#more human in some and more beast in others

[ozzgin]

Thinking about the human adoption agency for monsters as I was struck with silly ideas. Courtesy of 👘 anon. content: gender neutral reader, mildly NSFW

"Congratulations, you've been adopted!"

You blinked, slowly, trying to process the words you'd just heard. You were a grown adult with a living set of parents. What exactly was going on?

The agent rushed you in his office, handing you the stack of documents. You’d been given away to a generous monster patron.

Your attempts to protest were cheerfully dismissed, as he guided your hand for signature after signature; then, he nonchalantly ushered you back outside, where an enormous beast was waiting for you.

Dear Lord, you thought, were you being trafficked? Purchased as some sort of sex slave at the mercy of this creature’s depraved needs? Or maybe he was looking for the main fresh ingredient to finish his dinner stew.

Nonetheless, you stepped hesitantly inside the monster’s home, eyeing his figure with suspicion. Truly a fiend from Hell, you concluded at the time.

The main desk was covered in piles of fabric. Buried underneath was an older sewing machine. From the walls clung hangers and fancy garments that seemed to be made for inhuman wearers.

In truth - you soon learned - you’d been tasked to act as the emotional support human to the poor creature. He was a famous seamster, you see, but he was cripplingly shy and deplorably anxious around other monsters.

Thus, you now find yourself smiling and nodding at the latest client, holding your owner’s enormous hand reassuringly. It’s alright, you’ll do the talking. He grins at you, exhaling in relief. Thank God you’re here. His little human to soothe the aching heart.

[More Monsters]

[s-4pphics]

drenched in white. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: after all your time alone, you’re finally not, but you’re definitely not prepared for your new life. [jackson AU]

WORD COUNT: 7.1K

WARNINGS: readers mute and taller than ellie, death, murder, blood, mentions of alcohol/starvation/hypothermia, a bit of gore, near death experience, trauma and sadness, brief girls kissing, some fluff because kids :)

A/N: tbh idk where this came from but i missed ellie so yeah prob wont write anymore of this but yeah 

—

Apocalypses are fucking stupid.

Humans are born into nothing, forced to run all their lives from blood-lustful beasts that can rewire their entire brain chemistry into one that sadistically matches theirs, and if that doesn’t happen, you die anyway with nothing but the clothes on your back and a horse with no rider. That’s fucking stupid. 

You weren’t alive when the world was thriving… presumably so — whatever the old world considered thriving. Those history books you stole in adolescence would argue otherwise, but there were some happy moments. On occasion. Maybe? Whatever. But you weren’t there, and you can only imagine how you would’ve turned out if you were. Would you be married? Have children? Own property? Businesses? Whatever other luxury the old world prioritized although it all seemed exhausting? 

Would you be an addict, a trainwreck, someone who had it all then nothing in the blink of an eye? That seems to be reoccurring in some of those biographies you found about people called celebrities. They have everything then die too young or way too old and eventually fade into a nobody, just like everyone else. History is so heartbreaking. Such cruel fate. 

You’ve been by yourself for a long time. Some would still consider you young, but you feel like a zombie that’s risen from the grave most of the time. You steal and live selfishly and waste your life reading because you can. You’re lucky enough to no longer have anyone you care about. Your recklessness doesn’t hinder anyone but yourself, so you read read read. Sometimes, you hunt for books more than you do for food. You’re not a fighter — it surprises you every day how you haven’t died yet — but a decent amount of people would consider you book smart. This one group you crossed paths with some years ago called you a genius because you’re self-taught in practically everything: reading and writing, starting fires, planting food, sewing, mapping plains. Whenever you’re harmed, you can heal yourself kinda. When you were 14, you stepped on a rusty nail and, instead of living the short remainder of your life as an amputee, you heroed through a disgusting infection that left you ill for 2 weeks, then sewed your own wound up. You couldn’t walk for days. 

That same group also called you mute. 

You don’t think you are, but rightfully so. There’s no one for you to talk to, so you don’t talk, simple as that. Everyone you knew died when you were a kid, maybe 7 or 8 — spending the majority of your life alone and in hiding doesn’t make for much conversation. Plus, the fucks that rule the Earth are nosy as hell. Being as quiet as possible is needed. 

Reading passes time. It’s the last phase of winter, but it’ll be Spring in no time, thanks to the bag you drag through snow: stuffed with one jacket, a rusted chef’s knife, and 46 different novels and counting. 

Your body’s gonna shut down on you. It’s so fucking cold and you’re barely layered but you haven’t finished The Cable Companies, One Hundred and One Best Songs. The pages filled with piano notes are almost enough to make you hear the songs… Or maybe the lack of nutrients is making you hallucinate. Guess you’ll find out when you finish. Just 22 more pages. 

No food, no water, no warmth, no antique piano. You’re fucked any direction you turn. 

There was a small cave somewhere around here. You used to sleep in it during the summer; the dark was always cooler. Maybe it’s buried underneath heaps of snow. You hope not. Fuck. 

The closer you get to the cavern, the grosser the air becomes. Death carries a certain mugginess. Why’d they have to die next to your one retreat? 

You drag and drag on like your legs weigh a ton all the way to the cave and… Great. 

Death and no entrance. Red coats the snow and it reminds you of the twisted tale of Snow White. The decaying carcass of a deer should alarm you, but you only sigh in defeat. Where the fuck are you supposed to read without disturbance? 

You only make it two more steps before you collapse face-first into ice. Your lungs wheeze in pain and you’re trying to get yourself up but you can’t. When you blink, you see colors. 

Is this death? Or karma? A squirrel runs past you just to rub it in. Furry little bitch. 

It’s only when your brain whispers for you to give up that you fully submerge into the snow. Small cries of pain are the only proof of your survival. 

Fuck everything. Fuck people, fuck people that turned into monsters, fuck all the stupid trivial shit that the other world loved so deeply. Call it jealousy. Everything’s for nothing nowadays. 

Your final thought before the world goes dark. 

—

Why is there annoying beeping in heaven? 

Maybe you’re naive in believing you made it there. Maybe this is hell. You thought it’d be more fucked up than this. The beeping is irritating though. Besides that, it’s peaceful. 

Is this an in between world? Half dead, half not. You remember being into paranormal shit in horror stories years ago. Ghostly entities and whatnot. Maybe you’re… that. There’s whispers in the background. Bleary and distant but you kinda hear them. Maybe someone’s conjuring you up. Why you of all people? 

“— ne… de…” 

Need? Your ears are failing. Why is everything suddenly hurting? Pain in your eyes and behind them and all the way down. It’s hurting everywhere. 

“—Jus… there… Not sure.” 

It’s hurts so bad everywhere make it stop make it stop —

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

White overtakes your vision. Too bright and too cold and you can’t stop heaving but you want to because it fucking hurts everywhere

“Hey! Hey! Calm—” 

The voices are clearer and so is the beeping and so is the pain. Gentle hands land on your shoulders and you thrash when faces, needles and medical equipment clear in your vision. There’s something sharp in your arm. Where the fuck when the fuck how —

“You needa calm down—“

You try to tell this blonde freak to go fuck herself but your voice is shot, coughing and spit flying everywhere. 

“The fuck is her probl—“

“Be quiet—“

A crackling scream ripples through you, tears streaming down your face because suddenly more hands are holding you down. Malicious intent or not it makes you fucking sick. The beeping only gets faster. 

“MY — my name’s Maria! Listen to me! My name’s Maria! Some of mine went out on patrol a few days ago and found you almost buried. We’re tryna help you!” 

You continue to sob but they’re a little less guttural. Her voice is nice. Very motherly. 

“You were halfway dead out there,” She huffs like it’s funny and you wanna throw a chair, “What’s your name? Gotta name?” 

All the hands are off you except Maria’s. Maybe because you’re not trying to kick her face in anymore. You’re trying to tell her you don’t fucking remember but nothing comes out. Just more coughing. 

“Take your time. Deep breaths, shhh, you’re alright.” 

You finally meet her eyes and they’re pretty. Pale blue like spring water. The beeping starts to slow bit by bit. It took you all this time to realize that’s your heart. You glimpse at the monitor and… those squiggly lines mean fuck all to you. Why couldn’t you just die?

Your eyes travel, albeit less frantically, but on high guard. Skeptical as ever. You couldn’t even defend yourself against these incredibly polite barbarians if you wanted to. Your bag’s gone. Everything that’s yours is gone. The beeps increase all over again. Maria must sense your anxiety. 

“Hey, hey, we have everything. We just had to make sure you were… alright to come in. No bites or nothing, ‘k?” 

… Fair. Whatever. Gimme my shit. 

“We were snoopin’,” Your vision follows the new voice. A man this time, average sized and bearded, “Ya like t’read?” 

You squint and nod. 

“‘S a good habit.” 

… Awkward. It’s quiet now. 

“How ya feelin’? Any pain?” Maria pries gently. You shrug. Not as bad as it was 2 minutes ago. You eye everyone in here, study as much of them as you can. Face, hands, guns latched around their thighs and shoved in their belts. They’re all threats while simultaneously being unthreatening. For now, at least. 

“Y’all can get on. I got it from here.” She waves the remaining people off and they leave with tense smiles. The door clicks behind them. The beeping is the slowest it’s been since you woke up. 

“Bout that name…” 

You only stare at her. 

“Don't remember?”

You scratch at your neck, and she sighs, “Not much of a talker, huh?” 

You mime writing in a notepad, and Maria quirks with interest. She searches the room before digging through a drawer on the farthest dresser. She returns with a small book and marker. 

The aches in your fingers don’t halt your scribbling. You turn the book towards her. 

ARE YOU GOING TO KILL ME? 

The corner of her mouth lifts, “No point in fixin’ ya up if that was the case. No offense, but you’re not threatening.” 

You snort. 

“You been by yourself for a while?” 

You ponder before scribbling. 

I WATCHED MY FAMILY DIE. PRETTY FUCKED UP CHILDHOOD. I’M ALWAYS ALONE. 

She stares sympathetically and shakes her head in apologies. All you can do is shrug. You’d be more surprised if a kid grew up in this world without experiencing mass destruction. Trauma practically raised you. 

“There’s not many people that can do what you do, y’know? You gotta gift.” She jerks her chin at the booklet. “Somebody taught’cha?” 

You point to yourself. 

“Don’t let that head get big now.” She smirks and you smile sorta. 

“We got kids…” Maria blindly points towards the door. 

“A lot of ‘em, and we’ve been tryna get them to read more but… I don’t know, some of these old bastards think it’s pointless and that discourages them.”

Oh. 

“I don’t know what you got goin’ on out there, but… If you choose to go back out there, I won’t fault you, but if you don’t…” 

Uh oh. 

“How do you feel ‘bout teaching toddlers their ABCs?” 

… Shit. 

You scowl. 

“I know it’s not the best… position to be in but, I don’t know, I just want something they can look forward to everyday. A new story, some new conversations… anything to get their little brains crankin’.” 

“They’re so sweet and I feel like they’d gain so much from someone who cares just as much as they do.” 

You don’t write anything. Her pupils shroud with dejection. 

“Think about it?” She’s quick to turn away, but not without one last look over her shoulder, “Rest up.” 

And the door closes. Your eyes shut in no time, and a comforting darkness overtakes you once more. 

—

Leave with nothing but your annotated novels or stay where you’re well fed and warm but surrounded by snotty nosed orphans. Something to think about. 

You’ve been in Jackson — you learned the town is called — for less than 48 hours, most of which you were recovering from a severe case of hypothermia. You don’t remember the last time you had a meal that hot. Maria had to reassure you that no one would take your plate. 

You still haven’t given Maria a clear answer for her teaching proposal, but she doesn’t bug you about it. She is very eager to show you the daycare though. She’s subtle. You respect it. 

Your books are still couped up in the infirmary because, frankly, you hate dragging them everywhere. Maria offered for you to keep them in the library, but you refused. They’re not up for grabs; You nearly died for every single one of those pages and you’ll be damned if someone touches them under your nose. They’re yours. It’s all you got right now. 

You might even leave with a horse if Maria still likes you after telling her no to teaching. Tomorrow morning will wrap up your little dead-then-alive journey. Couldn’t hurt to ask. 

It’s your first time back outside since your near-death experience. The sun is barely peeking from behind the clouds and your face is so cold it’s almost retraumatizing, but it’s pretty out. Maria was nice enough to give you new boots that weren’t hanging on by their laces. 

Jackson bustles like a real, non-apocalyptic town. Lights shine and pick-ups honk and people are fucking smiling? Maybe this is heaven. 

Those walls… They’re still high and barricaded. Scouts babysit those gates like clockwork. To think you were on the other side of their scrutiny just a day ago. The twinkling sound of joy confuses the fuck outta you. Laughter. Not only that, but from children. Not starving, nearly dead children, but well-fed, genuinely happy kids. Why does your stomach twist with jealousy? They deserve peace, of course, but so did you. So does every child. 

Your eyes search for them — curiosity overtakes your limbs and you step with determination, guided by your ears. The twinkles grow in volume — there must be at least 10 kids playing in the snow. 

“HEY! GET OFF, YOU FU—“

“Language!”

“HOW’S THIS FOR LANGU—“

“BOYS! ENOUGH! I’M SICK OF YOUR SHI—!”

“LANGUAGE, MS. DINA!”

“I CAN SAY THAT! YOU CAN’T!”

What a sight this is. Happy kids. Your heart swells. Slightly; you’re glad Maria isn’t here to catch your fondness. 

“Alright, vermins, get up, I’ll miss the party.” 

“5 more minutes, pleeease!”

“I’m not freezing for you. C’mon!” 

The kids seem to love Ms. Dina. They dangle off every single one of her limbs, begging her to throw at least 10 more snowballs. Maybe your ice-cold heart isn’t as frosty as you thought. The sight is disgustingly endearing. 

“Ms. Dina… Who’s that?” 

And the laughter stops. A bunch of eyes attached to tiny bodies all gawk at you, some with intrigue, others with fear as they cower behind their teacher… babysitter? Whoever she is. 

“Not sure, dove. You all have 10 minutes!” 

“20!”

“10 or freeze to death! Go!”

Excited screams filter through the wind when said vermins squabble in snow like puppies, pushing and shoving and chucking icy bullets at each other. You never had to worry about being the oddball out, but you sure do look like one now. 

“Hey. Maria told us about a scrounger.” 

Creases bunch in your forehead, and Dina raises her hands defensively, “Joking, relax. So, are you staying, or…?” You shrug unknowing, and Dina chuckles. 

“I think you should. If I had the option to stay here 24/7, I’d take it in a heartbeat. We could use an extra hand with the kids. Maria said you read?” 

You nod. “Cool. We have a decent amount of readers — more than most, but, uh… yeah. Our kids need help.”

Your lip twitches alongside your pondering. So many questions rest on your tongue but none can leave. Dina’s eyes are consoling. It shouldn’t spark irritation in your stomach but it does. 

