Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

old wood that rots from decay, older then myself, and all of mankind.

It was supposed to be a normal night. Anonymous had gone to bed just like any other evening, half buried under a mess of blankets, his phone lazily tossed onto the nightstand after scrolling through it for what felt like hours. The last thing he remembered before sleep took over was a notification that tomorrow’s weather would be unseasonably cold for June—another weird 2010 summer, but nothing out of the ordinary.

But the world he woke up in wasn’t the same.

His eyes flickered open, blinking against the soft light streaming in through unfamiliar curtains. The sheets around him didn’t feel right—thicker, more luxurious, heavy against his skin in a way that made his pulse quicken. He sat up in the bed, groggy and confused. The room around him was massive. Gothic arches framed the high ceiling, and the bed he lay in was easily twice the size of the one he had fallen asleep in. A huge, ornate four-poster with dark red velvet drapes encased him like a throne.

“This... isn’t right,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, but something was already gnawing at the back of his mind. His heart started to pound. He kicked off the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet not even touching the ground.

The room was cold, its décor dark, like something out of a medieval castle. Caveman-like paintings of saber-toothed creatures—almost human, but not quite—covered the walls, primitive yet detailed, like relics from an ancient time. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he slid off the oversized bed, his bare feet making contact with the cold stone floor. Even the air was heavy, like it had seen centuries of history unfold between those walls.

He looked down at himself. His clothes were different—no longer his pajamas but some kind of silk robe, finely made, embroidered with a symbol he didn’t recognize. His hands trembled slightly as he turned his wrist over. The date on the ornate clock by the bed read "200010," pronounced two thousand ten, though it clearly wasn’t the year he had gone to sleep in. His heart raced faster. He hadn’t just changed rooms—this was a different world.

He padded across the room, his breath quickening. The doors leading out into the hall were enormous, easily twice his height, made from dark wood, with intricate carvings of animalistic figures woven into the panels. It was as if everything here was built for someone far larger than any human he’d ever known. The scale of it unsettled him.

“What... is this place?” he muttered, stepping into the hall.

The hallway was dimly lit, the ceilings even higher here, and every step echoed. He ran his hands along the walls as he walked, trying to ground himself, but the stone felt rough and cold. Everything around him was impossibly huge. He was like a child in a giant’s castle, and the sense of unease grew stronger with each passing moment.

The house was old. Cavernous. And there was something unsettling about how it seemed frozen in time—tribal paintings of ancient battles lined the walls, and yet, there were strange, old electronics scattered throughout. Vintage radios and TVs, things that looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades but were out of place among the otherwise timeless decor. He wandered through room after room, each one stranger than the last, decorated in lavish but worn furnishings, tribal masks, and animal furs draped across old couches.

And then, from down the hall, a voice broke the silence.

“Come... closer...” It was weak, almost a whisper, but it echoed down the long corridor, sending a chill through him.

Anonymous froze. His breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the sound, unsure whether to run or to follow it. Every instinct told him this wasn’t right, but curiosity—or perhaps fear—pushed him forward. The voice had come from deeper in the house.

He walked toward it, passing door after massive door, his bare feet silent on the cold floor. The hallway stretched on forever until finally, he came to a room larger than any he had seen so far. Inside, lying in a massive bed that dwarfed even the one he had woken in, was a creature that should not have existed.

It was a sabertooth. A smilodon.

The figure lying in the bed was easily eleven feet tall, its fur gray with age, a long saber-tooth visible from its partly open mouth. Its body, once powerful, was now frail and covered in medical devices. Its breathing was labored, every inhale a rattling struggle. Bandages covered parts of its body, and it lay surrounded by tubes and wires that looked strange against the tribal décor of the room.

The sabertooth’s eyes met his, and despite the terror that gripped his heart, Anonymous stepped closer.

“Closer...” it whispered, the voice carrying a barely perceptible animalistic growl, as if buried under a human-like tone.

Anonymous stepped forward, shaking. This was too much. Too unreal. But there was something in the old creature’s eyes—something desperate, something final.

“You... are now... Smiler,” the creature rasped, its eyes locking onto him with surprising intensity for something so near death. “The last of House Smiler. My time... is over. You... inherit it all. You... are now my... son.”

“Son?” Anonymous stammered, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. The creature—the smilodon—was fading fast, its eyes drooping as its breathing became more shallow.

