Monster 141 Au - Tumblr Posts

Hello!! Can I request about monster task force 141 + könig & horangi, if thats alright for you!

Where reader is a pyramid head instead and I like to see their reaction reader having a pyramid head c:

EXCUSE ME!? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME WITH THIS ASK?!???!? Cuz if you are, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I am still breathing! I might be kneeling for this concept, but I am still breathing.

Pyramid Head!reader

Headcanon

Pairing: Monster 141 + König + Horangi x male?reader

Cw: blood, gore, canon-typical violence, gun violence, betrayal, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2k

You looked like you came right out of a horror game, a tall, muscular figure hidden under black and dark brown fatigues, thick thighs supporting the big, rusted pyramid that hung from your head and stocky arms that could bend a man in half as easily as it was to rip paper in two. Despite being slow and stumbling around, you were an entity to bring on high-stakes missions, letting you break through their defences with a heavy hand and even heavier attacks, crashing through walls and stalking the walls for your next victim.

They were all shocked when Price talked them into accepting you,  gathering them into the debrief room with your file, or your lack of one. It wasn’t easy, having you permanently transferred to their Task Force when you were so sought out by other teams for help as a long-standing mercenary and an entity. So Price was overjoyed that  Laswell had managed to get you to themselves, waiting for you at the tarmac on the day you were to land. 

Mixed feelings were being shared between his team when they watched you amble down the slope, head hung lowly, the tip inches from the ground. You were intimidating in person, seeming much bigger than life, finally being able to see you rather than hear of you, the haunting reputation that followed you around like a shadow. You weren’t a Ghost, someone reputed for having no living record and past, or his intimidating presence; nor were you a scary mercenary from KorTac, dangerous and imposing. You weren’t an efficient and fast-moving unit like the 141, you were just a one-man army powerful enough to rip a man in two and wield that heavy Greatsword, and despite it being a bit old-fashioned, you used better than man could use a rifle. 

Price, as first mentioned, was glad his hard work came to fruition, having someone like you on his side when it mattered was amazing. He might’ve been slightly worried about his boys reacting negatively towards you, Ghost, especially with his volatile hate and distrust of strangers. Only to be reassured when he saw how, unlike the way you carried yourself on the field, you were a gentle soul, a silent one but caring nonetheless. He watched you take care of his boys, wandering behind Gaz or Rudy when they returned injured, a looming figure that cast a protective shadow over them. You were like a pillar, solid and dependable, going out of your way to get anyone that strayed behind, turning your head at a slight angle to stop a bullet from hitting the one you were protecting, and caring for them. He may not be able to hear you speak a word, to be able to hold a conversation and listen to you tell them how much you cared about him and the others, but he knew you loved - he knew you were able to love. 

Ghost was distrustful of you, one with a shadow as big as yours or someone he’d worked alongside before. He kept you at an arm’s length, never too close to him so he could protect himself from another betrayal, the hurt and the sadness that came along with being betrayed by someone he trusted, and never too far so that he could watch you, analyse every thought or act you made, to stop you from hurting them before you could. He’s seen you in the field and worked on the same side, he knew that every little detail about you on the reports was true, not illusions and delusions, but factual events that happened with you beside them. He won’t lie, you were an asset - he hated using that word on any hybrid, monster or entity, but it was the truth - that people vied for and they were just lucky that you had their back and they had your undying loyalty. Your occasional sparring with him, Price and König only reinforced your care for them, holding back until he barked at you to fully come at him, you’d hesitate, but never for long. You cared for him as he cared for the others, he could see it, and now, his care was extended to you as well.

Soap was like an excited puppy meeting a new friend, past the intimidating facade and the trailing shadow behind you, you were nice. You reminded him of Ghost and König, the tall, imposing and silent figure, but unlike them, you only replied in grunts and groans, your body language being the biggest way for them to understand you. You were patient with him, bearing with his overenthusiastic tail that kept tapping your thigh and arm whenever or his rambling, your large pyramid nodding slowly, humming when you agreed with him and grunting when you disagreed. You were fun to be around, when he, Rudy and Gaz went around, bringing you along with him to play a little game, you wouldn’t snitch and you wouldn’t say a word, only shaking your head when Price or Ghost asked if they were behind it (the Captain and Lieutenant went along, seeing as they could enjoy themselves after a hard and stressful mission). He could be as shamelessly chaotic as he wanted with you, he didn’t have to entertain the egos of others or maintain a certain level of dignity, he could be himself like he could with the others. He didn’t feel like a burden beside your lengthy shadow, he felt like he was protected, and safe, but most importantly, he felt loved.

Gaz was tentative, not overly enthusiastic as Soap nor as suspicious as Ghost, he was a good mix of them both, guarded but welcoming. He didn’t mind sitting next to you and being the one to start the conversation since you always replied in hums and groans, hands moving to form the words that you couldn’t form under the pyramid. He only truly became comfortable when you went to the trouble of going back for him, stomping through the group that surrounded him when he crashed down, watching you rip the enemy apart with your swinging Greatsword that was too heavy for anyone to lift was breathtaking. Despite witnessing a scene right out of a slasher movie, his teammate in a rusted, pyramid head soaked in blood and guts, you gave him a hand and took his hand with the gentlest squeeze he ever felt. Then the little stunt you helped cover when he, Soap and Rudy were caught doing a prank on one of their leading commanders. He could depend on you, practising sign language to better understand you and simply wanting to hold the hands that saved him.

Alejandro, as usual, was easy to get along with, his charismatic and warm mannerism was easier to open up to. He might’ve been betrayed and lied to many times, but he knew a liar when he saw one after the whole Shepherd fiasco, so he knew you meant well (not that he could see your face for any indications). Unlike others of his rank, he preferred the respect given through comradery over respect through rank, he kept close to the people he worked with in the long run, forming bonds to cherish like he did with the Los Vaqueros and the men of 141. Withholding the same idea, he worked his way through your file and approached you with someone who’d won his respect and admiration from the black Ops you participated in and the people you bled to save. It was a quality he liked about you. While still being professional, he held you, he encouraged you, he embraced you just the way you were, and you reciprocated it without a second thought. 

Rudy had his reservations about you, something strong, something big, something powerful, something caring, but never something deadly, dangerous or selfish. From what Alejandro told him, he couldn’t bring himself to be doubtful of your loyalty and devotion, and from what he’s seen on the field, you weren’t deserving of the reputation of a bloodthirsty monster that followed you as it did Ghost and König. You had something that made you stand out, maybe it was the contrast in your character when you looked so menacing: your softness, the gentle edge in your actions, the comforting quality in your muted response, and your active protection on and off the field. He appreciated the way you brought more to the Task Force, another pillar of stability, another ear to rant to, another person to hold, or another friend to laugh with. Even the little pranks he’d join in on, getting his commanding officers red with rage and breathless from laughing and leaving you to cover for them, your hands speaking the words you couldn’t mutter outside of simple sounds. He often ended up in the same predicament when he couldn’t stop himself, cheeks rosy and warm, heart beating fast, fingers fumbling with each other and words coming out in breathless puffs, he knew what he felt and he wasn’t so bothered by it.

Horangi wasn’t sure what to make of you, you weren’t quite human, nor were you a monster, you were a mix of both, a creation of human and monster grief and pain. Little was known about entities and Eldritch beings, and being a feline monster made him naturally curious, or slightly curious. He observed you, watching you from afar without actually interacting with you, slinking around you, golden eyes narrowing at you like a tiger in a hunt. He didn’t dare approach you until he got to know your small cues, the danger you could pose - if you could pose any from what he saw, too gentle for the creature you were - to him or the others. He only stepped forward to talk to you when König made him, feel skittish and slightly awkward for feeling like such a stranger towards someone who took multiple bullets for him when he was down. He held his head high and voice stable while he pushed through his awkwardness, listening to your soft hums and low grunts in reply to his words, he was surprised to see König so engaged in this conversation when he had an aversion towards new people. Honestly, he was just surprised that König talked so much about you. If there was anything good, he would be the first to hear about it from König. He came to know you through König and the time you spent together on missions, hostage rescue and noisy infiltrations. Your small ticks, your little quirks and your verbal handicap were all things he came to learn and like, nearly making it his duty to watch you from the side as you stumble through the halls with your back hunched over from the weight of your pyramid.

König didn’t try approaching you until he absolutely had to, or if he needed you. Be it to give you an order, to ask you something, or during Ops, it would only be a few words here and there, never something long-drawn as he had with the other men or Laswell. It was only after being sent on a quick and easy task that he let you in, letting you calm him down after his unpredictable shift and grounding him, taking back control of his erratic mind after a rough shift of mindset, from a primal and instinctual one to a rational and panicked one. Your rough calluses felt soft against his hard, scarred skin, the soothing circle of your thumb on his palm and the grip to keep him aware of his situation, to keep him grounded on his reality after the carnage he created. Despite not being able to talk, you spoke loudly through your verbal cues, your hand on your shoulder and another one in his hand, listening to him ramble away about his fears and anxieties. You would sit down with him and lend an ear to him when he came to you, even after his first interactions with you. He wondered if you had similar fears, those demoralising words that echoed in his mind on the worst days or the painful reminder of his mistakes. If you did, would you let him ease you down from your pain and care for you with his smaller hands?

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

hi i love your work so much omg

…what do you think of the scenario of monster!141 x (platonic, if you want, it’s probably for the better) reader that’s made up of thousands of worms/spiders/or whatever creatures. reader is always covered up in clothes that cover up the entire ‘skin’ and they speak extremely weirdly/like everything’s speaking all at once and the voice is just sounding from the mouth but also in the torso? and legs? . the thing is that reader is shy or something and doesn’t want to admit that they’re just a hive mind of creatures, but it’s just kinda obvious not really (well obvious to monster 141). 141 doesn’t really want to comment on it because they’re just nice like that and find ways to help Reader get through some situations lmao (help i’m sleep deprived and i made this thought in 3 AM ish).

i give you a piece of 🧀

Many

Pairing: Platonic Monster 141 + König & Horangi x monster!reader

Cw: spiders, blood, military inaccuracies, canon-typical violence, cannibalism? Eating human, hive mind monster, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2.9k (A/N): I’m gonna be honest with y’a, I went on a spree and completely forgot what you first asked for but uh… I used some of your ideas and I hope it’s apparent enough?

For someone as decorated as you were, you were awfully timid, shying from human and hybrid interaction like a plague. Perhaps it was unintentional, the stiffness in your shoulders or the constant coverage, but to the world around you, you were nothing but an awkward person whose social cues were lost to time after more than a decade in the force. Starting your days covered head to toe, black over more black, or khaki and brown over more khaki and brown depending on the situation of your stay and deployment. 

