankfully his genitals were barely visible under the hanging fur, since pants weren’t going to be an option for him. Ashamed in ways he hadn’t thought possible, he tried to pick up his cloak from the chair and drape it around himself. All that happened was his claws caught and shredded the fabric. He laughed bitterly and startled when it came out as the chuffing bark noise from before. Tears ran over his cheeks again, the blood dyeing the fur on his face pink.

How was he going to wash himself? Or dress himself? Keep himself warm? His entire body wasn’t furred.

The mirror allowed him to see his jaw elongated and widened, new teeth full of sharp points that prevented him from closing his mouth entirely, which meant drool was starting to form at the corners of his lips. Hatred for himself sang in his heart. Even his ears had moved slightly, higher on his head and more pointed and leathery like a bat’s, perhaps. Barely recognizable as human other than the color.

His skin had turned even whiter, even less human, more like alabaster than the usual sallow paleness he was used to and his eyes…. Oh, they were so yellow and the slitted pupils- nothing he did would round them again like a normal man’s. The could widen and thin them but not enough. He would have thrown up if he could have.

Mostly his bone structure appeared to be the same, outside of his face, just longer and thicker. His hips pushed against his skin the way they did in lean months where he had little to eat, but he had a feeling this was permanent. Just as his ribs pulled the skin tight between them and his hips, leaving him with a small waist that exemplified several drawings of famine he’d seen.

Unable to bear the sight of himself he slammed a hand against the mirror without thinking and cried out when the silver burned. The glass shattered and bits of it stuck into his knuckles and flew at him, leaving red marks as if he’d been scalded. His claws were too brutish to pull the glass out and he found himself shredding skin attempting to pull the burning embers of silver from his body. Once they were out, he was left with mutilated knuckles and red welts all over himself where the mirror had exploded with the force of his strike.

Unsure of where to walk, his feet were mostly bare, his boots shredded and useless. He glanced at his medallion, he had torn it off along with his shirt. How would he wear it? How would people know it was him? He couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell them, couldn’t write… Moaning, he covered his face with his hands and wept, he had never felt so helpless in his life.

“Yen this is humiliating.”

“Your leg was broken and so was your skull. Get up and walk around with me.”

“I’m wobbling like a fawn, Yen, I don’t want to.”

“And how will you get better if you refuse to use your muscles?”

“My head aches.”

“And I shall rub your neck after, and perhaps your shoulders too, if you stop trying to delay the inevitable and get up and walk with me.”

“Perhaps you could rub something else?”

She snorted. “Are you done whining?”

“I wasn’t whining,” he argued, getting out of the bed shakily. The linen pants moved across the bandages on his shin and he took her hand, allowing her to help him up. Then slid his arm around her shoulders, leaning on her as they walked out of the room. She made him pace the length of the hall and back before allowing him to rest, and he was happy to hold her in his arms as he waited for his muscles to stop shaking.

He loved the feel of her hair over his skin, and the coolness of her touch on his body. She gently ran fingers through his hair, pressing gently as she massaged away the worst of his headache. He loved when they were close together like this, when there was no expectation, no pressure. They could just be.

Walking carefully through the splinters of mirror he knew whenever he failed because the pain burned him. Welts and blisters rose up, but thankfully no more glass made its way into his flesh. Not sure what to do with his old clothes, or his medallion, he did his best to work around his claws and bundle the silver without touching it. His medallion. His mark, who he was. He had no pockets, no pack, nothing.

Pawing through the mage’s things, he did manage to find a satchel with a long strap which he tucked the medallion in, the leather barely touch enough to withstand his claws as he shoved it in. It took some doing but he also managed to get the strap over his shoulder without destroying it or the bag. He couldn’t leave yet, and his body still ached.

There was no food to take, nothing to do but wait. So he crouched down in a corner away from the debris, running a claw over the shaggy rough hair sprouting from his scalp. His sensitive fingers had been covered in thick callous that made it hard to feel, but he could still tell his hair was no longer the fine silky texture his partners had loved. Ciri had loved it, too. His hair was smoother than hers, no curl, and so she had loved brushing it out. She had often put it into braids. Now, the rough strands would be not only unpleasant to touch but near impossible to groom. It was going to mat so easily, he knew.

“Your hair is so soft,” Ciri marveled, running fingers through it as he sat with her by the fire. They had spread out a few blankets and pillows on the hearthstones to wait out the storm. While she wasn’t afraid of the weather, after the Wild Hunt had near taken her, she was a little jumpier about the noise. He didn’t fault her.

He closed the book in his lap, leaving his index finger between the pages to mark their spot. He had chosen a bestiary at her request and was teaching her more of what she would know to be a witcher. Initially, he had wanted to read history or philosophy or something else, anything else. But it was what she had asked him for.

She gently combed out his hair again, having used a little bit of unscented oil to make the strands gleam. Since she had decided to take an interest in grooming him like a beloved feist his hair always shone in the light. It was always neatly brushed. He looked healthier. Of course, taking her into his life he had had to start taking better care of himself simply because he was taking care of her. If she needed food, he found food rather than go hungry. If she felt filthy, he found a place for them to bathe. It was just what he did now.

While he was well able to keep himself clean and his hair free of tangles without assistance, they both found the routine soothing. So many ugly things happened around them day in and day out that it was nice to end the day by the fire together, doing something peaceful. Not to mention both Yennefer and Dandelion had commented on the change in texture of his hair, enjoying the silkiness Ciri’s ministrations had brought out.

He fell asleep somehow, curled into the corner. The stones on his skin were cold enough to leech away some of his body heat and leave him to wake shivering and miserable. So much for the new layer of fur keeping him warm or being useful in any way.

The sky was dark, and most of the village around the tower asleep. Humiliated by his nakedness, he knew he didn’t have a choice about it, or about having to leave. If the mage sent someone back to clear him out, or alert the villagers, he would be killed in a small space unless he was willing to let his actions match his appearance. Perhaps he should just let them kill him.

But he had hope, small hope, that Yennefer would somehow find his message. Would somehow find him and save him. She loved him, didn’t she? So did Dandelion. One of them should work, or perhaps she could just reverse the spell without anything. In case her love wasn’t even… he loved them both so much. Surely, surely one of them could break it. Would it take a kiss? Just some blood? He tried to remember how Nivellen’s curse had been broken with the bruxa, but he didn’t want to have to kill one of his lovers. He wouldn’t. He would kill himself first if that was the only solution.

The doorknob was difficult to grip and slippery against his skin and he barely managed to get it open. Only the terror of acting like the beast he was kept him from smashing through it. He was bigger, and bulkier, and going through the doorway and down the twisting steps made him aware of how much he had changed. It was difficult to navigate where before he would have run quickly.

He paused at the bottom, smelling food. A bit old, perhaps, but not turned. He listened for a while, didn’t smell any signs of human life or hear anything, and the thought of food made his mouth water. Ropes of drool slid over his chin and hung down and he shut his eyes. Nothing he did would take away the feeling. Ashamed, he almost didn’t open the door to the kitchen. He should perhaps just starve to death. But, never seeing Ciri again, never seeing Yennefer or Dandelion… not if there was a chance he could be saved… even if he didn’t deserve it…

Tthe hunger pressed on him and he pushed through the door and raided the stores of food he found. The vegetables were hard to chew, since all of his teeth had apparently been replaced with fangs leaving him with very little molar. He ended up gulping down chunks of carrot and potato raw. The meat he found was dried, and even more difficult to manage. His claws allowed him to tear it easily enough and he swallowed strips whole. He ate until his stomach ached and bulged, knowing he had no way to carry any of it with him.

While he was sure he could hunt, and while he could process raw meat if forced, he had no taste for it. Perhaps his new monster’s body and tongue would. Ripping into raw flesh and still beating hearts… that had always been his destiny hadn’t it? Shunned by society living like an animal? Looking around for anything that might help him, anything that might keep him human, there was nothing.

At the door to the tower he listened, and when he heard no one moving around he ran.

“Madam Yennefer, a message for you.”

“Odd, a letter coming from my banker.”

“It’s an odd situation, if you don’t mind me saying,” the dwarf twisted his hands.

“Please, explain.” She took the missive in her hand, looking at the odd parchment. When she opened it, it bore five words written in blood. The implement used to write had scratched the fibers of the page, making it hard to read and the blood had trailed along the disrupted grooves. It was hardly legible, but she know how Geralt made his runes. Even if he was clearly badly injured and writing her in blood. Although the marks were like no quill she had ever seen. It was too thick, and far too coarse. Disturbed, she looked up at the dwarf.

“Well. There was a contract for your witcher, and he took it. Went up to meet a sorcerer who said they had information and would also pay for parts of the beast. I don’t know all the details, mind. But Geralt went in, and he never came out. One of my fellows heard that he hadn’t come to pay his inn bill, or the fee for keeping his horse stabled. I had someone go take care of it. The horse is on her way to your home in Vengerberg, where she and his bags will be safe. I also had the money owed settled.”

“And you’ll have it taken from my accounts?”

“I was simply waiting on approval.”

“That’s neatly done then. I’ll need to withdraw some coin, then. To take with me. If you hear anything of Geralt, have it passed along to me as quickly as possible. Here, I’ll leave a kestrel, send it with any news.”

“Done.”

“Giancardi?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He tried to keep track of the days, scratching a mark into the bark of a tree. But after the first week time became meaningless. He knew it might take a full month before Yennefer got his note, assuming she ever did. He had told her the contact might take him weeks. She wouldn’t think to check for ages yet. He was on his own for much longer.

He had dug up various roots he had found, keeping himself alive as best he could, and much to his disgust he had managed to fell a deer and the carcass had fed him for days. Geralt was doing his best to behave as a human might. He tried to keep himself clean. Bathing in the cold stream was even worse with the added fur to soak in and hold the icy water against his skin.

A bear had chased him out of the first cave he found, and then a pack of wolves another. Finally, he had given in and dug himself a sort of shelter, doing his best to create more space by breaking branches and aligning them to create a sort of roof and wall. With his hands thick and unwieldy he could barely manage. Using vines to tie anything was out of the question. The crude lean-to kept the worst of the wind and damp away but he would have given anything for a fire.

When hunters came through and found his shelter, they almost found him. He hadn’t remembered to hide his tracks and they chased him for days. He could endure more, suffer more, but some part of him hoped they would catch him. Kill him and make all of this end.

The longer he was alone in the wild, the more terrifying he became. He caught glimpses of himself in the streams and rivers and puddles… his appearance continued to change and his body never stopped aching.

“Ciri, pack your things. I’ve found a place to hide you and I’ll need you to stay there.”

“Yennefer, I’m hardly in need of that kind of care anymore. I’m capable in my own right.”

“Geralt would never forgive me.”

“If he was taken as part of a contract, I’m your best bet at luring out whoever it was. If they want a witcher, let’s give them a witcher.”

“I don’t intend to use you as bait.”

“Please, Mamma, please. Don’t make me wait here twiddling my thumbs when I’m just as good with a sword as he is. Let me help.”

“One promise or I will use magic to keep you here.”

“What is it?”

“You obey. Something both you and Geralt are terrible at. But this time, you do as I tell you. Or I will send you through a portal to somewhere only I can find you and take you back out.”

“I promise.”

When his knees had reversed to match those of the predators whose forest he shared, the agony was so bad he couldn’t move for days. He laid there in the dirt and leaves, bugs crawling over him and didn’t move, and wished for death.

He fought and killed the giant cat that wanted his territory, and the pelt that grew over his body kept him far warmer than his clothes ever had. This time, he had chosen a place far from humans and higher in the mountains where not many bothered to travel to. Hunting was scarce but he had found a cave that was his and had dragged plenty of dried leaves in it to act as a bed. There was a hollow in the back that collected rain that dripped from a crack in the roof and it kept him from having to leave for fresh water too often.

He had no idea how many days had passed. Time had no meaning for an animal. He woke, he hunted, sometimes he ate, and then he slept.

“There’s some sort of silvery-haired werewolf living in our woods, you know, Master Dandelion.”

“Oh pish, I know what werewolves look like. The things your villagers have been saying are lies. Some sort of primal man-ape creature living in the woods.”

“We chased him out,” a man interjected. “We caught sight of him and chased him out. Silver haired and yellow eyed, monstrous. Huge claws, sharp teeth, found his dwelling and razed it so he’d never return. Thought about calling ourselves a witcher but we handled it just fine on our own, we did.”

“Silver hair and yellow eyes?”

“Fangs as big as my arm, ‘e jus’ ran though,” another man called out, this one older and missing some teeth. “Big cowar’ly cretchur,” he explained.

Dandelion looked around the tavern. He had planned to meet Geralt a few days ride from here and they had intended to travel together back to Vengerberg to meet with Yennefer and Ciri. Only Geralt hadn’t been in the area that anyone knew of. Not recently. He had come a month or more ago, had met with the sorcerer and disappeared. All heads were nodding in agreement and he felt a moment of concern.

“What tower did you say the sorcerer lived in?”

“Look outside, Master Poet, and see for yourself.”

He finished his beer, gathered up his things, and did exactly that. Gathering up the reins of his horse, he unhitched Pegasus from the post and mounted up, kicking the fat grey gelding into a slow trot.

When he reached the tower he found the door slightly ajar. Fear mounting in his chest he fairly ran up the steps, and was horrified to find blood all over the floor of the tower, shattered glass all over, and … Geralt’s clothes, shredded to pieces. There was no sign of him. The bard looked over the tower, seeing torn paper, broken quills, a shredded cloak, and Geralt’s things. His sword belt had snapped, and he had left his swords. Or was eaten, Dandelion supposed, tears welling up in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks.

Further inspection revealed silvery-white fur littering the room and the heaviest coating was reserved for a bloody corner. “Did it kill you Geralt?” Dandelion asked the swords softly. As if there would be answers there. He lifted them up and gathered up whatever he could of Geralt’s clothes and boots. Some spells required the essence of a person.

He needed to contact Yennefer. And perhaps, with what he’d found, she could do something to track Geralt, or the monster that killed him.

He quickly used the parchment and half a quill to pen a letter, noticing the untouched inkwell. Then he folded it, sealed it after relighting a candle and ran down the steps again, Geralt’s swords crushed to his chest. Dandelion quickly found the messenger service in the town and paid the fee to have his letter sent to Yennefer.

Geralt barely knew himself anymore. He knew he was waiting for something. He knew the pouch on his body meant something, but his paws wouldn’t allow him to open it. He couldn’t get it off over his head, it was stuck in matted fur and dried blood. Eventually it snagged on something, choking him and he tore it free, not caring that the strap shredded. He gathered it up in his teeth, the sharp fangs snagging on the leather and brought it back to his cave and left it there among the leaves he used as a bed.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t get to it.

“Yennefer!”

“Dandelion!” They hugged briefly. Their affections for each other were largely glued together by Geralt. While they were fond of each other, he was what brought them together.

“I found his things, or what was left of them, I see you got my letter?”

“I got this from him, too, about a day or two before your letter found me.”

“Is… is that blood?”

“It is, his, I think. You’ve been staying in the area?”

“I got the locals to show me the direction they had chased the supposed monster in. I found signs of the habitation, I don’t know… if it’s the thing that killed Geralt, or something he was trying to kill, or what happened to him.”

“I stopped by the tower on the way here, all the blood was his. It called out to the blood on the paper. You’d best show me around the area the monster was in, if it killed him his blood will sing out wherever it was left.”