“Do you sign?” 

You stare in confusion, and she elaborates, “Like… Sign language?” Her hands make a bunch of gestures you don’t understand and your head shakes. 

“Darn. No worries. If you’re ever interested in learning, just holler. We got some people that are hard of hearing so we all kinda use it occasionally. But, umm… yeah. I’m Dina.” She extends a polite hand but you don’t accept it. Your head jerks in greeting, and she smiles. 

She drops it back to her side, “What should we call you?” 

You don’t know. You don’t care. You’re not staying long. Your shoulders rise and fall nonchalantly. 

“Should I have them pick?” 

Before you can oppose, she’s hollering for— 

“DYLAN! COME HERE!”

A rascal with a beanie and bright red boots sprints towards the two of you. His cheeks are so plush and scarred. Dina fixes the color of his sweater, “Dylan, what’s a good name for a teacher?” 

“Ms. Dina, obviously—“

“Another name.” 

Chipmunk Boy ponders for a moment before snickering, “Mr. Octopus.” 

“Fucking hell—“

“Language, Ms. Dina! SWEAR JAR—“

“We don’t even do that here!”

“Okay, okay… just call them Dove or something! Don’t think we don’t notice you calling us that when you forget our names!” 

Dina’s eyes widen, “That’s not true! What the… freak!” 

Red-Boot-Ranger smirks when Dina catches herself before getting pelted at the back of the head with a snowball. 

“Little BITCH—“

Dina shouts, “HEY!—“

“MS. DINA, FRANKIE CURSED!”

“NO, I DIDN’T—“

Arguments break out between all 13 children, loud and boisterous and your head pounds. Too much for one day. 

“STOP— sorry, I gotta handle this, but it was nice meeting you! BOYS—“ 

Dina throws you one last wave before rushing off to scold Dylan and his… bully? You think that’s what they were called in some books you read. A kid messing with another kid or something like that. 

You take this last bit of alone time before you depart to explore. 

Despite your eagerness to disappear, Jackson is nice. You don’t know what Christmas entails, but it’s often described as festive: a day for togetherness and family and whatever the hell else ‘can’t be bought’ yet everyone buys. Jackson is visually festive. Celebratory scenery. What exactly they’re celebrating goes over your head. There’s nothing to be joyous over. Death traps Jackson at every corner. 

Loud music pulls you from your thoughtful stroll. One look through a very large window is enough to scare you shitless. A seemingly cozy space is filled to the brim with strangers who dance and drink and laugh their heads off; Their familiarity with one another makes you physically ill. The scene is like a bullet to the chest. Reminds you of what was once home.

Your nausea doesn’t overtake your curiosity, though. 

The moment you step into the bar, warmth suffocates you, heat sizzling through your legs as your face defrosts. The entire bar screams out lyrics to a song you never heard while cups get refilled with burning liquid and it’s overwhelming. There’s so much movement. Too much. 

Blonde hair swings out the corner of your eye and you’re instantly relieved. You hustle to where Maria chats with partygoers from across the bar. She’s shocked to see you. 

“Hey! You’re up’n moving!” 

You wave awkwardly. Gawk back at the people that gawk at you before Maria hands you a glass. 

“You drink?” You deny with a raised hand, and she smiles. 

“Probably not the best time to ask,” She hollers over the jukebox, “I’m hoping this is your initiation?” Her eyes are hopeful, and your throat dries a bit. Why are you hesitating to answer?

Maria’s nice enough… probably the nicest stranger you’ve ever met in your entire life, and it seems more comfortable in Jackson than anywhere you’ve been. It doesn’t seem so bad… but you don’t like children. You barely liked yourself at age 10; short and clumsy and vulnerable. Children are too exposed and trusting, even in this life. They get people killed because they’re not careful. It shocks you that a fortress like Jackson carries so many. 

A pen and paper get slid on wood and placed in front of you. You eye Maria, and she nods encouragingly. You waste no time. 

I DON’T THINK I’LL BE A GOOD TEACHER. DINA HAS MORE PATIENCE IN HER PINKY THAN I DO IN MY ENTIRE BODY. I’M SORRY. 

You meekly hold the note up for Maria, and you know she’s disappointed. You patiently wait for her to tell you to get your shit so she can kick you out herself. 

It never comes. 

“I hope that girl didn’t scare you,” In reference to Dina, and you deny, “I had a feeling you’d say no. It’s alright. Kids are… a lot.” 

You set the paper down in relief that she’s not angry. About that horse… 

“Doesn’t hurt to ask… You still wanna leave?” 

That stuns you. Oftentimes, large groups aren’t so welcoming to… scroungers, or whatever Dina made you out to be. The less mouths to feed, the better. If a newbie holds no purpose, they’re left out to die on their own. It’s happened to you countless times. Why does she care about a stranger so much?

Maria chuckles at your stunned expression, “It’s, um… it’s hard out there. We’ve all seen it, and we’re lucky to have found somewhere… stable. It doesn’t come often.” 

“The choice is still yours, stayin’ or goin’, but if you’re scared I’ll kick you out… don’t be. We got nothin’ but space.” 

Your mind races yet not one cohesive response comes through. Maria laughs at your slack jaw. “Here. Sleep on it tonight, and let me know in the mornin’. It’s a party! Let loose a little. Go mingle.“

You scribble on the last bit of remaining space. 

I’M NOT A PEOPLE PERSON. 

Maria huffs, “Neither’s my niece. She’s like a niece to me, that one, over there.” She points at the end of the bar to a woman, girl — looks around your age, babysitting a drink: tatted, hair pulled back, and sulking. She talks with a guy with a mullet that’s too movie-star ready. “You two’d get along, I think. Her name’s Ellie. Jesse’s the one next to her, he’s a sweetheart. Very helpful. If Dina was here, they’d be the Three Musketeers. She still with the kids?”

You nod, but your eyes are locked onto Ellie’s tattoo. You’ve never seen one in person. In romance books, people with tattoos are always trouble: good in bed with murderous tendencies. Maybe it’s wrong to assume, but Ellie doesn’t seem like that. No one that pouty would kill a fly. You wonder if her friend has tattoos. He’d fit the stereotype more.

“Wanna meet ‘em?” 

Fire bursts underneath your cheeks. You vehemently shake your head at Maria, and mischief glints in her eyes. 

“HEY, ELLIE, JES—“

You gawk at Maria, tugging at her wrist for her to stop, but she laughs, “Hey, you two!”

Your face falls into your palm. “Need somethin’, Maria?” A deep voice blares. Jesse, apparently. Fucking great.  

“No, hun. Just introducing a new friend,” Maria whispers loud enough for you to hear before tending to other patrons, “Convince her to stay?” 

Your eyes roll and your heart pulses. 

“… Hey.” 

You wave weakly. Annoyed, and Jesse laughs. “Yeah, she’s a lot sometimes. I’m Jesse.” You send him a thumbs up. 

“… Gotta name yourself?”

You shrug with agitation. If someone else asks you that, you’ll scream. 

“… Hm. Okay, then. I’m gonna get another drink. Want one?” You decline as politely as your attitude allows. 

“You, El?” 

“M’good.” 

“Alright,” He hums too uppity, “Enjoy the quiet.” He goofs before following Maria to the other end of the bar. Silence ensues between you and Ellie, and it’s fucking awkward. It wouldn’t be if you were by yourself. You pick at the piece of paper in front of you. 

Ellie adjusts her stance, attention on the dance that dominates the floor, her tatted arm propping her up against the bar. You can see the fine lines out the corner of your eye: leaves of a fern resting underneath a moth. A Polyphemus. Compulsive. A symbol of death, you once read somewhere. Regardless, it’s beautifully done. 

“Want a picture?” 

You stiffen and your gaze drops to the paper. Your eyelids squeeze shut in embarrassment. 

Ellie releases a hefty breath before sighing, “You read?” She asks, and you shrug. 

“You don’t talk?” You do nothing. 

She already sounds annoyed by you. You hope she notices you’re in the same boat. “It’s better if you don’t.” She mumbles to herself. You throw a glare in her direction, but she pays you no mind. She’s focused elsewhere, eyes much more delicate. You discreetly follow her line of vision. 

… Dina. Hilarious. Is she a god here? Good with children and the annoying and aloof? Everyone here claps and hoots at her being dipped by her partner like they’ve never seen dancing before. When did she even get here? Where are the kids? Maybe they’re all snowballed out and went to bed—

… What. What the fuck? You don’t care, what the hell. 

You turn back to Ellie when Dina waves at her, wide-eyed and princess-y, before waltzing towards Jesse to throw her arms around his neck, which he eagerly returns around her waist. Ellie’s expression goes from lovestruck to tense in an instant, jaw clenched and eyes burning through the floor. You try to hide a snicker. 

Ellie’s jealous. Adorable. 

“The fuck are you smiling for?” She grumbles at you, but her cheeks burn under the yellow light. Your laughter finally bubbles over. 

“Nothing’s funny. Shut the fuck—“

“Well, what’d I tell you! Two wallflowers hittin’ it off! Look at that smile!” 

Maria graciously interrupts Ellie’s angered mantra. Your hand hides your grin before a light hand brushes your back. You flinch away on instinct. No one notices except Ellie. 

Dina greets you first and you almost holler with joy, “Hey, Dove! Sorry I didn’t come over earlier! Had to get this circus goin’ since no one else did,” She casually takes Ellie’s glass and downs its contents with no problem, “Thank you.” 

“Such a dick.” Ellie says slowly, and Dina smiles. “You love me.” 

You pinch your smile away. 

“Dove?” Maria inquiries. 

Dina shrugs, “Better than Doe. Makes her sound like a corpse. Dove’s cute.”

“Cute for a bitch,” Ellie slips under her breath, and Dina slaps her arm in scolding. Tames her until she quiets like an actual bitch. This shit is hilarious. 

“I like that. Dove.” Maria approves. “It’s… fitting. Joel found her buried in white, so.” 

“Okay, Mrs. Poet—“

Maria’s married? Huh. 

She hushes Dina playfully. The dark-haired girl interlaces Ellie’s fingers with hers before yanking her off the bar and onto the dance floor. The music slows as if cued just for them. Dina pulls Ellie into her, and Ellie’s hands rest on her waist. 

Dina leads, surprisingly. 

Ellie’s expression doesn’t scream delight. She’s nerve wracked and her eyes flit over every body that surrounds her with anxiety. Even yours. 

Dina’s a good distraction. She's quite seductive when she brushes loose hair behind Ellie’s ear, caresses her cheek, touches her with tenderness that you’ve only seen described on paper. Only in your imagination was it real. 

Kisses her.

Oh. 

You turn away. Your skin’s hot. Maria’s distracted. Thank God. You’ve had enough mingling for tonight. You leave the bar without a trace, the pen and paper left on the stand the only evidence of your appearance. 

“Hey! HEY! Ms. Dina’s friend!”

“They’re not friends, she just got here—“

“Shut up! Ms. Dina always said respect your olders—“

“Elders, dumbfuck. And she doesn’t look old—“

Ah, the potty-mouthed bully. Although, he doesn’t seem so threatening in the darkness. Children are the bane of your existence. You’re nowhere near the infirmary. Why are they out in the cold by themselves? 

“Hey, Ms. Dina’s friend, how was the party! Ms. M said we aren’t allowed to go in because people are… drunk, whatever that means!” 

The same voice from earlier. Red-boot-Ranger. Dylan. 

“It means they’re alcoholics—“ A girl this time. Shorter than Dylan but just as expressive. 

“I thought alcohol made people happy?“

“Could be, but my aunt drank herself to death so I guess it’s different for everyone!” 

Goddamn. 

“What’s your name, miss! … Ma’am?” Dylan corrects shyly. 

“Ma'am means grandma—“

“Ruth, shut the hell up, Jesus!” 

“NO, YOU SHUT UP—“

Dylan waits expectantly while the other two kids attempt to rip each other’s heads off. You flap your hands like wings. 

“… Fly? Your name’s fly?” 

You shake your head and point upward. 

“OH! Sky!—“

You wave your hands in denial and flap your arms while squawking. 

“… Bird? Bald Eagle? Um…” 

You yank at your hair in exasperation before pointing down at untouched, white snow beneath your feet. 

“Snow? Snow bird? Uhh… Swan… Lake?”

Decent guess. This fucking sucks. 

“I don’t know what your name is, miss, I’m sorry.” Fucking Christ, the poor thing looks so upset. You’re suddenly the worst human being on the planet. “Are you mad at me?” Dylan asks, voice laced with insecurity, and something cracks in your chest. What the fuck. Your hands wave in denial apprehensively, and he exhales a held breath before smiling. 

“I like you! Why don’t you talk?” 

You sigh before scribbling on your palm like you did with Maria, and all three kids excitedly demand writing utensils from each other. 

“I DON’T HAVE A MARKER!” Frankie hisses when Ruth slaps him on the shoulder. 

“DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ASS? FREAKO!”

“Freako! ARE YOU FIVE—“

“What are you kiddos still doin’ up?” 

“MR. JOEL!”

Ruth and Dylan practically jump onto this old man and he groans mockingly. Joel. Hm. 

“You’re all supposed to be sleep. Did Dina not tuck you in?”

“She did, but we snuck out. We’re bored! Please throw snowballs at us!” Frankie whines. 

Joel calmingly caters to the children and their hyperactivity; his voice is very soothing. Gentle enough for the kids to accept that he’s not chucking snowballs at them this late at night. 

Joel addresses you. “Maria decided to keep you ‘round?” 

It was him. His eyes are calm and welcoming, but there’s a hollowness behind them. It’s hardly noticeable, but he’s bothered by something. He masks it well enough for the kids. He must be a dad. Maybe one of them is his. You just shrug, and he chuckles; crackles like fire. Breaks a bit. His eyes grow sadder the longer he stares at you. Is this man about to cry? 

“I’ll, uh… I’ll walk ‘em back,” He nods at Dylan who’s already half asleep on his shoulder, and you nod. He gives you one last look before turning. You clutch onto his hand before he can go any further. He seems shocked by the gesture, but you squeeze it with all your might. You hope every clench reads as a thank you thank you thank you. 

He swallows before nodding down at you, returning your gentle squeezes. The last breath he takes before leading the kids home is unsteady. Who broke that poor man’s heart? 

You watch his back all the way down the trail until the door to the bar slams shut. It’s Ellie all bundled up and seemingly about to strangle somebody. You can see Dina and Jesse scrambling to follow her through the window, but Ellie’s determined to get the fuck outta range. 

You don’t know why, but you whistle loud enough to get her attention. Her cheeks are blazing and her eyes are pained and angry. 

“The fuck do you want?” Her breath frosts with each spit she throws. You’re not really sure, so you throw her a thumbs up. Two just in case she read it as good work instead of are you good? 

She scoffs a laugh that sounds like a sob, “Fuck off.” And she’s off again. The opposite direction from Joel. 