House Smiler? He didn’t understand. This wasn’t his world. This wasn’t his life. But the creature reached out, a massive paw resting against his arm, surprisingly gentle despite its size.

“The end... of our kind,” the creature whispered, its eyes fluttering closed. “You... carry the name now...”

Anonymous stood there, frozen, as the creature’s breathing slowed. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to feel. The weight of the moment was crushing him, and yet, he was utterly lost. His hand rested lightly on the creature’s fur, unsure, trying to offer some kind of comfort, even though he didn’t understand any of this.

And then, with one last rattling breath, the sabertooth’s chest stilled. Its paw fell limp against the bed. Anonymous stood there, staring at the enormous figure that had just passed away in front of him, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and disbelief.

Hours passed. The sun had set, and darkness filled the house. Anonymous hadn’t moved, his thoughts spinning out of control as the weight of what had happened settled over him. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there when a knock echoed through the silent halls.

He stumbled out of the room, disoriented, and opened the front door. The figures waiting for him were unlike anything he had ever seen before. Towering over him, easily sixteen feet tall, they wore dark, heavy veils that hid their faces, save for the eerie masks they wore—horned, elongated, terrifying.

“Mr. Smiler,” one of them said, their voice deep and unnatural. “We are here for the body.”

Anonymous stood frozen, nodding without thinking, his mind still trying to catch up with everything. The figures moved with quiet efficiency, lifting the massive form of the sabertooth with ease as they prepared to take it to the morgue. One of them paused, looking down at him with unreadable eyes beneath the mask.

“We are sorry for your loss,” they said in a voice that seemed to reverberate deep within his chest. “Their last wish... was to be with you.”

Anonymous nodded again, barely comprehending. He followed them through the vast halls of the house, out into the cold night air. The gardens were beautiful, lit by the glow of a grand fountain in the distance. The luxury car parked nearby seemed like it belonged to another life—one far removed from the ancient, tribal feel of the estate.

They loaded the body into a large, black van and gestured for him to follow. He hesitated but stepped into the backseat, his eyes darting around nervously. The drive to the funeral was a blur. The towering buildings of the city loomed around him, massive structures built for beings far larger than humans. He was the only human in the funeral crowd, surrounded by dozens of towering anthros—lions, tigers, wolves—all watching in silence as the last of House Smiler was laid to rest.

After the ceremony, no one spoke to him. He was left alone, standing in the shadows of giants. The car ride back to the estate felt like a dream—cold, distant, surreal.

Hours later, back in the vast, empty house, he received a call. His hand shook as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

“Your admission into Anthro High has been filed,” a voice on the other end said. “You’ve been accepted, Mr. Smiler, last son of House Smiler.”

He stared into the darkness, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a stone. The house, the world, the name—none of it was his. And yet, somehow, it all was now.

Chapter Text

Anon stood in the expansive kitchen of the gothic estate, the dim light casting shadows that danced across the walls. The size of the kitchen was overwhelming; it was built for giants, with counters that towered above him. He approached the fridge, a massive structure that felt more like a vault. He grunted as he tugged on the door, finally getting it to swing open with a loud creak.

Inside, it was a disheartening sight. Rows of medical supplies lined the shelves, a stark reminder of the master’s illness. He squinted, pushing aside boxes of pills and bottles filled with strange, unidentifiable substances. In the back, he spotted some old meat and a loaf of bread, both of which looked like they belonged in the trash.

“Beggers can’t be choosers,” he muttered, resigning himself to his fate. He grabbed the meat, noting its questionable color and odor. With a sigh, he turned back to the counter and fished around for a pan.

The stove was equally enormous, its burners big enough to roast a cow. He tossed the meat in, trying to ignore the way it sizzled uncomfortably, and then found a chair that seemed made for someone who had long since left. He took a seat, a small chair at the foot of a table that could fit a hundred people. It was absurd to feel so small in such a vast space, but the weight of his thoughts pushed him down.

As he took a bite of the stale bread, he grimaced. It tasted like seeds and cardboard, a far cry from what he was used to.

“This is awful,” he said aloud, trying to swallow. He choked a little but managed to get it down, his stomach protesting with every bite. He scanned the fridge again and found a container of salad that had seen better days. Reluctantly, he took a bite, and to his surprise, it wasn’t terrible.