Despite your social anxiety, your voice stayed strong and unwavering in the field, a cold, monotone voice that would coordinate the team if needed —you were a prolific intelligence specialist, that found your calling in intelligence gathering from the deepest and darkest pits, and an infiltration specialist that was sought out for your proficiency and successful operations worldwide, especially the undercover Ops done in secrecy. You’ve led a few clandestine Ops with Laswell for 141, the Station Chief letting you lead and direct them, trusting your insights and they always resulted in successful missions, coming back bruised and battered but alive and securing the cargo (or whatever they were sent there for). 

That meant that they knew you, your voice, your confident tone when you directed them, your unwavering decisions and your helpful guidance, but they hadn’t seen you until a few months ago. You were officially assigned to Task Force 141 as their Intelligence and Infiltration specialist, working on and off. This would be the first time you actively moved to the front, standing beside them during infiltrations, slipping into the enemy base with efficiency and silence. You moved as if you were a part of the shadows, melting into the darkness and disappearing from any camera and scans, your body invincible to infrared cameras or heat sensors. 

You moved with fluid motions, your body incredibly - scarily - flexible and seemingly aware of everything around you. To humans, you were probably the most skillful and abnormal human, born with talents that far rivalled those of hybrids, and a saviour to some for being able to keep them alive even through the hardest moments of their capture; but to monsters, to hybrids, you were special, a different type of creature that held a different category in the classes, one that humans knew little outside of the government and military. 

Whereas humans saw you as a stiff and socially awkward human that covered their whole body, TF141 knew better, they could sense it a mile away, the difference in you, the odd aura and smell you projected. Soap and König had mentioned it in the past, in the bustling Mess hall where they shared a table, Soap had noted that you smelled off, of something dead yet alive and König only brought the oddness of you holding thousands of different scents, musks that didn’t originate from one place, but from around the world. 

Gaz and Horangi gave off-handed comments about sudden movement under your clothes, a slight - near invisible - ripple under your neck or on your arm, their eyes zoning to the smallest of movements. Gaz brought it up first, his voice hesitant and confused, frowning down at his plate when he mentioned it to the others, only to feel reassured that he wasn’t imagining it, the small ripple that no one else perceived, when Horangi shared his own observations. Horangi had seen small black spots moving over your shirt and under the tight mask hiding your face, tiny-legged creatures climbing over you and vanishing under your clothes as if they were never there. 

Rudy was the best at understanding people, sympathising with both monsters and humans, but you just seemed lost, a shy creature that always hid from others when you weren’t needed. He and Alejandro remembered when they spoke to you after an Op, catching up to you before you fled to hide in your room, your tone was soft and shy, but it seemed to come from everywhere, never staying in one place as if there wasn’t a source to your voice. One moment your voice would come from your face, and then the next, it’d be down your abdomen, every word you spoke came out of a different area, but your chin never moved, face still and unmoving. 

They brought it up to Ghost, who’d sit with them at their table, pushed against the wall for privacy around human soldiers, since he - leaving out Price - knew you best, having worked with you a few times in the past where they needed your expertise in infiltration and hostage securing. They had hoped that Ghost could give them a few insights on you, whether it be about your kind or your uniqueness, they wanted something - anything - to quell their growing curiosity. Not only was Ghost one of their only sources of information, but he was also a paranoid one, always demanding an operator's file before and after they joined, his mind going through loops to calculate the danger of the new addition. Ghost was a guarded and walled-up character, ensuring that they wouldn’t betray him in the long run.

Unfortunately, Ghost knew as little as they did, Price was stricter with your information, keeping it under a hard lock and key. Only he and Laswell held information about you, your little quirks and details were a secret to anyone who wasn’t in the higher-ranked stations or the commanding rank and station chief. They had nothing to go on but theories, little hypothesis until Price or Laswell - whichever caved first to their incessant pleading - disclosed your personal file. So they did what they could with their observations, combining up with different monsters they’ve crossed paths with. You could’ve been one of those crossbred hybrids where they coupled for specific perks, or an experiment, seeing that you had an aversion to physical touch and human interactions. The least possible one, by far, was that you were an Eldritch being, a creature of horror and madness. 

“Classified for now, sergeant,” was all Price had told Soap when he cracked, his puppy-like excitement getting the best of him. “You’ll have to ask them, yeah?”

That left them with little to no choice but to watch you more closely, to observe their surroundings for any clues and to note anything bizarre since they couldn’t necessarily outright ask you. You fled seconds after anyone tried to start a conversation, head down and feet moving too swiftly to not seem like you were avoiding them or any long discussion as if you knew what they were planning. You seemed to have eyes at the back of your head, reacting instantly when one of them would follow you wherever you went, slinking from one shadow to the other, trying their best to hide from your sight and sense, but you were an expert in your own right, knowing and aware of undercover tactics when one was used against you.

Fortunately for them, other clues helped, subtle signs that most people wouldn’t even catch. The first one was small, jerky spiders that weren’t local to the UK or any continent, they weren’t like any arachnid they’d ever found, that was the first thing they noticed when they came across one, but the true challenge was to catch one of those pesky things. They were quick and small, evading them as if they had a mind of their own, their bites painful if one of them tried to grab it with a hand, the tiny fangs piercing through the thick material of their gloves, but once Soap got his paws on one, he made sure to keep it in the glass container. The spider was small, its exoskeleton so dark that it seemed to swallow any light rather than reflect it, a shade of black so black that it didn’t let any colours out. It didn’t look hairy, the shell so smooth and spotless that it seemed like two circles if they ignored the scrawny legs. 

Those spiders were almost everywhere, yet they went unnoticed by the people walking around the base and them until now. Other than the spiders, your aversion to physical contact and socialising, and favouring your privacy much more than anyone on the TF. You didn’t eat with them —you never seemed to eat at all. Your voice moved so often that the possibility of you having many mouths came to mind a lot. Your body was extremely nimble, bending in odd - sometimes painful for others - ways. Over other observations, everything they took notice of you were things that were inhuman, it made you a minority in the military - much like them - and a mystery to your team. 

They went on for months, unbothered that they might have seemed slightly obsessive, a stalker following his obsession. They weren’t worried about others calling them out, humans would chalk it up to monster stuff with a sneer and look the other way when Ghost or König glared at them. That didn’t escape you, Price or even Laswell’s eyes and ears around the world. 

“You boys don’t know when to stop, hmm?” Price wore a frown, brows cocked questioningly. His tone was one of a tired and relenting to their months-long search. “You’re lucky they weren’t mad about this.”

“So you’ll tell us, boss?” Ghost hid his excitement better than the rest, his chest rumbling lowly and eyes narrowed darkly, but not with a dangerous gleam. 

“Better if you see it yourself,” he sighed, crossing his arms, hunching against his chair, lip quirking at a corner. It was a cheeky lopsided smile, teasing them with having to wait longer. “It’s hard to explain in words. It’s quite the sight.”

And a sight it was! Watching you melt to the ground, your body scattering in thousands of small spiders that moved towards the body lying before you. You’d been paired with Ghost and Soap for this Op, leading them down a path you knew didn’t have any hostiles, getting intel back from the many spiders scattered around the area. They were the first to watch you eat, arachnids swallowing up the bodies, devouring them at record speed. You ate flesh and bones, ligaments and tendons melted by your acidic bite that only left clothes behind as an indication that someone died here. They were the lucky ones to see you eat, to bear witness to your monstrosity in the flesh and your moment of weakness where you had to sustain yourself, shedding off the shape of a human body.

It left Soap filled with awe, seeing you break away in thousands of individual bodies and come back together as one, and Ghost’s mind strewed with questions, some answered when you told them that you were self-conscious, a hive mind made up of spiders to form a body. You weren’t hiding away because you were afraid of them or that you hated socialising, you were simply too self-aware of your making, of the natural fear of eight-legged creatures. So you hid, shying away from people, thinking that they’d hate you for being what you were, a colony of undocumented spiders working as one. 

Horangi, Rudy and Alejandro caught you in action on the second covert operation when you were given the signal to lead your small squad into enemy lines. They watched the clothes you wore ripple, little critters bulging out from under your protective gear and rolling down your body in waves, black masses dropping off and separating. You were spread around the place, everyone acting as an extension of your mind and body, and they were —thousands of spiders sharing one mind. You shrank lightly, your body mass lower than it was with your body spanned across the area, working as your eyes and ears from afar like cameras worked for Laswell, except that your reach was farther and more potent. 

It was expected, but not less surprising to the three, watching your body shorten and little spiders crawl all over you. It would’ve made the hardiest monster shudder in fear or repulsion, feeling hundreds of legs moving about over their body, it would’ve made them slightly apprehensive, knowing from Soap and Ghost that your bite could be acidic, melting tough muscle and robust bone. It made more sense as to why you were so nimble and so observant, you had parts of yourself scattered around, working to map out everything and see everything. You were what made you so sought after for your skills in clandestine missions and covert infiltrations, it was scarily inspiring.

Gaz and König were the unlucky ones, being in the wrong place at the wrong time to see you “die”. With how unlucky his streak with helicopters was, it wasn’t a surprise that he was falling from another one, his wing bleeding from a bullet wound, the copper piercing through the meat and grazing the bone. It had him handicapped for the next few missions, staying on base until it healed completely unless he wanted to cause a bigger issue with his third pair of limbs. You were medevaced, watching Gaz grunt and groan, holding his wounded wing against his chest with a face screwed in pain. He’d been in an unfortunate situation, being purposely targeted by the enemy, and the situation couldn’t get any worse. 

The helicopter was shot down, and the flares deployed too late to stop the missile. It was a fiery mess, there was screaming and the loud crack of metal breaking, you could hear Laswell yell out in the coms, her worried and frantic voice trying to reach you and Gaz in the falling blaze. Most harpies feared fire, the flames burning their feathers and scarring the skin, making it impossible to regrow feathers on some rare occurrences. Gaz couldn’t remember much after the fall, waking up in pitch darkness, his skin crawling with shivers and invisible hands. He couldn’t make out left from right, he didn’t know if he was lying face down or on his back, and he wasn’t even sure he was conscious, seeing that all he could see was black. Then he felt sudden movement, a prickly sensation covering his body until light broke through.

He could feel his arms and his legs, he could stretch his wing out when he sat up, he wasn’t burned or hurt more than what he had before the crash, but he couldn’t see you when he looked around. He palmed the ground, feeling around the rough floor for you, your small, black spiders. You were on and around him, slowly climbing off him and flocking to a large mass. Your clothes were gone, burned to ashes in the mess while you shielded him, taking the brunt of the heat and burns. He swallowed down the quake that wracked his body and rushed to you, frantic to see whether or not you were in pain. Rather than forming back into a human, your appearance resembles more of a large mammal on four, clawed legs. Seeing that you were fine - or so he thought - he called back for evac, getting cover with your prone figure guarding him until the other helicopter and support came back.

