#probably incomplete

ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕋𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕎𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕨𝕠𝕝𝕗 — Big Moods

Being pissed all the time, I mean...if you were turned against your will you’d prolly be pretty pissed too

Eating A LOT more than usual

The discomfort of washing blood off after a particularly grody full moon

The Werewolf that bit her appearing out of the blue and trying to fix his mistake

The differences between someone who was turned long ago and a newly turned Werewolf becoming increasingly clear

Not able to relate to anything the other is experiences but still manages to...relate?

Slowly decaying mental health

Turning montage to some cheesy 60′s song 

Always being on the brink of SNAPPING at EVERYONE

Shopping as a coping mechanism, but continuously destroying new clothes and immediately eating any food they buy

The turn isn’t even half of the sickness, staying at home for days in bed because the aches and nausea are too intense

Struggling against the draw of turning / losing control pretty frequently

Can’t stop thinking about WOLVES / Hearing Werewolves of London on the radio / Seeing an ad for Wolf conservation / An add for a supernatural movie on the billboard outside of her apartment

Trying to explain it to a human friend without saying anything about their condition

Suddenly worrying about future children she never planned on having, being born as Werewolves

The rampage post-reveal, when her mentor turns out to be the one that turned her

Could be romantic, but could also just be a genuine mentor-mentee relationship

Someone finding out about her and trying to extort information on the supernatural world

Jade envied her cat greatly. Beelzebub purred softly as he settled on his stomach on the rug, sunbathing in the warm golden hour sun. All his life was like a vacation, at least from Jade's point of view. And she wanted a vacation too. Maybe she should become a cat, the thought appeared in her mind. It wouldn't be hard. Just for a little while.

Careful not to disturb him, Jade lay by her cat. It was hard to relax at first. Rest was guilt, she had work to do. But she stayed put. If Beelzebub could be stubborn about his need for constant naps, she could too. She deserved a nap.

Beelzebub was gone when she awoke. It was dark out already, but the moon's light was strong, illuminating her home. He wasn't in the house, she checked, so he must have left out of the cat door. Stepping outside required a moment of mental preparation for Jade, but she resolved to be more like her cat. No hesitation. She stepped out into the night.

Sure enough, Beelzebub was out there on the grassy patch across the street. He turned towards her and meowed, it sounded like an invitation. She joined him on the grass for a while, but it became too humid quickly. She scooped him up and took him home.

For the next to weeks, she mimicked Beelzebub around the house. He found it almost amusing at first that his human was copying all his actions. However, it became annoying to share a bathroom with her.

One night, when the moon was full and strong again, there was a knock on the door. Jade almost panicked and hid with Beelzebub, then she remembered she was a person and had to answer the door. It was getting harder and harder fro Jade to remember that essential fact sometimes. Life was feeling more and more like a vacation though, that was the only thing on her mind, not the fact that midnight is a strange time for a visitor she was not expecting.

Before her stood a beautiful woman with sun-soaked skin and lilac hair. "Would you mind if I joined you?" she asked.

Jade was so taken with her ethereal appearance she almost forgot to reply, "what do you mean?"

"I've seen you moon bathing across the road, that's where my house is. Aren't you a witch?"

Beelzebub appeared at the door right then, he made a big show of rubbing himself on Jade's calf and meowed at her to follow as he trotted across the street. "Come on," the woman took Jade's hand and led her out the door.

"Why do you think I'm a witch?" Jade asked Glow, that was her name, Glow. Even her name was beautiful.

"For two weeks, every night, you've moon-bathed. I thought maybe you were a witch and this was some sort of ritual."

"Nope, I'm a regular person. I just follow my cat out here. He likes the moonlight."

"If you want, you could come out with me tomorrow and we could sunbathe like cats and regular people do sometimes."