“And if it didn’t? How will we find him?”

“If he’s injured by it, or kept tracking it, it’ll lead us to wherever his blood was last spilled. We’ll find him. If we can.”

“Ciri?”

“With the horses, waiting. She promised to obey me in all things or I would portal her into a dungeon on a mountain where no one could get to her. At least not without a portal. I’ve promised her that she will help us track down the beast. Or mage. Geralt wrote ‘cursed.’ I don’t… I don’t know what to think. Was he cursed and killed by the monster? Was he cursed… in another way? Was all that fur in the tower his?” her voice shook.

“I don’t know,” the poet said grimly. “I don’t know. But if he’s alive we’ll find him. In whatever condition, and we’ll break the curse, and we’ll take him with us and we’ll put him to rights. It’s what he’d do for us, and what we’ve done for him before, and we’ll do it again. As often as it takes.”

“I miss him, Dandelion. I hadn’t expected to see him for another few weeks, our plan was to meet later, as you well know. But I miss him and it terrifies me there’s no sign of him. I’ll get Ciri, and you can show me the woods.”

The monster pawed loosely at the leather in his bed. The hard object inside had hurt him when he’d slept on it, digging into the flesh of his side. Arrows had broken off in his body after an attack he hardly remembered, and whatever it was in his bed had pressed into it, making it hurt worse. He pawed feebly at the wounds, knowing they were infected, but his clawed paws couldn’t pull out the arrowhead. He had scratched himself raw and bloody, creating a further mess in his side. His body didn’t bend to allow him to lick it clean or care for it, he moved half upright and half on all fours, but he hadn’t gone to hunt in a few days.

Food had passed by his cave, but he had stayed, trying to regain his strength and heal. Some part of him remembered cool hands touching him, easing the pains and hurts in his body. Something had cramped his gut and made him ill and he had fallen a long ways, and those hands had nursed him back to health. But it made no sense, his only clear memories of humans were violent and painful. If they saw him, they chased him screaming and firing arrows and waving swords.

They were right to fear him, his slavering jaws and cruel claws were to be hated and feared.

Continued attempts to discover the source of his discomfort in the leather pouch allowed him to open it, claws tearing and shredding, and a round metal object fell out, skittering across the cave floor to land near his water supply.

When he reached out to touch it, nudging it with his muzzle, he roared in pain, feeling his face burn and welts raise up on his sensitive nose. Whimpering and howling, he leaves it alone, afraid to touch it again and curls back on his uninjured side in the leaves.

“He bled heavily here, look. Someone shot arrows into him,” Ciri lifted up the fletched half of an arrow. “Broke off, or he broke it off and pulled it through. Don’t see the other half anywhere, though. He was alive when he left here.”

“The question is, was he chasing the beast that the townsfolk were, or is he the beast?”

“Yennefer, don’t say that. Witchers aren’t that strange.”

“Dandelion, he said he was cursed. His blood is all over. He’s still alive, as far as we know, but there’s been no sign of him. The footprints we found are far too large to belong to a normal man, with evidence of clawed feet. So if this is Geralt’s blood, where are his footprints?”

“Yennefer, look, by the shelter, there’s notches in the tree. Keeping track of time. If it was Geralt, he was here a little over a week. Hunting, or waiting for help.”

“Then we press on.”

The monster went out hunting, the pain in its side making it gasp and wheeze with each breath. But it had to eat. Food was survival. It got lucky and stumbled across an injured rabbit. The creature hardly lasted a second once the monster had it, ripping it open with stubby claws and sharp teeth. It wasn’t enough, but the rabbit would keep it alive a bit longer.

A little stronger from the meal, it snuffled around, bloody drool hanging off its jaw as it rooted around for tubers in the dirt, digging them out with its paws and eating them straight from the ground. Some part of it knew things weren’t right, but it assumed it was the festering open sores in its side, and not the meal.

After it had dug up what it could, it moved on, looking for something else to eat.

“Look, bones.” Ciri kicked over a bundle of them, chunks of fur still clinging in some places.

“He’s out here somewhere,” Yennefer says slowly, hands held out, the letter tucked into her belt. She had opted to wear men’s clothing and a cap over her hair to make travel easier. The woods were not easy to traverse in her usual gowns. “More of his blood here than anywhere we’ve been other than the tower.”

“Something with white hair rubbed up against a tree here, and it’s soaked in blood,” Dandelion calls softly. He looks around the woods, feeling lost. The sun is high in the sky, they weren’t sleeping much. They rested once it was too dark to make the horses go on, and pressed on the minute the sky turned grey with predawn light. He touched the scratched bark and noted the blood was old. There were signs of a creature living in the area, something large. The fur and blood was around shoulder height. “It’s large, whatever it is. Do we think he’s hunting it and got hurt, or do we think he is it?”

“I don’t know,” Yennefer rubbed at her temples. “He would have left us a trail sign, if he was able. I can’t help but think perhaps it is him. But I haven’t seen any time markers, or evidence of him hiding his tracks, but I never saw him doing that before either. But the ‘beast’ the villagers chased, when we looked around that area… it was sentient. Smart enough to brush away tracks, and build a shelter. There’s none of this here. I don’t know, Dandelion. I don’t know. I won’t know until we find one of them. Or if it’s both in one, him.”

“I found some evidence of marking, look, just like a bear does.”

“Good, Ciri, any blood?”

“Some, the blood doesn’t look healthy. Infection. Geralt’s injured.” There was plenty of it splattering the leaves around the tree marked with deep gouges. She found bits of broken claw just like she might have a cat would leave on a rug. Lifting up a chipped piece, the marks had to have been caused by a claw longer than her fingers.

The monster pricked up its ears when it heard voices. It hadn’t heard humans in ages. It swiveled its ears and prepared to run. The injury in its side was exhausting it, and it gathered itself slowly. It would wait until they were too close to avoid, but it hoped they would go and it could stay. It would hate to give up its warm cave and safe watering hole.

It didn’t understand the speech, or the words they were calling out. It just knew the cry was sad, and lonely, and it lay there in the detritus, knowing somewhere in its monster’s heart, the cry hurt.

“Geralt! Geralt are you out there? Geralt! We’ve come to find you, please call out if you can hear me us!” Dandelion shouted at the top of his voice. He was able to be far louder than either Ciri or Yennefer.

Ciri continued to look for tracks, and finally realized she was seeing them. Five deep even punctures, long claws that couldn’t be retracted. It would be painful to walk on anything but loose dirt, where the claws would provide traction. She followed them to a cave and to her shock saw something glinting in the back.

Drawing her sword, she cautiously swept forward. “I see something!” she called back behind her, hoping that she was about to find one of Geralt’s daggers, or something that would indicate he was alive and well.

The leaves littering the cave floor were covered in white hair and blood and reeked of infection. The creature was sick. Badly injured. Or… Geralt was badly injured. She carefully sifted through the leaves and came across a torn leather pouch. It wasn’t Geralt’s, but it meant a human had been here. The pouch was shredded and the strap broken. In the mess of the pouch she found scraps of black cloth. “Geralt.” She sheathed her sword and stepped closer to the small pool of water and almost fainted in a mix of relief and horror when she saw his medallion lying there on the ground. “Yennefer! Dandelion!” Her voice was not as loud as the bard’s, but she could still scream.

The monster’s ears twitched. The humans had invaded its home. A low growl rumbled through it and it snuffled miserably. It was in no shape to fight them out. Its home was lost, again. But it was sick of being forced out of its home by other animals, and it had found a good spot and it didn’t want to leave. Aching and pained, it heard the continued howling and babbling of the humans and dragged itself up, prowling around the edges of the clearing around its cave. It didn’t want to be seen early, but humans were weak prey, perhaps it could scare them off or win the fight. If they didn’t have the things that would stick in him and hurt him so badly.

“His medallion, look!” Ciri held it up with trembling hands.

“Oh, he never takes that off, not ever,” Dandelion moans softly. “Oh, the thing ate him! It isn’t him, he was here hunting it, and he got eaten!”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Yennefer snapped. “It isn’t bloodied. It was kept in a bag wrapped in the scraps of his shirt, look.” She lifted up the black fabric scraps and the remains of the leather satchel. “This cave is filled with his blood all over the leaves,” she lifted up a few. “He’s been camping here.”

Ciri edged towards the front of the cave and froze. “Yennefer,” her voice was tight.

A smallish human, female. Another small human female, and a small male. Nothing that should be too troubling. It didn’t see any of the sharp implements that hurt it so much earlier.

“What?”

“Come here, please, look, do you see it, too?”

“See what?” the sorceress snapped impatiently, holding her hands out to try and sense more blood. There was more, something near the cave mouth. She got up and went over to Ciri and peered out over her shoulder, hands held up in front of her. “I….” she croaked. “I see… Geralt? Geralt is that you? Step into the light, come here, I can’t undo the curse if you won’t come over….”

The beast in the woods growled at her and slunk forward, teeth bared. Saliva ran over its jaws in thick ropey strands. White fur covered its body and it walked with an odd mix of all legs and just the back two, giving it an odd lolling gate.

“He’s injured… its? Mamma… is… is that Geralt?”

“Dandelion, get out of the cave, we’ll corner him in there. Or it. We’ll find out in a moment but be out of the way. Ciri, can you circle back behind it, keep it from running?”

“His eyes…. That’s… that’s got to be him….” her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. But she gathered herself. “Yes, I’ll flank him, he’s hurt badly.”

Dandelion stepped out of the cave and swore. The creature in front of him flinched and growled, peeling its lips back from bloody pink gums to bare sharp white fangs. “Geralt?” his voice came out as a whimper. “Oh, Geralt. Fuck. Yennefer it’s Geralt.”

The monster wasn’t sure what the noises meant, but they still sounded sad. A wolf with no pack. It rested a front paw on the ground, leaning heavily. Its breaths came out short and sharp, side aching. It flared its nostrils wide, taking in their scent. One smelled like ice and something else it didn’t understand. The other smelled like flowers in the meadow, and the smallest of them smelled like the sea and something it couldn’t place. Something familiar. They all smelled familiar but the monster didn’t know humans. It had always been this way, always alone, and always terrifying to behold.

When the dark haired one lifted its hands he flinched and snarled, gnashing his teeth at her. He could remember curls on his fingers. Other than he’d never had fingers. The other one, the one breathing hard and whimpering made noise. Beautiful noise with his hands and mouth. But the small one, the small one was his. He rushed the first one, he would chase them out and the odd feelings would stop. So would the odd images in his head.

Yennefer stepped aside when he charged, she had seen the muscles in his body tense. Dandelion was right, she could feel the magic, the curse was active and changing constantly. When his first charge didn’t work, he tried to circle back but Ciri had closed in on him and shouted, waving her arms widely behind him and Dandelion joined her, cutting off his other avenue of escape. Between the three of them blocking his way he roared in frustration and then ran into the cave, trying to defend the entryway.

Ciri brought out his medallion, holding it out to him, and he backed away, whimpering from them, the silver burned. The monster remembered the silver burned. It wanted nothing to do with them. When he made to charge them again the small one drew a blade and slapped at him with the flat of it.

He cowered low, confused, and terrified, pain glazing his eyes. It was so hard to breathe and all the exertion the humans were causing was making it even harder to get enough air. He hadn’t been eating well, barely able to hunt, and while he had done his best to pull the arrowheads from his side or to rub them against a tree and force them out, he couldn’t. The infection kept his skin hot and rotted the fur around the wound.

“Geralt, it’s me,” Ciri told him quietly.

Geralt meant nothing to him. Neither did the sounds. But the voice was kind, and he hoped that perhaps they would simply kill him quickly.

Yennefer pressed in on his other side, “this is badly infected, and has been. If he was gone at least a month before we started looking, and it’s taken us at least another one to find him… they shot at him near two months ago, it’s a miracle he’s alive.”

Fear and pain dropped him to his side, and he whimpered once, letting his head drop to the leaves, feeling them tickle against his muzzle. Drool slowly began to cover the ground under his head and he waited for them to kill him.

“Let me see, Geralt, let me see it, I can help,” she said in her best attempt at a soothing voice. “Ciri, I don’t think he’s lost all the fight in him yet. Help me. Dandelion? Get our packs, we’ll need them. Also, firewood.”

Yennefer jumped back just in time as he lunged and snapped at her, and he would have taken off her arm if she hadn’t been waiting for him to attack her.

Dandelion came back in to see Geralt lying on his side, wheezing, tongue lolling with his eyes rolling in panic in his head. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing, he tried to attack me and he keeled over,” Yennefer said brusquely.

“Yen, he’s starving,” Ciri said softly. She tried approaching him, hands out, and he lifted his muzzle and snapped at her, growling savagely.

“There’s food in the packs, Dandelion, get out all of it.”

“Will that work?” he asked quietly, dropping the packs to the ground immediately and starting to dig out their travel rations. They had dried meat, hardtack, hard cheese, and they had stopped by a small settlement at the edge of the woods and had some root vegetables and a large loaf of slightly stale bread. They had eaten the other loaves already.

Ciri wasn’t listening, she grabbed up the cheese, meat, and bread, watching Geralt as his nostrils flared and pupils dilated slightly at the sight of food. He licked his chops and continued to pant, lying there and staring at the food. He watched her, watched her hands, and when she lightly tossed a bit of meat he opened his jaws and snapped it up, gulping it down before it could be taken.

He startled when he looked at her next and she was closer, the fur rising up along his back and shoulders and he growled again, a low warning growl. Then the small one held up another piece of meat and lightly tossed it to him, and he snapped that up, as well. There wasn’t enough to fill his belly, not by a long shot, but the girl had more. The blonde girl. The one who smelled familiar. She threw him another piece and then stepped closer. He kept his hackles up, teeth bared after he ate the next piece.

Before he knew it, she was within biting distance, and held up a piece of cheese. He couldn’t recall the taste of it, but the sight and smell made him drool.

“Ciri, be careful,” Yennefer whispered, worried. “Dandelion, get us firewood, and we’ll try and set some snares, he needs to eat more. Although if we could shrink him back down to his usual size, we won’t need as much food… the… the little settlement, they were… a few hours out? Can you make it there for more food and back? Take my palfrey to carry the food, and ride Roach down, don’t take Pegasus. I know you don’t want to leave him, but I can create a spell to keep him from leaving the cave… and it won’t stick if I’m not here to hold it. Can you go?”

“Already leaving, but firewood first?”

“Please,” she said, watching those yellow eyes in the dim light of the cave. They had an odd sheen and she imagined if he’d been human, he would have burned with fever. She could smell the rot in his side. He was near the size of a horse, and she wasn’t sure how much it would take to feed him, but she could feel the edges of the curse, but not the conditions.

The bard stepped out quickly, rushing about to gather up wood. The sooner he left the sooner he could come back. And perhaps they would have made some progress with Geralt in his absence. They had healing supplies with them, they had anticipated he would be hurt. Just, not like this. They had never anticipated this.

Ciri got a little closer, holding out the rest of the cheese. He tipped his head up and his tongue flicked out to grab it, and he swallowed the chunk whole. She was close enough to rest a hand on his muzzle, but she didn’t. She could see the way he kept trying to watch both her and Yennefer, fear making his rib cage flutter as he fought to breathe. “Oh, Geralt,” she said softly. “We’re here now, we’ll fix it.” She tore the loaf of bread into chunks and sat, letting the pieces rest in her lap. She held out another one and he took it from her.