König’s accident was more vicious than Gaz’s, losing control of his urges, letting himself shift and rampage through the area, ripping apart both enemy and ally. You were another body in his path, his claws tearing through your chest with sharp, bloodied hands. The others panicked, watching you scatter into pieces, falling apart from the seams as if someone had pulled out the only string that held you together. Instead of blood and guts, intestines that should’ve called out in a bloody mess, you broke apart, some fell to the ground, crushed under König’s weight, and others clung to him, swarming to stop him before he caused more chaos. 

It looked like a futile attempt from outside viewpoints, watching the beast stumble blindly, his face covered, your thousand pairs of legs locked to keep his mouth closed from causing more harm to others with his serrated teeth made to gnaw through bone and break flesh and muscle to consume and feed his big appetite. They could only stare at König trash around, limbs slowly being locked together, bounding his arms from flailing and slashing at people and his leg from blindly ambling and rushing towards his next victim. You rippled around König, a mass becoming a full-body restraint containing the hybrid’s grunts and growls, unmoving and unrelenting against him. 

You kept König’s rampage in check, keeping him contained while they moved both you and him to the aircraft and back to base where they could wait out the shift, the burst of rage in the hybrid. Gaz had thrown you a bundle of clothes after König fell asleep, you slipped off and crawled to your clothes, reappearing in a human shape under all your protective layers. Although they knew you could take extensive damage and survive unscathed, they still worried, would your strength still held together with a chaotic mix of human resilience and percht invulnerability.

You seemed to have let yourself go a bit, letting Soap or Gaz drag you around the base, letting Rudy and Alejandro strike up a conversation, letting Ghost or König sit with you in silence, and letting Horangi get the jump on you and follow you soundlessly because he was curious (and answering his questions). You might not eat with them, but you swallowed down your fright and agreed to sit at their table while they ate, digging into their preferred meal and occasionally replying to their friendly banter. You were still nervous about spending so much time in public, the looming fear of being faced with disgust from your allies was still possible, but you - with the supporting pat on the shoulder from Price - worked through your storming thoughts and insecurities. 

Tag list: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel

Hallo! Truly loved the MonsterAU stories! Wonderful, amazing writing!

Would it be possible for you to write: what if human!reader was turned into a chimera?

Akin to this:

Feel free to ignore!

Chimæra

Pairing: Monster 141 x Chimera!reader

Cw: science experiment, human torture, human testing, gore?, blood, canon-typical violence, unethical human experiments, kidnapping, child abuse, malnutrition, child neglect, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.6k (A/N): credit to @bluegiragi’s monster 141 designs.

They were tipped off by an anonymous source that some shady and highly illegal things were being done in a small and remote town near the border of Belarus, their ongoings unknown to both the government and public of their country, but someone had given Laswell a file containing all the horrific tests conducted within the closed walls of the innocuous-looking compound —a laboratory dressed as a simple military base. The folder held snapshots of emails and files sent between scientists and researchers, small indications of what was being done to both humans and monsters, yet withholding important intel about certain things. It disclosed the location, the names and faces of every worker and leading figure in the compound, the number of security and their schedules, and what was done, but not what was truly happening, it left small clues, sublet words here and there with hidden meanings —never clear images, blurry ones as if the person was in a rush.

Despite not having clear indications of the illegal activities, Laswell had enough to have 141 sent to take it down, to bring the dehumanising lab to its ground and burn it down. She didn’t have trouble convincing them, it was telling enough to let them read the condensed files for them to read, to see themselves the monstrosity being done to children and monsters they took, kidnapped from around the world to be left at the deceitful hands of crazed scientists. There wasn’t much to be found outside it, the base wore the facade of a benevolent patron, bearing the crest of kindhearted investors wanting to rebuild rundown houses and reconstruct rough and broken roads and paved streets in the town they took to hide. It worked for the most part, they profited from this by acting without raising any suspicion from anyone, neither the authorities nor the people. 

“Christ,” Gaz swore, looking down at the words in the file he received, the teased truth and the dreadful treatments through a thick layer of secrets and subtle wording, the only clear intel was from the straightforward emails sent to and from researchers and the heads of the facility, unabashed and shameless bragging of their success and the narrative to which these subjects could be used. “Why did it take so long?”

A recurrent theme of these was about a certain subject, it was about C34, spoken with such pride and joy about their creation, the work of the new world and the future made within these walls. Most emails were the exchanges between them about C34’s training, the ongoing treatments and every successful mission and exercises, they spoke of C34 as if they were a dog, a rabid mutt they captured and took on the task of domesticating it. It was demeaning, degrading and cruel, to look at another being as something lower, something needing domestication —it went against every rule and law put in place to protect humanity, the many conventions sworn to protect the goodwill and security of the innocents.

“We’ve had our suspicions before,” Laswell sighed, the images of the screen switching with the small click of her control, laser pointing at the images of various weapons cache and illegally procured weapons. “There was a slip up in the shipping, it was dropped here-” she motioned to a circled area in the map, a closeup of a secluded road near the town, “and we were able to retrace it to the facility. We needed more intel about the facility before acting and we needed to know what we're facing here, if we should send a team or send you.”

“What now?” Price tilted his head back, smoke leaving the sides of his frown, a deep and unpleasant one. He couldn’t even look at the intel given with a straight face, the shadowed truth of cruelty and dehumanising acts done by humans. “Figured you send us after seeing this, Laswell?”

Laswell nodded, jumping to another slide, showing blurred images of subject C34, a blurry figure, tall and imposing in every way possible. They stood high, stature seemingly one belonging to a monster or hybrid: on four legs and the wide, familiar shape of wings, everything about C34 cried monster. Perhaps one they captured as a child, taken from their mother and kept in this cell. There were many pictures of this one, blurry and disfigured, but others had smaller shapes, the size of children with various characteristics. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus!” Soap spat, disgust dripping from his tone in waves, unending as were the other’s curses, each holding their level of horror and repugnance. His face was wound tight, brows dipped lowly and lips pursed, he balled his fists, anger rising within him with every image he saw, the deplorable conditions and the care given to the monsters —what could they even expect from this shady company engineering monster and human DNA to fit their preferred narrative, for money, for reputation, for strength. “We ‘ave tae do somethin’ about this, Price!”

Soap - Johnny - had always been the more emotional one, letting his good heart lead his decisions when the situation seemed to fit it. His wolf made him more susceptible to emotional attachment, a pack mentality driven deeply into his mind and heart, he was viciously loyal and wore his heart on his sleeve, uncaring of how he’d be hurt by a betrayal, he simply saw the best in the world, something many couldn’t after a while, but Soap could, Johnny was a good man at heart. That’s why he reacted the most out of everyone, voicing his distaste and hate, his need for revenge and the sanctity of the lives being stolen in the facility. 

Soap pushed Price to agree, seeing no reason not to lead the breach, to uncover everything done to innocent lives. His eyes connected to the man hidden in the darkness, his blue eyes gleaming with fierce justice, a contrast to the wraith who lay in silence, abhorrent and seething quietness. Ghost peered at him, head tilted up with white pupils darkened by black eyes, death layering off him with calmness. He gave Soap a curt nod, affirmation for him to continue to voice his mind, to help those in need. 

“Seems like it’s been decided, Kate,” Price gave her a lopsided smirk, amber eyes narrowed with what could be read as anger, teeth sinking into the girth of his cigar, ash falling. “When are we going?”

Her lips parted in a proud grin, eyes gleaming with something dark and wrathful. She leaned on the table, head held high and shoulder broad while she flicked off the projector:

“Wheels up at 1500 tomorrow.”

You stared down the man before you, watching him tremble under your cold gaze, steps hesitant to approach you despite being seated, body prone on the hard floor you called a bed. He was new, possibly recently employed and his boss - or his direct manager - played a dirty game with him. It was some kind of rite of passage for every new employee courageous enough to accept their recruitment, all bright-eyed geniuses wanting to build their place on earth with forthgoing discovery, desperate and narcissistic; yet they were so easily tricked into you cage, locked in by cackling and grinning guards and coworkers. 

He smelled young, fresh-faced and a bit nervous, most were when they first saw you. You remembered everyone who walked in, the smell of fear and anxiety, the disgusting scent oozing off their bodies, rotten and putrid like a rotting corpse. You would’ve gagged and choked if you weren’t used to it, having grown close to the smell of death, calling the reaper your friend. You weren’t bothered by him, only the cart he was wheeling over, a big and heavy cooler that smelled fresh. He was made to bring you food by his boss, a cruel joke played on every new scientist who was always so eager to meet you before cowering in terror once the lock clicked. 

Standing before your third cage, he unlocked the small hatch and, with effort and a loud grunt, pushed the cooler into the hole, big enough for a big cooler but small enough to fit your arm through it. You waited until he stumbled away, distancing him from you before reaching for the container, it was light, weighing little in your palm. They fed you raw meat, sometimes buying the fresh catch of a Belarus hunter, usually an elk or a wild boar, but if they were lucky, a bison or a bear, other times they would have conserved meat shipped from outside the town, bigger cities or outside the border. 

Today was an elk, the meat cold and free of rot, it smelled as good as a fresh kill did, bloody and heady. You ripped into it without care, tuning out the loud retch from the scientist as you gorged on your meal, claws tearing it in half and biting into the bloody meat. Blood rolled down your lip, painting your cheeks crimson and staining the cream-coloured rag they considered a shirt. It would be changed after your meal, as it always was. Despite the elk weighing around six hundred kilograms, you finished it quickly, with pointed teeth cutting and pulling flaps of meat and ligament, blood spraying and dirtying the metal ground near the hatch. 

It was filling, albeit cold. You cleaned your hands of blood, licking it off like a grooming cat, tongue laving over the sharp edge of your claw and under your blunt fingernails. You peered at him from under your lashes, eyes gleaming in the darkness. You watched - pleased with yourself - him shudder, face growing green with unnerve at your show. You knew he was desperate to leave, to get a breath of fresh air outside of your cell, you understood his fear and wanted him to suffer for helping your owner, the man watching over your training, but you wanted him gone before he emptied his stomach on your floor. So you pushed the cooler out, clawed arm breaching past the hatch to leave it farther from your cage. 

He left hastily, legs shaky and face pale. 

“I want a bison next time,” you growled, words rolling off your tongue huskily from its rare use. 