He reached for a drink, a brightly colored fruit beverage that promised refreshment. He took a sip and grimaced again. “What the hell is this?” The taste was foreign and made his head spin. The rancid water he had tasted earlier felt like a luxury compared to this.

After a few more bites of the unpalatable meal, he realized he wasn’t really hungry anymore. He stood up, pushing the chair back, and looked around the kitchen, feeling a deep sense of loneliness.

He wandered into the grand dining room, the size of it causing his heart to drop. A long table dominated the room, its surface gleaming even in the dim light. He chose the smallest chair, a comically inadequate piece next to a beautifully ornate chair that seemed to belong to a woman. The chair was bigger than his but not as large as the master’s.

“Who sat here?” he wondered, tracing a finger along the chair’s intricate carvings. It felt like an empty promise.

Feeling lost in his thoughts, he sat down and stared into the flickering fire. The flames danced, casting shadows across the walls, and he felt a chill creep down his spine. He was the only one in this vast, empty space, surrounded by a history he couldn’t understand.

“Time to sleep, I guess,” he murmured, pushing himself away from the table. He hoped, desperately, that he would wake up back in his own world.

After his meal, Anon began wandering through the mansion, moving from room to room. The air was thick with dust, and he felt like an intruder in a world that was no longer his own. He stumbled upon family photos lining the walls, but each one had a thick X drawn over it in permanent marker. It made his stomach twist.

“Why would they do that?” he mumbled, stepping further into the house.

He finally reached the grand ballroom, its size breathtaking and terrifying all at once. It looked abandoned, filled with remnants of what had once been a grand celebration. Dust coated everything, and the tablecloths lay crumpled, wilted flowers scattered across the surface.

A yawn escaped him, and he realized he was exhausted. The day had felt like a whirlwind, too much happening in too short a time.

As he turned to leave, he noticed a pink door at the end of the hall, an unusual sight in the otherwise dark and gothic house. It was chained and locked, and curiosity piqued within him.

“Where could the key be?” he wondered, searching his room first. He rifled through desk drawers, pulled clothes from closets, and even crawled under the bed. Nothing.

Just as he was about to give up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

“What the—?” He recoiled, his heart racing.

His face looked different, marked with a strange design that resembled teeth, with two glaring eyes staring back at him. It wasn’t paint; it was a tattoo. He felt a cold sweat run down his back as he touched the mark.

“No way… How did I get this?”

He examined his eyes, which seemed to glow in the light, a golden slant that felt unnerving. Then, he noticed something on his neck—a fading bite mark that bore a name: Faytali. It was as if his skin was rejecting the mark, slowly erasing it from his body.

With newfound determination, he thought of the master’s room. Surely there had to be a key there. He sprinted down the hall and burst into the master’s room. The desk was cluttered with papers, but there, amid the chaos, he spotted a glimmer of metal: the key.

He snatched it up and glanced at the medical reports scattered about. The numbers were enormous and terrifying. He quickly looked away, not wanting to linger on the implications.

Just as he turned to leave, something caught his eye—a photo frame overturned on the desk. He picked it up, and his heart dropped.

In the photo was the master, smiling broadly next to a girl who looked so familiar. She was a teenager, dressed in expensive clothes, her face lit with joy. But he was there, too, looking sad and teary-eyed, as if hiding something deep inside.

“Who is she?” he whispered, a sick feeling settling in his gut.

He grabbed the key tightly and hurried to the pink door. As he unlocked it, the chain fell away with a heavy clang.

“What’s in here?” he thought, stepping into the room, the door creaking open.

As he stepped through the threshold, he was hit by the smell of dust and abandonment. His heart raced. It looked like a girl’s room, luxurious and meticulously decorated. Medical equipment was scattered across the floor, and crumpled papers lay everywhere.

His gaze fell upon a diary on the edge of the bed, its pages ripped and ink smeared, droplets that looked like tears dotting the paper.

“What happened here?” he whispered, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him.

But then, before he could process it, a vision struck him. He saw a girl in the bed, hooked up to all the medical devices, pale and weak. The image vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving him stunned in an empty room.

“Damn…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

He recoiled in surprise, the sight of the empty room unsettling him. He took a cautious step inside, surveying the clutter. At the foot of the bed lay a picture that made his stomach churn.

“For your 50th birthday. A human for my precious little girl. My princess.”