Alright. Fuck her too. 

—

The past 5 days have been a blur. 

The morning after the party, your brain wracked to put every single interaction together but came up short. So much happened that you can barely grasp it. You died, came back, met at least 100 people, experienced acute peer pressure, and got cussed out by some short, tattooed psychopath with an equivalent amount of people skills as you. 

You’ve met teachers, medical professionals, rambunctious kids with a hunger similar to rhinos, a potential dad with an insane amount of patience, but all you can think about is Ellie and her fucking tattoo. 

You think that same moth appeared in your dream last night, flapping around and pissing you off. 

Maria’s been in a good mood, at least. Maybe because you’re staying in Jackson until further notice. You’re glad she didn't make a big deal about it: the inquiry was short and over breakfast the morning after the party. You slid her note that read CAN I STAY?, she said yes, and now you have a two story home all to yourself, floor stacked to the ceiling with your books and some she lent you. 

The first thing you did after she left was scream bloody murder for no reason other than relief. After years of instability, you finally have something consistent. You don’t know how to react to that besides weeping. 

There’s only one downside. Ellie’s your neighbor. Life will always humble you. 

She’s the first person you see every morning and the last every night and you hate it. The only time you experience true peace is when she’s out on patrol. To think you assumed Ellie wasn’t violent. She returned one morning on her horse covered knee-high in blood as she wiped her switchblade on her dirtied jeans. Even Jesse seemed intimidated. 

Meanwhile, you’ve been everywhere: tending the garden, handing beers out to men twice your age, fixing lights. Joel even asked for assistance on a car repair even though you’ve never seen one in your life. You both finished, though. Drives good as new. 

You think Dylan’s grown attached. He’s very clingy and you hate it but he also has the chubbiest cheeks you’ve ever seen so you have no choice but to forgive him for his sins. Whenever he jumps on your back while you’re squatted in front of the garden, you just deal with it. He rambles enough for the both of you. 

Now you’re serving dinner with a homophobe. Yippee. 

Seth sucks gorilla balls. When Maria first introduced you both, he thought you were deaf and asked if you had to be put with him. When you glared at him, he went red in the face. You understand why Ellie hates him. Apparently he called her and Dina dykes at the party and she and Joel almost strangled him. The canteen’s already filled with people, but the patrol group hasn’t returned. They usually make it back before sunset, but it’s dark now. Seth’s set on closing the kitchen down, but you decline everytime. They’re probably starving wherever they are. 

It’s not until an hour, then 2 passes when you wrap all 12 of their individual plates. 

You’re scared shitless, but it’s time for Dylan’s bedtime story. 

—

You always have to remind Dylan to keep his volume down during story time so he doesn’t wake the other kids. 

“Why would anyone give up anything magical for a cow? Okay, sure, you’re betting that they actually are magic, but why on Earth? I’d never give away my magic! Am I wrong, Ms. Dove?” 

You smile and deny. 

“SEE! Exactly! Anyway,” He refocuses on the page. “You numbskull! I can’t eat! You ruined my appetite!” 

Dylan’s a great reader, but he loses his place very often. You showed him the follow-your-finger trick and it’s helped, but the poor thing always has to comment on everything. At least he’s entertained. 

You don’t realize you dozed off on the floor until you’re frantically awoken by a teary-eyed Dylan. The big and small babies cry while they barricade the door with blankets and dressers. Your heart sinks. 

“Ms. Dove…” Dylan whispers. 

Screams echo from outside and the windows have orange hues. Something’s burning. 

“Someone bad is outside.” 

The patrol group is back. 

—

You don't meet Clickers often. 

They come and go and kill as they please and you don’t bother them, simply take your plans in the opposite direction as stealthy as possible. Even with your avoidance, they somehow always find their way back to you. Back to everyone. 

You hear everything from the daycare; hollering, gunshots, Clickers wailing, but you can’t fucking see. Protocol for a daycare lockdown is fairly simple: turn off the lights and take all the brats up to the nursery. It’s the most child-safe section of the building while simultaneously having a locked drawer filled with glocks. Great. 

Now you’re locked up with whimpering toddlers with a weapon you barely know how to use. If Joel hadn’t done that runthrough with you yesterday, you’d be fucked and so would the kids. You rock Dylan who sits on your lap while hushing the toddlers. You’re doing whatever you can to keep them quiet, but they’re babies who cry a lot. You hum to them, braid their hair, roll scratched-up dice but nothings fucking working. You never thought you’d regret staying in Jackson this early on. 

The younger ones start wailing when pounding on wood echoes from downstairs. Dylan holds you closer. 

Protocol is simple. 

Don’t open the door. Maria told you that. Keep it locked and don’t open it. 

The thuds get louder and so do the children and panic bombards you. It’s starting to feel too familiar. Those bangs are so fucking loud. Toddlers to 13 year olds are looking to you for guidance while you’re crumbling. How do you make them stop crying why won’t they stop fucking crying— 

Someone’s trying to beat the door down. Dylan’s practically choking you with his little arms as he sobs quietly into your neck. You don’t realize you’re crying until a small hand wipes your face and tiny bodies snuggle closer to you. 

Are you going to die surrounded by children all over again? One time wasn’t enough, God? The best moment of your life turns to the worst in a matter of seconds. You’ll have to run away like you did the first time. You should’ve never slid the note asking for more time with the kids under Maria’s door, fuck fuck fuck—

3 deafening pops bang from outside, and then there’s silence. It sounds like wood is breaking and there’s footsteps rushing upstairs and the babies are screaming so loud. When the nursery door lock gets shot off, Dylan screams right in your ear. 

“EVERYBODY OUT, LET’S GO!” 

“Mr. Tommy!” Relief washes over your kids before they start hustling. 

“OUT, OUT, LET’S GO!” 

All the kids scramble to grab their coats and socks and boots before rushing out of the nursery. Your hands won’t stop shaking. You barely get onto your feet before Tommy shoves you against the wall with fire for pupils. 

“You never fuckin’ wait to die when there’s kids around, you understand me!” 

You’re nodding but you can’t hear because you’re still sobbing. “Whatever bullshit you learned outside is over with now. It don’t matter what happens, always give them a chance to live even if it means you’re done!”

Tommy doesn’t waste another second on you. He leaves with a tense back and a rifle and you allow yourself to break. You heave and sob because that’s all you could do when you were a child and your brothers and sister were all killed in front of you. 

—

You vacate the daycare hours later. The doors need fixing. 

Your head and eyes hurt terribly but nothing compares to the emptiness in your chest. Maria told you that the kids would be separated into different houses until the daycare is safe for them again. Even she stares at you with disapproval despite her indifferent tone.

You feel like a ghost on the walk back home. Your hands are clenched in fists and your breathings slow. Why didn’t you stay downstairs and check the windows to make sure there were no intruders? Why weren’t you holding the gun in preparation for battle? Why’d you allow the kids to believe you couldn’t protect them? 

Because you couldn’t. In that moment, you were a child all over again, just as lost and confused and scared as they were. It was all too familiar. 

Jackson’s asleep, minus the painful groaning coming from behind Ellie’s home. 

You’re immediately in defense. So many patrol members had to go to the infirmary after their arrival. Maria never mentioned anything about Ellie. 

Your concern carries your feet until you round the corner, and her gun’s already drawn and pointed at you. That barely shakes you; it’s what surrounds her thats confusing.

She’s leant back against the foundation of her home surrounded by towels, a large bottle of clear liquid, and her profusely bleeding, non-tattooed arm that wraps around her stomach. 

When you take a cautious step toward her, her gun clicks. Her eyes are vicious and untrustworthy, and you know she’d kill you in a second. She watches every move you make down to the ragged rise and fall of your chest. You’re unsure how long you stand there before she winces in pain. It’s slight but you catch it. You slowly point to the open wound on her forearm. 

“What.” She rasps. You mime wrapping a bandage on yourself. Her snicker is pained. 

“Get the fuck outta here. You done enough for tonight.” 

You swallow thickly, unmoving. 

“Fuck off before I blow your brains out.” 

You take 2 more steps. 

“GET THE FU—“

When your knees hit the snow in front of her, she’s stunned silent. You’re already reaching for the bandage and bottle of disinfectant. You can’t see her injury that well, but she might need stitches if it’s still that bloody. When you reach for her injured arm, she pushes you into the snow. You groan in frustration before getting up and trying again. 

Ellie swallows a pained noise and maneuvers her injury away the closer you get. You’re trying to help her! Why’s she being so difficult! You crack open the disinfectant and your nose instantly burns. You gasp before moving the bottle away from your face. 

“Just go the fuck home, goddamnit—“

That’s not disinfectant. It’s acid. 

Ellie’s gun is still on you, but she’s not as steady. There’s a tremor in her weapon and her bottom lip is pinched between her teeth. Any movement she makes seems to hurt her. 

You move closer, and Ellie wheezes like an injured gazelle. It’s not until you see the small indentation when you realize her bleeding isn’t from a knife or a gun. 

Those are teeth marks. 

Ellie got bit. Your heart thrashes and your legs beg you to run. 

You know, and she knows you know. It’s a misunderstanding, it has to be. A human or a dog or a bear bit her, not a Clicker, not one of them. 

She smirks but it’s sinister. 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll tear out your windpipe and feed it to one of those fuckers.” Her head jerks towards the gate, and as if on command, the lot of them squeal into the night like hyenas. 

[captain039]

PART 14 Blood, Fur and Magic LAST PART!

Vampire Viktor x reader x Werewolf Jayce

Warnings: Vampire things, werewolf things, light swearing, possessiveness, smut, sexual, intimacy, poly relationship, angst, violence swearing

Check out some fanart I did for my fic here!

My biggest fic yet I swear

Previous part <-

You feel it before it happens. The shudder of magic that goes through your body before the chaos starts. Getting people out of the city was the main objective, enforcers everywhere trying to gather everyone to safety while also dealing with the wounds and differences between them and the undercity. You can feel its footsteps like a pound in your head, it makes you feel weak, uncoordinated. You’re unsure where Jayce is, unsure where Viktor is either but they’re alive, you can feel them through the bond. There was an onslaught of beings, shadowed figures almost humanoid. They fall too easily and what’s left was something that shook you. They were people, the shadow leaves them and all that is left is a lifeless being, one who had a name, a family too. There’s body’s piled on the bridge of nameless people, it makes your body shudder and your heart cry but it doesn’t overwrite the pounding in your head. It’s closing in now, the pounding like a hammer to your head. You can feel Jayce in a flash of wild anger and Viktor in the darkness. You’re at the bridge, enforcers surrounding you, Jayce and Viktor were here but they’ve been forced back to the entrance of the hex gates. What you see isn’t human, something organic but not human. What you see behind it is approaching rapidly though, another werewolf you realise, blonde fur, red eyes, the one you saw. Your eyes widen a bit before there’s a frenzied growl by your side and a blur of brown fur.

“Jayce!” You yell as you see Jayce’s wolf form charging at the other wolf. The enforcers are startled by both the werewolves tumbling in a rush of blood, fur and claws, you urge everyone back and to aim at the blonde one. You feel Viktor by your side as well, his eyes are wild mixing with reds, purples and blues, you see blood covering him. He looks to you his eyes softening as he gently cups your cheek before disappearing in a blur of smoke. You feel a little helpless, exhausted from using your magic against the shadowed creatures.

“I see you little mage” you hear its voice echo in your head a clench in your skull.

“Face me!” You yell out loud before hearing its cold chuckle. It rattles the bridge and you hear the sounds of cracking and creaking.

“Run!” You yell before urging everyone off the bridge. It creaks and groans despite its structure, shaking and rattling. Viktor materialises by you a frown on his face as he watches the bridge.

“Where’s Jayce?” You ask before you see a figure limping over. Jayce’s beast form groans before he collapses at your feet, you see claw and fang marks over his body and quickly rush over.

“Jayce?!” You yell cradling his head in your lap.

“Your pup is no match for mine” it’s voice echos.

“Jayce, open your eyes” you beg softly listening to the low groan/growl he lets out. You feel a wave of magic, it knocks out all the enforces, leaving them unconscious on the ground. You see Mel behind you shielding you all before she collapses behind you. Your heart pounds in your chest as you listen to the creaks and groans from the bridge. The sky is an eerie grey, the clouds dark and brooding, a thick fog now casts over the bridge giving you limited visual.

“Jayce, come on” you whisper softly before you close your eyes. You let your magic flow through him hoping it will do something. You feel your bond flare momentarily and open your eyes. You watch as your magic dances over him in tendrils and watch as wounds slowly heal themselves back up. You sigh in relief and Jayce’s golden eyes fix on yours once more. You chuckle in relief hugging his wolfish head making him let out a small rumble.

“Impressive” you jolt at the cold voice that floats out. You see a large figure, tall and lanky, its skin isn’t normal, hues of purples and greys with bits of golds. Its face isn’t entirely human, covered by a mask. You frown though seeing three figures behind it, the blue hooded mages.

“I was surprised to come to this timeline and see how I was changed” you frown noticing the mask and red glowing eyes focused on Viktor.

“Gifts finally granted and not taken” it continues and your frown deepens recognising the deep accent.

“Viktor?” You ask confused.

“Hello, Miláček” the figure reply’s and you feel a shock through your body.

“On my world you were no where near this… eccentric” The figure purrs. It walks forward coming closer, you look at it- him… Viktor. His body is changed into a long slender form of mechanical and organic matter, the mask, greys and purples lined with gold, you see his face like it was split in two to let the mask there. There’s a halo like glow around his back and you notice something akin to a third arm and runes shining in the halo similar to yours.

“This arcane flowing through you” he says stalking closer.

“Will be mine” he finishes stopping about thirty meters away. Jayce stands up and growls his teeth bared.

“Jayce” The other Viktor says smoothly.

“I am happy to see you” he adds.

“Living up in your true potential, of untapped rage and wildness” he says in wonder before looking to your Viktor.

“How… small we are compared to such things” The figure says.

“Simply driven by hunger” he adds. You look to your Viktor the shock, the recognition in his face, you see his trembling hands and reach out to hold one. Your Viktor snaps his eyes to you blinking a bit to focus before you feel him give your hand a gentle squeeze.

“How quaint” The other Viktor says almost as if he’s smirking.

“Such a shame you had to die” he adds and you frown before a rush of visions go through you.

You see yourself locked away in an organic metal cage, like so many others, Jayce is in the next cage over to you, not breathing and pale. You see this figure that was once Viktor holding up a person by the neck, you watch the life fade from their eyes, becoming nothing, their eyes turning white, before shadows engulf them he drops them to the floor and they stay standing before moving without emotion out of wherever you are.

“There is no chaos in perfection” he says carefully walking over to your cage.

“No suffering” he adds.

“No, Viktor please. You have to stop this! This is not a way of life!” You beg, but you feel as if you’re just watching yourself through your eyes.