ϛϑ۴ȜϞϠϪ: A Thoughtbook of a Native of Earth

“They want us to have sex.” They… I can only shake my head. He circles me, evaluating. I get the sense that I’ll do. “Listen,” he says, even a little excited– he is a man. “I’ve been here before. I’ve done this. A few times. They seem to like me for this. I fit the parameters. Virile, I think, is the word. It’s easiest if we just do it.” The perfunctory act. “They don’t care for the romance; it seems to weary them.” I doubt "weary" is the right word, but "virile" is. He is, if anything, virile. If the goal of this experiment is reproduction (and if –as he says– they aren’t interested in the romance, I’m not sure what else it could be) they’ve chosen their stud well. I look to them and see that they are directed towards each other, not at us. It’s true, then. The beginnings don’t interest them as long as we achieve the required result.

I suppose they expect me to admire his manatomy—his grand physique. And I do. I just won’t give them the satisfaction of making it obvious. How many times have they seen this? How many patterns have they found?

He approaches. Not slowly, not quickly. He just approaches. He bends me over with a firm hand. He enters. Not gently, not roughly. He just enters. He is efficient. For himself. I feel bereft of something. I cannot cry in front of them.

I grow. I labour. I am relieved.

My second partner is not as keen as the first. Homosexual, he tells me, quietly, half guiltily. Sorry, I am not attracted to you. I would not be doing this under any other circumstances. If I had to guess, they picked him for his eyes, which would look nice with my nose. Are they breeding us for form or function? Is it their intention to breed us at all?

I grow. I labour. I am relieved.

I am not sure– I did not see and barely felt through the drugs tightly encasing and numbing me. Throughout both deliveries, I’ve been an impotent phallus, claustrophobic in a condom. The pregnancies were nearly as numb. I don’t know why they drug us so thoroughly. Maybe they don’t know yet how potently the drugs affect human body. Maybe they’re doing it for our own comfort. Maybe they’d had problems with mothers growing too attached to their children. I think it was twins. I don’t remember if there were any twins in my family.

What other drugs are they feeding me?

They have become more comfortable with us. They sit in the breeding room, observing. No barriers between us and them. Now I can observe as well. They don’t look like the aliens we were brought up to expect. They are not humanoid, but not shapeless blobs of jelly either. They have no eyes. I think they use echolocation. That would explain the buzzing. A million different pitches, probably gathering information for a million different senses, all different from ours.

It is my turn to instruct. This boy must be barely sixteen. I will be more gentle than my first assigned mate. He’s shocked by my nakedness. I’d forgotten the convention of clothing. I’ve forgotten many conventions. Is this a boy I would take on a date, let hold my hand in the theatre, offer a shy kiss at the door? He looks familiar. Like he could be the son of an old friend. Not love. I loved before I was captured. I was loved too, I am certain. I have not seen him. Perhaps they have not found him. Would they consider him to be good breeding stock? I hope not. I hope he never considers whether or not I am.

I grow. I labour. I am relieved. After a few turns in the breeding room, I’ve adjusted enough to make small talk with my partners. I don’t think the powers that be notice. I don’t know if they realize we have a language. I don’t know if they can hear anything. I don’t see any ears. Once, my partner was French. I did not learn much, apart from that his name was Vivien and he thought me très laide. But, usually, I learn a lot as I lay, or kneel, or stand on the always cold metal floor.

From the young Yup'ik, I learn that his people do not actually have one hundred different words for snow and that our captors actually landed two years ago, in the far north. Our species isn’t as densely populace as we once were. Nobody’s lived up there for centuries. So, it took us a while to catch on. I supposed they thought the planet was uninhabited. I would’ve. Then they started travelling south and came across the occasional hermit. When your family hasn’t heard from you in years, your disappearance isn’t usually remarked upon. No one was the wiser. But then they starting escaping, or being set free, or something.

I grow. I labour. I am relieved.

My sixth partner, the blonde with the nice ass, saw the first man to get away. He ran into town sobbing and collapsed in front of the police station. The sheriff picked him up and listened to his story, recording the whole thing. And nobody believed him. He was just a crazy old man. After the fourth time that happened, people started to get a little concerned.

I grow. I labour. I am relieved.

Of all these men I’ve never seen clothed, only one has offered me his name unprompted and asked for mine in return. John. I told him mine is Mary. I lied. I cannot share what’s left of Stephanie. There’s barely enough for me. John told me that there are safety bunkers now. The government exhausted their resources making the one located in the capital impenetrable. That’s where they caught him.