The words echoed in his mind, and he felt sick. The realization hit him hard; he was a gift. The date on the note was 200006, and there was another picture of him, younger, standing beside her.

He felt a pit in his stomach as he realized he looked sad, while she beamed with joy.

“What the hell is happening?” he murmured, feeling the weight of the world crashing down on him.

He rummaged through the remnants of her life, spotting a scrapbook half-open on the bed. Photos of him and her filled the pages, their lives intertwined in a way he couldn’t comprehend. In some pictures, they looked happy, but in others, her smile faded into something more serious.

He turned the pages, feeling a growing sense of connection and despair. The happy girl he had seen transformed into a sickly shadow of her former self. Medical notes piled up next to her photo, detailing her decline.

At the end of the scrapbook was just him, holding her as she cried. The note next to it sent shivers down his spine: “My love. My toy. My human forever mine.”

“What…what does this even mean?” he asked, feeling trapped between anger and sorrow. It felt wrong, like he was being reduced to an object.

He touched the last photo gently, a haunting impression lingering in his mind. At the base of the bed, he spotted something glimmering—a red crystal amulet. He poked it with his finger, and a jolt of pain shot through his neck where the fading bite mark was.

“What the—?”

As he pulled his hand away, the amulet began to glow faintly. The pain subsided instantly, and he looked in the mirror. The bite mark was gone.

“I’m free?” he whispered, but why? did he feel so hollow.

Chapter Text

DONT READ THE ALTERNATE ROUTES AND DELETED CHAPTERS, there being reworked.

index this is for character reference.

will update this as the story goes.

Chapter Text

He had gone to bed with a heavy heart. A sickly feeling settled deep in his chest, weighing him down as if the emotions of a thousand painful moments were rushing back at once—emotions he couldn’t place, ones he had no idea he’d ever experienced. He muttered to himself, I just got to this world and already so much is being dumped on me. Why do I feel these things?

It was as if the evidence of his existence here extended beyond what his memory could recall. A troubling thought took root in his mind. Amnesia? No, that was too cliche, too convenient of an explanation. Then what?

Perhaps something deeper was at play. He wondered if his consciousness had simply swapped places with another—if there had been someone, or something else, living in this body before him. His mind wrestled with a chilling possibility: What if I only gained free will when the master of this house, that giant animal monster, decided to let me have it? His chest tightened at the thought. Had this body been living on animal instinct the entire time? The idea sent a cold shiver down his spine.

The notion of being trapped in such a hollow existence made him feel sick. A body, once soulless, only living to obey commands without ever questioning them. No autonomy. No rebellion. Just a dog, too happy to serve.

He gazed at the photos he'd taken from the bedroom earlier, turning them over in his hands. The eyes in the images—they weren't his eyes, but they felt familiar. Anger, bitterness, sadness, all buried beneath a mask. That same hollow, plastic smile stretched across a face like a designer mannequin. He shut his eyes hard, trying to block out the vision. I don't want to be here. I want to go home.

He clutched his blanket tighter and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Late in the night, the distant sound of music echoed through the halls. It was grand, regal even. The melody carried an air of prestige and unfathomable luxury. The strings hummed with an almost ethereal grace, each note perfectly crafted, as if the music itself was a living testament to the power and wealth of those who played it.

But beneath that elegant melody, there was something unsettling. An underlying dread crept in with every drumbeat, as if the rhythm mocked the defeated. Victory, but not a joyous one. A sinister celebration of conquest.

He opened his eyes, blinking in the darkness of his room, feeling disoriented. And then, he heard it. Muffled crying, faint at first, but growing louder and louder. It was coming from the room next to his. His heart pounded in his chest as the cries intensified, turning into wailing. It was a sound unlike any other—pure, unfiltered agony. The suffering in those cries was palpable, as if the person behind them was enduring unimaginable pain.

Each breath they took seemed to be a struggle, each wail an expression of torment beyond words. He pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out the sound, but it seeped through, invading his mind, his very soul. It was inescapable. And the music? It played on, unbothered by the suffering it accompanied.

He threw off his blanket and stumbled out of bed, the cold of the floor biting into his feet. The door next to his—the one that had been locked before—was now ajar. The crying, the rumbling, the muffled voices, all came from inside. He pressed his hand against the door. It was unnaturally cold.