It looked as inconspicuous through the NVGs as it did in the pictures, a few grey buildings built lowly to hide an immense labyrinth dug into the ground, secret passages crossing unending halls with locked doors and tipped with surveillance cameras to watch over the whole facility. They studied the very walls that made this place a secret fortress, from the body to its heart, like mounting a brigade against a castle, Laswell’s team found the few hidden entrances that connected to the lesser-used passages, winding through many hallways and wide vents, big enough for humans but too tight for monsters the size of C34. Task Force 141 led the mission, infiltrating the base under the darkness of night where they could crawl and slink through shadows to catch what they hunted. They were joined by Marines, all experienced and skillful, wearing scars like a badge of honour. It would either be a quick in and out, or a long and strenuous infiltration. 

Price took Gaz and led half of the Marines through the west, breaching the lab from above. They pushed in steadily, relaying information and physical cues to Watcher - Laswell - with a body cam recording everything they saw, the facade they wore above ground, hiding their dark enterprise. Ghost, as usual, has Soap watch his six, following closely behind him with puppy-like loyalty and the other half of the Marines. Team Two’s - Delta - mission started through the underground passage they sniffed out, a long and unwinding hall that went straight through the heart of the facility. Ghost’s team went dark, needing the cover of silence to stay hidden in a highly protected area of the base to run this clandestine mission. They spoke only when needing to, to make calls, to reaffirm intel or to let both Bravo and Watcher know a change, the tech team in the temporary safe house a few miles away from the compound watched through the cams, from the subtle change in the air to a jarring lead to what was happening. 

While Price and Gaz worked on creating a distraction, taking a load off team Delta’s shoulders, they could work through the system faster and more efficiently with the fire taken off their backs and front. It was controlled chaos for both teams, creating a mass discordance within the enemy lines: panicked higher-ups at the sudden attack, while they had a small squad of personal soldiers, they were unprepared, taken by surprise by both teams attacking on two fronts; and confused mercenaries, their quiet and boring schedules made them lose the edge of suspicion, of wariness towards what awaited them and the sheltered job with little to no action apart from a few failed escape attempts by the subjects.

“Delta 0-1 moving in,” Ghost mumbled into the coms, his team following him closely, rifle held tightly with the muzzle pointed forward as they crossed the threshold of section C, heading towards the one holding the monster subjects. 

They left behind them groups of bodies, slumped over the walls or limp on the ground, blood painting the sterilised and glossy walls, turning the once white hall into a grotesque place, dead bodies covering the length of the corridor like the ones they walked through before, leaving the stench of death that even the Marines could sniff out. It wasn’t clean - they weren’t aiming for it to be clean - but they wouldn’t need it to be clean when the Laswell would send a clean-up team to deal with this, Ghost would steal a bite before they arrived, quenching his hunger for revenge with them. 

A few guards stayed to watch over the cells, doors unlocked by a keycard that most guards kept in their back pocket, Ghost would have to take one off a dead body. Under Ghost’s cover, Soap dashed to the other side of the hall, taking a few with him to corner the mercenaries, boxing them into a closed hallway until they all died. Despite a few of the Marines taking shots, bruising the skin under their plate, black and blue blossoming like a bloody flower under the thin layer of skin, they kept their heads high and minds clear, moving forward without a misstep or hesitation. Soap swiped a few cards from the bodies, throwing one to Ghost. 

“Delta 0-1 to Watcher, can you hear me?”

“Solid copy, Ghost,” Laswell voice rang out clearly, reaching his ears in seconds.

“We found the cells,” his eyes roved over them, white paint over thick, cement walls to hold whatever they locked into the cells, perhaps the children the saw or the big one, C34.

“Do you have the keycards?”

“Affirm,” Ghost growled slowly, hearing Laswell's confirmation to continue. “Going in.”

He tapped the pad, a loud beep ringing in their ears as the lock’s mechanism creaked to life, unlatching from its metal hold to let them in. Both he and Soap walked in, leaving the others to watch their backs while they surveyed the first room. It was dimly lit as it was bare of any decorations apart from a visible toilet, a small sink and a few metal beds. It looked like any usual cells they came across, made barren and empty of anything useful to prevent the prisoners from escaping or causing a ruckus, but the people they kept in these cells were children. Soap swore under his breath at the sight of children huddled together, seemingly no older than 12, he lowered his rifle. They were backed into a corner, three older kids holding a younger one in their arms, protecting her from them, from whoever meant to harm these children. 

They looked malnourished, left to slowly rot in these cement boxes until the scientist found something worthwhile in them, their cheeks sunken in, eyes droopy and swollen with bruises - they were beaten, it made something ugly rear its head inside Ghost dead heart - and lips dried. One was armless, having wings that they used to cover both of their cellmates, naked with only feathers covering their body, this one looked more like a harpy than it did human. The two others had arms, both having the lower half of a mammal, neither of them was sure which four-legged mammal it was, but one had a pair of wings, while the other’s back was bare of anything. 

“We’ve found the children.”

You could hear the chaos from your cell, the blaring alarm and the smell of death. The building shook from its foundation, vibration emanating from both the ground floor and the basement, just farther from your hall, the closed and sectioned-off area. They separated you from the defective ones, all your young mistakes they made after achieving success —you. They tried to recreate it, but it never came out how they wanted it. Maybe it was a mistake on their part or maybe it was the lack of a certain gene in their DNA, a subtle difference that you and the rest had. You didn’t want to know and you didn’t want them to succeed a second time, it was painful, the shift, the tests and the change, the storm of pain, terror and confusion weren’t worth this power. 

You could hear the booming sound of gunfire, a loud ricochet of the bullet when the nitrocellulose sparked and sent the bullet outwards, finding its destination in the warm flesh of human guards. You usually enjoyed this kind of chaos if you knew what started it, and laughed when something caused trouble for your captors, but you were cautious of this one. You neither knew who thought to disturb the peace nor did you know who was behind this, their scents strange and the sound of steps unknown. All you knew was that their steps were heavy, out of breath but pushing their way into - what you thought to be - section C. The place they kept the young and willful. 

You might be blinded by your cell, but the guards outside your confinement knew how to talk, their chatter and barking orders loud enough for you to hear through the thick walls. From them, you knew they were strangers, unknown players on your board of pawns. You didn’t know their goal, whether they were here to let you out or keep you in a cage of their making, but you knew they were a gamble on your fate. As the noise got closer, you sat down, crossed your paws and waited, cautiously awaiting to see what your verdict would be.

Strangely enough, there was a different section, separated from the other one by many gates and stricter security, but they were able to break through it. Security was concentrated in one hall as if the monster they locked at the end of this hallway was of big importance. It had higher security, stronger and thicker. Ghost wondered if it was to keep the monster in or keep people out, either way, this meant that they found the thing they first came here for: the trained and dangerous subject C34. 

Ghost was apprehensive about opening this metal door, built taller than any doors he’d seen, it was as wide as it was tall, metres over what would be considered normal for a human or monster, similar to the wide gates that protected British castles, tall and imposing, but the most worrying was it’s vast amount of security measures. He thought back to the blurrier giant he saw in the picture, their shape indescribable and otherworldly, almost alien-like. His eyes met Soap’s reassuring ones, standing steadfast and unyielding to do good in the world. So with a nod, Ghost worked through the locks and scans of the heavy, metal door made to keep this cement cage closed. This door clicked loudly, echoing down the hall with ominous intent, foreseeing something damming and destructive. 

Yet they hadn’t expected to see another cage within the cage, a box made of reinforced glass, large and robust and inside of it was another cage, a rough metal one with bars for walls, a sick joke of a bird’s gilded cage. It would’ve seemed almost exaggerated to have three layers - three different cages - to keep one subject safely locked up until he caught sight of the monster. Lying on the cold, metal ground with legs folded in, tail curled around them and staring at both him and Soap with cautious curiosity. It looked like a gryphon if it were more reptilian than a mammal, this monster had a human torso, a head wearing a stoic expression, dressed in rags. Where there would normally be legs was the body of a bird, an eagle perhaps from the golden-brown plumage and reptilian legs from the knee down, followed by a fully scaled back, hind legs and a strong tail. Each toe was tipped with a sharp claw, big and deadly if it got its hands on someone, it could easily rip into anyone without putting in much effort. The biggest thing about it was the folded wings, feathered and equipped with a talon. If it could fly, these wings would be powerful. 

He understood why they kept it locked, it was neither man, monster or hybrid. It was a beast of human creation, a creature made to be at the peak of its condition. It was smart, he could see it, the glint in its eyes and the pursed lips, mien kept monotone and calm —observant. 

What did Laswell sign them into? 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly

This month's obsession : dragon! price

Oh, Honey! (Bumblebee! Reader x Monster! 141)