“A way of life?” Viktor asks.

“This is the only way of life without suffering, without divide” he hisses as he unlocks the cage and takes you out. Your body struggles and you squirm but his hold on your neck is tight.

“You will see, you will all see” he says before your world goes black.

You gasp and stumble focusing on the present.

“You killed us” you whisper looking back to Viktor’s new form.

“I made you perfect” he snaps.

“That wasn’t perfection!” You snap back.

“I see you too do not understand, a shame” he steps closer.

“I would’ve liked having you by my side” Jayce moves first, in a swipe of extended claws. You watch the blonde werewolf dart out and tackle him though. Your magic flares in a glow of blue tendrils before you start to lash out at what used to be Viktor in another world. Viktor joins too, a flurry of smoke and blood. You feel Mel beside you her magic fuelling the fight.

This Viktor knows how to fight, knows how to pull your weaknesses, you can hear him in your head, whispering showing you memory’s, it leaves you unfocused and dazed, blooded and bruised. You feel another hit to your side before you’re on the ground. You cough out blood panting softly as you try to lift yourself up.

“Come on” Your Viktor whispers helping you up. You groan in pain feeling bones broken and cuts along your body. You can hear the whimpers and growls of Jayce nearby and the grunts of Mel focusing her power on the other Viktor.

“He’s too strong” you say.

“We can’t win” you whimper.

“He knows us, knows our weaknesses” You add wincing.

“He doesn’t know our strengths though” Viktor says.

“What strengths” you almost want to scoff at him but you feel Viktor’s hand on your heart and taking your hand over his heart.

“He doesn’t have this” He says. You feel the bond pulse with life in a new intensity. You hear Jayce howl in victory after a loud whimper before something surges through you. It’s like a reboot to your body you gasp feeling your wounds mending. Jayce walks over and you lift a hand to press it against the rune against his chest. The beast closes his eyes before another surge goes through you. You watch your runes and body glow, feel your magic bottling up ready to release. Viktor and Jayce collapse unconscious but you turn to the other Viktor your body floating of the ground.

“You show nothing but weaknesses” you say watching his red eyes focus on you through the mask.

“You missed our strengths” You whisper before a ray of light emits from you. It makes him stagger and groan before he can’t fight, it makes you cry out eyes closing head leaning back. He struggles before he lets out a cry before there’s nothing but a shimmer of magic and then nothing. You fall back to the ground, world going black.

Jayce stirs first, shaking his head groaning a bit at the shift in his body. He hates shifting back. He frowns focusing on the scene around him, he sees you on the ground collapsed. He rushes over and pulls you into his lap checking over your body. He notices the runes gone from your arms and panic sets in.

“Come on, no!” He cries as others stir around him. The enforces wake up and Mel lifts herself off the ground as well. Viktor’s by his side quickly to his eyes wide breathing ragged.

“Wake up!” Jayce yells in desperation tears in his eyes as he cradles you close. Tears roll down his face, he can feel the disconnection between you both, he can only feel Viktor’s heartbreak.

“Jayce” Viktor says brokenly and he shakes his head holding you tightly. Viktor holds him tightly one hand around his shoulders the other on your head gently moving through your hair.

“No, no, no” Jayce mumbles.

Viktor feels hollow, the surge of magic knocked him unconscious and now, now he can’t feel you at all. He feels Jayce though, feels his panic and desperation and finally opens his eyes. He sees enforcers rising from the ground tending to each other and the he focuses on Jayce’s shaking body leaning over something. He flinches seeing your limp form before he’s crawling over and looking at your face. There’s blood on your head, dirt on your body and no glow of Runes, there’s no runes anywhere on your body in fact. Jayce is crying holding you form close and Viktor feels his heart break as tears well up in his eyes. He wraps an arm around Jayce, places his other hand on your head as his own tears roll down his face.

There’s a light hum, a pulse rhythmic, alluring, it makes you want to stay here and sleep in this darkness. But something tugs at you, in your heart before it pulses more heavily shocking you almost. You don’t want to go though, the pain has stopped. You hear faint voices though, familiar ones, you feel warm and safe in an embrace only you know. The pulse becomes more erratic more noticeable before you’re gasping and being tugged with it awake.

You gasp then cough, pain flooding your body.

“Hey- gods you’re ok!” You frown focusing on Jayce who’s cradling you close. You feel tears on your shoulder and realise Jayce is crying as he pulls back.

“We thought you were dead!” He says and you look seeing Viktor there as well. He was crying too, his beautiful swirl of colourful eyes shining with tears.

“Hello sweet thing” he whispers and you smile a bit.

“Hello” it comes out croaky. Jayce laughs in relief holding you close again making you groan softly.

“I’m sorry, does it hurt?” He asks and you nod. You see his instincts kick in before he’s yelling for medical to come over. You just smile though lifting your hands to rest on Jayce’s left cheek and Viktor’s right cheek. Jayce flinches a bit but notices your look and smiles back nuzzling into your hand.

“I love you both” you mutter.

“We love you too” They reply in union.

Weeks past and there’s no return of your magic, Jayce and Viktor still possess their changes but you must’ve used all yours up defeating the other Viktor. You’ve all been haunted by what you say what he did to those people. What remained though was your bond, the rune above all your hearts never left, still connecting you all.

You lay awake in your bed, Viktor curled up beside you and Jayce snoring softly on the other side of you. Your bond hums contently and calm. You all got a new house together, with a bigger room you all share while the other two house trinkets and science experiments. Viktor made sure the building of the rooms was science proof in anyway shape or form, he scolded the workers often when they didn’t do something right. Setting your house up was left to you, though both boys had a little of them around the house in certain ways. You feel safe, loved, all your physical wounds are healed and the non physical ones are always looked after between you three. You smile closing your eyes about to sleep when you feel a thrum of life go through you and a gasp leaves your lips.

TAGLIST:

@imithicwolf

@sseleniaa

@miraculousasscheeks

@alitaar

@drenix004

@nckcn

@donnie-is-here

@simeonswhore

@burning-harmony

@arevik2345

@horiday120

@8812-342

[lovezbrownies]

Listen to the Beast.

Nia's Masterlist - Julie's Masterlist

Synopsis: You are a werewolf, a creature of forest and wild. yet you have been forced to marry a queen. A queen who never cared of your other form. So you run into another woman's arms. Mad Scientist Julie.

PAIRING: Yandere Queen x GN!Reader x Yandere Mad Scientist.

This was a situation you never thought you’d find yourself in—yet here you were. Kneeling before the Queen—no, your wife—pleading desperately for her to let you leave the palace before the full moon rose high in the sky. Your voice trembled with urgency, each word laced with fear. If she didn’t let you go, something catastrophic would unfold.

And that catastrophe wasn’t some distant threat—it was you. A monstrous transformation into a feral, half-human, half-wolf beast capable of ripping through the entire palace like a storm of teeth and claws. You weren’t asking for freedom to rebel against her suffocating rule or escape her relentless hold over you. This was survival. The cure—the only thing keeping the monster inside you at bay—was running out.

One vial of Lycantherin a month. That was all you needed. The medicine suppressed the painful, chaotic transformation and gave you control over the beast if you did choose to shift. It was a lifeline that kept you and everyone around you safe. But it had been three long, grueling months since Nia, your overbearing and obsessively devoted wife, had forced you to marry her and live within the confines of her palace.

Three months since she had taken you as her own, smothering your existence in her suffocating love. She hadn’t let you step a single foot outside the palace, ignoring your pleas and protests with a smile that promised no escape. Because of her iron grip, you hadn’t been able to restock your supply of Lycantherin.

Your last vial? Gone. Used up twenty-six days ago. Now, only 3 days remained before the full moon rose—and with it, the beast inside you. The clock was ticking, and with every moment she refused to let you go, the closer you edged toward disaster. Toward tragedy.

“Please,” you begged again, your voice breaking, desperation clinging to every syllable. “If I don’t get the medicine... I won’t be able to stop it. I’ll hurt you—everyone in this palace!”

But Nia only gazed down at you, her eyes sharp and unyielding, her lips curling into a faint smile that chilled you to the bone. It wasn’t anger or hatred in her expression—no, it was something far more suffocating. Possession.

Her red eyes gleamed in the dim light of the bedroom, a dangerous mixture of adoration and obsession swirling within them. She lounged upon her lounge chair, draped in fine silk that shimmered like liquid gold, her appearance immaculate, as always. Every detail of her—the tilt of her crown, the intricate embroidery on her gown, the way her fingers toyed with a strand of her dark purple hair—spoke of her power.

And that power wasn’t limited to the kingdom she ruled. It extended to you, encompassing every aspect of your life, constraining your freedom with a velvet leash that felt impossible to sever.

Slowly, she tilted her head, resting her chin on her delicate hand as her smile widened. The motion was casual, almost lazy, but the weight of her presence crushed you all the same.

“You’re so dramatic, my love,” she purred, her voice soft and sweet, each word dripping with mockery and affection. “Always imagining the worst. Have I not cared for you? Kept you safe? Provided for your every need? Don't try making things up to convince me to let you go, because that will never happen!”

Her tone was syrupy, gentle, yet the undertone of control was unmistakable. She wasn’t asking for your reassurance. She was reminding you of the cage she had built around you, the walls of her love that were meant to keep you hers and hers alone.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat loud and frantic as you shook your head, forcing your voice to steady. But it was no use—the desperation bled through anyway.

“This isn’t about your care, Nia,” you said, your words trembling but firm. “It’s about survival. If I don’t get the Lycantherin, I can’t stop the transformation. You don’t understand what that means. I won’t be me anymore. I’ll lose control. I’ll hurt you-- everyone!”

For a moment, she didn’t respond. She simply watched you, her piercing gaze narrowing as though she were dissecting your very soul. And then, she smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips that sent a shiver down your spine.

“And yet,” she murmured, her voice soft as a lover’s whisper, “you seem perfectly in control to me right now. You’re overthinking again, darling.”

Her words struck like a slap, her dismissive tone twisting the knife of frustration already lodged in your chest. Your fists clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms as a wave of anger surged beneath the suffocating weight of fear.

“Nia, this isn’t overthinking!” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’m trying to save you—save everyone! If you don’t let me leave, there won’t be a palace left to hold me!”

Your plea hung in the air, fragile as glass, waiting to shatter under her cold indifference. For a moment, silence filled the room, broken only by the faint echo of distant footsteps. Then, with an elegance that made your breath hitch, Nia rose from her chair. Her movements were fluid, deliberate, as though every step were part of a carefully choreographed dance.

Slow delibrate steps lead you to her, the soft rustle of her gown echoing in the cavernous hall. Each step closer made your pulse quicken, your instincts screaming at you to run even though you knew there was nowhere to go.

When she reached you, she knelt gracefully, her movements almost reverent. She cupped your face with her slender hands, her touch deceptively tender, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if to soothe you. Yet her gaze burned with the intensity of someone who would rather see the world burn than let you slip from her grasp.

“My darling,” she whispered, her voice laced with saccharine sweetness, “you don’t need to leave. Everything you could ever want, everything you could ever need, is right here—with me. I’ve made sure of it. You belong to me, and I would never let harm come to what is mine.”

Her words wrapped around you like chains, unrelenting and suffocating. There was no anger in her tone, no outright malice. But the undercurrent of her possessive love, her obsession, was unmistakable. To her, your protests were not warnings but challenges—ones she had no intention of yielding to.

Four days. Just four days until catastrophe. You had come to the conclusion that Xelera's palace of magnificence shall become the dust of insignificance if you couldn’t secure a vial of Lycantherin. You hated to admit it, but your werewolf form was far from ordinary—it was an unstoppable force, stronger and more feral than any other, and it would tear through the palace like paper.

Yet, amidst the despair, there was a glimmer of hope. Word had spread that a renowned scientist was due to visit the palace, summoned to address a mysterious illness that had swept through the servants’ quarters. The sickness wasn’t contained to the staff; even some guards and one of the palace chiefs had succumbed. Thankfully, Nia’s obsessive restrictions had shielded both you and her from exposure. Your shared quarters were cleaned hourly, and you hadn’t stepped outside your bedroom in what felt like ages.

But today was different.

After hours of pleading, bargaining, and hollow promises of affection—anything to appease the deranged woman who had kidnapped and forced you into this twisted marriage—Nia had finally relented. She allowed you to accompany her to meet the scientist. You were hardly free, of course, but this was the first time in weeks you’d been granted permission to leave your quarters.

As you stood beside Nia in the grand entrance hall, you could feel the weight of her gaze on you even as she addressed the guards, issuing commands with her usual blend of poise and authority. Her grip on your arm was gentle but unyielding, a silent reminder of her control.

The massive doors creaked open, and your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until it escaped in a quiet exhale. For some reason, you’d imagined the scientist as an elderly scholar—someone frail, hunched over with age, shuffling in with spectacles and a collection of ancient tools.

What you saw instead completely blindsided you.

Through the towering doors strode a tall woman, her posture exuding confidence and purpose. Her short, bouncy blonde hair framed a face that was youthful yet tired, her striking green eyes framed by the deepest dark circles you’d ever seen. She was good looking for sure, but there was something about her that screamed exhaustion, as though she bore the weight of countless sleepless nights. Her movements were sharp, precise, and utterly captivating.

This was the scientist? She looked like she could be your age, and yet her presence was far more commanding than you’d expected.

“Welcome, Doctor McCanister,” Nia said, her tone warm but unmistakably authoritative. “We’ve been eagerly anticipating your arrival. I, Queen Nia Bloodwen, deeply appreciate your willingness to assist us in this matter. A great many of my palace servants have fallen ill from a mysterious ailment that has baffled our own physicians. Your expertise is desperately needed.”

Doctor McCanister inclined her head respectfully, her expression professional but detached. “Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice steady and tinged with a weariness that matched her appearance. “I usually don't care for royalty or any of the like, but once word of the illness came to me I had to come by and assist. I’ve reviewed the reports provided by your staff and will begin my examinations immediately. Time is critical in cases such as these.”

Her eyes shifted briefly toward you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt exposed under her sharp gaze. There was a flicker of something—curiosity? Concern?—but it passed too quickly to decipher.

Nia, thankfully oblivious to the exchange, smiled with calculated elegance. “I trust you will find everything you need at your disposal. Should you require assistance, simply name it, and it will be done.”

The doctor gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will proceed without delay.”

As McCanister turned, Nia’s grip on your arm tightened. She leaned closer, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “Remember, darling,” she murmured, her tone as sweet as it was suffocating, “you are here because I allowed it. Do not stray to another woman the moment you see her. I would hate for anything... unfortunate to happen.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine, but you forced yourself to nod, biting back a retort. The scientist might be your last chance, your only hope of finding Lycantherin—or someone capable of replicating it.