His breath hitched as he reached for the knob, bracing himself for whatever was on the other side. Slowly, he pushed it open.

Nothing. The room was completely empty. Cold, barren, with a faint smell of rotting wood and moths hanging in the air. He blinked, confused. The sounds had been so real, so visceral, and yet... there was nothing here.

He closed the door behind him and turned back toward the hallway. The sound of crying was still there, but it had moved. Further down the hall, toward the ballroom. He followed it, drawn by a mixture of fear and curiosity. He had to know what was happening in this house.

The grand doors of the ballroom stood before him, their edges glowing faintly with the light from within. He could hear the chatter, the laughter, the clinking of glasses. It was as if the ballroom was alive with people—a party in full swing.

He hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. The smell of food, alcohol, and flowers wafted from beneath the doors. The scent was intoxicating, laced with the aroma of something ancient, something timeless. He reached out, touching one of the flowers in a vase beside the door. It withered at his touch, crumbling into dust.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

The sight before him was not what he had expected. The once grand and majestic ballroom was in ruins. Tables overturned, chairs broken, decorations shattered on the floor. The lavishness of the space was tainted by the destruction that had befallen it. But in the center of the room, there was something that caught his eye.

A mask. A simple party mask, lying on the ground, its eyes and mouth glowing faintly, as if reflecting some distant light. He approached it slowly, each step weighed down by a growing sense of dread. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, to leave, but he couldn’t. He was too far down this path to stop now.

He crouched down, carefully picking up the mask. It felt wrong, like a vortex of negative energy swirling around it, but against his better judgment, he flipped it over, gazing into its hollow eyes.

And there it was. A party. He could see it reflected in the mask’s eyes—a grand ball, filled with elegant, beautiful animals. The same music, now louder, clearer, filled the space around him. The chatter, the laughter, the dancing—it was all there, alive in the reflection.

This can’t be real, he thought. But he couldn’t help himself. He lifted the mask to his face.

The ballroom came to life. He was no longer in the ruins of the once-great hall; he was in the middle of a grand celebration. The music swelled around him, strings and drums, filling the air with a rich, haunting melody. The grandeur of it all was overwhelming. Everything was pristine, polished to perfection. The floor gleamed under the chandeliers, which sparkled with an otherworldly light.

The guests... they were something else entirely. Animals, some he recognized and others he didn’t, filled the room. Each one was impossibly beautiful, their fur coats, feathers, and scales shimmering under the light. Their bodies, graceful and powerful, moved with a nobility that seemed almost unnatural. They were perfect—too perfect. Their beauty was almost predatory, their elegance masking a primal, dangerous aura.

He couldn’t look away. It was as if he had been thrust into a world beyond his own, where the rules of nature had been rewritten. These creatures weren’t just animals; they were something more, something ancient and powerful, like apex predators who had evolved beyond their primal instincts but still carried the raw, untamed energy of the wild within them.

And then, at the center of it all, he saw her.

The Smilodon girl. She stood at the heart of the celebration, dressed in a beautiful gown that flowed like water around her. Her fur was soft, patchy in places, as if someone had painted her with delicate, deliberate strokes. Her mane, long and adorned with gold and flowers, crowned her head like a queen.

It was her birthday—a grand celebration for her fiftieth, though she looked no older than a teenager. Do animals age differently here? he wondered. Had they found a way to extend their lives, like humans had in their world?

She turned to look at him, her eyes locking with his. He froze. Time seemed to slow down as she stepped toward him, the crowd parting to let her through. He saw the master of the house, her father, standing nearby, watching with a cold, approving smile.

"He's all yours now, daughter," the master said, his voice booming through the ballroom. "Your very own human. You may claim him."

She approached him slowly, her smile widening, revealing her sharp, deadly teeth. His heart pounded in his chest. Fear, dread, horror—they all washed over him in waves. He wanted to run, to scream, but his body refused to move.

She leaned in close, her breath warm against his neck. And then, gently, she bit him. It wasn’t hard, not enough to draw blood, but it was enough to leave a mark. A burning sensation spread from the bite, searing into his skin like a brand.

The master smiled, clapping his hands together. "Congratulations. He’s marked. He’s yours now, until the day you die."

The Smilodon girl beamed with glee, but he felt nothing but despair. Tears welled up in his eyes as the reality of his situation sank in. His life, his humanity—it had been stripped away from him in an instant. He was no longer his own person. He was a possession, a toy, a pet.