General Warnings: Mostly fluff. Reader is female and is described as rather small and chubby. Reader is clumsy. Reader has a very large family. Characters may act out of character. Poor grammar is likely. Cussing. Part 1??? Note: Monster! 141 belongs to @bluegiragi

~~~~

Price watches you through the window.

Truthfully, he isn't sure how he and his team ended up here. One day they were being chased by a bloody team of zombies/cannon fodder, the next- he's laying on this extremely cozy bed (although it is a bit small) with his wounds nicely patched. Soap has gone hunting with the other women. Ghost is satisfied that they're all safe in this... rather massive cottage and has been snoring away in the next room for the past hour. Gaz has told him that he's going to just fly around and keep an eye out- just in case if the enemies somehow find themselves through the dense woods and into this clearing.

They really were lucky, Price thinks. According to you, the woods were a force themselves. Navigating through it, especially at night, is practically impossible. Compasses don't work. There's no signal and, of course, any type of aircraft just fail here. The woods are miles long and unless you packed enough supplies- it's suicide to dive back in and try to find your way out. It's just that sometimes the woods can help you, and sometimes the woods just gives you Mother Nature's middle finger and kills you. So there's that.

Naturally, the team was suspicious.

1) The explanation made no sense. 2) They were just outnumbered by a ton of enemies and to stumble upon this welcoming lot is... well, it's too good to be true, yeah? 3) You and your family are just way too happy. 3.1) There are no guys in your family. Your mother stated that men generally just wandered in, the family would treat them, and then they go away by themselves after a few nights. 3.2) Honestly, all of you look the same. Maybe there's like, a difference in hairstyles, body types, and obvious age gaps between the women here and there, but Jesus… Gaz has already made the mistake of confusing you, your cousins, your many sisters, and other random girls multiple times last night. 3.3) Scratch out the 'massive cottage' you guys claimed it to be. It's a mansion. Your 'family' is very large. There are many aunts, other women, cousins, other girls that were adopt into the family- Just no men. All living under the same roof and might as well be an army itself with how efficient you all did your tasks.

That said, it's very rude to point guns at innocent, clueless civilians. You, an adorably chubby, little bumblebee-hybrid (identifiable by the two rather pathetic buzzing wings behind your back), opened the door to them last night and stared blankly at their guns before cheerily ushering them in without freaking your head out. Next thing they knew, they got some quality homecooked meals cooked and served before them, plenty of drink (the honey mead everyone shared is excellent), proper treatment with their wounds (with... herbs), and warm beds. Ghost had stayed up the whole night and snooped around (just in case) but reported nothing interesting except for a few old hunting rifles and some overdue library books. Yes, each girl did carry a tiny foraging knife, but he's pretty certain they could still punt them like footballs ten at a time.

Morning comes- the team properly introduce themselves without being too specific of their occupation. There was a great deal of oohing and aahing as Price unfolded his one wing. His smoke did cause one girl to faint and her mother quickly asked for Price to... stop. He did his best and has, for now, stopped smoking his cigar. Everyone just steered clear from Ghost. Many children were petting Soap's head and playing with his fluffy tail, and others were stroking Gaz's wings.

Despite all the attention, Price's gaze is always on you. Maybe it was because of the fact that he's seen you first. You were just the cutest out of all of them. He wanted to whisk you away just to squish every soft part of your body and have you cuddled up beside him in his nest back home.

He's sorely disappointed to be told that he needs to return to bed so that his wounds can heal faster. No matter. The window gives him a very nice view of the clearing outside. Some girls are tending to the farm. Others are beekeeping. Plenty have gone to the outskirts of the forest to forage or hunt. Soap has offered to go out with the girls and they gladly accepted his help. (Tomorrow, he'll get off of this bed and join everyone too.)

Right now, you're picking the berries in your garden. It's amusing to watch you. Sometimes you bend over to pluck a few pretty flowers too- he's gotten a very nice view of your plump arse here and there. He's watched you buzz your small wings to just barely get a foot in the air and pluck an apple off the tree. Oh, how he wished to simply go out to lift you up himself... Your weight would be nothing to him.

From his observations, he's smartly deduced: Your body is round. Your little wings aren't designed for distance.

He loves the way you'd burrow your nose into any flower. Sometimes you remind him of Johnny's eagerness by the way you'd get a bit too enthusiastic and faceplant into the bed of flowers to take in the scent.

Price watches you get up, bump into your cousin (or is it sister? Or is this another girl? He couldn't be arsed), and the two of you collectively squeaked and apologized at the same time. Adorable. Fascinating. Beautiful. He hasn't felt this way ever since the time he xaight the glimpse of the shiny Excalibur in that stupid rock.

The lunch horn has been blown. He's been told that today's meal would be freshly baked bread and creamy chicken with wild rice soup. There’ll be tea and coffee for the drinks.

Price wishes his lunch would just be you.

The artwork that made me drop everything and read Ursa Major

john price

bathing in the forest cause @the-californicationist made him do it (go read ursa major, that’s an order)

I did another thing- ((don't know how to Price) finished product at the end!)

1 (an au of mine)

2 (birb gaz and probs dragon Price-)

Finished product! (I added 3 real peeps in this - me, Bread and my first crush on a woman.)

James was not always drawn as an old man. Original him was a way younger.

Mark-john is French. While Trisha and Mets are Russian and I head cannon Roach as a partial redhead :)

Monster fic:

Human Shaped Monsters

Blood bathed the soil. It spans decades, and at this point, there is no way either side could turn back, and strike a deal for peace. The humans who have been enslaved and the monsters who were belittled and forced into segregation for centuries.

Blood soil the hands of both leading sides, eyes shrouded by hatred and rage. This was a war to end either species… and the humans were losing.

Two decades before the start of this war there was a faction of monsters pushing for equal rights and humans siding with them. Not even that solidarity could bring both sides together. It started with peace and ended in the blood of an innocent.

The human resistance was shrinking and the leading factions began to divide a plan. A last-ditch for freedom.

Rabies.

It was a slow race, the first to be infected were the werewolves and other beastmen. It was a long wave of modification by a small group of scientists. They made sure it could jump to every other monster, the only free of it were, mermaids, gargoyles, and shadow beings.

They made it with no cure.

It was an overnight success. Their militaries begin to fall into smithereens. One by one they had to kill their own forces and burn their corpses. New fear spread across the monsters.

The humans leaked the information.

The fear of humans was raised again.

Switzerland was the only country that allowed humans and Monsters to live together, of course, there were some apartheid laws but in all of was far better than other countries where they were actual slaves, broodmares, pets, and cattle.

It was a painful year for the Monsters before they decided to come to a ceasefire with the remnant of free humanity.

They meet up in neutral territory, Switzerland.

Laswell’s wing folds flatly against her back as she looks over to see her escort, Task Force 141, and shadow company’s Graves. “Are you sure about this?” Price was in his wings folding.

“I don’t like making concessions to them but if they have a cure—“

“I doubt it,” Soap snears, “knowing that vermin they were trying to kill us off.” He grips the door his long nails scrapping the metal door, his tail swishing angrily.

“Kate Laswell,” a feminine voice calls out, they all turn to see a young human woman standing there flanking her side is a monster in tactical gear. Laswell walked forward and they followed after them.

“Are you part of the delegation?” Laswell asks. The human looks up.

“Well, I’m part of the… welcoming committee, we in Switzerland don’t want war.” The human smiles her dark auburn hair was pull back into a low ponytail.

“A bunch of cowards and weaklings,” Soap smears. The soap didn’t always hate humans, he grew to hate them. In his youth, he was to stay in love with one until another human took her. He watched as they destroyed the world, their corruption throwing the world into a near-constant war.

He hated them.

“What would Santana think?” The human girl asks, Soap found himself sneering at the human woman for being up his old love.

“She’s not here because of you-“

“That was far before my time.”

“You’re young,” Gaz notes.

“Well, this country is made up of refugees, our parents fought to be free.” The human said side eyeing the Harpy.

Gaz didn’t like humans, he had no fold memory of that human or that human in his mind where they showed their famed humanity. He has only seen their bigotry. His home was napalmed by war. He hated humans too.

“Why aren’t we needing at the capital?” Graves asks looking around. The sun was setting and he could see the beautiful landscape of Switzerland’s countryside.

“Too many people live there, too many anxieties. Here if war breaks out not so many people be hurt.” Soap snorts but looks around the air is smooth and clean, far less dusty than the battlefield.

“Mother Maia,” the human woman calls out. There in the setting Sun of a large building, what used to look like a big retail store was a woman taking down hung sheets.

“As Jezebel,” the woman’s sweet voice calls out. “Are these the monster’s delegates?”

“Yup,” the group stops in front of this strange woman. She was in all black, with no skin showing beside her hands. She didn’t look Muslim just… like a Victorian woman in mourning. It was nostalgic for Graves he couldn’t stop smiling, her dark veil covering her hair and face. “How are the kids?”

“It’s dinner, you know how the little werewolves get, so territorial. Then the gargoyles want to sit at the top. The dragons are trying to hord people.”

“Is Michael sweet-talking people for food again?”

“Of course, you can’t stop young sirens from praying on others, especially on crawfish night.”

“Crawfish? Damn now I’m hungry-“

“We’ll take your group to the meeting point and if you get their fast enough and back we might still have some leftovers.” The woman in black tease.

“C’mon, let’s hurry,” Jezebel said rushing the group of monsters.

“What is that place?” Ghost asks. There were monsters there? And a human talking so nonchalantly about them too.

“That’s an orphanage, government sponsored, that’s the head director, Mother Maia.”

“Is she a nun?” Soap asks. Jezebel cackles and turn to him.

“Nope she’s a former Sniper, before retiring only a few weeks ago.” A cold chill run down tje monster’s bodies.

“What was her name?”

“Something like the pale death.” The monster stopped walking Soap nearly ran back to that woman to kill her.

“Relax Johnny it’s a bad idea to kill her here.” Ghost said resting his stone hands on his friend’s shoulder. Soap bared his fangs but let his shoulder sag.

“That bitch has killed dozen of our men-”

“Hey,” Jezebel said, “you better be careful this is her boyfriend right here,” Jezebel pointed to the armed monster next to him. He was a humanoid monster, maybe a wraith… that would make sense at night he was the most powerful.

“Traitor,” Gaz glared at the shorter male who had a strange antenna coming from his helmet.

“C’mon, let’s keep going I’m missing out on delisting crawfish!” Jezebel practically jogged to the meeting point.

“Look at her, so carefree. Humans truly disgust me.” Soap whispers to Gaz who flew slightly above him.

“I know mate, they only care for themselves, and discriminate against those that differ from them.” The moment they got to the meeting Jezebel took off.