Nia's disturbing behavior suddenly vanished as she smiled softly, letting go of her tight grip on your arm. "Now, you may go on to accompany that blasphemous doctor, hurry." You nodded, thanking her andushing off, trying not to lose the doctor. You needed to speak with her and urgently, she is your only hope of surviving this month's full moon.

Something was brewing between the Queen and her spouse, something dark and unspoken yet impossible to ignore. The tension was palpable, even from a distance. Julie McCanister observed it all with her practiced, analytical gaze. The Queen's outwardly composed demeanor couldn't hide the stiffness in her shoulders or the white-knuckled grip she kept on her spouse. The spouse, on the other hand, was visibly nervous—posture rigid, movements hesitant, as if they were constantly calculating every step and word.

Julie frowned slightly, her thoughts spiraling. Could this be connected to me? To my position? She had made more than her fair share of enemies among the palace staff, those who found her cold precision and unshakable presence threatening. Was this a ploy against her? Perhaps the Queen’s spouse was involved, even the orchestrator of it all—a seemingly benign figure in an elaborate game of palace intrigue.

Her musings were interrupted by a voice calling out, startling her.

"Excuse me! Doctor McCanister!"

Julie stopped mid-step and turned, her sharp eyes landing on you—the Queen’s spouse, of all people. Curious, she thought, narrowing her eyes slightly. What could the pampered spouse of a monarch want with me?

You jogged toward her, slightly out of breath, your expression urgent but uncertain. Your appearance struck her as peculiar. You didn’t carry the air of someone accustomed to the opulence of court life. You seemed misplaced here, awkward in your movements, your clothing slightly disheveled as if the silks and brocades you wore were as foreign to you as a crown to a commoner.

When you finally caught up, you straightened your posture and tried to speak with authority, though the stumble in your words betrayed you. "Doctor McCanister, I—apologies for interrupting your, uh… journey to the labs, but I have something very urgent to discuss with you."

Julie arched a brow, her lips twitching in what might have been the ghost of a smile. So you’re as out of place as I thought. She tilted her head, lowering her gaze ever so slightly to meet yours. "Yes, Your Majesty?" Her tone was measured, polite but distant, her title for you uttered with a precision that felt almost clinical.

You flinched at the formality, but pressed on. "It’s… private. But urgent. I wouldn’t bother you otherwise."

The words came out rushed, jumbled even, and Julie’s assessment of you sharpened. You’re no noble. You’re a commoner dressed in silks, trying to navigate a world that doesn’t belong to you. A pang of something—sympathy, perhaps—cut through her. You were out of your depth, and judging by the circumstances, perhaps unwillingly so.

After a moment, she inclined her head slightly, softening the hard edge of her gaze just enough to be palatable. "Of course, Your Majesty," she said, gesturing for you to follow. "We may discuss this on the way to my laboratories. Time is precious, after all."

You nodded quickly, falling into step beside her. For all her usual cold detachment, Julie’s mind churned. What secrets do you hold, spouse of the Queen? And why come to me? Julie’s interest is definitely piqued now.

Even as you walked through the winding corridors of the palace, your hands fidgeted relentlessly beneath the cascading fabric of your top. The sleeves were longer than they needed to be, deliberately tailored that way by the Queen herself—a subtle yet suffocating way of masking what she called your "rustic charm" from prying eyes.

That was just one of the many ways she controlled how the world perceived you, ensuring that no one saw the real you beneath the finery. The soft brush of silk against your palms was meant to feel luxurious, but it only heightened your discomfort, the material as stifling as the life you now led.

“So… I mean—” Your voice faltered, the words catching in your throat like a poorly rehearsed script unraveling. You tried again, frustration lacing your tone as your thoughts jumbled. “I’d like for you to do something for—for me? And, well, I need to tell you something. This whole royal thing, it’s just—”

Your steps slowed as you searched for the right words, but Julie, ever sharp, didn’t give you the chance to stumble further.

“Is fake?” she interrupted with a smirk, her voice calm, almost amused. Her strides remained purposeful, her head tilting slightly as she glanced at you. “I’m aware. It’s fairly obvious, Your Majesty.”

Her bluntness left you momentarily speechless, your jaw tightening as a faint flush crept to your cheeks. You weren’t sure what response you’d expected, but the casualness of her acknowledgment was almost disorienting. Julie didn’t slow, though she allowed herself the smallest upward twitch of her lips, stealing another glance at you. There it was again—that look of unease mixed with apprehension. The way your gaze darted toward the floor, your shoulders drawn inward as if trying to make yourself smaller—it tugged at something deep within her.

Shaking off the unfamiliar sensation, Julie slipped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat, forcing her expression to remain cool and detached. “Don’t look so surprised,” she added, her voice steady. “You’re not exactly the scheming type. Innocence like yours doesn’t fit well with the trappings of court life. It wasn’t hard to figure out that you’re an outsider.”

Her words hit closer than you cared to admit. You exhaled shakily, a faint tremor running through you as you tried to steady your voice. “I… I’m not just a commoner,” you said finally, each word feeling heavier than the last. “I’m… something else. A magical creature, sort of.”

Julie’s steps faltered ever so slightly, her sharp eyes flicking toward you. Her expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of intrigue in her gaze. “Go on,” she prompted, her tone even but laced with curiosity.

You hesitated, wringing your hands beneath the sleeves that now felt suffocatingly tight. The secret you were about to reveal wasn’t something you ever wanted to share, especially not in the sterile halls of the palace where every whisper felt like it carried to unseen ears. But you forced yourself to continue.

“Every full moon,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, “I… I turn into a beast. Half-wolf, half-human.” The words spilled out haltingly, like stones being pried from a dam. “It’s not like other werewolves, though. My form is… much larger, much stronger. And…” You faltered, glancing away from her piercing gaze. “And uncontrollable.”

The confession hung heavy in the air, each word sinking like lead between you. Julie didn’t respond immediately, her features remaining carefully neutral, though her sharp mind churned behind her calm facade. She watched you closely, noting the way your breathing quickened, your fingers twitching as though trying to grasp something invisible.

“My batch of Lycantherin,” you continued, voice trembling now, “it’s gone. It ran out twenty-seven days ago. And we only have four days left before…” Your voice broke, and you clenched your fists beneath the sleeves, the fabric bunching as your nails bit into your palms. “If I don’t have another dose by then, I won’t be able to stop it. This palace… everyone in it… they won’t survive.”

Julie finally stopped walking, turning fully to face you. The weight of your confession settled between you like a storm cloud, her analytical mind parsing every detail. The flicker of pity she’d felt earlier twisted into something more profound as she studied your tense figure. Despite your silks and titles, you stood before her as raw and vulnerable as any terrified soul she’d ever encountered.

“Four days,” she said finally, her tone devoid of judgment, her words measured. “Then we don’t have time to waste.”

That day and the four that followed blurred into a frantic haze, the four of you locked in a desperate struggle against the ticking clock. Hours slipped away unnoticed as you and Julie worked tirelessly, hunched over desks littered with half-empty vials, scribbled notes, and scattered equipment. Julie's sharp commands guided your every move, her precision and efficiency an unyielding force that you did your best to keep up with. You barely left the lab, only stepping away when Nia’s simmering irritation boiled over into outright orders, dragging you away to fulfill your royal duties.

Nia, oblivious to the true nature of your plight, found your dedication charming. She believed your sleepless nights were for the good of the palace servants, thinking you were endearingly overinvested in Julie’s work. Julie, of course, allowed her to believe this. The Queen would never have guessed that her seemingly compliant spouse and her chief scientist were conspiring behind her back.

In truth, Julie had synthesized the cure hours after entering her lab. It wasn’t particularly challenging for someone of her intellect. “Simple, really,” she began, her tone clipped as she rattled off her process. “Using a microfluidic reactor, I injected the fusion compound into liposomal vesicles composed of phosphatidylcholine and cholesterol. This ensures stability and allows for slow-release activation in the bloodstream. And then—”

You blinked at her, utterly lost. Julie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before she began explaining again, this time with smaller words and slower sentences. For someone as emotionally detached as Julie, the effort she put into making you understand surprised even herself.

Why am I doing this for them? The thought surfaced unbidden, lingering even as she pushed it aside. She refused to acknowledge the warmth she felt when your lips quirked up in gratitude, the way your voice softened when you thanked her for her patience.

At first, Julie had dismissed your emotions outright. “Focus,” she would snap whenever you let your worries slip into conversation. “Leave your thoughts and feelings behind. Rationality is what will save you, not sentiment.” She kept her face impassive, a fortress of cold logic. Yet, as the hours passed, cracks began to form in that stoic mask.

Your determination stirred something in her, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar. She watched you struggle to learn, scribbling notes in your awkward scrawl and jotting down formulas that rarely made sense. You were woefully unskilled in science, clumsy with equipment, and terribly naive about the dangers of the lab.

“Don’t touch that,” she said one evening, not looking up from her work as you reached for a vial. “It will give you Type 1 Diabetes.”

Startled, you withdrew your hand. “What about this one?”

“That is the cure for Chronosynchronous Neurodegenerative Autoimmune Myelopathy. If you drink it, you will die.”

Your curiosity never waned, though. If anything, it amused her in ways she didn’t want to admit. By the third night, Julie noticed how exhaustion had taken its toll on you. Your head drooped low over your notes, your fingers slack around your pen. When you finally succumbed to sleep, hunched awkwardly over the desk, she found herself pausing mid-step.

She hadn’t meant to linger, but something about your vulnerability tugged at her. Without a word, she retrieved a blanket from one of the cabinets and draped it carefully over your slumped form. For a moment, her gaze lingered, softer than it had ever been.

How sweet. How innocent.

Shaking off the unfamiliar pang in her chest, Julie returned to her work. If she was going to save you, she would need every second she had left. What she hadn’t yet admitted, even to herself, was that saving you had become more than a task. It was now a necessity. You had become a necessity.

The following morning, you awoke to the faint scent of antiseptics and the distant hum of machinery. The blanket draped over your shoulders was a surprise, its warmth a rare comfort in the sterile environment of Julie’s lab. Stretching, you glanced up to find her exactly where you’d left her hours before, standing at one of the counters, meticulously mixing compounds.

You rose up, now sitting straight and back aching. You grumble as you stretch fro what felt like the first time in years, “You stayed up all night again?” you asked, your voice hoarse from sleep.

Julie didn’t look at you immediately, her focus still on the beaker in her hand. “Someone has to ensure this doesn’t end in catastrophe,” she replied dryly. But there was no bite to her words, only a quiet resignation.

As you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, you noticed a faint slump in her normally rigid posture. She looked as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, though her face remained stoic. For all her coldness, Julie’s dedication was unwavering. You felt a pang of gratitude, though you weren’t sure how to express it.

“Thank you,” you said softly. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you had.

Julie froze for a fraction of a second, her fingers tightening around the beaker before she set it down with deliberate care. “Don’t thank me yet,” she muttered, finally meeting your gaze. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, softened ever so slightly. “We’re not done.”

It was true. Despite her brilliance, every attempt to replicate the Lycantherin formula had ended in failure. Either the compounds wouldn’t stabilize, or the mixture would react violently in a way that rendered it useless. The deadline loomed closer with each passing hour, and with it, the growing realization that time was running out.

By the time the full moon rose on the fourth night, the lab was a wreck of discarded notes and shattered glass. Julie stood amidst the chaos, her hands clenched into fists, her carefully crafted composure beginning to fray.

And then it happened.

The pain struck you like a lightning bolt, ripping through your body with an intensity that left you gasping. You barely had time to call out before the transformation took hold, your bones snapping and reshaping, muscles stretching impossibly as fur erupted across your skin.

Julie watched, frozen, as the creature that had been you threw its head back and roared. The sound echoed through the palace, primal and terrifying, sending servants scrambling for cover. She barely had time to grab her tranquilizer gun before you—no, the beast—charged out of the lab, smashing through the door with a force that shook the walls.

Her chest tightened. “Damn it,” she hissed under her breath, her grip tightening on the gun. For the first time in years, fear clawed at her. Not for herself, but for you.

Julie’s focus was razor-sharp, every thought and movement dedicated to her next steps. She was already loading the tranquilizer gun with the sedative when the sound of frantic beeping broke through her concentration.

She froze mid-motion, turning toward the source of the noise. The machine behind her—the cursed contraption that had refused to yield stable results for days—was now alive with steady, rhythmic chirps. Her gaze snapped to the screen, and there it was: stability.

The compound had worked.

For a split second, Julie stared, her mind caught between disbelief and cold, calculating relief. Then she moved, abandoning the tranquilizer syringe entirely. She reached for the vial the machine had just dispensed, its amber liquid glowing faintly. Her fingers worked quickly, dumping the sedative from the dart into a disposal vial and replacing it with the freshly synthesized Lycantherin.

Her heart was racing, though her expression remained stoic. “Finally,” she muttered, snapping the dart into place.

She didn’t waste another second. Tucking the loaded gun under her arm, Julie grabbed the remaining dose of Lycantherin and slipped it into her pocket before sprinting out of the lab.

Chaos greeted her as soon as she entered the palace halls. Furniture lay overturned, tapestries shredded, and a faint scent of blood lingered in the air. Servants cowered behind columns, their faces pale with terror as the guttural snarls of the beast you had become echoed from deeper within the palace.

Julie’s pace quickened, her grip tightening on the tranquilizer gun. She didn’t allow herself to think about the danger or what might happen if she failed. Her mind was consumed by one thought alone: she wouldn’t lose you.

The world was red.

Scent, sound, rage—all of it flooded your senses, overwhelming and intoxicating. The walls around you blurred into a haze of stone and tapestries, irrelevant and fragile under your claws. The air was heavy with fear, thick and pungent, but none of it mattered.

None of them mattered.

Your claws tore into the marble floor, splintering it with every pounding step as your massive frame thundered through the palace. Servants scattered in every direction, their screams piercing but meaningless. The beast inside you growled low, a guttural sound that rumbled from deep within your chest. The scent you were tracking was stronger now, laced with that cloying sweetness of silk and power.

Her.

The word barely registered as your thoughts dissolved into raw emotion. Fury. Betrayal. Resentment. They churned in your blood, each one fueling the fire in your veins. She forced you into this. Into the heavy crown, the suffocating halls, the golden chains that bound your soul.

Your lips curled back, saliva dripping from fangs meant for ripping and tearing. You slammed through a door, the wood splintering under your weight. No one stood in your way. No one dared.

The scent was closer now, pulling you like a tether. Each breath carried it deeper into your lungs, the promise of vindication clawing at your chest. The beast wanted her—wanted to see her cower, to hear her scream. To make her pay.

Memories flashed unbidden in the haze of your mind: her smug smile, the steel in her voice when she commanded you to “behave,” her grip on your arm when you tried to walk away. Every touch of hers burned, every order seared into your very being.

Your claws raked across the stone as you skidded to a halt, nostrils flaring. The scent was here, heavy and undeniable. She was close—hiding, maybe. It didn’t matter. You would find her.