And there was no escape.

and then.  He woke up. and the nightmare was over. at least...  For the old me, it was. 

Chapter Text

NOTE, the story is being written, beyond this point are alot of parts that will be rewritten.

use this for the future when you dont understand how the world has changed from ours.

basically this section catalogues the many shifts in history animals took.

will update this as the story goes.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting muted shadows in the room. Anon stirred in bed, feeling worse than before. A heavy weight pressed down on his chest, and the exhaustion from the previous night clung to him like a damp blanket. He rubbed his eyes, willing himself to wake up properly. Maybe breakfast would help.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cold floor beneath his feet. The house was quiet, almost too quiet. As he made his way to the kitchen, the silence felt more oppressive than comforting. He opened the pantry, but to his dismay, it was empty. No cereal, no bread—nothing. Just a few cobwebs and dust bunnies.

"Great," he muttered, closing the door with a sigh. He thought about ordering food, but his first priority was finding a phone book. He rummaged through drawers in search of a flyer or anything that might contain contact information. As he opened each drawer, hope faded. They were either empty or filled with junk he couldn't decipher.

After a frustrating search, he gave up and resigned himself to going outside. The world beyond these walls was unfamiliar and intimidating, but he needed to eat. The only problem was he had no idea where the money was stored.

His gaze landed on a desk with a lock. A rolling pin caught his eye on the kitchen counter, and he grabbed it. "Time for some DIY," he said, more to reassure himself than anything. He swung the pin against the lock, and with a few more determined hits, it gave way with a satisfying click.

Inside the drawer, he found a collection of antique coins—gold and silver, glinting even in the dim light. Anon hesitated, wondering if they were from some priceless collection, but hunger outweighed his concern. He pocketed a few of each, mentally promising himself he'd worry about the implications later.

With his makeshift currency in hand, he stepped into the main hall, a sense of purpose guiding him forward. Just as he reached the door, he heard a heavy knock.

"Who could that be?" he wondered aloud.

He approached cautiously, but the peephole was too high for him to use effectively. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

Two imposing figures loomed in the doorway. A dire wolf and a short-faced bear entered without waiting for an invitation, their presence filling the space. They began wandering down the hallway, voices dripping with condescension.

"Wow, not bad," the wolf said, scanning the room with a critical eye. "Ugh, so dusty. Didn't they have their slaves clean this place?"

"Seriously," the bear added, scrunching his nose. "When they sell this, I'm definitely changing the decor. Ugh, Smilers always loved their gothic aesthetic. So tacky."

Anon blinked in disbelief. "Uh, what are you doing in my house?"

They exchanged glances before turning back to him.

"Your house?" the bear asked, incredulous.

"Ohh, he must mean he's handling the sale," the wolf said, a smirk creeping onto his face.

"No," Anon insisted, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "This is my home."

The dire wolf leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as a smirk spread across his face. "And I'm the King of the Forest."

Anon's heart pounded in his chest. He knew how ridiculous it must have sounded to them, but this was his home—at least, that's what he believed. "I'm serious. This is my house. I inherited it."

The wolf raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bear. The bear's expression softened, but it wasn't pity—it was more like amusement, the kind you'd give a small child telling a tall tale.

"Well, this is a bit awkward," the bear chuckled, shaking his head. "You think this is your house, huh?"

Anon swallowed, feeling a knot form in his throat. "I know it is."

The wolf sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, kid, you might think this place belongs to you, but you're... what? A human? This kind of thing isn't meant for you."

"Not at all," the bear agreed, walking a slow circle around Anon, sizing him up. "Humans aren't meant to live alone like this. It's not good for you. You need someone to take care of you, keep you company." His eyes glinted as he spoke, but the warmth didn't reach his tone. "Otherwise, you'll end up going a little... stir-crazy."

"Not that we'd want that to happen to you," the wolf added, his voice suddenly dripping with false sympathy. "A fine young pet like yourself should have a proper home. Somewhere you'll be appreciated."

"Exactly," the bear nodded. "You know, my daughter's been begging for a human pet. She keeps saying how lonely she is, and that she wants someone to take care of, teach things to, you know? A pet that can talk back and all that."

The wolf's eyes gleamed, and he leaned in a bit closer to Anon, towering over him. "Funny thing—my daughter's been saying the same. Always talking about how much she wants a human of her own. She's been pestering me for ages now, and well, who am I to deny her that?"