—————————— /\ ——————————

“Mother Maia?” The woman in black looks up and walks up to the group of monster. Walking into the giant old building. The inside was converted into a home.

“Yes?” She asks.

“They wanted to see the orphanage a little more,” assistant Andres said, his wolf tail swinging side to side.

“Of course come in—”

“That killer in in charge of our kind?” Soap sneers, walking up to her. His eyes widened she was quite tall for a human, 6ft.

A set of low growls ooze out from the back as a small group of five teenage boys stalked in, they were young Werewolf pups. They got in between her and him.

“Who the fuck are you pendejo?” One asks his accented English rolls off his tongue.

“She killed our kind—”

“You killed your kind! My parents were killed by cunts like you,” the Australian boy shouts.

Soap glared at the young boys in front of him. They were young, stupid, and weak. A few had missing eyes, and arms, and one missing a leg. In the order of monsters, they should be dead.

“Enough!” Mother Maia snaps loudly, pulling the young alpha back. She leans down. In a low tone, she said, “Go protect the other orphanage.” Soap frown, another orphanage? The young back sneered at him one last time and stalked off.

“Have some grace, most of them were maimed by the monster’s militia when their parents tried to flee. Most of their parents were either murdered in front of them or eaten.” A chill ran down 141’s back.

“Mate—”

“Of course, we have some monsters affected by humans, but humans wouldn’t let a single monster live. These survivors or victims of you.” Mother Maia said setting the basket closed down.

“So, pale death-“ Graves walk over a smirk on his face.

“Killed anyone of them?”

“They are my children, don’t you know? Human pack bond with anyone.” She said in the same flirty tone as Graves. She clears her throat and looks at the greater whole, “where would you like to begin?”

“What type of monsters do you have?” Gaz asks looking around, he can smell a plethora of monsters, even prey monsters.

“We have beast men, harpies, mermaids, fairies, shark born, dragons, gargoyles, vampires-“ a group of bats came flying in and transformed small little kids running up to Mother Maia.

“We’re hungry.”

“Go to the kitchen.”

“How do you feed them?” Graves asks, there was about six of them the oldest no older than twelve.

“Donation of course, this country knows blood from monsters and humans are welcome. Of course, we have animals.” Graves subconsciously nods. “We have a few turned, they don’t want human blood.”

“We also have pray hybrids.”

“To feed-“

“No.” Mother Maia cuts off Price.

“Come I’ll show you the barn,” Mother Maia turned and led the group. There in the back was a large barn, it smelled like a barn.

“Lenard,” Mother Maia calls out, a figure jumps down and a young gargoyle appears, “we’re bringing in some guess, go tell Jin.”

“Jin isn’t gonna like this… not these unknown predators in his camp.”

“I know but go tell him,” The gargoyle nods and flies off.

Mother Maia turns to them, the veil is getting annoying, and the strange clinking sound as she walks. “Don’t eat anyone of them, I’ll kill you.” Her tone turns from sweet and welcoming to cold and cruel.

She opens the barn.

Screams erupt.

There was many cattle hybrids. Sheep, goats, alpacas, llamas, cows, and even some deer. They all backed up and only one thing approached a small girl screaming.

“Yumna-“

“Get out!” She shouts. She was a stout girl? And from the marking of her fur, honey badger.

“Do they have to be here?” A new voice asks in the arms of Lenard was a boy, Jin. The horns said it all along with the one wing, dragon. This was his hord.

“Quit,” Mother Maia said, silencing the barn.

“As you can see we have farmed more prey species since they don’t want to be killed or eaten. We’re leaving now,” she pushed everyone out and close the barn after Lenard who climb back onto his perch.

“So…” Price smiles blowing out his cigar smoke, “that’s his castle and hord?”

“Indeed.”

They begin to walk far into the fields small predictor hybrids poke their heads up and watch them leave before going back to playing. They walked for a few miles to the ledge of a cliff down below the ocean.

“We don’t have any big trees, so most of the Harpies live on the cliffs in huts, down below in our seaways are Merfolks and shark borns. Of course, as you see another gargoyle and in the water an eastern dragon born.” Gaz eyes widen seeing the little harpies flying around. It reminded him of home.

“Priscilla,” Mother Maia calls out, a young woman in her early Twenties or late teens walked up. Gaz thought she was human at first until he noticed her feet. She was a wingless harpy. Gaz felt feather’s raising anger boiling under his skin. She inched her way closer Gorgyle behind her.

“Since Harpies are communal and the boldest of the youth train the harpies to fly, but since Priscilla had her wings ripped off most of the young harpies don’t fly.” Mother Maia said.

“We can!” One shout, from the cliffs their small heads and raptor eyes glued on them. “We just… don’t want to.” The little boy said shyly.

“And in the small brush forest we have the smaller pray species and a pack of werewolves.”

“A pack?” Soap asks, “there’s more than one?” Mother Maia nods.

“We have five they like doing mock battles to see who gets five feet of territory into another’s back, it’s all friendly games they come together to defend this area when needed.” Soap couldn’t help but smile, maybe if he was younger this would be a great place to create a pack.

“I can teach them how to fly,” Gaz said mindlessly staring at the cliff where there were probably over 20 harpies. All the young children and the oldest were younger than him, they wouldn’t survive if they couldn’t fly.

“Really?” Priscilla said her shoulder feathers raising in excitement.

“We’re staying here a few days.” They two turn to another Maia for an answer.

“You have to ask Baihu.” Pricilla cringed and sighed, “As the most senior member of this community and the oldest, it’s your duty.” Pricilla nods.

“Alright let’s go asks him, c’mon.” She begins to walk to the cliff Gaz following suit.

“Isn’t it a little cruel to have a human looking after a monster?” Soap ask.

“Not at all my counterpart is a monster taking care of humans, his hord.”

“This seems too perfect.”

______________________

Word count: 2.2K Would you be interested in this being a full fic?

Inspire by @bluegiragi @gremlingottoosilly

taglist: @kkaaaagt 

Part 2

Humanoid Monster

Part 1, Part 3

Laswell sighed as the delegation dragged on. Of course, neither side sent their leadership only lackeys to demand impossibilities for the others to complete. They still tasted blood in their mouth for their fallen. The human delegation was a man called Vladimir Makarov, a young Russian who led his paramilitary group in deep Siberia.

“Why should we agree to these terms?” Makarov asks, how he knew, or let alone who taught him English was beyond Laswell. Most humans don’t know more than one language. Rarely do they speak the languages of countries far away from them. Humanity is landlocked. It was a way to ensure humanity never teamed up to defeat the monsters.

“Why should we agree to your request either?” Laswell sneers her wings twitching, from her anger. She read about this man, how he slaughtered many monsters and used their pelts as decoration. He was fighting for a greater Russia, with only humans in it, abolishing any monster or hybrid in sight. A human utopia!

They were talking in circles, Switzerland’s military standing at watch ready to shoot both delegations dead if given the chance. They weren’t achieving anything here.

“Since this is a peace treaty give us the names of your task force,” Makarov asks, Laswell knew it was personal for him. 141 and he was in a long constant struggle.

“Give us the files on the Pale Death, White Fang, Angel of Death, and Hunter.” Laswell strikes back. Each one of those women caused so many problems, that they must have been resistance rebels.

Makarov pursed his lips and glared at Laswell, “We’ll give you the files for White Fang and Hunters. As for the Angel of Death, she wasn’t one of us, but as for the pale death? No, we will not.”

“Then you will only get the files on, Roach,” Laswell spoke. It seems like Makarov is only giving information on the dead so she’ll do the same. Makarov frowns.

“Deal.” They both knew a single member of Task Force 141 was far better than any human, dead or alive, all except for the Pale Death.

By the end of the meeting, they had only agreed to share files of the dead and nothing more they merely moved a single inch to the finish post. As Laswell walks out Soap, Price, Graves, and Ghost we’re waiting for her.

“Where’s Gaz?”

“Helping the Hapries to fly,” Soap rolls his eyes, “the human woman can’t even raise a harpy! They should need the least amount of training!” Price touched his shoulder silencing the Sergeant.

“What happened?” Price asks.

“Not much, I was able to get information on White Fang and Hunter,” Laswell sighed.

“Those two are fucking dead, at least get the Pale Death—”

“Their delegate is Makarov,” everyone froze and a low growl imitated from all of them.

“He’s here? That terrorist?” Ghost steps closer to Laswell.

“C’mon let’s review the files maybe their connections, sure White Fang and Pale Death worked together,” Laswell spoke up.

Jezebel reappeared and began to lead them to a place outside of the meeting point, a spacious military camp where they were staying. It was more like Switzerland wanted to watch them, making sure they didn’t unpack them negatively.

Laswell hands over the packet to Price, Ghost, Graves, and Soap. They slowly scan through the files.

White Fang:

name: Belinda Wolf

Age: 23

Height: 5’9”

Weight: 140lb

History: grew up on a resistance compound deep in Akaska forest. Grew up hunting animals to survive. Favorite targets were werewolves said they were the apex of trotted a hunter could win.

statue: KIA

The photo was of a plan-looking woman, nothing remarkable, but for Soap he felt a sense of victory over this wretch. He hunted the White Fang down and butchered her like she butchered his troops. He hated her flesh making sure she was truly dead.

Hunter:

Name: Rawiya Abadi

Age: 31

Height: 5’4”

Weight: 120 lbs

History: The daughter of a wealthy (free) man she grew up owning and hunting exotic animals. She soon turned radicalized and began to hunt down every predator species of hybrids for their pelts and horns, wanting to collect every type of monster.

Status: KIA

“We’ll these aren’t helpful.” Price grumbles.

“A bunch of psychos.” Soap drops the file onto the table.

“We’ll theirs one thing for sure,” Graves spoke up, “White Fang didn’t work together, and White Fang came after Hunter.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Maybe their master and apprentices? After all, they share the same M.O. two hunters, maybe they did meet up but it’s not stated here.” Graves continues.

“We never found Hunter’s body, maybe Hunter set up that compound and trained up an apprentice?”

“What about mother and daughter?” Ghost brought up.

“That could be plausible,” Soap said.

“Makarov said the Angel of Death isn’t connected to the resistance forces.”

“That human is lying.” Soap sneers his sharp claws poking out.

“It could be plausible,” Ghost spoke up. “The Angel of Death was in deep monster territory, to be a resistance force is unlikely as it was hard to pick that human out of a crowd. She acted like one of the enslaved.”

“That one is most likely inspired by the resistance.” Price grunts out.

“The fact Switzerland allowed a killer like the Pale Death to live here is insane,” Soap said.

“Mother Maia… how insulting.” Graves notes, “The Pale Death working with our children?”

“I bet Maia isn’t her real name,” Soap mutters.

“Agree,” Price grunts out smoke leaking from his maw.

“Why don’t we do some recon whilst we’re here” Graves stands up, “Price you stay with Laswell, Ghost asked the young Gargoyles about their life, and I will talk to Mother Maia.”

“What are you planning?” Laswell folds her arms, “Shepard wants a smooth deal where we get our concessions.”

“I know, but something feels fishy about this place.” Graves adds, “It feels… stage.”

“Let me—“

“I want you and Gaz to watch the children, and see if their body languages give anything away.” Sops clenched his fist but nodded and sat down.

—————————— /\ ——————————

Gaz looked at the little harpies their little down feather wings gathered around him like lost chicklings looking for their mommas. He felt himself smiling at the small yet wide-eyed little owls just staring at him.