After the last chunk was devoured, she slowly reached out to touch his muzzle. “This isn’t right you know,” she told him quietly, watching as Yennefer held her hands out, brow furrowed in concentration. He flinched away from her, but she ignored it, gently stroking the damp white fur.

The noises she made almost made sense, like a forgotten memory. The food in his belly wasn’t enough, but it was different than the raw meat and whatever he could dig up and scarf down.

“Mamma, please bring me the rest of the food,” she said quietly, idly stroking the fur between his eyes. “He’s still hungry.” Ciri watched some of the fight go out of his body, paws curling as he lay there. His ears swiveled around tracking Yennefer as she moved around the cave. The panting got worse as Yennefer moved, but eased when she was back in his line of sight.

“I can’t imagine he’ll enjoy hardtack.”

“No one enjoys it, that isn’t the point,” Ciri sniffed, and then carefully fed Geralt the rest of their food supplies. He was exhausted, she could tell. He reminded her of her grandfather’s hounds after too long of a hunt. Too tired to rest. She kept up the gently stroking and leaned forward to touch his leathery ears. They were soft and warm, and his eyes closed when she started gently stroking them. Yennefer moved again, shoes scraping on the floor and his eyes opened, and he snarled again, wheezing after. “It’s alright, you’re alright,” Ciri promised him, scratching the top of his muzzle and then the rough hair of his cheeks before moving under his chin. The fur was soaked in spittle but she didn’t mind. It was Geralt. The yellow eyes closed in pleasure and she kept it up as his body slowly relaxed and eased.

Yennefer put her hands over his wound, and he opened one eye to stare, dragging his lip back over his teeth to show her their sharpness.

“Geralt, it’s alright,” Ciri said softly, and the words almost had meaning. His ears flicked forward to her and she smiled at him. “Do you want me to keep talking to you?”

Yennefer watched carefully, and then gently laid her hands on his side, feeling the heat and swelling radiating from the wound. The initial injury had to be somewhere in the middle of his ribs, but it had radiated from shoulder to flank and her heart dropped. He was very ill. Dangerously ill. Half starved, he didn’t have what he needed to fight off the infection that was killing him.

His skin twitched and rippled under her palms, and she felt tears slide over her cheeks. They could save him, it would be even easier to do it if they could turn him back. “True love often breaks curses,” she tells Ciri quietly. “Can you keep him calm while I come around to his head?”

“You plan to kiss him on the mouth?”

“No, the forehead,” Yennefer told her dryly.

Ciri stuck out her tongue impudently and continued to let her hands smooth the thick white fur under her palms. “I imagine you’re exhausted. You’ve been running a while, and you’re hurting badly. I’m sorry Geralt. I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner. You can understand me, can’t you? I want you to understand me.”

Yennefer knelt down at his head and gently started stroking his fur. “I love you,” she told him gently. “Even when we’re fighting, or I’m angry, I always love you. I always will. We always love each other.” She leaned over him and ignored the way his lips peeled back from his gums and kissed him gently on the top of his head, feeling the coarse fur brush her lips. She pulled away, tears dripping down her cheeks to soak into his fur. “Oh Geralt, what kind of curse weas this? Can you talk to me? Can you understand us?” There was a catch in her voice and she hated it.

Both she and Ciri waited with bated breath, and Ciri sighed when nothing happened. Tears ran down her cheeks when she realized Geralt wasn’t miraculously changing back. They sat with him, stroking and comforting him until it started to get cool.

Yennefer gathered up leaves and the firewood and started a fire. Geralt had started to tremble and she knew he was going to need help staying warm. The fur didn’t seem to be doing him much good. Not with the illness such as it was. It was obvious he had tried to get the arrowheads out, but she could see part of the shaft of one still sticking out. He had probably driven them deeper in, dangerously close to his lungs.

She planned to wait until Dandelion got back before she attempted to pull the arrows out and start any of the healing process. They would need to boil water and prepare bandages and two sets of hands wouldn’t be enough.

Ciri kept up a steady stream of chatter, and Yennefer gasped in surprise when Geralt nodded his head to something she said. Ciri looked up at her in shock, and then kept talking, her words speeding up with an almost frantic edge. He didn’t seem to know what she wanted from him when she tried asking him questions.

“Let him rest, Ciri, let him sleep, he’s exhausted.”

They kept vigil together, hands gently smoothing the matted white fur on his head and chest. Dandelion came back before full dark, laden with bags of food and more bandaging.

Geralt woke up at the sound and with raised hackles, snarling and growling, he staggered up on all fours, backing himself into the wall of the cave.

“Stop!” Ciri said quietly, holding her hands up. “Geralt, it’s me, you know me, it’s Ciri. I’m your destiny. Geralt, do you remember? I’m your destiny. Tell me, nod, something, but tell me you understand. Do it!”

“Ciri,” Yennefer said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder, not expecting Geralt to respond. But instead he whined low in his throat and ducked his head, ears flattening and tail curling up between his legs. He bobbed his head lightly and stepped closer to her, snuffling her shirt and allowing her to pet him and scratch him around his neck and under his chin.

“He understands,” Dandelion said softly, voice awed.

“Feed him,” Yennefer told him immediately. “We need to feed him,” she added. Perhaps the bard was his true love, perhaps the bard would break the spell.

Dandelion pulled a roast chicken he’d purchased specifically for Geralt. He unwrapped it from the linen it had been wrapped in. Carefully, he edged in until he could hand Geralt the food. Dandelion jumped when Geralt carefully took it from him, mindful not to bite his hands. “Oh sweet Melitele, is that really him? Is that really you? Oh, Geralt. You’re so large, how can we possibly keep you full?” He bravely put out a hand and let Geralt snuffle his palm, smiling when he received a lick for his troubles. “I love you so much,” he smiled. It was easy to step in closer and he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, kissing his cheek.

“Fuck,” Yennefer said softly, she had hoped. She had hoped so much that if it wasn’t her it would be Dandelion. They could worry about the curse once they cleaned out his wounds, at least. She would figure out how to undo it, since true love wasn’t going to do it, or he hadn’t met his yet.

“What?”

“I had hoped that would break the spell.”

“Geralt,” Ciri smiled. “Come lie down, let us see your side, it hurts right?”

Dropping his head, he let the words wash over him. He could mostly understand now. ‘Geralt’ still didn’t mean anything to him, but ‘hurt’ was a word he knew. He laid down where he was, unwilling to get too close to the flames.

“You’re so big,” Ciri mumbled, smoothing hands over his skull. “I wish you were smaller, like you were. Do you remember? Geralt? Do you remember being human?” she asked gently. “You were a good size, the proper size for a witcher. The perfect height for hugging,” she added.

“Ciri, whatever you do, keep talking, don’t stop,” Yennefer told her quietly. “Don’t stop.”

“When I was younger I barely came up to your waist, and you put me up on your shoulders in Broklin, do you remember? You called me a brat and threatened to belt me if I wouldn’t behave. Your shoulders are a little broader than Dandelion’s, do you remember? But strong. You’re so strong. And we can take care of you better if you were back to your usual size.” She felt his head start to shrink under her hands, and her breath caught in her throat only for tears to pour over her cheeks when she saw he wasn’t changing, just shrinking some. When he finished, he still looked the same, he was still covered in fur, and still barely resembled a human in the loosest sense possible.

“That’s better,” Yennefer told her.

“How do we change him back?”

“I don’t know, Ciri, but first we have to make sure he doesn’t die.”

It took them half the night to cut away the putrid flesh to allow Yennefer to pull the arrowheads out of the festering wounds they’d created. Geralt had snarled, snapped, and made pitiful attempts to attack them the pain was so bad. It was clearly he didn’t quite know them and didn’t understand all the words they said to him. When they tried to return his medallion, he whined and whimpered, drawing back with his hackles up and tail between his legs.

They stayed with him a week in the cave before they gained any more ground. Keeping the wounds clean and clear of infection had been near impossible, and he had gotten sicker and sicker with each day that passed. It was terrifying, wondering if they would lose him without him ever knowing who they were or who he was. They would have tried his elixirs but since he was nothing like himself, they didn’t know how they would react with his body chemistry and they might kill him immediately.

Dandelion made routine trips down the mountain and back to bring up more food and supplies. They kept Geralt fed, and as comfortable as they could. The next bit of progress was made when he curled up between his lovers’ bedrolls. After that, he started to respond to his name, and would nod or shake his head.

Yennefer made little to no progress on the curse other than to say it was still active and adapting and she wasn’t sure how to break it yet, it was too flexible. Geralt was also still incredibly weak and sick, and prone to pacing until he was panting too hard to breathe and would simply lay on the cave floor, wheezing until he fell asleep again. They were all miserable.

Ciri woke up, unsurprised to feel Geralt’s bulk pressed against her back. She rolled over and wrapped an arm around his neck. “You were human like us, you know,” she told him softly. She tickled his ear, watching it twitch away from her touch. “You had ears like mine. And hands I could hold. Hands that could hold me. I miss that. You weren’t covered in fur either. I used to brush your hair, do you remember? I would brush it and oil it and keep it clean. You won’t let us bathe you,” she wrinkled her nose. “Even though you need it. You make a very smelly whatever you are. I think if you had less fur it would help.” When she reached up to tease his ear again, it wasn’t there, and she sat up to look and saw a human ear nestled in all the fur, hairless and pale, just like it had been before.

When Yennefer and Dandelion woke next, they immediately noticed the change and monitored him for others, but saw nothing other than perhaps less fur, but they couldn’t be sure. He was docile at almost all times, even when having his wounds poked at.

“Geralt,” Ciri started one night, tickling the pads of his paws, pushing her fingertips against the blunt claws at the ends. “Do you ever miss holding hands? I think I would. I miss training with you, so even if you don’t miss holding hands, do you think you miss holding a sword?”

She gasped when the claws against her fingertips melted away and the pads of his paws followed after, fingers elongating as his hands became human. He flexed them in wonder, he couldn’t recall what he had looked like or felt like before. He barely knew himself, but hands made it far easier to eat. Exhausted, he fell asleep and didn’t wake until the next morning.

When he felt tapping against his teeth he woke up and tried not to snarl. It was just Ciri.

“These are ridiculously large, you know, they don’t even fit in your mouth, Geralt. What kind of idiot mage cursed you with these? It makes no sense, you can’t close your mouth, you drool all over your fur… you’re very messy.” She opened her mouth and pointed, “These are what your teeth should look like,” she informed him. “Your whole head should look more like mine,” she added. “I don’t see what the fur adds, either, if I’m being honest.”

She wasn’t surprised this time when magic crackled and swirled around him as his teeth and jaw shrank, his muzzle flattening into his skull to form an almost human jawline.

More days passed and none of her suggestions took. His memory seemed to be coming back and while he couldn’t speak, he could write, fingers in the dirt. They communicated well enough, until one day he just stopped.

When they went to bed he was there, and when they woke up, he was gone.

They split up to find him, he had remembered to hide his tracks. Ciri found him some time well after midnight.

“Geralt? Don’t run, please don’t go.”

“Ciri,” his voice grated from his throat. “Go, just go. Please…”

“Why?”

He had pressed himself against a hollow log, seeking some small shelter from the cold. No fire, nothing. No clothes. He still mostly moved hunched over, rather than upright. He was so ashamed. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” his voice broke.

“I love you,” she said simply. “How you look doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a monster,” his voice broke. He could remember now, all of it. How he had failed them. “The curse didn’t change me, it revealed me,” he told her hoarsely. “The curse was to show my true self,” he whispered, bloody tears trailing over his cheeks. “Go away, Ciri,” he told her more firmly, baring his teeth and lunging at her.

She didn’t move. “No. No, I will not. You can’t make me. You told me once you would always be there for me. We would never be apart. You haven’t done the best of jobs keeping that promise. I’m going to hold you to it, now.”

“Please,” he moaned. “Ciri, you don’t deserve the horror of having someone like me in your life.”

“Horror? The horror?” She slapped him before she could stop herself. “You idiot!” He didn’t make a move to stop her, or to cower away from another strike when she raised her hand again and she stared in shock at what she’d done. “I’m sorry!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and sobbing. “I love you, Geralt, I love you, there’s nothing horrible about you!”

He hesitated before holding her, thinking of the things he had done with his hands recently. Digging around like a boar, ripping rabbits open to eat them raw and bloody. He shouldn’t touch her. “Ciri, I’m a monster,” he told her softly. “Inside and out, I’m… let me go. I… it would be better if I just disappeared.”

“No!” she clung even more tightly to him, tangling her fingers in his fur and hanging on tightly, her tears and snot soaking the fur on his shoulder. His own bloody tears dripped into her hair, staining the strands pinkish red. “You aren’t a monster! You’re Geralt! You’re a witcher, and a mutant, but not a monster! Even if you never change back, even if you look like this forever, you aren’t a monster. Your outside has nothing to do with your inside! You taught me that! You, and Eskel, and Lambert, and Coën. I was so afraid at first, but I know now. I know witchers are just men, Geralt.” She couldn’t keep talking when another sob choked her and she fell silent.

Her sobs shook her entire body and she clung to him so tightly he had no hope of dislodging her. He shifted as best he could to hold her, and stroke her hair, and soothe her. He didn’t notice when her tears fell on his bare skin, didn’t notice the crackle of magic around him as he worked to hold her better, closer. He wanted to be the man she wanted him to be. He loved her. She was his child surprise.

“Ciri, I… I’m not what you think I am, I can’t be who you want me to be.”

She screamed in rage, shaking her head against his chest, slamming her fists weakly against him as she battered his chest, sobbing harshly. “Don’t leave me!”

He didn’t try to stop her from hitting him, the blows didn’t hurt. And even if they had, he deserved them. He let her vent her rage and fear against him, and ran his forearm across his nose and eyes, trying to clear them. Geralt didn’t notice he wiped tears against his skin, the fur covering his arm gone.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, rocking her back and forth on the forest floor, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of detritus poking into his legs and backside. “I love you, Ciri, I love you. I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

Yennefer and Dandelion came upon them some time later, the sky grey with the coming dawn.

“Geralt!” Yennefer cried out in shock, rushing forward to drop to her knees beside them, wrapping her arms around them and kissing him hard. He looked at her in shock. He could feel her palms on his cheeks. Feel the scrape of stubble, not fur, on her hands. Her skin was cool against his, like it always was.

Before he could process it, Dandelion was at his other side, holding him tightly and swearing vehemently at him and the whole world. The bard rocked them all back and forth slightly, kissing Geralt’s face, neck, shoulder, and any part of him he could reach without pushing Ciri out of his way.

The bandaging had come loose as his body shifted and changed, and the impact and hugging along with everything else had aggravated his wounds.

“Ciri, Ciri, look, Ciri,” Yennefer stroked her hair, gently pulling her away from Geralt’s chest. “Look, look at him.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Ciri said softly, her voice full of wonder as she stoked his hair, and then his face. “You’re you again,” she hiccupped and sobbed. She ran her hands over his face and hair and shoulders over and over, kissing his cheeks and forehead as she did, frequently bumping heads with either Yennefer or Dandelion who kept touching and kissing him, too.

When he started to shiver, they pulled away in concern. Dandelion dragged off his cloak and wrapped it around Geralt’s shoulders, as Yennefer and Ciri went to get the horses. Dandelion helped him to his feet, tucking the cloak around him tightly. He held Geralt as the sun rose, glad to have him back.