Anon took a step back, his mind racing. "I'm not... I'm not a pet. I'm a person."

The bear let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh, come on now. You're not fooling anyone. You're human. A pet is what you're meant to be. That's how it's always been."

"And you'll be happy," the wolf added smoothly. "My family we took good care of our pets—oh, sorry, companions, if that makes you feel better. My daughter would love you. She's always wanting to play games, go out to movies, attend awesome parties, You'd never be bored."

"You'd have a purpose," the bear chimed in. "It's better than staying here, alone in this dusty, empty place."

Anon shook his head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to creep into his mind. "No. I'm not some... toy for your kids. I can take care of myself."

The wolf clicked his tongue, a grin spreading wider across his face. "You really think that? How long do you think you'll last out there on your own? You've got no food, no money, and—let's be honest—no idea how to survive in a world like this."

"And this house?" The bear gestured to the grand yet decaying structure around them. "Do you really think you can manage this? The upkeep, the bills? You're not even supposed to be here alone. It's not natural."

Anon's fists clenched at his sides. "I don't care. This is my house. I'll figure it out."

The wolf sighed dramatically, giving his friend a knowing look. "He's a stubborn one, isn't he?"

"They always are," the bear muttered, though his smile remained. "But sooner or later, you'll see we're right. It's not about control—it's about giving you a better life."

The wolf nodded, looking down at Anon with a patronizing smile. "A better life with a family that will take care of you. You'll be adored. My daughter—she's always wanted someone to hold and care for. She'll make sure you're happy. Same with his kid."

Anon's pulse raced as the words sunk in. They were talking about him like he was some pet for their daughters, something to be bought, taken home, and trained. And for a brief second, doubt crept into his mind—could he really maintain this house? Could he survive alone in this world, where humans were treated like pets?

But he pushed that thought away. "I don't care what your daughters want. This is my life. This is my house. And I'm not going to be anyone's pet."

The bear sighed, shaking his head like he was disappointed but not surprised. "You're making this harder than it needs to be."

The wolf's grin faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "Think about it. We're offering you a way out. You don't want to end up alone here, slowly going mad. Humans need someone to take care of them, and we're offering you a chance at something better."

Anon met their eyes, standing his ground. "I'll take my chances."

The wolf glanced at the bear, then shrugged. "Your call, kid. But when you change your mind—and you will—just remember, our doors are always open. For you and for our daughters."

They exchanged a glance, the silent conversation between them dripping with smugness. It was like they had already decided his fate for him, and that infuriated Anon more than anything.

"Well," the bear said with a stretch, his massive frame shifting as if he was getting ready to leave, "we'll be seeing you soon. When you've had enough of playing master of the house and you're ready to join a real family."

The dire wolf shot him a final, knowing smirk. "Think it over. You'd make a great plaything for our girls. They'd love having someone like you to take care of their... urges."he winked.

Anon clenched his fists, trying to suppress the rising anger and fear. He watched them turn and walk out of the house, their footsteps echoing down the hall like a drumbeat. When the door finally closed behind them, the silence returned, heavier than before.

The weight of their words hung in the air, their suggestion worming its way into his mind despite his resistance. Could he really maintain this place? Could he survive here, alone?

Anon shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. No. He wasn't going to let them win. He wasn't going to be their pet, no matter how bleak things looked.

But as he stood there, staring at the closed door, the doubt crept back inside.

( go to chapter 7 its at the bottom ignore the other ones they where older versions )

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Anthro streamer Bella skipped merrily through the forest, her furry tail swishing behind her. In a tight, revealing outfit, she smiled at the camera. "Hey, everyone! It's your girl Bella here. If you're new, hit that subscribe button and click the bell for more wild adventures! Don't forget to like and share!"

She giggled, flashing her fangs in a playful grin. "I'm out here in search of some feral action! Who wants to see me get a little... untamed?" She winked salaciously.

Chat blew up:

FeralFantasy: "Yassss, give us that wild content!"

CharmingChaos: "Can't wait to see you lose control, Bella!"

As she ventured deeper into the woods, Bella's voice took on a breathy whisper. "I think I hear something... Ooh, it's getting my heart racing! Let's check it out!"