Pricilla is seventeen, and the oldest person there. She had also spent the longest time at the orphanage.

“So you’ve been an orphan this long?” Gaz asks.

“No, Mother Maia is my adopted Mother,” Gaz eyes widen.

“When did she adopt you?”

“I was eight.”

“Does she have any other kids?”

“No,” Pricilla sighs. “She cannot adopt anymore, in Switzerland only monsters can adopt monsters, same with humans. We came to Switzerland mother and daughter,” Gaz nods and looks at all the little Hapries.

“There’s so many children here,” Gaz mutters there were at least fifteen harpies of flight age.

“Many monsters abandoned their injured kids here, many of them have actual parents who don’t want them, but a small few made it here on their own… the human orphanage is way more kids.”

“Human orphanage?” Gaz questions.

“A lot of humans give up their babies because they can’t care for them, some are given up because their parents died after arriving.”

“how do you know this?”

“We all go to school together.” Gaz’s mouth drops. Humans? Monsters! Together? In school! No way!

“We’re gonna narrow their football field for this flight practice.”

“… you know this land used to not be Switzerland,” Gaz said as they walked a mile to the place.

“I know it was a part of France, right?” Pricilla answer. Gaz nod.

“We monsters don’t use the old colonial name the humans created.” Pricilla nods, she soon arrives at a school and there a few humans are playing.

“Jakob,” Pricilla calls out, a blonde boy, around Pricilla’s age wave.

“We need to barrow your football field.”

“Why?” He asks walking over to the fence of the tennis court.

“Flying practice!” Pricilla cheers.

“I’ll go tell Gramps he can turn on the lights.”

“Thank you!”

“You seem friendly with that human,” Gaz said trying not to growl at her. How could she forsake her kind and be around humans? Doesn’t she know they are destructive and cruel?

“He’s my classmate.” She bashfully said. Cold realization dawned on Gaz this young harpy like that human. He was a decent-looking boy but it made his blood boil.

By the time they reach the football field, the lights turn on.

It was going to be a long night, the sun was setting and they had a few hours to teach them. The wind picked up, his wings flared out and the older harpies watched him, eyes wide and eager to learn.

Gaz couldn’t help but smile at these small harpies taking flight, their wings clumsily flapping in the air.

Taglist: @kkaaaagt, @kaoyamamegami, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore

Humanoid Monster

Part 1, Part 2, Next

Graves followed Mother Maia as she got everyone fed and clothed the babies. The wit was other humans, most of them worked with the infants. Most of the older children begin to pack up and head out.

“Where are they going?” Graves asks as Gaz and Soap follow the herd of children.

“School.” Graves gives her a shocked expression before nodding and following her.

“Maia,” a woman walks in.

“Ruth,” Mother Maia nods.

“We have a new one.” Behind Ruth was a small vampire girl, she was pale and small. Mother Maia sighs and walks closer to the child.

“She’s blind and her drinking fangs were pulled out,” Graves froze and moved closer to the child, his blood boiled, who would do this? Who would hurt a young child?

“Who brought her in?”

“I don’t know she was left there,” Mother Maia sighs and she covers where her eyes should be.

“Alright leave her to me until the other vamps come back then they can figure out the story.” Ruth nods and walks out, her hooves clicking on the ground.

“You're going to let children figure it out—”

“Not all children trust humans, not all children trust other monsters,” Mother Maia interrupts picking up the shaky child. the little girl’s mouth begins to water as she smells human, but as her mouth opens her fangs clearly broken off. Vampires’ fangs don’t grow back.

“How do you feed her?” Graves asks. This was his kind, though he has no love for others not of his blood, and even if their his his level of love is low, for the monster runs on strength and power. Graves couldn’t help but pity this pathetic thing.

They walk into the kitchen and she reaches into the blood bank refrigerator and pulls out a blood bag, type O. Type O is the most palpable for vampires, it wasn’t offensive or overly tasty just nourishment. The little girl begins to babble her words foreign.

“Все в порядке, пей из этой соломинки,” Mother Maia said in Russian. Graves stiffened, this Mother knew Russian, was she originally from Russia? Maybe that’s how she knows Makarov.

“How do you know Russian?” Graves asks leaning against the door. The little vampire sucks greedily for the blood.

“Switzerland teaches other languages, it’s a point all the nurses, and orphanage workers know at least two languages for communication.” Mother Maia said before walking over to the phone and calling her counterpart.

“Abraham,” she calls, “Yes I need one of the older vampires, Dimitri to come back we have a new fledgling.” Mother Maia set the child down at the dining room table.

“Why do you wear a veil?” Graves asks. She looks over the outline of her head twisting to him.

“I’m disfigured by war, these children seem enough horror let them not see another one.”

——————/\———————

Soap crouched down with the other werewolves, all of them trying to beat him at arm wrestling. “Ye’r gaun doon,” Soap laughs as all the young werewolves fail to beat him.

“What’s yer opinion o' Mither Maia,” all the werewolves stop and turn to him.

“Why do you care?” Liam asks, as the alpha of this pack Delta.

“Is she a guid mither ” Soap asks. Liam looks around before sighing.

“You don’t like her,” Liam said with a smirk.

“She’s a vicious killer, she kills oor kind —”

“She kills you, not us. We aren’t soldiers,” Liam growls his fangs shown. Soap glares at Liam and leans back in his seat.

“How come dae ye defend her?” Soap asks. The pack growls and storms off.

“Don’t mind them,” Soap looks up to take the ancient dragon Abraham, a legend in the monster community one of the elder dragons. “They were raised by her Liam especially, he was a runt and she spent her time raising him.

“When did she stop being the pale death?” Gaz asks from across the room, his feathers covered in glitter and glue random colorful duck feathers glued to him. Abraham stroked his beard before sighing.

“She was coming from the Americas and went through Alaska to get to Europe. Meet up with a human PMC and continue to Switzerland. With her daughter.”

“She has a daughter?” Gaz asks.

“Priscilla,” Gaz from, and his jaw set angrily. “She also had a small pack of baby werewolves with her, pack Delta. She was disfigured by a werewolf that tried to kill the pack.” Soap felt his blood run cold.

Pack Delta looked strong healthy a good squad of boys that make fine soldiers. Who would try to kill them?

“So they were her first pack?” Abraham nod.

“Then as other werewolves came in they found allegiant to different packs. Werewolves are the biggest military population most were outcasts.” Soap nods, werewolves are notorious for having strict rules for soldiers and regulations to become a soldier.

“How old is Mother Maia?” Gaz asks standing up but small harpies cling to his arms giggling as if this was all a game. Gaz picked up one of the harpies girls.

“She is rather young in human age, ask Priscilla, she knows the most about Mother Maia.”

“How come dae ye ca' her Mither Maia?” Soap grumbles like an annoyed puppy.

“It is only natural we give respect to each other. I have the name of Grandfather. She is very respectful she protects her children and so do I,” the old dragon said smoke smoldering from his mouth an obvious threat to these soldiers. He went back to his Victorian pipe smoking calmly.

——————/\———————

“Why does everyone respect her?” Gaz asks.

“Who knows,” Soap grumbled.

“Let’s hope the others have information.”

“Alright men,” Laswell said sitting around the table.

“Mother Maia is disfigured,” Graves said.

“Priscilla is her daughter,” Gaz added.

“The Harpy?” Ghost grunts out. Gaz nods.

“One of the wolf packs was with her before they arrived in Switzerland. She moved in from North America through Alaska through Russia to Switzerland.” Soap adds in.

“Gaz will you ask Priscilla about this Mother Maia.” Graves asks.

“Alright, I have flight training later this day, Ghost what did the Gargoyles say?” Gaz asks.

“They stonewalled me.” Soap sighs and leans back in his chair.

“Why is she… so mysterious?” Laswell mumbles mostly to herself.

“Who knows.”

——————/\———————

Gaz looked at Priscilla who was wrapped up in a blanket as the night was cold. The small harpies flapped their wings hard in the air trying to fly higher and higher. Gaz promises to give the highest flyer a daring race in the air.

“Priscilla,” Gaz walks closer keeping one eye on the little chicklings, the other on Priscilla. She was a very beautiful young woman.

“Yes?” She said her accent was the very Hispanic accent.

“How old is your mother?” Priscilla frowns and thinks about it.

“She’s only a few years older than me, I’m seventeen and she’s twenty-seven.” Gaz eyes widen.

“She’s that young?” Gaz's mouth fell open.

“We harpies age slower so the age difference really looked grande but she isn’t that much older than most of us.” Gaz nodded and then another thought came into his mind.

“Why did she become the Pale Death?”

“To protect us, we were hunted so Sue hunted them back.” The further he learns about Mother Maia the more she becomes a saint. It was so fucking creepy.

“How did you two meet?”

“I was kicked out of my nest after my wings were ripped off she picked me up and that’s it,” Priscilla said as the younger harpies began to fall out of the sky Gaz went to catch everyone before they got hurt.

“Your mother,” Gaz said as all the chicklings ran to Priscilla and hid in her blanket for warmth. “Did she ever hurt you?” Priscilla said quickly but her tone was unusually shaky not due to the cold but to nervousness.

“You're scared of her.”

“She can be intimidating and harsh but she never hurt us.”

Gaz nods. Mother Maia isn’t all that saintly.

_______

Taglist: @kkaaaagt, @kaoyamamegami, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore

Humanoid Monster

Previous, Next

141 decided to have dinner with the young monsters of the orphanage. The adults were cooking and some of the older children bearded the children into their seats.

“Michael!” The little honey badger screams bitting at the willowy siren who kept singing little taunts to the little girl. “You stink nutty head!”

“Michael,” a dragon roared his wings furrowed out, “stop taunting her.” He commands. Price hadn’t seen this dragon before he looked on the older side, more college-age than middle or high school.

“Who’s that?” Price asks Jezebel.

“Elijah, the third oldest kid that ever enters the orphanage, and the 2nd oldest… ever.” Jezebel hums as the small Hapries climb over her. As a tall girl, they like to jump from her and glide down.

“Who’s the oldest?” Soap asks.

“Her name is Lizzie, she’s a Gorgon and in her residency. She’s going to be a nurse.”

“How did this orphanage start to begin with?” Laswell questions.

“It began with Mother Maia who wanted to keep her pack together. Her werewolves and her daughter. Lobby hard, and it morphs into an Orphanage when one gorgon drops off their deformed baby. Then soon others dropped off their runts.” Jezebel muses.

“Mother!” A new voice shouts. Everyone stops and looks over as a Gorgon walks in in scrubs sunglasses on. Mother Maia walked and the tall Gorgon hugged her.

“My residency is over!” She cheers and jumps up and down, “Since the nurse’s office here is complete I’m applying!” She cheers. Elijah runs up to her hugging her with joy.

“Why not… I don’t know a soldier?” Soap mumbles.

Lizzie looks over and walks straight up to Soap, “Why be around dogs like you?” She loves her sun glass and Soap instantly looks away but stops when he notices her glassy milky eye. She is blind, she can’t turn anything to stone.

Gorgons had a disease, the blindness disease that spread through the clutch. They can still see with the snakes in their head, but it’s still pretty impactful on their life.

“Aren’t clutches that have the blindness disease get squashed?” Soap asks, everyone froze and just stared at him. Elijah looks mad, and he almost storms over. Lizzie put her hand out.

“Yeah and?” Lizzie asks without a second thought. Soap looked around and realize he fucked himself.

“Why aren’t…”