Geralt had near forgotten how to walk like a man, much less ride, in the months he’d spent living as a beast. With a little help from the poet, he was able to mount up when Yennefer returned with Ciri and their mounts. They would get near the edge of the settlement and find him something to wear until they could go home.

He had agreed in spite of his deep fear, to allow Yennefer to portal them to Vengerberg after, and to begin his recovery in earnest there. His wounds would need further care, and he needed time to rest. He was exhausted. But he was home. And returned to the people who loved him.

#geraltwhumpweek #geraskefer

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monitorsscrawlings · 5 years ago

Text

Jonathan’s Hair-Raising Halloween Adventure Ch. 1

Chapter One: Autumn Leaves & Eavesdroppers

October had scarcely just arrived, and yet the residents of the town of Blackwood were already all a flurry to prepare for the holiday season amidst a surfeit of pumpkins and crisp autumn leaves. The days were getting colder and the nights darker and longer, and all the usual seasonal excitement couldn't quite mask the restless, eager stirring of all manner of things dark, and dreadful, who were looking to join in on the fun in their own ways.

There were few places where this was quite as true as the handsome yet somewhat forbidding abode of the Sloan family. Such a charming family, such lovely neighbors. One would hardly suspect that the old house was brimming with magic, with mysteries and secrets. It was here that the families resident monsters were busy as could be; making plans and plotting mischief, subtly helping make the house and grounds properly readied and decorated in celebration of their favorite holiday, all while lavishing their beloved human child with attention and gleefully haunting, spooking and scaring the lad, as was their job.

And it is here that our story begins.

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The humans had a saying that he was rather fond of: 'There's no rest for the wicked.' It might have sounded trite, but it was oh so true. Likewise, boogey-monster-kind had there own saying, one that ran along a similar vein: 'a monsters work is never done.'

As the monster under his humans bed, Grunk found both to be quite true, a fact that pleased him to no end, as he took the utmost delight in being dreadfully hauntingly wicked and utterly frightful indeed. Scaring and haunting the boy never got old; he simply loved his human and he loved his work, every bit of it Ah, but as wonderfully busy as little JonJon kept him through most of the year, even working and leading the other monsters to ensure a near constant, nightly ghoulish fright-fest for the boy managed to pale in comparison to the frantic, excited busyness that was each October, without fail. It was a very busy and very important month for boogey-monsters like him. Why, it was easily the single most beloved holiday in the Netherworld, and for monsters world-wide. No, there was no question that for every monster in residence that Halloween was their favorite time of year. Creepy-crawly creatures from basement to attic and everywhere in-between were as busy as they could possibly be, working hard to help ensure the household was ready for Halloween while plying their own ghoulish tricks and treats and ensuring their human was not left wanting for attention or scares.

Yes indeed, a monsters work was never done. And that was just fine by him.

With a growling huff the hulking hairy monster crawled out from his ususal place lurking in the darkness underneath his childs bed, glowing red eyes alight as he paused just long enough to shake a few lingering dust-bunnies and cobwebs from his fur with a self-amused snort, before reaching back under the bed to fetch an old, stained and beat-up leather accordion-folder thick with documents and files. Moving swiftly as there was work to be done, Grunk silently slipped across his childs room with scaresly a creak of floorboards or a rasp of his long snakey tail, all in spite of his impressive size and considerable bulk, to open the door to his childs room, twisting the knob with the long dark claws of one hairy mitt, before peeking his head out into the hallway, eyes wide and bat-wing like ears poised for any hint of the houses other humans.

Grunk spared a look down one hall and then up the other. After a moment, satisfied that everything was all clear he slithered and creeped from shadow to shadow, keeping well-hidden while remaining alert for any sign of the boy's siblings or his parents barreling down the hall. Or worse yet by far, his cunning and cold witch of a grandmother stalking about. In short order Grunk squeezed his way into the spiderweb bedecked room under the stairway that adjoined the first and second floors of the old house, just down the hall from their humans bedroom. At one point it might have served as a cupboard or perhaps even a shoe-closet, before his old chum Krolli had staked his claim and made it into his own dark and cozy, spider-infested haunt. Personally Grunk prefered to meet underneath the boy's bed whenever possible, but the spot under the stairs was fine too, he supposed.

Sure enough as he moved deeper into the other monsters lair, slinking around the carefully arranged stacks of comics mixed with the more modest collection of nature magazines, and the thick screens of webbing that clung to the corners and walls of the room or hung like long trailing drapes from the ceiling, he heard Krolli gallomping about excitedly in the very back, slurping and growling to himself before he spotted them. Grunk grinned to himself, carefully easing closer while trying to remain hidden until the very last second, intent on giving Krolli a bit of a fright. Just because they were all busy didn't mean he couldn't play a quick joke on his friend, and whatever project he'd settled on, the bearish, quadrupedal dog-snouted ankle-grabbing lout of a nightmare seemed too preoccupied and audibly excited to have noticed his entrance. Krolli's long, wormy chartuese and orange stripped tongue wormed about as he repeatedly slurped it in before sticking it out again to let it hang well past his chin, pacing in his excitment as he alternated between giving instructions to the massive swarm of spiders and bats arranged around the monster in a semi-circle that covered the back-wall, floor and hung from the ceiling-rafters of the room, and rubbing his hands together while chortling to himself, slitted glowing yellow eyes lively and bright.

"Don't think I don't know your lurking there Grunk. About time you showed up, I haven't seen snout or tail of you all day." Krolli cheerfully threw over his shoulder without missing a beat just as he was getting close enough to spring forward and grab them, pausing long enough in his pacing and shuffling to turn and give him a wide and toothsome smile, wormy tongue slithering out from between his jaws to waggle at Grunk tauntingly before he turned back to his work long enough to dismiss his assembled audience, telling them to take five while making a quick shooing motion and waving him over with large excited sweeps of his shaggy, bearish arms.

Grunk let out a growling chuckle at that, baring his teeth in a wide slathering grin of his own while keeping the clutch of files firmly tucked under one arm as he ambled closer. Idly brushing aside some of the cobwebs getting tangled in his horns with the claws of his free hand. "Darn it, caught me again! What's our score at, three times in the same week now? Now I know you're just showing off. How did you know it was me this time, anyways?" Grunk inquired teasingly, snaking his long serpentine tail out to give the other monster a quick squeezing hug.

Krolli produced a comically exaggerated, noxious wheezing noise like an accordion being stepped on, eyes bulging and tongue sticking straight out, before he cut the slapstick short with a self-amused little laugh, looking downright smug as he tapped his whiskery snout with one claw-tipped finger.

"The nose knows! Why, I can smell you coming from all the way down the hall and then some, if not even further than that, easy as snake-slug stew." Krolli said with a snap of his fingers, before hopping forward to enfold Grunk in a massive hug of his own, wriggling his snout and snuffling and snorting theatrically as he got a good wifff of the other monster, elliciting an amused snort from his friend.

"Ahhh, you're smelling absolutely beastly, as per ususal. The only one who's easier to sniff out is our little up and comer trainee Drool." Krolli said with a chortle, before his wormy-tongue snaked out, giving Grunk's face a friendly lickery-kiss, which his friend returned with a hearty slobbering off his own.

Grunk let out a pleased huff of his own, his tails spaded tip letting out a soft thud as it began to thump against the ground as they broke apart, Krolli settling down onto his haunches. "Naturally, naturally. But yes, he's certainly shaping up to becoming a fine closet-monster, isn't he?" He agreed with a pleased smile, before giving his head a light shake and getting back down to business, taking the accordion-folder and waving it just under his friends nose. "Oh, but before I forget I have some things I thought you'd like to see. Those scare-files you'll be needing for the next couple of months, along with some blue-prints and plans I think you'll want to have a gander at. I'm sure you'll like these."

Krolli, as excitable as ever, eagerly nodded his head, making grabby-hands at the under-bed monster as he bounced back to his feet, ears perking straight up as Grunk handed off the files with a flick of his wrist, before the monster under the stairs trotted over to the old folding-table set aside one wall, mostly clear save for an in and out document tray, a short stack of paperwork, and an old and well leafed through copy of Monsters Monthly, plans and diagrams pinned to the wall above it. Alas, even they couldn't escape the reports and trails of paperwork their jobs required.

"Excellent! Anything I should be on the look out for, or you want to wait until I've read through everything?" Krolli inquired cheerfully, leafing through the folder and beginning to set papers out before turning back to Grunk, eye-ridges arched.

Grunk waved one hairy mitt in a dismissive gesture. "Nothing too drastic, though we'll be trying to top all of our records from last year, and really pull out the stops for Halloween tricks. You will be seeing some new scare-victims this year, and there are a few humans that will need your special touch. Some of them have proven demanding or challenging scares so far though, so you'll want to go through everything carefully."

Krolli nodded along before letting out an evil chortle, wormy tongue snaking this way and that as he grinned wide, eyes blazing with excitement. Krolli did so love a challenge after all, it didn't take much to get him pumped up. "I can hardly wait, I'm sure this will be our best October season yet!"

Grunk let out a rumble of agreement. "As long as it doesn't interfere with what you're already planning, I have no doubt it will. What was that gathering about earlier, anyways?"

"Don't you want it to be a surprise?" Krolli teased, before breaking down into a fresh wave of snickering laughter at the sour, prune-mouthed look Grunk gave him in response.

"Alright, alright keep your horns on." Krolli finally relented with a grin after a moment, before he began slowly pacing back and forth as he explained, gesturing to the maps and diagrams pinned to the wall and letting out a grisly chuckle, looking particularly pleased with himself. "It's pretty simple really: I'll be having my bats ferry spiders and other creepy-crawlies about, maybe even some of the smallest monsters if they can manage the weight. Aside from speeding up the placement of spider-webs and a few other choice surprises, I'll also be working to drill them in bursting out of closets, cupboards, and trees or streaming in and out of windows on command, and flying overhead in mass to drop spiders and such on select targets, things like that."

Grunk let out a low approving growl, eyes alight as he considered the possibilities, grinning broadly all the while. "Why, that's absolutely heinous, I look forward to seeing you pull it off!"

"But of course, nothing to it." Krolli boasted, puffing up with pride.

Grunk could only smirk at that, giving his friend a sly look as he sidled up to them and playfully butted heads with them. "Oooh? Haven't been too busy then I take it? I'm surprised you aren't poring over your comics again or preparing to ambush the kid when he finally gets back from school." He teased with an amused snort, lightly thumping his tail against the floor once again.

"And miss out on all the fun?" Krolli gasped in mock-horror, before shaking his head vigorously in denial of the very thought. "No, no way no how. Comics can wait!" Krolli insisted firmly. "And as for Jonathan," he added while slurping his chops in anticipation and letting out an evil chortle, flashing Grunk a leering grin, "I'm more than ready to jump out and scare him, don't you worry about that!"

Grunk let out a low chuckle at that. "Just don't over do it this time, we don't want him bouncing around in the middle of the night. Going bump at all hours is supposed to be our job after all." He huffed with a good-natured eye-roll, while Krolli pretended to be suitably chastised for all of five seconds.

Things would have no doubt dissolved into the usual friendly banter interspersed with a little light rough-housing before the two monsters parted ways and returned to their tasks, if something hadn't happened to grab their attention just then, the familiar sounds of humans on the prowl, and close by. Both monsters shifted into high alert, ears pricked and eyes wide, Grunk slinking back to the front of the room to crack the door open and peer out into the hallway, Krolli right at his side.

After a moment of listening intently, Krolli slouched forward, the disappointment written plainly on his face mirroring Grunks own as they both realized at nearly the exact same time that it wasn't the boy after all, just his parents, stomping around in the dining room talking as they were want to do.

Grunk would have recognized those voices anywhere, as he'd certainly listened to them read the boy bed-time stories and tucking him in for the night often enough.

Krolli let out a grunt if disappointment deep in his throat as he came to the same realization. "Tsk, false alarm I guess, just his parents. And here I was hoping maybe they'd let the kid out of school early."

"No such luck. A real shame that," Grunk agreed easily, before nodding towards the hall, "ahhh, but shhh, I want to hear what they're saying. Sounds like somethings got them both a bit riled up doesn't it?"

The pair of monsters exchanged a look before pressing their heads to the door-crack and listening in. After all there was a chance, no matter how slim, that this might actually be important, if not interesting.

"—can't you take him this year?" Said Mrs. Sloan, the boys mother.

"Me? Honey come on. I took the kids out last year, remember? Shouldn't it be your turn this year?" Mr. Sloan argued in a wheedling voice, sounding distinctly put-upon and tired, both their voices coming distantly from somewhere down the hall.

"Because you're his father and he should get to enjoy this while he can. He's not going to be a little boy forever! Besides, you know how excited he gets about Halloween." Mrs. Sloan said, before there was a sigh and the creak and groan of one of the old couches in the main parlor as one or the other sat down heavily.

Both monsters could hear the smile in Mr. Sloans voice when he finally replied after a moment. "It has been all he's been talking about for the last week, when he's not jabbering about school. I swear he's obsessed." Followed by another sigh and the familair sound of someone sitting down, couch and floorboards both shifting with a creak and groan.

Mr. Sloans voice piped up after a beat, sounding faintly strangled. "Wait! What about Mich and Abbie? Aren't they going trick-or-treating too this year?"

"Neither of them seemed very interested in going when I brought it up earlier. I think Micheal's planning to go to the autumn festival, and Abby's probably going to the schools Halloween party or out with her friends."

"Oh, good. So then...that means the only one we have to go costume-shopping for is Jonathan then? That'll make things a little easier at least." Mr. Sloan grumbled.

"Mmm, yes, but ones going to be more than enough I think. We'll have to take him costume shopping soon if we want to beat the rush."

"Yeah. Wait...what about you?" Mr. Sloan said after a pause.

"What about me?" Mrs. Sloan fired back with an arch little laugh. "Someone has to stay here to pass out candy and make sure the kids don't stay out too late. Besides, do you want to help clean up the mess the kids will leave for us if they don't get their candy?"

"Oooh. Right, right. Wait, what about your mother?"

There was a sharp derisive laugh from the boys mother, before she finally answered with a loud scoff. "Madeliene? Please tell me you're joking dear. You know how she gets, and frankly she isn't big on children a the best of times. It would be a disaster even if I could talk her into doing this for us."

"I still don't see why you can't take him for trick-or-treating while I stay here and hand out the candy."

"It will be just for one night. Besides you know he's going to want to go with you. Just like last year."

"And the year before that, yeah yeah. Fine, fine, I can see I'm not getting out of this one huh? Just glad we only need to deal with this once a year." Mr. Sloan sighed, accepting defeat with ill-grace.

"And the candy and decorations?"

"I'll pick up what we'll need next time we go shopping, and I'm sure we can get the kids to pitch in, so we'll have the place set-up and ready in no time." Mrs. Sloan said soothinly.

"I'm sorry sweety. I know how busy you are this time of year, and how important it is to the kids, but god it's such a headache."

"Yeah yeah, cheer up, I'm sure it won't be as bad as last year."