A growl rumbled deep in your throat, vibrating through your chest and out into the air. Furniture lay overturned, shattered glass glittering like shards of ice on the floor. The beast surged forward again, head low, teeth bared.

No one else. Just her. Only her.

Another door shattered before you, the splinters flying like confetti as you barreled through. You were unstoppable. Her throne, her title, her arrogance—all of it would crumble beneath you. Beneath this rage.

Your body moved on instinct, driven by a singular purpose. You would not stop. Not until the Queen herself knelt before the monster she had made.

Nia’s heart thundered in her chest, the regal composure she wore so effortlessly now cracked and crumbling under the weight of pure, unfiltered terror. Her golden robes snagged on a jagged splinter of wood as she stumbled backward into the room, her hands trembling as they clutched at the silk folds of her dress.

The air was thick, oppressive, heavy with the scent of beast and blood. Each guttural snarl from beyond the broken doorway sent shivers down her spine, every creak of the floor making her breath hitch. She backed away further, her gaze darting around the room like a trapped animal searching for escape. But there was none.

She could hear it—the scraping of claws against the stone, the huff of labored, feral breaths. A shadow loomed in the doorway, grotesque and massive, the beast’s figure illuminated by the flickering light of a shattered chandelier.

Her confidence, her power, her crown—none of it mattered now. Nia was just prey.

Her instincts screamed at her to run, but where? Her eyes landed on the ornate couch at the far end of the room, its thick cushions and high back offering the only semblance of cover. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

She bolted, her skirts catching on the splintered furniture and shards of glass that littered the floor. The sound of her heartbeat drowned out everything else as she dove behind the couch, pressing herself flat against the cold marble. She held her breath, her fingers digging into the floor as if anchoring herself to reality.

The snarls grew louder, closer. The beast had found her.

The room fell silent save for the sound of heavy, deliberate breathing. Nia squeezed her eyes shut, her chest heaving as she tried to stifle her panicked gasps. She prayed for the first time in years, her lips moving in silent desperation. Why hadn’t I listened…

The couch above her shifted, its heavy weight groaning against the floor.

Then it happened.

With an almost casual swipe of its massive clawed hand, the werewolf flung the couch aside as though it weighed nothing. The ornate wood cracked against the wall with a deafening crash, splintering into jagged shards.

Nia barely had time to register the movement before the couch slammed into her with bone-crushing force. The weight drove her body into the cold, unyielding marble, the sharp corner digging into her side as the breath was forced from her lungs.

Her vision blurred, pain radiating through her ribs and legs. She tried to cry out, but the sound came out weak, a strangled gasp. Her fingers twitched, grasping at nothing as her consciousness ebbed away like the tide.

The last thing she saw was the monster standing over her, its hulking frame towering in the dim light. Those glowing, feral eyes bored into her, unrelenting and unforgiving, before everything went black.

The air in the palace was thick with the tension of impending destruction. The walls shook with every roar of the beast, the air heavy with the scent of blood and fur. Nia's crumpled form beneath the couch, her body pinned and motionless, seemed like a lost cause—a casualty of fate. The entire room felt like it was teetering on the edge of something irreparable. The monster was relentless, and there was no end in sight.

Then, just as the beast’s hulking figure loomed over the wreckage, a sharp crack echoed through the silence—followed by the hiss of something fast and urgent. The air seemed to freeze in that moment, before the familiar hiss of a dart punctuated the chaos.

A sudden, intense burning seared through the side of your neck, a sharp pain unlike anything you’d felt before. The world around you seemed to snap into focus, the rage that had consumed you suddenly ebbing away. Your head spun for a moment, the fury retreating as if it had never existed.

The claws that had been ready to rend flesh, to tear and maim, slowly retracted as your vision sharpened, and you staggered back. It wasn’t your mind—no, it wasn’t you—but you could feel the shift. The beast was still there, its primal instinct not entirely extinguished, but it was weakening. The liquid coursing through your veins was fighting it, fighting the transformation that had overtaken your body.

And then you saw her.

Julie.

Her form stood at the doorway, breath coming in short, controlled bursts. She was poised, completely in control, the tranquilizer gun, now equped wiht Lycantherin still raised in her hand as her steely gaze locked onto yours. But there was something different in the way she looked at you—an intensity that you hadn’t seen before. There was concern, yes, but more than that, there was something... possessive. The cold precision of her demeanor melted away for just a moment, and you could see the raw emotion, hidden just beneath the surface. The kind of emotion she never showed anyone else.

Before you knew it, your body had shifted back—painfully, excruciatingly—until the towering, monstrous figure was nothing but a faint echo in your mind, leaving you human again, weak and trembling but no longer a beast.

You collapsed forward, not even thinking as you closed the distance between you, your arms reaching out instinctively. The world spun as you fell into Julie’s embrace, her arms wrapping around you with an intensity that made your heart race. You could barely speak, still breathless from the transformation, but the moment your body pressed against hers, something deep within you calmed. The primal hunger, the fury, the fear—they all melted away.

Julie held you tightly, her grip firm but gentle, as if she never intended to let you go. Her breath was shaky, and for the first time, you could hear the underlying vulnerability in her voice.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow in the face of what had just happened. She wasn’t just speaking to calm you down; she was speaking to herself, to reassure herself that you were truly here. Alive. Hers.

You buried your face in her shoulder, your body shuddering from the aftermath of the transformation, from the weight of everything that had happened. The world outside the two of you seemed to fade away, as if there was only this moment.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice raw, the words slipping out before you could even think. “You saved me…”

Julie didn’t answer at first. Instead, she tightened her hold on you, her fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes, a small shudder running through her body. For a long moment, she simply held you, her emotions warring beneath her stone-cold exterior.

But then, slowly, she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them. There was a tenderness there, something fragile that she barely let show.

“You belong to me now,” she said quietly, her voice steady but carrying an undeniable weight. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. And something about the way she said it—so certain, so sure—made your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t know where this feeling was coming from, why you felt so drawn to her, why you longed to be in her arms even though it was all so overwhelming. But you didn’t care. Not anymore.

You leaned into her, burying your face against her neck as she pulled you in close again, her hands running through your hair, soothing you in ways you couldn’t fully understand.

And for the first time since the madness had begun, you felt at peace.

Julie was the one who’d saved you, and in that moment, you knew she’d never let you go.

[azelsdoormat]

Azel Radwan Main Story

► Chapter 1

This translation is fanmade and strictly for entertainment purposes only. All media and original content belong to Cybird. Do not use, claim as your own, repost or reupload onto other platforms, reblogs are welcome.

I still don’t know what love is. 

But I want to someday fall in love and understand what it is. 

A passionate love like a rose set ablaze, and a fierce love that stays on for eternity like a woven tale. 

???: I see, I see…

???: How utterly laughable.

(... Who is that?) 

The usual dream I had every night changed the night before I set out on my trip to a foreign country.

It was set in a rose garden where the roses were still tightly closed buds. The space felt undeveloped and incomplete.

There stood an unfamiliar visitor, reading an unfinished tale from a book placed on an oak table.

His appearance was otherworldly, unlike that of any ordinary person.

His hair shimmered under the light of the massive moon hanging from the sky, and his eyes seemed to contain a starry sky within.

That divine, beautiful being who seemed to blend well with the dream’s space gave me a mocking grin as I approached.

Emma: What’s… laughable?

???: I have some unfortunate news for you, who yearns for love and thirsts for knowledge of what it is.

???: Love is not the grand blessing it is often proclaimed to be. 

???: Sometimes, it would serve you well to remain ignorant and pure for your entire life. You would find far greater happiness that way.

I didn't know what he read from that unfinished tale. 

But this “something”, who clearly wasn't human, directly and utterly rejected what laid at the very core of my heart. 

Emma: And how can you be so sure of that?

???: Because I am a god. 

(... God?) 

???: I have witnessed many examples of “love”. Not in fiction… but rather the raw, unvarnished love that exists in.

???: Far too often, people use “love” as a means to justify their otherwise unjustifiable actions.

???: It is truly tragic to see people driven mad by love.

???: Even the most rational people become unable to live without it.

???: Like a curse.

Emma: …

???: Judging from this dreamscape shrouded in thorns, you must be a lady from Rhodolite.

???: Rhodolite had such a tale too, did it not? About a king who turned into a beast after losing his beloved. 

Emma: … While the story of the late Belle and the king may have been a tragedy, that doesn't mean all love must end the same way. 

???: Fair enough. However, not all love will end as a comedy either. 

???: Why do you yearn for love? 

Words caught in my throat upon hearing the god’s question.

There was no special reason for my yearning. 

It was nothing more than mere admiration, I had never deeply thought about what love truly meant. 

For the first time, I realised that my yearning was but an empty shell.

???: At the very least, love is something I would very much rather do without.

???: — For I am a god incapable of loving people. 

…

(……ん……)

(... Mm…)

Awaken by gentle sunlight streaming through the window, I opened my eyes to see the familiar ceiling of my room in town.

The unbloomed roses and the god who denied love both vanished as though they were nothing more than an illusion.

As I woke up, memories of the dream began crumbling away and were gradually replaced by reality. 

But a fragment of that dream lingered in my heart, refusing to disappear.

(“Love is a curse”... huh.) 

???: Emma, you up? 

A knock on my door banished the remaining drowsiness from my mind.

(This voice… Rio?)

Emma: Sorry, just a minute!

???: Ah, no worries. I’m a gentleman, I’ll wait for as long as you need.

(... I think I just heard a voice that wasn't Rio’s…)

Feeling slightly uneasy, I hurriedly got dressed, washed my face, and tidied myself up before opening the door. 

…

Standing at my front door was my friend, who left his position as a butler to return to town with me, greeting me with his ever so radiant smile. 

Rio: Good morning! You’re absolutely adorable today, as always!

Emma: Yeah, yeah, thanks as usual.

Emma: … What brings you here this early in the morning?

Rio: I came to visit because I just had to see your face.

Rio: And I bought bread. Want to enjoy it together? 

Emma: Thanks, I’d love to. Mmm, smells good…

Rio: It’s from your favourite bakery. They launched a new “fortune bread” today.

Emma: Fortune bread? That’s interesting! 

Clavis: Wait, wait, Emma. We have some more important matters to focus on than bread right now, don't we?

A man forced himself between us and snatched the bag of bread.

(So I wasn't imagining things when I thought I heard another voice.)

I stopped avoiding reality as a means of self-defence and turned to face the country’s most notorious troublemaker— a certain prince with a shady smile. 

Emma: It’s been a while, Clavis. 

Clavis: You could've jumped straight into my arms right off the bat, you know?

Emma: Thank you for kind consideration. Why are you here?

Clavis: Hmm, what do you think?

???: Enough with the theatrics and just tell her already. 

(Huh…?) 

My eyes widened when I saw a tall figure sitting on a wooden crate some distance away.

Emma: Luke’s here too!?

Luke: Oops. My bad, I invited myself into the conversation too early.

Rio: I coincidentally ran into Clavis and Luke earlier on.

Rio: Though, they didn't tell me what they’re here for… 

(I was just thinking it was rare for Rio to come visit me so early in the morning… maybe he’s worried about me.)

Luke stood up from the wooden crate and raised the paper bag he had in his hand.

Luke: Mind if we join you for breakfast?

…

My modest home where I, a commoner, lived was now filled with two princes and my former butler friend…

Our surroundings were both physically and emotionally stuffy. 

Clavis: Emma, you’re heading to Tanzanite soon, right? 

Rio: Ugh… 

The freshly baked bread, along with the sweets Luke brought, bounced slightly when Rio hit his head against a corner of the table.

Clavis: What's the matter?

Rio: … I lose control of myself whenever I hear about that.

Rio: The thought of not being able to see my angel, my goddess, my beautiful fairy Emma… 

Luke: You’re such a drama queen.

(When I first told Rio about my trip, he was completely broken. I guess this counts as an improvement.) 

[ Flashback ] 

Rio: — Emma’s going to Tanzanite…

Emma: Rio, are you okay!? You hit your head on the bookshelf really hard…

Rio: I’m okay… but… why… 

Emma: I’ve heard many stories about foreign countries from the Owner, but I’m most interested in the god who can perform infallible divinations. 

Emma: If such a god really exists, I’d like to meet them even just once. 

Emma: Besides, Tanzanite’s a popular tourist destination. 

Emma: It’s a country in the dessert, but I think it's a good choice of destination for my first trip. 

[ Flashback End ]

(I feel bad for nearly causing Rio to pass out, but…)

(I’ve been really excited every day ever since deciding to travel to Tanzanite.)

Luke: I’m surprised you’re not going with her. 

Rio: The Owner told me to look after the bookstore while she’s away. 

Rio: I really do want to go with her!! What if something happens to her when I’m not there…!? 

Rio: But if staying behind will help Emma feel more at ease on her trip, then I… I’ll… 

Clavis: Haha, you can be rest assured about that. 

Clavis tore off a piece of the bread in his hand and ate it, savouring it in delight before swallowing. 

Clavis: Because we’ll be her bodyguards in your place.

Rio: Oh, is that true? Thank goodness, I feel relieved—

Rio: — Wait, that won’t do—! What is that supposed to mean!? 

(Seriously, what does he mean by that!?) 

I almost dropped my fortune bread but managed to catch it in a panic. 

Clavis: I mean exactly what I said. 

Luke: We’re going to Tanzanite too. 

Luke stuffed a whole honey-coated pastry in his mouth and licked his fingers.

Luke: I didn't wanna go at first because it’s too bothersome, but Chevalier ordered me to take care of some diplomatic matters.

(Going to Tanzanite during this period of time means…)

[ Flashback ] 

Akatsuki: Politics have been unstable lately.

Emma: Is it because of… the Three-Nation  Alliance?

Akatsuki: Yeah. None of the countries have made any moves at the moment, but this feels like the calm before a storm. 

[ Flashback End ]

(... I’m an outsider now, so it’s best for me to refrain from getting involved.) 

Clavis: Since we’re all leaving for Tanzanite at around the same time, why don't you come with us?

Clavis: We plan to take the route that passes through Benitoite. If you ride on the royal ship, your transportation is basically free. 

Clavis: I can already picture you crying tears of joy. Ah, you don't even have to say it, I already know.

Clavis: You’re so lucky to have the privilege of travelling to a foreign country with your beloved Clavis— 

Rio: OBJECTION! 

Rio shot up from his seat with a start in the cramped room and pointed a finger at Clavis.

Rio: People always say that there's nothing scarier than something that comes free. What's your real motive? Out with it. 

(As expected of Rio. That’s what I want to know too.)

Clavis took a deliberate sip of the tea I brewed and paused as though to savour it…

His wet lips then curled into a meaningful and bold smile.

Clavis: What do you think?

Luke: Don't say such things that mess with people. There's no deeper meaning at all. 

Clavis: Read the room, Luke. 