“I dead?” Lizzie asks before smirking. “My mommy,” she said before clinging onto Mother Maia and climbing into her arms. The silence before Elijah also tried to get into her arms the two begin to argue.

Price and Laswell couldn't help but chuckle at the youngsters who were acting like babies, human babies. Mother Maia stood there rigid like a tree. The two were bickering, like they were children again.

In their little territorial dispute and need to dominate and claim Mother Maia’s viel slips off. The crowd gasps and both Lizzie and Elijah scramble to catch her veil and dragged back over her head, right before anyone can see her face.

“Children,” Mother Maia said clipply, “sit and be obedient.” she sternly told them the two got off her and sat down.

Gaz stared at her, she had such control over them it was a tab freaky to him. The small Harpies begin to pull him to their table to eat. Good is brought out shortly. Gaz felt at home, back in his forest for communal dinner.

“Maia,” Laswell spoke up, “can I talk to you in private?”

Mother Maia looks over and nods, “Everyone says your thanks or prayer and you can eat, and don't make a great mess for the janitors,” Mother Maia addresses the room before walking out with Laswell.

——————/\———————

“How did this orphanage start? And when did you get involved?” Price against the entrance and listens in on Laswell’s questions. “This be a great—”

“Publicity stunt?” Mother Maia said softly. She sighs, “… this has gotten out to your world.”

“Yes.” Laswell clears her throat, “We want official words from the orphanage—”

“Why don't you bring in the media so they can see for themselves, I fear you'll twist my words against me.” Mother Maia said calmly, “I can call the media and we can give a public statement.” Laswell eyed her wearily eyes looking to Price.

“I would like that.”

“I believe we can have cameras here by tomorrow or for the day after.” Laswell nods at Mother Maia’s words.

“Will you still answer my question,” Laswell asks.

“I've been Invited since the beginning. I was freshly twenty-one and wanted to keep my family together. The young werewolves would have been forced into the army and I might have lost my daughter. I wanted them near, their family.” Mother Maia begins.

“My first ever orphan was Elijah and then Lizzie. They were dropped off by their parents and soon it spread and all these monsters dropped off their runts, and then I had to contact the government and soon I was funded.” Laswell mods.

“You’re a very, admirable woman.” Laswell smiles and the two re-enter the main building.

——————/\———————

The media crew follows both humans and monsters, they are rather… upset with each other. Though Switzerland gives equal rights to everyone humans and monster still chooses to segregate themselves.

Within Switzerland, Mother Maia is known along with the old wise Abraham. They were usually talked about within the political sphere but the average people knew of them, like a mere rumor.

“Maia,” a monster reporter calls out, “why is this orphanage important to this country?” they ask with a condescending tone.

“We provide over a thousand jobs. We have infant nurses, nurses, nurses in training, then we have the teachers, other orphanage workers, case workers, guards, Janitor, and chief. We give people a normal job after fleeing here.” Mother Maia hums. 141 stands in the background along with a few teenagers.

“Maia,” the human reporter calls out, “do you think it's appropriate for a human to look after monsters and a man-eating dragon looking after human children?”

Mother Maia turns to them and pauses, a silent judgment. “This is called cultural exchange. Humans and Monsters apply to work here. They are expected to work with each other. Here we try not to discriminate.”

“Why haven't any of these kids been adopted?” the monster asks.

141 perked up and moved closer, these kids haven't been adopted? Not a single one?

“The human children are adopted, for every monster child that is adopted around five human children are adopted. It's not that we don't let them be adopted, it's mostly monsters who don't like monsters that aren’t theirs. And those that try, well they are… paramilitaries trying to get more recruiters.” Mother Maia explains.

“Well they get a home—”

“My children aren't going to war, blank period.” Mother Maia straighten up, “Why don't you all interview the children, I'm sure a few of them will talk to you.”

“Do you think it's dangerous to have these monsters near the children?” the human reporter spoke up.

“They are also children. Most of these monsters aren't violent and those that are working on their violent issues—”

“What happens if they attack?”

“This is fear mongering,” Soap mutters angrily.

“Shh,” Laswell shushed them, she wanted to know her next words.

“Hey haven't.”

“So you kill them?”

“No. We don't put down humans or monsters for being violent. That is ridiculous.” Mother Maia walked off before the reporters could say anything.

“Wow, she defended us,” Gaz said a slight sneer in his voice. “I thought she threw us under the bus.”

“She likes her children—”

“She treats them like pets,” Soap sneers and walks after Mother Maia. He wanted to talk to her, and Gaz followed.

“You,” Soap barks grabbing Mother Maia by her dress cuff. “What's your angel?”

“Angel?” she asks. “Are you referring to my stance on humans and monsters?”

“Yeah,” Gaz shifts and folds his arm.

“Human and monster devoid from the divine, humans from angels, monsters from devils—”

“You believe that bullshit?” Soap roars. It's been a long myth of the origin of humans and monsters. Everyone knows that fairytale. It's bullshit to Soap.

“Humans evolved from Monkeys, and we Monsters are divine—”

“Humans are devine to we are made in Angel’s image.”

“You sound delusional—”

“Abraham the oldest known Monster and dragon believes that, and I believe him.” Mother Maia pushed Soap away from her smoothing out her dress and straightening her veil.

“Humans and monsters can live together in harm and there was a time it happened. Both sides can live with harm and when it happens nature will come back.” Soap turns to Gaz with a strange expression.

“You sound—”

“Who are you?” Gaz asks, “Are you a monster?”

Gaz spends a long time reading about the past, all the wars, and negotiations. It fascinated him, and he read all of Abraham’s work and memoirs of the peaceful time.

“I am Mother Maia.”

Taglist: @kkaaaagt, @kaoyamamegami, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @spicyspicyliving

Humanoid monster

Previous, Next

“What was that about?” Soap asks Gaz. The two of them backed down when the reporters got nosy, they followed her all night long hounding her for answers.

“Abraham believed In a theory, it's written in Latin so either she knows Latin or Abraham told her.” Gaz grumble digging through his notebook.

“What theory?”

“There was a time were humans and monsters got along, they worshiped this female deity. She was murdered, and war broke out, Abraham was born in the last few days of her reign.” Gaz explains finding his notes he had written about back when he was in school.

“So?”

“So Abraham no longer speaks about this time, and in one of his papers, he theorizes this deity is still alive.”

“Mate—”

“That woman is highly educated, she shouldn't be, she wasn't born here she *came* here. Teaching humans is banned in all states except for Switzerland, how does she know?” Gaz asks Soap shrug, it didn't sound important to him but from the look on Gaz’s face said it all.

“Mr. Garrick,” the two sergeants froze and turned to see Priscilla standing there peeping her head in head feather raising in slight embarrassment. “Do we need to cancel flight training?”

“No!” Gaz shouts and walks closer to her. “Your mother.”

“yes?”

“Did she go to school?” asked a question with a smile.

“No… Why?”

“Well your mother knows things she shoulders like a diety—“

“Oh you mean Abraham’s fairytales? he likes to tell fairytales when we were little, you know? of a better time where we’re all equal, it helped most of us sleep.” Priscilla says fondly with a sweet smile on her lips.

Gaz sighs and Soap pats him on the shoulder, with a small reassuring look and smile, “See mate, you overthinking it.”

“Your mother where did she come from?”

“She came from South America and found most of us traveling up to North America and sailing over to Asia, then traveling to Switzerland.” Gaz nods and the two walk to the field with the little Harpies.

The press saw them, and the monster swarmed them, “What’s your view of the orphanage director?” The first reporter asks.

“She’s my mother—"

“So she cut off your wings?”

“No! She found me like this—“

“If given the opportunity would you go home?”

“This is my home!” Priscilla shouts her frustration begins to teetering on tears. Gaz spread his wings out blocking her from the cameras.

“Don’t bother the kid—“

“As a soldier in the monster military aviator wing, what’s your view of this almost dystopian utopia?” One Gargon asks her snakes hissing with delight and anticipation.

“I am weary but everything here so far looks good, and the orphanage director didn’t know we were coming or how long we are staying,” Gaz said in the most PR statement possible. Switzerland has one of the biggest armies, and it is wise not to attack its citizens and their politics. The media followed them, Priscilla couldn't stop looking over her shoulder, they were making her uncomfortable.

“What's your relationship with each other?” a reporter asks.

“I'm helping the younger harpies fly.”

The reporters mostly watched, occasionally they would speak to their camera, and it was easy to hear them.

“Most of these harpies are missing wings or mutilated. We suspect that the orphanage—”

“Shut up, pendejo!” One of the kids shouts at the reporters. “We all had these injuries before the orphanage.”

“It’s done by you monsters,” another girl snaps.

“Why do you defend this place?”

“It’s our home,” nearly everyone replies.

—-

The air of attrition on cordiality was fading, for every child was a surveillance camera all going back to Mother Maia. This was not lost on anyone, not the soldiers or the reporters.

The children slowly became guarded. Weary and secretive. It wasn’t lost on the task force that they were no longer welcomed there. The gargoyle creatures that usually only watch began to show themselves more often, the dragons were more active, and they were expanding their territory.

Both sides of the war were left with little progress made, and far more interest in the orphanages. The human side is more than the monster’s.

“Maia,” Abraham walks into the dimly lit office. She looks up, and the veil hangs up on her hat hook. Abraham nodded and sat down. “My old contacts have warned me that the monsters have decided to hack—”

“I understand” Mother Maia responded in a calm tone, “I’ll change a few things. The only thing they will get is the spending log, it’s best.” She smiles and begins to type away.

“There have been talk about monsters adopting—”

“I will not allow it,” Mother Maia looks up, “we both know the children who will be adopted will be sent into the military or worse eaten, I am no fool and neither than you.” Abraham smiles and nods before standing up, his wings doing a small stretch.

“I am glad we are on the same page,” Abraham said with a smile, Mother Maia only nodded and continued to work.

Abraham always knew humans were not equal to monsters in strength, but their intelligence is quite admirable. It’s been centuries since Abraham found a human he could view as equal, but another Maia was that human.

She was articulate and wise for someone who never had a true education. And yet with his simple guidance, she was able to keep her children.

“What about the new disease?” Abraham froze and sighed. Everyone knew at this point, even the humans.

“The Monster scientists have named it Cerebrum deterioration, or as the soldiers call it brain rot.” Abraham studied Mother Maia’s face, most humans couldn't hide their glee when disguising this topic, all except for Mother Maia.

“How pitiful, has it linked to the human resistance?” she sighs the scars across her face rippling with the slight movement of her face.

“No, the scientists said it was discovered rather than made.” Mother Maia nods and continues to write.

“Let's keep informed if a war breaks out this could affect this free state.” Mother Maia said sternly. Abraham agreed. “And when the vaccine is made, be sure to be one of the first to get it, you are a model.” Abraham laughs but nods.

“You are a strange one—”

“I am only being realistic Abraham, even though you've been a pacifist for a few hundred years, you still hold power.”

“Of course.”