Both monsters found themselves making faces when the couple began smooching loudly, before their conversation began to move on to other no doubt reviting topics. Grunk simply shook his head, turning away with a sneer, while Krolli's inital reaction was more subdued, though the dismay and disappointment was plain on his features. Grunk quietly closed the door behind them with a nudge of his tail, before letting out a growling snort, starting to fume as he slouched into a sulk with a dreadful frown that would have surely curdled milk. To treat Halloween and the prospect of taking the boy out trick-or-treating as nothing so much as just another chore?

Such a deplorable lack of holiday spirit, and from the boys parents to boot? It...it was baffling, disgraceful! Feh, why couldn't it have been them who took little JonJon trick-or-treating? Surely no one could do Halloween and all the tickery and spookery it entailed better than the boys very own monsters?

Grunk straightend up with a grin, feeling as if a lightbulb had gone off inside his head as realization struck, eyes alight with excitment as his tail began sweeping slowly back and forth across the floor.

That was it!

Grunk chortled to himself as the idea took hold. Since Jonathan's parents were oh so clearly lacking in the true spirit of Halloween it fell upon him--and the rest of the boys monsters too--to pick up the slack and make sure this would be the lads finest Halloween yet. Finally, this year it was their turn to spend some quality time with their human! Grunk looked to Krolli and Krolli looked to Grunk. Judging from the glint in his eyes and the way Krolli was almost absent-mindedly rubbing his hands together while grinning widely, they were of the same mind.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Krolli hissed eagerly, slouching forward.

"That this year we take our human out for a Halloween spree?" Grunk inquired, giving a slow affirmative nod as he bared his teeth in too-wide grin that was the rival of theirs as he began to salivate a think trickle of green ooze.

"Exactly so! I mean, why should the boys parents have all the fun, eh?" Krolli cheered, cackling softly to himself as he performed a hopping little jib with all four of his scaly purple taloned feet, his wormy tongue snaking this way and that.

"Well what are we doing just goofing around here for? Let's get to it." Grunk said after a minute of watching Krolli with tolerant amusement. With that the two of them got back down to business, hauching close together in the gloom under the stiars, heads scarcely a hand-spans apart as they quietly conferred between themselves. They both agreed they would need to adjust all of their plans accordingly now that they were planning to run amok with their human this year. But ah, but how very worth it it would be if they could pull this off!

Once their course was decided, the two split up to spread the word and gather everyone together for an emergency meeting, wasting no time as they slipped out from under the stairs, skulking and creeping through the house as they kept to the shadows, sliding under furniture and hiding behind doors so as not to be spotted out in the open, passing unseen and unnoticed by the houses scant human residence.

Krolli started from the basement, working his way into the kitchen and through the lower levels, while Grunk took the attic and worked his way through his way down from there, the two meeting in Jonathan's room to close the gap and make sure every single creepy-crawly creature, monster, and spook in residence got the memo.

If Jonathan's family noticed anything amiss, or heard any strange or unsettling noises echoing through the halls or emanating from the shadows they promptly dismissed it. Any creaks, any sudden drafts, funny odors or uncanny feelings could be blamed on the old house, which was known to make funny noises and odd groans at all hours.

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Authors Notes: I’ve come a long way as a writer since I started this chapter, and I think it’s going to show in subsequent chapters for this story since there’s such a severe time-gap going on here. These are all still rough-drafts I’m afraid, and this chapter more than any other is slatted for a full rewrite once I’ve rough-drafted the full story. Still, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to drop some C&C in the comments section or in my inbox if you’re feeling up to it, thank you~!

#Jonathan's Hair-Raising Halloween Adventure #JHRHA Ch. 1 #Kooks & Spooks #Otherverse Series #Grunk Von Hurst #Krolli Modber

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granatumre · 6 years ago

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Hi, Jo! You're translating Those who stand? I thought you only made playlists. What language? Can I ask you a few questions? I hope I'm not being rude, I'm really curious because I want to translate fanfics myself (in Spanish) and I don't know where to start. How you do you keep the authenticity and the quality of the original text? How do you translate jokes and word play? Have you ever been stuck on a sentence you couldn't translate? Good luck on your translation! :)

Hi anon! I hope you can excuse me for such a late response, I’ve made you wait a whole month and for that I’m sorry. Oh, wow that’s the most interesting question I’ve received so far (not that I receive a lot of them haha). But I will, with pleasure, answer your questions! Thank you for asking and thank you for the luck! Good luck on your translation too! I’m sure you’ll do an amazing job! But keep in mind that I’m an amateur, so everything I say is only my experience and my opinion, it works for me, maybe it’s different for you.

It’s Russian and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be, but also not as simple. The key of translating, in my opinion, is that you have to know how to write fiction yourself, because it should resemble a piece of literature and not something soulless and taken out of google translate. So, basically, translating, is the same thing as writing: you’re living the words and sentences and you have to put them through yourself and back to find that exact line that fill satisfy you. Translating should also be fun, you have to enjoy the process because be prepared of transforming sentences and trying to make them as poetic, as the original is. And that is basically the key of keeping the authenticity.

In a way, you can’t, because each language has its own structure and I know how disappointing it is when you like the original line so badly, but you can’t make an exact translation because it would just sound weird. Sometimes I have to make a line longer, sometimes I would add some words just to make it more powerful for the language I am translating it into, sometimes I would breakdown a sentence into two separate ones. And it’s all okay! No translation will be identical to its original, it’s impossible. I will add 4 examples so you can see how it works.

The original: We’re too old for neon lights and bass sounds which are so loud that we can’t hear ourselves speak, and too young and privileged for dinner on our laps and an early night. We sit snugly and smugly, congratulating ourselves on our comfortable situations.

Russian version: Мы слишком стары для неоновых огней и басовых звуков, которые настолько громки, что мы не слышим своего голоса, и слишком молоды и привилегированны для ужина на коленях в раннюю ночь. Мы окружили себя комфортом и самодовольно поздравляем себя с bella vita*.

The exact translation of the Russian version: We’re too old for neon lights and bass sounds that are so loud that we can’t hear our voice, and too young and privileged to have dinner on our knees in the early night. We have surrounded ourselves with comfort and smugly congratulate ourselves with bella vita*.

The original: My heart beats right into his chest and his into mine as if they’re urging each other to throb at the same time.

Russian version: Моё сердце бьется в его грудь, а его в мою, словно это зов, сигнал одновременного слияния.

The exact translation of the Russian version: My heart beats into his chest and his into mine, like it’s a call, a signal of a synchronous merging.

The original: I lower my head to kiss him until he moans into my mouth in a way that is to be felt more than heard, and open my eyes to see his closed. It makes me think of all the funerals I’ve ever been to, and every open coffin.

Russian version: Я опускаю голову и целую, пока не слышу его стон на моих губах — он забирается мне под кожу, в ребро, и я открываю глаза, чтобы увидеть его закрытые веки. Я вспоминаю каждые похороны, каждый открытый гроб.

The exact translation of the Russian version: I lower my head and kiss him until I hear his moan on my lips — it gets under my skin, into my rib, and I open my eyes to see his closed eyelids. I remember every funeral, every open coffin.

The original: L said that he’d see me later, and I think about that a lot. I did, anyway. I try not to think about things I can’t reason out, but sometimes, and for the most stupid, insignificant reasons, I miss him so much that it pulls the air from me. I miss him like you’d miss air or water. An almost physical pain of loss but constant and thumping like blood in my head which wouldn’t cease until I thought that, yeah, I’d see him later. But I don’t believe it, really. I can’t, and it sucks big, hairy, massive balls. I couldn’t understand why I’d need to believe that I’d see him again just to comfort myself. I’d rather have felt nothing. So, as I say, I don’t think about it now. Everything worked out for the best, I suppose.

Russian version: Эл сказал, что мы увидимся чуть позже, и я много об этом думаю. Думал, во всяком случае. Я пытаюсь не размышлять о вещах, которые не могу решить, но иногда, по самым глупым и незначительным причинам, я скучаю по нему настолько сильно, что это выбивает из меня весь воздух. Я скучаю по нему, как вы бы скучали по кислороду или воде. Словно потеря — это физическая боль, но постоянная и пульсирующая во мне как кровь приливающая к голове, и она не перестанет болеть, пока я не подумаю, что да, я увижу его позже. Но на самом деле, я в это не верю. Я не могу, и это настолько, блять, ужасно. Я не понимал зачем мне следует верить в то, что мы скоро увидимся, лишь для того, чтобы себя утешить. Лучше бы я ничего не чувствовал. Так что, как я и говорил, я больше об этом не думаю. Все решилось в лучшую сторону, не так ли?

The exact translation of the Russian version: L said we’d see each other later, and I think about it a lot. I used to, anyway. I try not to think about things I can’t solve, but sometimes, for the stupidest and most insignificant reasons, I miss him so much that it knocks the air out of me. I miss him, like you would miss oxygen or water. Like loss — is a physical pain, but constant and thumping like blood rushing to my head, and it won’t stop hurting until I think that yes, I’ll see him later. But I don’t really believe it. I can’t, and it’s so fucking awful. I didn’t understand why I had to believe that I would see him soon just to comfort myself. I wish I didn’t feel anything. So, like I said, I don’t think about it anymore. It was all for the better, wasn’t it?

So the only way to keep the authenticity is to make it authentic to the language you’re translating the text into. It’s still going to be the same meaning and that way you keep the metaphors running too.

Also, I was talking about this with the author yesterday and it’s probably the hardest thing to translate. In Russian (and Spanish as you know), unlike in English, there’re different versions of “you”. It will vary depending on the formality of the relationship between the speaker(s)/ listener(s) and how many people are being spoken to. So there’s an informal you that will be used with your friends which is a “ты” equivalent to “tú” in Spanish and “tu” in French. And the formal way of addressing someone which is “вы” equivalent to “usted” and “vous” in French. There’s this part in Chapter 1, when Light and L first meet and it was reasonable to use the formal “you” but then I didn’t know when to switch it to the informal one. I though that L knelling in front of Light and the “yeah, now we’re friends” was a good moment of doing it because this was pretty informal to me. And apparently it was a perfect choice, so I’m happy about that.

But the puns, the jokes and oh the British fucking slang is something my betas and I have been crying about. From the light the Light pun, to the «law» in Lawliet pun, to the «interbred, loose-toothed, pink pony fucking, grandmother mugging, vagina-faced, vomit guzzling, baby killing, rectal smears within driving distance» which I had to sit through for a good half an hour trying to sort this whole dialogue out. Light’s clothing monologue is always very hard to translate because it’s very specific and detailed and I’m just so lost, but I manage and Google is my friend. My favourite was the B mumbling, which was a nightmare on its own because what’s a coma and fucking «Noir de Noir and one part Tobacco Vanille» and also that massive part when he spoke slang and I wouldn’t make it without Laura’s help because apparently the phrases are used to describe stupid people so from this:

The original: Upstairs the lights are on but no one’s home not the sharpest knives in the drawer a few cards short of a deck the bats are out of the belfry a few fries short of a Happy Meal the elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor the antenna doesn’t pick up all the channels all booster no payload one IQ point above brain death if I offered you a penny for your thoughts then I’d get change not the fastest ship in the fleet the gates are down the lights are flashing but the train isn’t coming isn’t that right L?

I got this:

Russian version: Это как если бы ты надел шапку под палящим солнцем если бы ты пытался разжечь огонь в воде если бы ты взял диетическую колу с жирным обедом если бы ты отдал деньги попрошайка�� надеясь что они используют их во благо если бы ты разжигал камин без дров и искал правду у лжеца понимаешь о чем я Эл?

The exact translation of the Russian version: It’s like wearing a hat in the hot sun like trying to light a fire in the water taking a diet coke with a greasy lunch giving money to the beggars hoping they’d use it for good lit a fire without firewood and looked for the truth from a liar you know what I mean L?

Which is honestly as close as I could get and even tho it’s not the same lines, it’s still bares the same meaning. When it comes to jokes I always try and find an equivalent in Russian

The original: Oh. Well, I’m sure I’ll slit my wrists over that later.

Russian version: Ну, не волнуйся, обещаю, что надевая петлю на шею, я буду вспоминать твои слова.

The exact translation of the Russian version: Well, don’t worry, I promise, when I’ll be putting a noose around my neck, I’ll be remembering your words.

or when it’s too bad I’ll just put an asterisk and explain the joke in the chapter’s description.

Considering, it usually takes me 2 days (2/3 hours each day) for a chapter, it has been going rather smoothly. However, sometimes I can be stuck on a sentence because I don’t think it’s melodious enough or I don’t like the way it sounds. Sometimes I’m stuck on a sentence because I like the English one so badly and try to make the translated version as close as possible and then I cry because it sounds weird. I have to deal with tautology a lot (not repetition, which is a literary device!) because it might work in English, but it looks awful in Russian and I’m obliged of turning the phrase upside down. The same case with the excessive use of “I” which is so basic in English, but in Russian it looks like an unnecessary tautology and we don’t need to use it as much and plus: the less is better.

But honestly, overall, Those is very easy to translate because of the way the text is written: it gives room for a translation and an interpretation, which is honestly so rare in a fanfic. Basically, the better the original is, the more metaphors there is, the more description there is, the easier it is to translate. It’s also easy for me, because the style in Those is similar to the way I write my fiction in Russian, if that makes any sense? I live for the metaphors and allusions and the game with punctuation where there’s none and then, suddenly, there’s a lot. It gives me room to breathe and create because a translation is essentially a text you have to break down and then rebuild in a way similar to the original but also correct in the language you’re translating it into. Which is probably why I’ve shed so many tears over it. Which probably explains the playlists, ha.

You have to pick something that you really like and picture yourself doing it. Try a few sentences, test the grounds and don’t take a translation you know you won’t finish. Also! Very important! And it’s something I regret not doing: talk to the author, ask them for help if you don’t understand a sentence or can’t get through something… like… slang, ha!

There’s a lot of fanfics that I really like but would never translate because I can’t relate to the author’s style. And this doesn’t mean it’s badly written, no, the contrary, but I just just can’t picture myself translating it. With any fanfic I read, I would always translate one sentence I really like in my head first and then, if it sticks, I’ll go along. And Those stuck with me.

It was a mix of an insane drive «oh my god the Russian fandom needs to see this, I need to spread the word» and a «are you mad enough to do it» and, well, guess what? I am.

#thank you for the ask!!!#anonymous #translation #and crying #because yeah you cry a lot #those who stand for nothing fall for anything

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cursewoodrecap · 5 years ago

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Session 1: The Witch at the Edge of Town

Shoshana bat Chaya is having a normal morning, as much as things can be normal anymore. She’s gathered some herbs, she’s folded the laundry. The knights yesterday hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but at least they were something new. And the cats had mostly behaved.

There’s a clanking coming up the hill. Visitors, and probably armed. Shosha traps Ass-Wagon under a wicker basket (he meows indignantly, but he knows exactly why he’s in Idiot Baby Jail) and swings open the door, leaning back against the frame faux-nonchalantly. And then has to do a double take.

It’s an armored drow, and hoOOOLY shit, this lady is HUGE. Why is someone in the battered armor of a Kevan war veteran here? Apparently Shosha’s humble little spooky abode is now popular for warriors, and for an officially accursed, corrupted witch, that means it’s a matter of time – perhaps minutes – before someone decides to put her out of everyone’s misery.

Well, fuck.

The enormous drow introduces herself as Sgt. Clementine Haxan, and politely – if warily – inquires as to the whereabouts of a certain Beggar Knight, who has gone missing. Before they could get into whether “idk, he went back to town???” is a good enough alibi, more clanking from down the hill. And then an EXTREMELY SHINY person appears.