Luke: You read the room. 

Luke: This guy ordered every official to report anything interesting about Emma to him. 

Emma: So you were made aware of my trip to Tanzanite because…

Luke: The official who issued your travel permit ratted you out. 

Emma: Is that not abuse of power!? 

Clavis: What are you talking about? It’s for work.

Luke: This guy found out about your first ever trip and got all “amused” by it. 

Luke: He even volunteered to personally make a trip to Tanzanite, and I got stuck with the job of babysitting him thanks to Nokto. 

Luke: He said “I feel bad for Emma, so I’ll send at least one sensible person to go along”. 

(Thanks, Nokto!) 

Luke: But if you’d rather not deal with his crap, I’ll take personal responsibility to bury Clavis in the woods for you. 

Clavis: No need to worry about that. Emma is shaking with excitement, isn't she?

Luke: … You should get your eyes checked out before we leave the country.

Rio … I’m worried. I’m very worried.

(Since I’m not travelling alone, I should probably discuss this with the Owner…) 

(But with both Clavis and Luke accompanying me, having familiar faces in an unfamiliar land does make me feel more assured.)

After mulling it over, I furrowed my brows and tore the fortune bread in half.

Emma: Oh?

(Something fell out from inside.)

It was a small porcelain figurine that resembled a horse with a horn, standing proudly in my palm. 

Rio: As expected of Emma! You hit the jackpot.

Clavis: Hm… the unicorn is indeed currently considered the continent-wide ultimate symbol of “good luck”. 

Emma: Is that so?

Clavis: Yeah. You should keep it as a good luck charm. What a great start to your journey. 

Clavis: After all, unicorns hold a special symbolism in a country in the desert. 

(I don't exactly associate unicorns with deserts, though…) 

Emma: If that’s the case, it does seem like it’ll bring me blessings.

Luke: You’re always a good person, anyway. Even without a unicorn, I bet lots of positive things will happen to you. 

I gently cupped the unicorn figurine in my hand. 

The unexpected stroke of luck felt encouraging, like it was telling me that my current most honest feelings were right. 

Clavis: So, Emma, you’re travelling together with us, right…? 

…

The gateway to Tanzanite, the country of deserts, divinations and illusions was a bustling port thriving with merchants, much like Benitoite. 

…

Emma: We’re in Tanzanite! 

(Although… I expected more sandstorms because I was told that it’s in a desert.) 

The lively streets looked nothing like a desert.

However, the animals roaming the streets and the people’s clothing were clearly distinct from those in Rhodolite or Benitoite. 

Along with the scent of spices wafting through the air, it was undeniable that we were now on foreign land. 

(We’ve really come a long way.)

Akatsuki: Our destination is still far from here. It’s too early to get excited. 

The Owner, carrying loads of goods for trading, came to stand next to me. 

I was carrying a bag filled with books myself, but it was nothing compared to his load. 

Emma: Should I help carry some of that?

Akatsuki: No need. I usually carry it all by myself.

(That's easily 100 books over there… I can't believe he carries them alone.) 

Clavis: We offered to help too, but Akatsuki sure is hardworking.

Luke: I told Emma I’d help carry her stuff too. 

Clavis and Luke whom we travelled on the same ship with packed lightly as compared to us. 

Emma: Thanks. But since this is my first time sourcing for goods, I want to carry my own baggage. 

Emma: Selling books in a foreign country and purchasing new ones…

Emma: I’m so excited to see how greatly my bag’s contents will change on the way back to Rhodolite.

Luke: Someone’s being really energetic.

Clavis: Akatsuki is lucky to have such a good assistant too.

Clavis: By the way, where are you two headed to after this?

Akatsuki: We’re meeting someone.

Emma: … We are? 

I followed the Owner’s gaze that shifted unnaturally and saw a strikingly beautiful woman standing there. 

(Wow…) 

She wore vibrant ruby red clothing and was adorned in glamorous accessories that rivaled the Owner’s outfit. 

Standing next to her was a bespectacled man with a gentle appearance. He smiled when he noticed us and approached.

Bespectacled Man: We’ve been expecting you, Akatsuki. And this is…?

Emma: I’m Emma, I came as the Owner’s assistant. 

Basil: Ah, I read about you in the letter. A pleasure to meet you, please call me Basil. 

Basil: And this lady over here is Kamal.

Kamal: …

Kamal smiled seductively and pulled out a stack of papers from which she showed me a piece with the words “it’s nice to meet you” written on it. 

Basil: As you can see, Kamal can’t speak. Please communicate with her through writing. 

(I see…)

Emma: Understood. I look forward to working with you both.

Clavis: … Hm.

As we exchanged pleasantries, Clavis stood nearby rubbing his chin. 

Clavis: You must be emissaries of the living god, correct? 

(... Huh?)

Basil: Well done! You noticed right away. 

Clavis: The symbols of faith you wear make it easy to figure out. 

Clavis pointed at his own chest.

Basil and Kamal gestured to their chests too, where the clasps of their cloaks were fastened. 

(... Now that I took a proper look at them, the clasps have unicorns on them.)

(Are those the “symbols of faith”?) 

Clavis: I was told in the past that the unicorn ornaments are worn by those who are close to god. 

Clavis: And a few years ago, I recall hearing about a book merchant Azel especially favoured. 

Clavis: I had my suspicions, but it seems that Akatsuki has some rather prominent clients. 

Emma: Is god… one of your clients? 

Akatsuki: Regardless of whether they’re god or royalty, a client is a client. Nothing more, nothing less.

(He never mentioned this to me!)

The Owner whose facial expression remained unchanged suddenly appeared far more impressive than I had initially thought of him to be. 

Basil: We have always been the ones to guide Akatsuki during his visits to Tanzanite. 

Basil: Prince Clavis, Prince Luke, please proceed in that direction. Emissaries from the Royal Court are waiting for you. 

Clavis: Haha, not only for me but for Luke the newcomer too? How insightful indeed. 

Clavis: Rhodolite didn’t send any prior notice about who would be coming. Is this another prophecy from the living god? 

(...!) 

Basil: That’s correct. Lord Azel is truly impressive. Is this a good time to talk about it? It is, right?

(He suddenly started speaking really fast…) 

Kamal mercilessly smacked Basil on the head as he adjusted his glasses. 

She then took out her stack of papers again and showed us the one that said “let’s go”. 

(... That sounded like she hit hard enough to crack his skull. Is he okay?) 

Luke: Then I guess this is where we go our own ways.

Clavis: I’ll personally come to meet you again, Emma. Before you start crying from loneliness. 

Emma: I don't think I will, but until next time. 

(So… we’re going straight to meet the god now, right?)

(I’m starting to get nervous.)

(I wonder what kind of person a living god is like.)

…

Azel: Thank you for taking the trouble to come all the way out to such a remote location.

Emma: Oh!

[gh0stofstarman]

A Ramble about X-Men

I’m a pretty big Marvel comics fan. I’ve had a Marvel Unlimited Subscription since the pandemic and I’ve pretty much run the gamut of heroes. Avengers, Iron Man, Captain America, Captain Marvel, Ms. Marvel, Squirrel Girl, Fantastic Four, Peter Parker Spider-Man, Spider-Gwen, Miles Morales Spider-Man, Spider-Girl, Quasar, Thor, Eternals, Hawkeye, Howard the Duck, What if?, Deadpool, I could go on forever. And I can pick a run for each of these characters that I specifically clicked with a certain author and the themes they chose.

Except X-Men.

Which is ironic, because I love the X-Men shows, the characters, their major themes, their designs, their movies. Heck it’s not like I haven’t read most of Claremont’s run and beyond.

But I’ve never had a run that actually fully clicked with me, and I kinda wanted to ramble about why. No idea if this will be a series or whatever.

Chris Claremont

Admittedly I’ve never really been one to seek out every single spinoff of a series so most of my experience with the “golden age” of X-Men is with the mainline Uncanny X-Men rather than stuff like the New Mutants. I know it’s sacrilege in some circles not to go in full chronological order with the spinoff series bouncing between but I’m just not that way.

Anyways while Jack Kirby and Stan Lee created the blueprint for what would define X-Men on a fundamental level, Chris Claremont would be the author who made the heroes popular. Storm, Colossus, Wolverine, Jean Grey, Cyclops, Nightcrawler, Banshee … Sunfire, Thunderbird … okay not all of them stuck. But Claremont would write iconic stories that are beloved and I love as well such as the OG Giant Size X-Men comic, Proteus, Days of Future Past, God Loves, Man Kills, and the Dark Phoenix Saga. Stuff that truly gets to the heart of the X-Men fighting against discrimination and hate, proving they deserve a chance to live as they want.

Then that should settle it! I like Chris Claremont, then! These are the most iconic storylines that means I love the most iconic incarnation of the X-Men.

Not really.

Chris Claremont founded a lot of good ideas that would be the springboard used by other authors in years to come. But it’s not as though his stint was as brief as Lee/Kirby or Roy Thomas.

16 years.

And most of what I mentioned is spread far across the first 8.

So what about the bits in-between?

Well, if I had to describe the majority of Claremont’s writing as X-Men outside of these storylines is that it’s kinda a roulette wheel.

This was back in the day where you had to have some bonkers concepts to hook the reader in. Vampires, sci-fi tech, aliens, gods, demons, etc. And most of the time Chris chose a random one to analyze the X-Men under and reevaluate how they can be used for the X-Men’s explicit purpose of fighting against discrimination and promoting equality and diversity.

Which often leads to those aforementioned storylines where they build on this very well. X-Men vs Televangelism does go out into creating weird devices to mind control people but it’s all in service to the team’s message. The bad future the sentinels create in Days of Future Past can easily be seen as a dystopian future where discrimination is normalized.

However sometimes Chris can’t help himself and adds more layers of insanity to the plot, to the point the message kinda gets lost in the mix.

Here’s an example.

X-Men go mysteriously missing, only for Beast to find them working at a circus freak show. Interesting. Leads back to the idea of them being demoralized and treated as freaks rather than real people.

Beast does some snooping around, finding that Magneto is the mastermind behind this. Perhaps he’s trying to humiliate the X-Men and get them to give up their hope for equality seeing how humanity makes fun of them while also getting revenge because he’s the bad guy.

They fight Magneto but are bested in combat. It’s then revealed that Magneto, after being turned into a baby in a previous comic did want revenge, so he took the X-Men to his Antarctic base to … mentally regress them into babies and torture them with a nanny bot.

Huh?

And I’d be lying if I said this sort of weird progression isn’t a repeating theme.

X-Men go to space to fight aliens; makes sense because all the other heroes were fighting aliens so they gotta prove they’re on the level. Alien fighting leads into them meeting Xenomorph-like aliens that slowly transform the X-Men into them; drama is created. X-Men escape but still are transforming, so Storm befriends a space whale and then becomes one to cure everyone; buh?!?!

Like I feel like some of these stories increase the insanity progressively but they go a little step too far. Sometimes it’s just out of nowhere like when demons kidnap the X-Men even though they were never hinted before to care about them, and somehow age up Magik to an adult. Or just Storm becomes a vampire suddenly even though last issue there was nothing even slightly referencing vampires.

It’s kind of a curse because X-Men is constantly trying to get bigger and bigger under Claremont but sometimes you’d prefer it just to take it slow and get back to the more straight forward connections to fighting oppression and discrimination.

Ironically it causes me to appreciate the more mundane moments that aren’t trying to be huge plot twists one on top of each other. Stuff like Kitty Pryde and Storm hanging out, going to Japan and getting to know Wolverine better, Nightcrawler trying to socialize more, and just Beast’s witty banter.

But even that can be a little fumbled at times because well,

Chris Claremont is a straight white guy.

And there’s nothing wrong with that at all. But you can tell he has hang-ups trying to write about race or women because he doesn’t really have those experiences. Therefore, sometimes when he tries to write soliloquies and romances (which is pretty common), sometimes it can fall flat because of his perspective.

There is a lot of romance and relationship drama in X-Men, which is understandable and needed for the narrative. But so much becomes either bland, unintentionally problematic, or just too brief to make any true impact.

I’d say the biggest exception is Jean/Cyclops because they’ve been established for years and it’s very clear they care about each other. However, Jean dies in Dark Phoenix (at least that was the intent of the time) so a lot of the time the series bounces between other couples.

He later meets and then marries Madelyne Pryor, who is noted to look nearly identical to Jean. However that just makes things awkward as Madelyne often plays the role of “Not-Jean.” It at least has an interesting through line of him working through his grief, but little time is actually given for Madelyne’s own agency to break out of “Not-Jean,” which makes it really awkward when it’s revealed she’s a clone of Jean and Jean was alive all this time. So … what was the point?

Charles Xavier has so many love interests but often times he comes off as a jerk. Moira MacTaggart, Liliandra … even at one point Jean herself but everyone buries this for good reason. He comes off as very manipulative both to his partner and the X-Men. Charles is very unsympathetic to Moira’s predicament in raising Proteus. Liliandra he’s willing to bend over backwards for even if it means that he’s breaking his own morals in the process. And we don’t talk about Jean. However this would mostly be used by other authors to analyze how good of a leader Charles is, and more of his flaws. Meanwhile, Chris Claremont normalizes his behavior and rarely calls him out on it.

Colossus and Kitty Pryde.

What can I say about them? Colossus is an adult, Kitty Pryde is still a kid. It’s gross, but Chris wants you to really know they love each other more than a brother-and-sister relationship would. And they even point out it’s creepy, yet they still do it anyways.

Wolverine is entirely a whole other can of worms that I could write about separately.

Ironically some of the relationships that aren’t confirmed because of the times but are implied like Mystique and Destiny or Storm and Stevie are actually a lot better and written with much more nuance. However again nothing is confirmed and could be left to interpretation such as with Storm and Stevie. After all they do try to pair up these characters in straight couples … problematically but still.

Ultimately I feel like Claremont does have a lot of good ideas but the execution of them is where the ball is dropped. I would never call his run bad but I’ve never really felt compelled to return to it. I can’t deny the impact it’s made by any measure. However, returning to the originals just makes you wonder, how did some of this lead to Claremont’s X-Men being held up as an absolute gold standard comic?

I don’t know this was a long rant and I dunno if I’ll do it again. If you liked this let me know

[askvectorprime]

Dear, Vector Prime.

Are there other Transformers that transform into deer besides Scrapper? I would like to know the female ones if possible.

Dear Antler Appreciator,

The Scrapper you mention is far from the only one. Some non-Hybridizer incarnations of Thunderhoof turn into deer. The Autobot Herne, when outside of his Pretender shell, transformed into an electro-elk—as did Sero, a Maximal Resistance member who underwent the Beast Upgrade. Now that you mention it, it’s curious that of all the individuals who come to mind, from across the multiverse, not one of them is female. I wonder if there is some underlying metaphysical principle that precludes the adoption of the doe as an alternate form…

This reminds me of a story, which—if my chronometer is to be trusted—should be seasonally-appropriate. Gather around the energon furnace, and I will tell you of the time Sky-Byte learned the meaning of Christmas.