I can’t remember anymore. I must have grown. I must have laboured. I must have been relieved. But I can’t separate these memories for examination.

My new partner must be freshly captured. He is having trouble adjusting. He tries to attack our captors. I have never seen this before, but I suppose it must happen fairly frequently. He looks like the kind of guy who plays rugby and gets pissed whenever somebody makes a joke about the hooker. Ah. They seem to have control of an electricity that is not electricity. I hope they let me leave for the day, now that my intended partner is incapacitated. I realize too late that a tendril of energy is snaking its way towards my left ankle.

I awake in another room, head pounding and limbs frozen. Apparently, their experiments have not yet taught them that human flesh is not fond of low temperatures and hard surfaces. Or that human eyesight does not require quite so much light. Is this… a hangover? I think it is. And that means… no more drugs. No more drugs! Ha! I can see my fingernails! I didn’t realize I couldn’t before, but there they are! One each finger, of which I have five on each hand, of which I have two, laying beside me on the table these creatures think is a bed, situated beside a short shiny nightstand, which is empty except for a single sheet of paper.

In answer to your questions, ϛϑ۴ȜϞϠϪ, I will say: Yes. It was his eyes.

Oh, the implications.

I awake again. I assume I’ve been asleep for some time. There’s no way to tell. I’m in the same room with the same shadows on the walls. One of them walks in, too soon and too purposefully not to have been monitoring me. Hands me another sheet of paper. The scrawl is frillier than the last note, written by a different one of them. Maybe their calligraphy is indicative of their sex. I don’t see any of the traditional markers. Maybe they don’t have sexes at all and that’s why they’re so interested in watching us. The one standing before me seems to light up. I look at the note again. Why this written communication? If they’ve learned our language, why don’t they speak it? Are they embarrassed of their accent or simply incapable? I can only imagine how they’ve learned it. University professors turned tutor, possibly. A bargain struck for better living quarters. Maybe they picked it up by reading our minds.

Again, I am addressed as ϛϑ۴ȜϞϠϪ. Why not Stephanie? I know I’ve thought my name before. If I squint it does look, vaguely, like my name. Maybe it’s an approximation, maybe they haven’t been taught proper nouns. Maybe it’s an arbitrary assignment. Instead of Specimen 1536, I am ϛϑ۴ȜϞϠϪ.

ϛϑ۴ȜϞϠϪ, please follow.

They’re polite.

I’m lead down a corridor with windowed rooms on either side. I recognise the layout of the first six. Breeding chambers. But what follows are three nurseries. Large, bright rooms, each with a row of bright cribs cradling smiling babies attached to monitors. The third nursery is nearly empty. Only two babies. They don’t look any different from the others, but there were still empty cradles in the other rooms. I wonder which are mine but even can’t remember if any of mine are young enough for those rooms. There are now two large rooms on either side of me. To my right is a play-room. Again, the children are being monitored, but it must be remotely. There are no wires sprouting from them, just a large black dot on each tiny temple. The room on my left is still empty, a whiteboard mounted on the wall, and desks arranged in a semi-circle in front of it.

We’ve come to the end of the corridor. My guide emits a pitch and a door opens from nowhere.

A Day to Remember, Alesana, Alive in Standby, All Time Low, The Animal In Me, Anti-Flag, Antillectual, Arctic Monkeys, Bastille, Billy Talent, Black Veil Brides, The Cab, Captain Planet, Crown The Empire, Dead by April, Emarosa, Escape The Fate, Every Avenue, Florence + The Machine, For All Those Sleeping, Free Throw, Front Porch Step, Go Radio, Green Day, Halestorm, Herrenmagazin, Imagine Dragons, Linkin Park, Marianas Trench, Marina & the Diamonds, Matula, Mayday Parade, My Chemical Romance, The Neighbourhood, Nirvana, Panic! At the disco, Quietdrive, Rise Against, Scary Kids Scaring Kids, Serum 114, Sex Pistols, Sidewalk, Sleeping with sirens, The Smith Street Band, Story of the Year, Sum 41, Tiny Moving Parts, The Kills, The Kooks, The Used, The World Alive, We Came As Romans.