A silver dragonborn in gleaming, new, expensive armor strides up to them, bearing the crest of a chained sword over a rose upon her shield. She is only modestly adorned, which, to everyone else here, is more jewelry than anyone owns anyway. This extremely large, out-of-place, shiny person announced herself as Kyr Valeria Argent of the Order of the Rose, asked for Shoshana by name, and inquired as to the whereabouts of a certain Beggar Knight.

Before Shoshana can panic that these two Extremely Large, Well-Armed People are about to judge-jury-and-executioner her, another person comes walking up the hill. And this one…well, he does not fit the pattern. An orc in faded, once-bright motley with a well-worn sickle on his belt and a shining lute on his back. Strangest of all is the mask he wears – once, clearly, a smiling face of joy, but broken and patched together so much that the smile is now twisted and eerie. Politely, he inquires for Shoshana – in Orcish. Which she speaks. It’s all very confusing. But no, random warriors, I don’t know this guy? He just showed up? For the last time, you guys, I don’t know where Sir Balderich is- wait, that’s not what you’re here for, orc guy?

The orc, who goes by Graal Omokk’du, produces a letter sent to Duke Shieldeater’s administration. It was sent months ago and lost until now. It’s from a man named Yakov – Shoshana visibly starts at hearing the name – saying that his daughter, Shoshana, is learning the Orcish language, and he knows that translators are sorely needed between the Orcs and the Valdians. Perhaps you would offer her employment?

Shoshana is shocked that her father had done such a thing, and bitterly observes that the orcs probably won’t even want her now. By this time, all three visitors have noticed that her eyes are rather unusual – yellow-amber and slit-pupiled, like a cat’s. Her fingertips, clutching a gnarled black walking stick, are blackened as with soot.

She ushers everyone inside her house, because the social awkwardness is in Full Force and okay, mister orc man, we will talk about job opportunities in a minute but I think I’m being interrogated by the cops right now? Oh hEY. SCHMENDRICK. GET OUT OF THE LAUNDRY PILE. (meow) I JUST FOLDED THOSE. (myowww)

The overturned wicker basket joins in the grumpy meowing and is thoroughly ignored.

Kyr Valeria, walking inside, takes a moment to observe the two other cats, who are fighting over a dead bird in the front garden. They are…clearly altered, by the curse. One’s fur almost looks like porcupine spines, and the other’s tail curves into a point mildly reminiscent of a scorpion’s. Great. This lady keeps demons in her house, Valeria decides.

After they all awkwardly stand around/putter around making tea/generally wallow in confusion, someone finally mentions that the Beggar Knight was last seen heading into the forest after the Cursebreaker Knight had left along the road. Shoshana stops dead, and then curses the knight for being a gods-damned MORON.

See, yesterday the knights had asked her about this…incident…that had occurred in the woods about eight months back, where someone from the village had gotten hurt by the Curse. Wanted to know where it had happened, and had mentioned wanting to investigate. And apparently the IDIOT had gone into the forest alone to look for the damned place. With a roll of 5 to Deception, it’s suuuper obvious that there’s definitely part of the story she’s not telling. Valeria reads between the lines and puts a hand on Shoshana’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she says, making the obvious connection between “bad shit in the woods” and “person who knows where the bad shit went down, and just included ‘run for your life in a random direction’ in her instructions on how to find the place.” Valeria decides, in her inner heart, that although this lady keeps demons in her house, she is Sad and therefore needs to be Protected.

And then Clem and Graal notice that there’s two feral wolfy-lookin’ dudes outside the window about to attack? Surprise round, nerds!

Clem leans out the window and immediately puts her greatsword to great use, while Graal magically insults them and also manages to nick one with his sickle. The wolfman who doesn’t have a greatsword in his torso throws a weighted net over Shoshana. Almost on instinct, she snaps out her hand, and a ghostly, clawed replica of her hand seizes him by the throat and starts doing necrotic damage. There is a bit more stabbing, Valeria nails the one who decides to flee with a trident in the back, and everybody is like, “okay, what the fuck was that.” Then, bells begin to toll – the village is sounding an alarm.

Shoshana denies any knowledge of why men corrupted by the curse would want to capture her, and then they all take off running toward the village center. It’s a mess. Civilians are fleeing into the temple, the only building made of stone. The town’s ragtag militia is fending off a force of bandits accompanied by wolves, curse-corrupted and vicious. The four protagonists manage to end the few bandits that attack them. Clem ably demonstrates her ability as a battlefield medic, but seems shaken by the howls of the wolves. Graal is very upset that any foe might interrupt his battle-singing, and briefly imbues Clem with the bravery of legendary orc ancestors. Valeria ditches her d20, which has absolutely betrayed her in this fight. Shoshana, the only one who has never seen combat before, kills her first enemy, the ghostly hand of Chill Touch clinging grimly onto an enemy archer.

As they near the Silver Spear Inn in the center of town – the place where Clem got an excellent stew this morning and where the innkeeper seems to have a personal grudge against Shoshana – a loping figure stalks out from behind a burning cart. “You fight against us? You were supposed to be our Promised One,” he growls to Shoshana, his features becoming less human and more wolf before their eyes. “You’ll never be a member of the Hunt now.”

“You think I’m your ‘Promised One,’ so you kill the people of my village? Get Fucked,” Shoshana spits back.

“I agree with the witch,” says Clem, and swings her sword.

Clem’s greatsword does no damage to the monster, who retaliates viciously. Shoshana’s magic seems to hurt it, and Valeria manages to do a bit of damage – it shrugs off her trident, but the radiant glow around it seems to repel the beast. Graal tells it that it has fleas, which it seems to find psychically hurtful. Clem dodges into the inn, realizing something vital: over the mantle in the Silver Spear Inn, there is mounted, obviously, a silvered spear. One that allegedly belonged to the owner’s ancestor in the war against the Kevan regime. And werewolves Do Not Like silver. Valeria notices that the beast shies away from the flaming cart, so Shoshana rushes forward and lets a blast of fire loose from her hands. Clem charges back out with the spear and pins the werewolf to the burning cart through its hairy chest.

With the werewolf dead, the wolves aiding the bandits look up in bewilderment, and flee the armed town militia. The bandits, realizing their wolves have left, also flee. Shoshana rushes up to the militia, who are Pretty Damn Wary of her, and worriedly begs to know who survived, are the children all right, etc. Rav Shmuel, the priest, and Herschel, the innkeeper, emerge from the temple and ask whether Shoshana had any part in this. Valeria dutifully explains that they came to Shoshana’s house and tried to capture her. There is extreme suspicion that they tried to capture, not kill, her, but everybody also did just see her set a werewolf on fire with her mind.

Meanwhile, Graal finds a bandit who was shot in the leg and unable to flee, and drags him out. Shoshana slams her staff into the ground with a magical BOOM and demands of him what the bandits’ plans were. He explains that the gangs in the forest have been wanting to take the town for a long time, and the corrupted wolf-men of the ravine had told them that there was a Promised One in the town. They were to take the town and take the Promised One – don’t kill her, but do what you have to. Otherwise, the wolf-men would eat them.

Shoshana, snarling, spits that she has no more use for the man. Valeria places a warning hand on her shoulder, which the witch shrugs off angrily but tells the man that the villagers will decide his fate, and they won’t be feeling merciful. She turns to the watching townsfolk and growls that she will go into the woods with these knights, end this threat, save the Beggar Knight, and then they will never see her again. Sound like a plan?

Rav Shmuel, clearly pained to see what has become of a girl whose diapers he changed, agrees, but offers the four adventurers sanctuary in the Temple of Rack for the night for saving the town. Herschel, the innkeeper, angrily demands why Clem has his grandfather’s spear. Clem derisively spits that maybe next time, when his town and family are under attack, Herschel won’t leave his weapon on the damn mantel while fleeing for his life. Maybe he’ll actually try to protect his town. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to get his spear back if he’s not gonna use it. It looks like it’s gonna get ugly, but Shoshana tiredly calls out to give the innkeeper back his spear. She says to the innkeeper, “Herschel. Your grandfather’s spear saved your family’s life tonight, when I could not. Again.” The situation is defused, but the innkeeper still seems furiously derisive of the witch.

Shoshana is immensely relieved to see that two small children in particular are unharmed. They ask her with wide eyes what happened, and did you really shoot fire out of your hands, and is everyone okay? Shoshana tries to reassure them, and explains that she’s going to be going with these nice knights soon so listen to your dad and stay safe – and then the kids’ older brother sharply tells them Don’t Talk To The Witch! and drags them off. They are, of course, the innkeeper’s kids.

Clem efficiently sets up a field hospital for the wounded, while Graal and Valeria escort Shoshana back to her house to grab any of her herbs, salves, and remedies that might be useful. Graal is very interested in Shoshana’s herbalism background, and then inquires whether Shoshana has ever seen hairless wolves in this region. Shoshana denies it – usually ‘round here they get bigger and hairier. Graal seems frustrated, but will not explain why. As they gather anything that could be useful, Shoshana packs a bag – no one would let her stay in the village, not after what happened tonight because of her. She will go to save this knight and kill those who threatened the village, and then this orc weirdo can take her wherever he wants.

They hole up in the church for the night after doing everything they can to help the wounded. (Valeria decides, quite firmly, that Shoshana is Not Safe alone in her out-of-the-way house, and that she’s going to Protect this sad feral cat of a woman who has clearly Known Suffering.)

Everyone is now Level 2, except for Clem, whose war experience places her at Level 3.

#session recap #clem haxan #shoshana bat chaya #valeria argent #ovruch #gral omokk'duu #the hunt

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koryos · 8 years ago

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Dear Koryos: Can you imagine a universe wherein bats have become the ancestors of some kind of Highly Intelligent Life Form (not necessarily humanlike intelligence, but something as different from today-bats as humans are different from Ancient Primate Ancestor)? I originally just was thinking about what kind of Cultural Norms such beings would have, but then I realized I couldn't really imagine anything except bat-shaped things that more or less thought like humans.

I’ve sat on this question a while because it’s such an interesting one to me. The biggest issue here is that you’d have to specify which bats you’re making your theoretical ancient ancestor, because there’s such a vast diversity of behavior within the group. A vampire bat would be different from a sac-winged bat would be different from a hoary bat would be different from a flying fox ancestor, is what I’m saying. Any social or behavioral organization paradigm that you can think of, there’s a bat that has it.

So to think about what a sapient bat would look like, we first need to assess the intelligence and behavior of possible ancestral bats. And here I’m gonna stick a readmore, because this gets looooong.

Assessing which species would make a good sapience ancestor based on intelligence is also tricky, in large part because bat intelligence remains mostly under-examined. Bats as a whole share the rough reproductive hallmarks of other intelligent mammals and birds, in that they have long lifespans and small litter sizes (in most cases, a single pup). They also have unusually high whole brain size and EQs for their body size, though this is often attributed to the fact that they need more brain matter to handle echolocation.

However, if you look at EQs across Chiroptera, the general trend is that vampire bats and flying foxes tend to have the largest, followed by bulldog bats, false vampire bats, the fruit and nectar eating bats of Phyllostomidae, followed by most other Yinpterochiropteran groups, and then finally the remainder of the insectivorous bats. The authors of the particular paper I’m referencing suggest that this has to do with lifestyle- bats that specialize on blood, fruit, or non-insect prey may require more intelligence to solve the unique problems posed by their food sources compared to insect-eating bats. But the authors do admit that insect-eating bats may also have been constrained by the need to keep their brains smaller and lighter to allow for faster flight, and it’s entirely possible they’re doing more with less. (Also, it’s important to remember that EQ is an imperfect method for assessing intelligence anyway.)

More than one insectivorous bat species is known to have vocal learning and the capacity to imitate, and it’s highly likely that many others do, given the complexity of bat vocal repertoires. Fruit bats, particularly the Egyptian fruit bat, also display vocal imitation. This is considered pretty smart stuff, and among animals only humans, birds, cetaceans (dolphins and whales), pinnipeds (seals), and elephants are known to be regular vocal imitators, putting the bats in a pretty high-class group. Some researchers are now arguing that bats are better candidates for studying the development of human language than birds are, given their closer relationship to us and various other similarities between our vocalizations. There’s even some emerging evidence that some species of bats may recognize each other by vocal signals unique to each individual (in other words, names). In spite of all this, bat vocalizations remain largely understudied, but it’s clear all their chatter serves a purpose.

I bring up all these points because I like reminding people how smart and cool bats are because it emphasizes that intelligence matters in different ways to each bat group, but all of them show the potential for vocal complexity that could approach that of a human’s. So wherever our theoretical sapient bat comes from, it’s likely to be noisy. (Though maybe at frequencies we can’t hear.) Now, if we look at other measures of intelligence such as tool use and environment manipulation, the evidence is more on the side of fruit-eating bats, specifically flying foxes. Though I’ve never seen one use a tool per se, they are perfectly capable solving complex problems using object manipulation. For example, pulling a plastic chain up link by link to get fruit attached to the end involves a similar amount of intelligence as the animals in that famous raven-gets-meat-on-a-string study. They’re also capable of figuring out grenade feeders (feeders in which “pins” have to be removed to make the food drop out) and sometimes will carry around small objects for no apparent reason.

The unusually long thumbs of flying foxes allow them to manipulate objects with surprising precision and they may also use their feet and even wingtips to this end. Object manipulation is part of their natural repertoire (for example, pulling a branch closer to get at something tasty). This separates them somewhat from non-frugivorous bats, who don’t usually need to manipulate objects in pursuit of food- blood-drinking bats just gotta find a spot to bite, carnivorous and piscivorous bats swoop down like hawks, and the most manipulation I’ve seen an insect-eater do is use their tail membrane as a scoop to toss a bug into their mouth. If you want a sapient bat with lots of tool use, fruit-eaters are your likely ancestral group.

However, bats can alter their environment and get better access to food in quite intelligent ways without using objects. Here we ought to look at vampire bats. The white-winged vamipre bat, which feeds primarily on the blood of birds, has co-opted the behavior of domestic chickens in at least two ways. Some bats may perch on the exact spot on a hen’s back that causes her to assume the lordosis posture (i.e., the bout-to-get-boned posture) and feed from the back of her comb with her holding completely still. Others will press up against her brood patch, imitating a particularly goblin-faced little chick, causing her to nestle down on it as the vampire has its meal. This is incredible stuff, as these tactics couldn’t be utilized against their traditional avian prey- meaning the bats have learned how to manipulate chickens all on their own!

Common vampire bats prefer hoofed mammals to birds, and given the larger size of their prey usually don’t have to resort to such nefarious tactics to stay unnoticed. But their creativity also shines when their normal (at this point, human-introduced) prey isn’t available, and they proceed to feed on whatever they can find- which might include sea lions, rats, crocodiles, porcupines, turtles, and even venomous snakes. Each of these critters requires a different strategy on the bat’s part, but apparently the bats tackle the situation with ease. Indeed, one account tells of a vampire bat taunting a rat snake, easily avoiding each strike, until the snake was too exhausted to do anything as the bat brazenly sipped blood from its nose. It should be noted that this particular snake species specializes on feeding on bats.