Between schemes, Sky-Byte’s personal mission to understand human literature was well underway. Having already enjoyed A Tale of Two Cities, he next set his sights on that seminal classic, A Christmas Carol. So moved by it was he, that Sky-Byte was inspired to spread the “Christmas Spirit” to his fellow Predacons—and thus he enlisted the help of Slapper, Gas Skunk and Dark Scream, to play the role of the three spirits in his own re-enactment… and as for the miserly Ebenezer Scrooge, why, that part would be played by none other than Megatron, of course.

The production went about as well as you might expect. Nevertheless, having been alerted to the magical properties of the “Christmas Spirit”, Megatron couldn’t help but covet this power for himself. He turned once more to Doctor Onishi’s memories, and in doing so, learned of the existence of the being known as “Santa Claus”.

Megatron reasoned that Santa Claus was the being who commanded the Christmas Spirit, and plotted to hijack the holiday. That night, he travelled to the North Pole to lie in wait… and when the sleigh appeared, he used his flying hand mode to snatch Santa Claus and all the presents! Having stolen Santa's list, he checked it twice, identifying the nicest humans with the most Christmas Spirit to take. On the back of the sleigh, he mounted the Predacons’ psycho-probe, which had been modified to absorb this psychic energy, stealing the hopes and dreams of children asleep in their beds. Dragging it behind him, Megatron changed into his reindeer mode… and took flight.

On Christmas morning, the Autobots were surprised to find a miserable Koji Onishi, who didn't even want to get out of bed to open the Autobots’ gifts. Their attempts to cheer him up only irritated him further. X-Brawn wondered if Koji was upset to be spending Christmas without his father, but Side Burn couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong…

Meanwhile, at the Megastar, Sky-Byte had been left to guard Santa Claus—as Predacon intelligence suggested the old man had a preternatural ability to break in and out of buildings unnoticed. But when Santa Claus revealed to Sky-Byte that his name was near the very top of the naughty list, the Predacon shark had a crisis of conscience. He sent out a transmission, which was received by T-AI at Autobot HQ, to warn them of Megatron's scheme.

Unfortunately, the number of humans affected by the psycho-probe was rapidly snowballing, causing a wave of humbuggery that would give even old Scrooge himself pause. Combined with Santa's magical sleigh, Megatron was moving faster than the Autobots could possibly keep up with! Only Rail Racer stood a chance of catching him, but Team Bullet Train was off-duty, as trains don’t run on Christmas Day. Thinking quickly, the Build Team modified the Global Space Bridge to lock onto Megatron and trap him in the transwarp field, allowing Prime and the Autobot Brothers to intercept. Cornered, Megatron needed more power if he was going to stand a chance—and unfortunately for the Autobots, the Christmas Spirit had unlimited power to give. Absorbing the stolen energy into himself, he supercharged his body into a menacingly festive new form, decked out all in red and gold. The victory he had chased for so long was finally within reach. The Autobots always got what they wanted. Why shouldn’t he?

Koji shouted to Megatron that he would never understand the meaning of Christmas. After all, it’s not about getting what you want—it’s about giving to others. But Megatron only let out a wickedly jolly laugh, for he did indeed have something for the Autobots… and with that, he began to charge his devastating Cutter Beam. Koji begged for him to listen. All the young boy wanted was to spend Christmas with friends and family—to see his father again, to have just one day without fighting. Why should such a dream be impossible? If only he promised to stop fighting, even Megatron would be welcome at their table.

And though Megatron laughed, some part of this warm sentiment touched his icy spark. It triggered a chain reaction in the Christmas Spirit coursing through his circuitry, which fought with his natural evil impulses… before finally exploding. Free once more, the Christmas Spirit returned to all the good little girls and boys. Bitterly, Megatron asked Koji if he had truly meant it. But before the boy could respond, Megatron saw a rift in the transwarp, and took his chance to retreat. Optimus Prime thanked Koji, and renewed his promise to rescue Doctor Onishi—though he regretted that they had not stopped Megatron sooner, and that all the children would be waking up without presents…

When Megatron arrived back at the Megastar, he was furious to discover that Santa Claus had vanished—and Sky-Byte, too! Meanwhile, all over the world, children found gifts had mysteriously arrived under their trees. A little girl looked out of her window, and caught a glimpse of a bearded man in a big red sleigh… pulled by a flying shark.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

[wulfdreaded]

zeke  was  confident  in  his  strength  &  skill,  so  that  shifters  from  another  world  didn't  really  scare  him.  did  they  make  him  feel  a  little  on  edge,  knowing  they  could  come  here  &  potentially  ...  try  mess  with  what  was  his?  yes,  though  he  got  the  feeling  they  could  find  more  interesting  realms  than  theirs.  it  was  a  great  one,  he  wasn't  trashtalking  his  home  -  not  at  all,  but  he'd  seen  quite  some  wonders  across  the  portals  by  now.  but  knowing  these  threats  existed  somewhere  within  range  only  strengthened  his  urge  to  do  this.  stick  around,  watch,  protect  those  he  cared  about  it  -  however  few  there  were.  he  still  felt  protective  of  his  forest.  maybe  even  the  king's  subjects  even  though  most  of  them  feared  him.  as  they  should.  "it's  my  forest.  everybody  else  can  piss  off."  that  was  not  up  for  debate  -  surprises  or  not.  "that's  ....  not  it..."  was  he  implying  zeke  falling  for  an  animal?  "don't  need  to  extend  anything  anywhere.  perks  of  bein'  me.  too  human  for  the  animals,  too  beast  for  the  humans."  little  shrug.  he  had  what  he  wanted  right  by  him.  he  was  his  own  kind,  though  he  had  no  desire  to  recreate  what  made  him...  him.  bringing  someone  else  like  him  into  this  life  would  only  mean  competition.  lost  in  thought  about  possible  offspring  that  may  turn  out  stronger  than  him  &  that'd  never  happen,  he  didn't  realize  he  had  a  tall  farmer  right  in  front  of  him  until  he  was  right  there  in  his  face  &  personal  space.  head  tilted  to  the  side  in  confusion,  he  couldn't  quite  ...  hm.  "wha—?  oh."  don't  purr,  don't  purr.  he  ...  was  he  petting  him?  sure  was.  little  rumble  in  his  chest,  he  was  not  purring  for  he  was  not  a  feline.  eyes  cast  sideways  &  down,  unsure  what  to  say  until  the  other  spoke  up  again.  why...  did  he  think  zeke  came  for  rory?  rory  always  found  him,  zeke  had  no  reason  to  go  find  him  instead.  he  really  didn't  want  him  to  stop,  but  he  knew  eventually  ....  yeah,  there  it  went.  hand  dropped,  invitation  dropped  &  zeke....  wasn't  sure  he  could  believe  it.  hmmm.  glancing  around  left  &  right,  soft  sigh.  who  was  he  kidding?  of  course  he  wanted  to  be  in  there.  hands  pushed  into  his  pockets,  he  followed  the  other  inside  the  house.

“maybe  in  this  realm,  but  there  are  others  out  there.  just  yesterday  someone  was  telling  me  about  two  jungles  and  safari  that  are  basically  filled  with  were-creatures  to  the  brim.”  something  about  man  cubs  too,  but  he  didn't  quite  get  that.  he  always  tunes  out  when  they're  ranting  about  were-creatures  because  of  his  history  with  them.  seeing  as  how  zeke  doesn't  think  the  pigs  are  a  threat  either,  then  he's  really  running  out  of  options  that  he  can  use  for  threats.  “people  can  surprise  you.”  although  he  knows  them  better  than  the  farmer  does.  they  have  history  together.  that  much  he  knows.  everything  aside  from  that  is  fuzzy  since  he  doesn't  make  it  a  habit  to  get  into  other  people's  business.  unless  they  bring  it  to  his  front  doorstep.  then  he  has  no  other  choice  but  to  get  involved.  everything  that  they're  talking  about  seems  to  make  vilem  pause  every  now  and  then.  it's  not  even  for  dramatic  effect,  he's  just  genuinely  curious.  what's  the  dating  scene  like  for  a  were-creature?  what  is  it  going  to  be  like  for  rory?  is  he  going  to  die  without  thinking  that  his  grandson  found  genuine  love  out  there  because  he's  a  monster  now?  fuck.  “i  didn't  know,  but  thank  you  for  clearing  that  up.”  he  knew  he  was  born,  but  he  never  know  which  parent  was  the  one  that  passed  down  the  gene.  he  wonders  if  zeke  was  a  momma's  boy  while  he  was  growing  up.  “animals  love  too,  it  doesn't  just  have  to  be  human  infatuations.  like  i  said,  there  are  more  creatures  if  you  just  extend  your  reach  a  little  bit  more.”  is  he  really  acting  like  he's  this  man's  matchmaker?  with  the  fact  that  the  wolf  feels  like  he  deserves  it  and  the  possibility  of  him  staying,  vilem  walks  over  to  him.  he  closes  most  of  the  space  in  between  them  and  takes  in  a  deep  breath.  then,  he  moves  his  right  hand  up  and  combs  it  through  the  back  of  zeke's  head,  brushing  the  hair  on  that  spot.  he  even  scratches  his  scalp  there  too.  “apparently  that's  not  what  you  deserve.  as  much  as  a  monster  you  are,  i'm  not  going  to  let  you  just  sleep  out  here  while  you  wait  for  him.  inside  is  big  enough  for  the  both  of  us.”  then  he  drops  his  hand  down  and  starts  heading  back  into  his  home.  he's  walking  slower,  waiting  to  see  if  zeke  will  follow.

[elainsgirl]

Just going to drop some theorizing that my friends and I have been doing in GC over elriel especially since there were question in a previous AMA i think you might love this.

it's come from late night tumblr stalking and wild conversations so you might have heard some of it already because it's not completely original. i'll try to say all sources to give credit

theory from highbabyofthenightcourt:

(she went on to talk about the book of breathings and found a quote)

and this one quote which made sense to me

"life and death and rebirth" -feyre coded

"Sun and moon and dark"- nesta coded

"Rot and bloom and bones"- Elaine coded

hello sweet thing, hello lady of the night, hello fanged beast and trembling fawn. Love me, touch me, Sing me.

her theory is that there is three phases to connect to the sisters

feyre's journey was to find love, not just for rhys but for herself and for life "love me"

Nesta's line "touch me" could be an indicator of how she reclaimed her body through touch, through connection. (WHICH WOULD EXPLAIN THE SEX FILLED BOOK!)

(Elaine's comment kind of confuses me because for one it says "Hello fanged beast and trembling fawn" is it talking about just elaine here? because she did use azriels shadows. is she part of him and he is of her? or is she secretly also a fanged beast.) but she eludes this comment of "sing me" could be linked tot he shadow singer! we have no way of knowing until the book is out

life, death, and rebirth:- feyre (human, death, fae)

sun and moon and dark- nesta ( sun could be rage, moon could be pain, and dark could be atraxia)

rot and bloom and bones- Elaine (rot of her old self, bloom into something new and bones we won't know until the next book.)

now onto soemthing i just happened to notice myself from reading a depiction of when Elaine was rescued by Ariel. there was a huge foreshadow in the description alone.

the comment consisted of this "the two of them having to be physicaly seperated by Rhys"

it brought up the thought this is exactly what happened in the bonus chapter. rhys had to seperate them.

then i realized "who is azriels biggest obstical for the next book?"

it's his own high lord. his loyalty and love to his own brother.

who was luciens biggest obstacle? his own highlord, and suffice to say he did not do well in holding his own and standing up against him which in turn led to the event of elaine being turned.

how would elaine ever want a spineless mate?

i think azriels test to overcome will be going against his hgihlord and having a spine. it connect rhy's villianous behavior becoming more apparent rhought the books and sets up the motions for us the readers to relish and revel in his humbling.

i think azriel will show elaine he is not lucien and will not just follow whatever orders he's given at the detriment to other people.

Hey 🫶

oooh im always down to talk about elriel theories,

starting from, “fanged beast and trembling fawn” - I think this could be referring to Elains powers. “Trembling Fawn”

As for “fanged beast” - either Elain can shapeshift which was potentially hinted at in acofas when she asks Amren about choosing her body, or a more unrealisticc crack theory approach is that each Hl has a beast form. If Elain is the one to revive Dusk and become a ruler off it - then wouldn’t she also be given a beast form like the other Hls? It could also be metaphorical. Elain has two sides - the sweet, gentle, gardener Elain and the savage Elain will do whatever it takes to save the people she cares about such as kicking the hounds of Azriel, warning Feyre about Tamlin and stabbing Hybern in the neck for Nesta - all acts one may not have expected from someone like Elain.

As for the line, “love me, touch me, sing me” - this I believe is how each sister needs to feel loved or communicate their love. Rhys showed Feyre true love, Cassian and showed their passion/love through physical touch and as for elriel, sing me could be how Az shows his love for Elain - Ik there’s some theoried of Elain “dying” and Az will be the one to bring her back, in some mythologies this can be done through singing a song to a God and pleading them for their lovers’ life.

Good catch, in acowar - Rhys is the one that takes Elain off Az. And in the bonus he again, seperates Elain and Azriel. Now again, you can look at it metaphorically. Rhys representing a higher power that separates Elriel - maybe the cauldron. Potentially Koshei.

Omfg I love this parallel. Lucien couldn’t stand up to Tamlin, even for his mate - he was still by Tamlins’ side in acowar and only left when Feyre was going. He didn’t take initiative or do much, wanting to see if she was worth 🤢 fighting for. Yet w Azriel? “You can’t do that” - said to Rhys when he immediately pulled rank. Azriel deciding to go against Rhys and be with Elain will be a huge moment (I dont think they’ll have a secret or on going private relationship) something Lucien couldn’t do. And I think for Elain it will a significant moment too, someone wanting her so much they’re going against their HL. She means *that* much to them. Two characters choosing each other over power.

[prismatoxic]

i just think he's neat.

[articskele]

Thinking about....... Sun Onceler.........

[darkaac]

Fin.

[thebirdandhersong]

There's a lot that can be analysed in The Outlaws Scarlett & Browne about eugenics, actually

[willowfey]

sometimes life is boohoo sad and then ur mom brings u back a creamy mango lemonade freeze with mango boba and hello kitty halloween spa things and suddenly u are woohoo glad

[beeapocalypse]

oh tma is nipping at my heels. i miss the extinction

[pezpenser205]

me being largely nonhuman/antihuman and a lesbian, therefore being forced by my brain to be attracted to humans has actually allowed me to fully understand how men attracted women who say they wish they were lesbians are real and based and do not deserve the hate they get. like girl i get it thats literally how i feel about you.

no offense to the good humans out there #notallhumans <3