So in comparison to a sapient fruit bat, a sapient vampire bat might be much more focused on manipulating the behavior of other species, perhaps even domesticating animals for its own use. I should mention, however, that one species of vampire bat- the hairy-legged vampire bat- has evolved a kind of opposable thumb on its foot (a sixth digit fashioned from the calcar), not found in any other bat species. It uses this thumb to help it grip branches as it scuttles around nibbling bird toes, but if you were to make it sapient, you might imagine that instead of the thumb-based object manipulation seen in pteropodids, this fellow would manipulate stuff with its feet. (No relation to the horrible Dougal Dixon futurebats, though, please.)

Speaking of horrible future bats, most of the speculative future bats I’ve seen have two things in common- a) flightlessness and b) a loss of vision in order to rely primarily on echolocation. But neither of these things are really plausible. I’ve discussed why it’s highly unlikely for bats to evolve flightlessness before, so I won’t go into too much detail here, but suffice it to say that unlike birds, which sometimes seem to drop flight as soon as they can get away with it, no bat has evolved to be flightless even when in the most prime conditions. The degree of specialization they have for flight would make it pretty hard to go back to a terrestrial lifestyle, in fact- at best I can imagine a short-flighted bat that flaps from tree to tree.

Some might argue that evolving the brainpower for sapience would necessitate flightlessness because of how heavy and energy-draining such a big brain would be, but just because that’s how humans do it doesn’t mean it HAS to be done that way: look at the brain sizes of highly intelligent birds, such as corvids and parrots- still flying, and quite well. (And the birds that HAVE evolved secondary flightlessness aren’t exactly known for their brainpower). I couldn’t find any information on the neuronal density of bat brains, but I’d bet that it’s higher than expected, given the dizzying amount of calculations that have to take place in an echolocating, flying, insectivorous bat’s head to be successful.

Sightlessness is as unlikely in bats as flightlessness... again, no bat species we know of, living or extinct, has lost its vision! In fact most bats have pretty good vision, despite the reduced size of the eyes of some species. No bat species lives in complete darkness all the time, which would be what would render vision obsolete- vision is still better off than echolocation when it comes to spotting daytime/dawn/dusk/moonlight predators on the move.

Granted, some species have almost lost the ability to see forward due to specialization for echolocation, I’ll give you that...

But they still have quite nice eyes. (And note how slits in the noseleaf allow for a little forward vision.)

In any case if our hypothetical bat evolved from a pteropodid/flying fox it wouldn’t have any echolocation at all, because they don’t echolocate, with the exception of Rousettus species, who do it via tongue-clicking. (And there’s some evidence that other pteropodids have like, a ~mystery~ version of echolocation using their wings, but we hardly know anything about that right now.) Pteropodids are also largely crepuscular- active at dawn/dusk- rather than fully nocturnal, as well, and their primary sense is vision, which accounts for their sometimes inappropriately large eyes.

Speaking large-eyed, fruit eating critters, I can say with confidence that the behavior of large pteropodids I worked with reminded me very much of the macaques I’d once worked with. Even though it’s been debunked that bats and primates are close relatives, I think large flying fox behavior is very similar to cercopitheceine primate behavior (as well as spotted hyena behavior in some ways). Their social organization is a mixed-sex, hierarchical, fission-fusion sort of society, where mating is promiscuous, coalitions can form around power grabs, and competition for spotty resources is quite fierce. Infantacide does occur in fruit bats as in primates, though I’m not sure if there’s been any study on how common it is.

Compare this to the social structure of the common vampire bat, though. Female vampire bats will shift roosts freely and form multiple-matriline groups, usually with a single or two or three males in attendance. These males defend their “harems” from other males, but there’s not much evidence for female policing as in primates, given that females regularly swap roosts; rather, the males seem focused on defending the favorable roosts themselves.

In addition, female vampire bats are pretty famous models of reciprocal altruism, that is, I’ll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine behavior. Because they feed entirely on blood, the bats can’t build up any fat reserves, and over 24 hours without feeding can starve them. To combat this, they have a complex network of blood donors (via regurgitation, not vein-piercing) that they turn to in times of need; it’s based on kinship but even more so on how familiar they are with the bat in question, and whether or not they give blood as well when it’s their turn.

Spectral bats are strict carnivores that eat rodents, lizards, birds, and other bats. They’re notable for being a monogamous species, with two parents raising one pup together while defending a hunting territory, and in some cases the offspring of previous years may stick around to help as well, in the manner of canids and some bird species. An even more exceptional monogamous bat is the Dayak fruit bat, where males lactate as well as females. Check out the armpit-nipples of the lactating male, below.

Many other bats have lek breeding systems, like the hammerhead bat, where males congregate together to perform for females, but otherwise the sexes live separately; other species have males that fly completely solo and sing like birds to attract a mate; in other species like the hoary bat both sexes normally live solitary lives.

Most cave-dwelling insectivorous bats stay in sex-segregated groups until it comes time for hibernation, in which case they cluster together in caves, mate, and nap. Social behavior among these species is probably the most poorly understood, given that they are often tucked into near-unreachable places during the day.

Of course, the social behavior in the vast majority of all bat species hasn’t been studied at all, so who knows what other forms their societies might take? I particularly await with eagerness the discovery of a polyandrous bat species similar to tamarins and marmosets... It’s not unfeasible, given the large size of newborn bats (a pup may be up to 1/3 the weight of its mother) and the fact that they often need to be carried rather than hidden, meaning poor mom has gotta carry them while flying, and in some species it can take two years or more before they’re able to survive on their own- as in our small primate cousins, having two dads could really make life easier. I mean... look how big this newborn ghost bat pup is. (And if you’re brave, watch this evening bat giving birth... that looks painful.)

Anyway.

An important indicator of high intelligence would be a great degree of behavioral flexibility (which can lead to transmitted culture) within a species. I don’t think the social behavior of any bat has been studied thoroughly enough to assess how flexible their lifestyles are between groups, but I would bet vampire bats are among some of the most adaptive, as well as some of the most socially receptive and cooperative.

On the other hand I would love to do a study on observational learning in pteropodid bats; I bet they’d do really well. It’s already been shown that they can learn to understand and respond to human pointing gestures.

I guess my ultimate point is, you could expect a sapient bat to behave very differently based on its ancestral lifestyle and morphology (especially whether or not it echolocates) but sapience would imply a degree of behavioral diversity that wouldn’t be limited to any one set of cultural norms. Which is why I hesitate to say any sapient bat would behave just like such-and-such species, but smarter.

It would be very interesting, though, to design a theoretical culture based on creatures that are flighted (travel would be much easier, but energy requirements much higher, how are the flightless elderly cared for?), or one that drinks blood (would certain species’ blood become taboo? what sorts of species might they domesticate and how would they keep them?), one that primarily hangs upside-down in branches (artificial perches would have to go everywhere), or most especially, one that echolocates. I can only imagine the diverse sorts of oral traditions that an echolocating sapient species would have.

Hope this long, long answer gave you at least some degree of what you were looking for! And thanks for the question.

#Anonymous #learning with koryos #bat #speculative evolution #animal cognition

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liyem-eanapay · 7 years ago

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Every track on the “Batman Begins” soundtrack is named after a different genus of bats. Also, the first letters of tracks 4-9 spell “Batman”.

Mind = BLOWN

Vespertilio [vesper bats, aka frosted bats]

Eptesicus [house bats]

Myotis [mouse-eared bats]

Barbastella [a small genus of vespertilionid bats]

Artibeus [neotropical fruit bats]

Tadarida [free-tailed bats]

Macrotus [leaf-nosed bats]

Antrozous [only one species: the pallid bat (Antrozous pallidus)]

Nycteris [slit-faced bats, aka hollow-faced bats]

Molossus [velvety free-tailed bats]

Corynorhinus [lump-nosed bats, aka American long-eared bats]

Lasiurus [hairy-tailed bats]

Source: Wikipedia

#batman #christopher nolan #hans zimmer #james newton howard #batman begins #dark knight trilogy #soundtracks #film scores #music #mindfuck #mind blown #bats #taxonomy #easter eggs

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read-mida · 7 years ago

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Chapter 6 / Ira

A/N: A long chapter. Sorry about that!

Sydney's opponent was a tall man, or at least, he would've been if he’d actually stood up right. He was hunched over, weaving in and out, and wielding a weapon that branded several razors sticking out in odd places.

Sydney pulled out a tube from her bag, about the length of a bottle, and held it out in front of her. Instantly its sides sprung open, and extensions shot out from either end. It had upgraded itself into working staff, and Sydney smiled at the soft “ooh’s” and “ah’s” of the crowd. She dropped her bag behind her so it wouldn’t cause any distractions, and lunged at her opponent.

The man swung his blade at her body, but Sydney turned his arm away with a whack, flinging his weapon across the arena. She whipped the pole around, thwacking, cracking, bending the perpetrator's body in unnatural ways. She drove her staff into the dirt, causing her to fling into the air, balancing only on the edge of the pole. She pulled it from the dirt and twisted it back around and, like a bat, gave it a swing and slashed at her opponent. He rolled across the dirt to the other side of the ring and didn’t move. Sydney landed heavily on her feet, sending uncomfortable vibrations through her body, but other than that she felt fine. In fact, she smiled. Perhaps she had overtrained for this event? But while caught up in the praise she received from the onlooking crowd, Sydney failed to see the man scrape himself off the floor and pull a secondary weapon from his coat. It was an old fashioned barber’s blade, rebrandished to be similar to a boomerang, which he flung at the unsuspecting woman. Sydney was struck in her right arm, drawing forth a good amount of blood as the weapon fell to the ground. She threw it out of bounds and off the cliff before making a run for her bag. She knew too well that an open gash wouldn’t end very well, especially for her. The man followed, stomping into the dirt and kicking up dust as he drug himself in between she and the purse. Sydney threw a punch, narrowly missing as it was reciprocated with a shove. As she was thrown onto the ground her opponent stood over her and grabbed her by the arms.

He began to drag her to the edge of the platform, planning to fling her off the edge and into the vicious crowd. Their agitation and ruthlessness indicated that even if she survived the fall, she wouldn't live to tell the tale. Sydney kicked and writhed as she watched her satchel become further and further away. The blood that seeped from her forearm was becoming egregious and slicked the palms of her attacker. Sydney realized in this brief moment of clear just how sick she really felt; dirt had been forced into her nostrils, her blood had stained the left side of her coat, and there was this nagging, unrelenting pain in her gut. She was certain there was internal damage.

But as quickly as the calm had come, so did the panic as it took over her mind and forced her to kick and turn and pull away from the man. They were at the edge, now, and all that was left to do was hoist her over the netting. He grabbed a handful of hair and tried to snake an arm around her leg, but Sydney relented.

Their struggle was documented by the jumbo screen, riling the crowd as they grappled. Sydney grabbed her assailant by the leg, trying to set off his balance, but all it did was cause the man to slip backwards. She threw herself away in a flurry, misguided by the hair in her eyes and the dust in the air. She took a stride to stand in defense, but when she had spun around, there was no one there. Something came booming through the loudspeaker,

“Sydney wins in arena 4!”

Troubled, she ran for the railing; below she could see the furrows of people surrounding somebody. It was hard to tell who it was as they immediately lost interest and decided to step across his body to continue their deluge of partying- though Sydney knew it must've been her opponent. He had fallen over the edge himself, and was now being trampled in an overwhelming spate of boots.

Sydney took the time to reunite with her satchel and patch herself up. She tore off her sleeve and wrapped her wound up tight, noting to herself not to use that arm too much. As she settled in the dust waiting for her medication to kick in, Sydney directed her gaze towards the other fights; there were four arenas and eight contestants- seven if you decided to only count those who stood on the platform. Each of the other brawls were beginning to subside, indicated by both their tired body language and the constant commentary that rung out across the podium.

The momentary lapse allowed her adrenaline to subside, revealing just how fatigued she truly was. Sydney steadied herself, concentrating her breathing and only now noticing how jagged and choppy it was. The stinging pain in her side became more and more persistent as she finished administering the platelets and forced herself upward. Sydney wanted to persuade the crowd and her hosts into believing she was fit to continue as she began walking around the ring absentmindedly.

Moments later, the same screeching feedback of the mic blew through the courtyard, followed by,

“The winners are Sydney, Than, The Crab, and Teirgan!” The final name was said with a sense of gusto, followed by the rambunctious cheers of the audience members, “Victors, please advance to the next level.”

Looking down the line of victorious contestants she saw her new opponent- a lumbering figure that was most definitely nonhuman. Beyond him she saw, again, that robust fighter from the booth. She watched as he advanced to the next stage, walking up the invisible staircase alongside she and two other bruisers; she noted he was considerably taller than the rest of them.

On this secondary stage, she was met with a strange, crablike creature. His hardy shelled torso and enormous claws made up for his slightly stubby nature. The only human part about him were his pants- even his face was two elongated eyestalks protruding from a small armored head. His eyes stared directly into Sydney.

Quickly, the announcement was made and the fight began. Sydney lunged at him, waving her staff to and fro, wielding it with gusto. She wasn't going to let herself get into another weak position like before. This crustacean was avid, however, and kept up with Sydney's erratic movements.

He was snapping at her arms trying to disarm her; each click of his claws snapped in her ears so incredibly loud that her body wrinkled in distaste. Sydney aimed for his semi- exposed head and slammed her pole right into it, though it only succeeded in angering him. Now the crab tried to snap the pole in half, grabbing it when she swung it at him and not letting go until he'd left a large gash in it's metal sides. Though, luckily, the staff did not break.

Sydney retreated from him. He was slow, but followed. She was contemplating something; it was meant to be a last resort in case things got too hairy, but she looked at this monster and knew that normal fighting would not work. She'd never break that shell from brute force alone. She moved her hands up the staff until she was holding the end firmly in hand. There was a small hole on the side, which Sydney stuck a finger into. From the end a large blade shung from edge; it was somewhat curved, and was still in good condition. Sydney laid out a plan for herself, “I'm just gonna use it to pry off the shell, nothing more,” She assured herself, “I can put it away as soon as he's exposed.”

Sydney threw herself back into the fight. The cameras followed as they flung themselves back and forth. With the blade, Sydney could gouge his armor, leaving scratches and weak spots wherever she hit him. She made sure to avoid his eyes and face; killing him was not her goal. In their battle, the crab’s enormous claws were able to clip her a few times. While blocking from above, on her thighs, and while blocking from below, her arms. The piece of shell that protected his chest had a seam going across the stomach- Sydney speculated that if she were able to pry it open, they'd be on level playing ground.

She began directing her attacks at the opening. Every so often the blade would slide into the slit; she'd push down and try to force the shell apart. Her movements were getting less and less forceful. One person only had so much adrenaline- the platelets were likely not enough. In a series of battles like this, she'd likely need more that her travel kit. She knew that, and yet she didn't take the necessary precautions. How stupid of her.

But in this moment of weakness, came an overwhelming realization of how real it all truly was. And, following that, came an incessant fear. She took her fear and used it as a tool to attack her opponent; chopping through the air and waving the blade maniacally. She moved without care with only the thought of defeating him coursing through her. She aimed for the seam, as before, strifing hastily and without real care. She jammed it against him, forgetting his neccessant cuts and gashes and becoming lost in a backwards haze.

But then there was a gasp; a collective sound of surprise from the audience. And then, cheers and applause that filled the arena. Sydney looked down at her weapon- she saw that it had punctured through the armor and been stabbed deeply into his abdomen. Droplets trickled from the wound as the crab’s arms became less driven and more worried. He allowed himself to fall backwards into the sand where he laid in silence.

Sydney fell to his side; her eyes were wide and her body was shaking. She had no time to worry about her own seeping injuries- she’d just killed a man. His movements were laberous and Sydney could see it. She turned towards her bag- perhaps it could help- she tripped over her own body so shaken with fear. There weren’t tears, even though she felt like it’d be respectful to cry. The world seemed to be completely silent as she dug through her bag, looking for supplies and gauze and medical tape; and yet all at once, the laughter of the demon, of Lou, and of the sick, filthy people below seemed to ring in her ears. It was a sensation unlike any other.

Scrambling, Sydney threw herself at the crustacean’s side. She was digging through her armfuls of supplies, mumbling, “It’ll be alright. Let’s see here… I’ve got this… And these…” She trailed off. The crab was moving. He used his massive pincers to latch onto the staff that still stuck out from his chest. He pulled it from his body, releasing forth a spread of red blood to drip across his shattered eggshell of a body. His stubby eyes turned to Sydney. Words were said through them that she could have never understood. And, yet, she knew what he meant; he raised the staff into the air as if to smite her in revenge. And for a moment, Sydney wavered. But the blade did not come down on her head, instead it came down upon his own. He had beheaded himself. The staff, again, stood upright, being propped up in the sand that stood between his skull and his torso.

Above them, the girls were laughing. It wasn’t really laughing- more of a cackling, screaming, howling type sound. It was definitely otherworldly, to say the least, though the smiles on their faces indicated that they were having the time of their lives. Sydney would’ve rebutted them, but was in no mood. Their laughter only fed into the disrupting feeling that encased her skin, and made her sick. She felt as though her stomach would force itself out her throat and onto the pavement with any sudden movement. Deadlike and unnerved, she somberly patched up her own wounds.

“Aha…” The woman breathed, finishing up her laugh, “Contestants! Final Round! Sydney versus Teirgan! Please move to the next ring.”

Sydney stayed where she sat. All her energy had been depleted; she was quiet. The cuts across her body ached even as she breathed, but the aching felt far away. As though it was some other body being punctured, not her own.

Ghost-like, she moved to the wall. Again, she walked up the hidden steps to the final terminal, but this time she could barely feel the ground beneath her. Her body moved, but her head was stuck on the monster- his silent but gruesome death kept replaying in her mind and drown out any outside interferences.

At the other end was the long-awaited Teirgan. His body was like a wall, blocking out the sun as it stood overhead. His hands were white with callused-over skin, and his clothes were crusted with dirt as though he'd just crawled out of a grave. Though, he might as well have been dead; the wrinkles of his face and dark, tired eyes reflected a life more difficult than death.

“Sydney,” he spoke unexpectedly. She was intrigued that he remembered her name, and it snapped her out of her daze, “Please…” He begged, “let me win.”

“What?”

“You don’t know how this place works. She’s going to keep you here,” The expression on his face was worried.

“What do you mean? Who?”

“Ira,” he motioned upwards to that demonic lady. Sydney remorsed at the fact that she didn't realize that the demon was Ira sooner.

He continued, “Those walls you saw? They aren’t just for show- they’re to keep people in. You’ll be trapped in here like the rest of us.”

“...But-”

“The people here don’t realize it. They stay because she promises wishes, or water, or money… Then when they do leave… Sydney, they don’t ever make it. They always stay, or they always die.”

“Excuse me!” Ira interrupted them. She was standing up, and there was a heavy, wrenching feeling as though you’d been spotted by a superior doing something you shouldn’t be.

“I don't know what's going on down there,” She commanded, “But I'm not paying you to stand around.”

Without hesitation, Sydney threw the first hand. She distrusted the strange man, ‘He’s acting so buddy-buddy,’ She thought, ‘He’s probably just trying to psyche me out. Just trying to get the upper hand.’

His body was unmoved, however, as he was able to grab her by the collar and toss her aside. As she went to stand, he spoke again,

“Please, Sydney. I need to speak to her in front of everyone. I need to let them know how she’s been deceiving them.”

She wasn’t listening. She tried again with her weapon and hit him on the shoulder, but miraculously he was unfazed. He was a lot slower than the others, but his ability to take hits made him powerful. Teirgan picked up her staff and held it a few feet off the ground; Sydney dangled from it as he began to shake it violently, whiping her around with brutish force. She wildly kicked her legs outwards at him and jammed him in the head. Or his jaw, rather, as when he dropped her to the ground Sydney saw him spitting out a mouthful of blood. Through the iron-taste on his lips, he tried again,

“You know that crab-guy? The one you fought back there?” Teirgan’s voice spewed out spots of blood, “Do you know why he ended himself like that? Because he knew that even if he did survive, he’d be too injured to entertain Ira. And in this world, you either fight for supplies or die trying.”

* * *

All the while, above them, Ira and Lou sat side by side in their plastic lounging chairs, speaking about the match.

“Ira,” Lou looked over to her, “you can’t let him win.”

“I know,” she admitted, “I was thinking the same thing. But y’know, I’m not really one to tip the scales.”

“If you let him win, he might take advantage of the attention.”

“Yes, yes. He might,” Ira recrossed her legs, “And I can’t talk to him off camera because then there’d be a real uprising. And I can’t let him win on camera because he might try and say something… Oh my, what a decision.”

The fight continued sloppily and misshapen. Sydney was weak and wobbled in her step, and although Teirgan felt sorrow for her, he fought relentlessly; nothing was going to steal this moment from him.

The blows against her staff seemed endless. He placed a constant stress on her block that Sydney feared she'd no longer be able to keep up. He snatched the pole from her hands and knocked her away, giving just enough time for Teirgan to thrust the bar across his knee. Instantly, it snapped apart, crackling into the wind and burying flecks of metal in the dust.

Defenceless, Sydney was scrambling backwards over the sand trying to gather her bearings, but Teirgan was far too quick. His pace picked up and for the first time she had seen, his stride kicked up into a sprint. He shook the earth tremendously as he forced himself towards her, arms out and shaking with fury. His eyes were filled with anger, though it was an anger for his life and the fact that Ira was the cause of it, not necessarily because Sydney had hit him. She screamed out at the sight, involuntarily afraid. She didn't want to be scared, she knew she couldn't get lost in it, but knowing this, seeing him- the pain in her belly and the blood that dripped from her skull- it was paralyzing.

But, then, just like that, he was across the floor and unconscious. Unmoving and as it seemed, unbreathing. He had been flung across the space to the edge of the floor. Had he gone any farther, he might've gone off the edge. In his place Ira was standing tall and cool. She did not care about him; instead she cared about Sydney.

“Sorry,” she said, “He’s a bit of a.. Liability. I didn’t think he’d get this far, actually. But he did. And I couldn’t let him win after that,” she was referencing something that must've happened previously; the disgust on her face indicated she was rather unpleased with it.

Sydney fidgeted in the dirt, “...What did he do?”

“Oh,” Ira a brushed a claw through her hair, “He… questioned my authority.”

Sydney was taken aback.

“Oh, you know,” She continued, “He was talking about how I was unfair, and how people should be treated differently, blah blah blah… He’s the type to take any publicity and turn it into some political statement. You can understand why I couldn’t let him on camera. Not to mention, if he’d blabbed about his ‘ideas’ to any of his little friends- and they saw him winning- they’d probably think… I dunno… that they could stand against me or something,” She turned to Sydney, “You know how it goes.”

There was a brief pause before Sydney spoke, “What’s going to happen to me?”

“Ah, you’ll win. I’ll just tell the crowd that the cameras cut out. You’ll get your money still.”

“But… not my freedom.”

Ira scoffed a bit, smiling, “What do you mean?”

“I mean… the doors. You won’t let me leave here, will you? After this I’ll just… be stuck on this island.”

Ira was irritated, and spoke through her teeth, “...Yes,” she hissed.

“Well then. What if I fight for it? My freedom, I mean. What if I fought you and got to leave as a reward?”

Ira laughed, “Fight me?” She waved her arms and stumbled on her feet, “Oh Sydney, my girl. You silly girl!”

Lou stepped to the edge of the stage to throw in her word, “You should do it,” she shouted, “She’s a special case, you know.”

“Ah, yeah. A special case,” Ira’s smile was condescending. Both physically and mentally, she was greater than Sydney. A monster in heinous glory, with jagged fangs and bright red horns; her hands could crush Sydney's skull with little effort. She was a beast not to be meddled with.

“Alright, Sydney,” She admitted, “I’ll fight you. Off camera, of course. You win, you’ll get the money and the freedom. You lose, and I throw you off this pedestal- penniless, homeless, and probably dead.”

Sydney glanced at her medkit, kicked off to the side and buried in silt. She nodded at the conditions.

“Alright, then. Let’s get started.”

Sydney made a run for a piece of her staff that had been discarded. It was the end with the knife; now it stuck out in an odd fashion, and would likely never retreat to its sheath again. But in this fight, that was a good thing, as Sydney intended not to hold back.

‘So, it's true,’ She thought, ‘Ira doesn't just look like a demon, but she enslaves like one too.’

Sydney went to jab the knife into her leg, but Ira caught her by the face. Her enormous hand engulfed her entire head, and her thumb was wrapped around the back of her neck. Ira threw her away, exposing her fangs when she laughed at the way Sydney’s body bounced against the earth.

But Sydney tried again; she swiped at her from behind, then again, chasing after Ira’s weaving movements. Ira was playing with her, and she knew it. To her, the fight was a game. Fighting a human? It was so pathetic, that it was hilarious. Even Lou smiled from above in her little plastic chair.

Sydney took a handful of her hair and tugged her head back. Ira was flung backwards, almost tripping, but catching herself. However, Sydney caught her in her moment of exposure, and- from behind- brought the broken blade of her staff down on Ira’s face.

Ira cried out, and snapped her body back, cradling her head in her hands. She whipped back around; a gash was gushing from her forehead through her eyebrow, dripping blood in her eyes and down her cheeks. But the only thing Sydney saw on her face was rage.

Ira balanced back on her two enormous hands, propelling her legs up. She kicked Sydney forwards, then slammed into her jaw and chest, forcing her to fly over a few feet away. Her head was spinning, unable to see Ira catching herself back on her feet and snapping her crooked fingers.

Suddenly, Sydney felt herself being drug backwards across the floor. She thought it was some sort of magic that was pulling her off the platform. She struggled to get away, scraping across the dirt, but her hands only slid on the soft earth.

Then, she felt herself fall into some sort of hole. She kept herself above ground using her arms and legs, but peeked for a moment at what was below. Sydney had been half-right; what was sucking her in was a portal to the underworld, brimming with ghouls and demons, screaming out and crying for her. They floated in a spiral, spreading out their long fingers and nipping at the hem of her coat. Their bodies were made of made of the grotesque flesh one often finds in nightmares. Sydney screamed out at the spectacle.

Ira had moved closer, now; she stood over her, silently threatening to step on her.

“Sydney,” She spoke. Her voice held a disturbing vibration to it, that shook Sydney to the core even moreso than the screams of the underworld. Whimpering and half-crying, she listened.

“There is only one person in this world who is stronger than me,” She paused, making sure their eyes were locked together, “...and it is not you.”

She snapped her fingers and the portal disappeared. Sydney was left on the floor, a heaving, trembling mess. She could not bring herself to breath properly, let alone tend her wounds and let alone stand beside her captor. Lou had passed the microphone to Ira,

“Everyone!” Ira yelled.

The jumbo screen below was filled with an image of her face as she continued,

“Sydney wins!”

The crowds cheered and applause spewed from the mob.

“But wait… there's more!”

They hushed themselves slightly in anticipation. Ira was purposely dragging it out,

“We are having… an outing!”

And with those few words, the crowd erupted.

* * *

Sydney sat awkwardly in the backseat, while Lou and Ira manned the front. Ira propped her hooves up on the dashboard as Lou ran the wheel, driving straight through the desert wasteland. A stream of dust was trailing behind them, and just beyond it, a wave of trucks and jeeps were speeding ahead, following them to the wall.

They skidded across the dirt to a halt, with the smoke stream dissipating behind. There was a field around them that prevented from any outsiders from getting too close, which was a good thing, Sydney thought, because the trucks and cars had parked themselves right up against it. Some were driving directly into the field, flooring against the wall with smoke streaming out from behind them. Some people discarded their cars and pushed themselves against the invisible walls, some crying, some beating against it with wood or bars or even shooting at them, aiming for Ira and Lou. From inside, you could see their dirty hands and crusted rags of clothing pressing on the glass, crying out for- as they said- salvation.

Their psychotic shouts and violet, erratic outbreaks were chilling, and it prompted Sydney to turn her back on them.

“Sydney,” Ira pulled her around by the shoulder, “My girl… take a look.”

Using her enormous claw, she flashed her palm to the doorway. The metal fence began to vibrate the earth, and with a heavy, ear wrenching screech it heaved the ‘OUT’ door open. Along with the scrapes, the outside crowd cheered and screened. A wave of voices called out as the door was opened, and for the first time in who knows how long, they could see the vast blue ocean splashing softly against the dock.

Ira gave Sydney a bit of a push. Sydney, still anemic, stumbled and almost fell into the dirt. Catching herself, she looked back at the two of them; Ira with her white mane of hair, oily, red skin, and a surly tail flicking in irritation. Then Lou, off to the side, adorned in black leather that contrasted with her white body. The wings perched on her head turned as she cocked her head in Sydney's direction.

“Well,” Lou said, “What are you waiting for?”

Ira smiled, “Yeah. Haven't had an outing in years. You should feel special.”

Sydney was slow to move, dragging her feet towards the opening. She felt like she needed to say something, to stand up. There was an obvious injustice being done and she felt so rotten just letting it happen all around her.

Under the brash heat of the sun she stopped at the edge of the doorway, breathing in the dust and allowing the breeze to whip through her hair. She turned around, slowly, gazing into the eyes of a demon.

“Ira!” She yelled, “What you're doing is wrong!”

“Oh god, here she goes,” Ira half-whispered to Lou.

“I can't just let you do this. I'm going to… I'm gonna stop this. I'll, I'm-”

Ira waved a hand, and Sydney was thrown backwards. She tripped over the tracks, and landed in time to see the door slamming shut behind her. She forced herself upwards, and began pounding at the wall. The bruises on her arms made it difficult to lift them very high, so she hit the door at chest-level.

“Ira!” She screamed, “Ira, I'm coming for you!”

On the other side, Ira and Lou had already gotten back into their pink pickup. Starting the engine, they made a swift U-turn, laughing all the way at Sydney's pathetic voice echoing in the distance.

As they drove, the crowd became more quiet. They were coming up quick on the edges of the field, and no one wanted to miss their chance. As soon as Ira’s truck hit the side of the wall, it disappeared. The cars previously anchored by the wall were now released into the space. Their burning tires flew across the dirt and skidded into the opening, some vehicles scraping up against one another, others losing faith and turning back. But of those that stayed, they thrust their foot into the pedal as far as it would go; the roar of their engines was the last thing anyone heard before they pile drived themselves into the door.

But Sydney heard nothing. The only thing she heard was Ira, driving away, and then silence. Hoarsely, she continued to scream,

“Do you hear me! You won't get away with this! I'm going to tell someone, I'm going to find someone… someday, I'll get you back for this!”

#ch 6 #ira #lou #sydney #mida

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