She crept towards a bush, camera in hand, then suddenly screamed as a hulking feral human lunged out and grabbed her! "AAAHHH! HELP ME!" Bella shrieked, struggling as he pinned her down.

WildDesire: "OMG YES, GET HER!"

SavageSinner: "Rip those clothes off, brute!"

The feral human grinned, exposing sharp teeth, and tore at Bella's outfit, shredding it to expose her furry body. "No, stop! Someone help me!" she cried, but the chat just cheered him on.

He forced her onto her knees and shoved his thick, throbbing cock in her mouth. "Mmmphh! Gkkk!" Bella gagged and choked as he fucked her throat, drool running down her chin.

GagReflex: "Deepthroat that beast, slut!"

ChokingCumslut: "I love seeing her struggle!"

He grabbed her head and slammed in deep, holding her nose as she thrashed and tried to pull away. Tears streamed down her face as he used her mouth like a fleshlight.

With a grunt, he pulled out and flipped her over. "Noooo, not my pussy!" Bella wailed as he mounted her from behind and rammed his huge dick into her tight, dripping cunt.

PussyPounder: "Destroy that furry snatch!"

CuntCrusher: "Ruin her!"

He jackhammered into her, furry ass bouncing and jiggling with each brutal thrust. Bella screamed into the leaves, eyes rolling back as he pounded her relentlessly.

"Fuck! You're so tight!" the feral human growled, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. Bella could only moan and whimper pathetically, pussy clenching around the invading cock.

He flipped her onto her back and spread her legs, plunging back in. "Oh gods, yes! Harder!" the chat screamed as he fucked her into the dirt, tits bouncing wildly.

"I'm cumming!" Bella suddenly gasped, back arching as her pussy spasmed and squirted around him, gushing fluid everywhere. "Fuck!"

The feral human didn't stop, ramming into her through her orgasm and beyond. "Wait, not there!" Bella shrieked as he pulled out and pressed the tip of his cock against her virgin asshole.

AnalAnnihilator: "Wreck that ass!"

ShitSlinger: "Ass rape time!"

He pushed in, stretching her impossibly tight as he conquered her final hole. "NOOOOO! IT HURTS!" Bella wailed, hands scrabbling at the ground as he hilted himself in her ass.

The chat went wild as he started sodomizing her, balls slapping her ass with each thrust. "Fuck fuck fuck!" Bella babbled, eyes bulging as he destroyed her asshole.

He wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed, choking her as he raped her ass. "I can't breathe!" she gurgled, vision going dark. With a roar, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted, pumping load after load of hot cum deep in her bowels.

Bella's eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out as she came from the pain and fullness, pussy squirting again. The feral human pulled out, a river of cum pouring from her gaping, twitching asshole.

He grabbed a rock and smashed it into her skull, brains splattering, finishing her off. The camera lingered on her broken, cum-leaking corpse as the stream ended.

Views: 1 Million | Likes: 750K | Comments: 500K

Chapter Text

Anon’s eyes were locked on the screen, mouth agape in disbelief. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but after a moment of shock, he closed his eyes and hit the power button. The computer screen went black, plunging his room into silence.

"Okay, yikes. That was enough internet for today," he muttered to himself, rubbing his temples.

He sat back in his chair, overwhelmed. It felt like he’d stumbled onto a corner of the internet that was a strange parallel to what he remembered from back in the day, when the web was wild, untamed, and full of shock content. The furry world’s online spaces, in particular, seemed eerily similar to the early internet—a digital Wild West of unfiltered, grotesque material.

"Wait… why did I say early internet?" He stared at the screen for a moment. "I’m from 2010. That wasn’t that long ago."

He shook his head, confused. A strange sense of disconnection was creeping in. Late internet was when all that wild content got scrubbed away, when things started getting more sanitized. But why did he know that? His eyes drifted to the calendar on his desk, and his stomach flipped. The year read 200010.

“Wait… that can’t be right.” He frowned. He was from 2010, wasn’t he? Or was he from even further along than that? His mind swirled as he remembered hearing all this old lingo on the site—catchy words like swag and weirdly nostalgic phrases. But mixed in were other words that, for some reason, made his skin crawl. Ohio. The name echoed in his mind, bringing an irrational surge of cringe that made him shudder.

"Just a state… but why does it bug me so much?" He stood up abruptly, trying to shake off the mental dissonance. He needed fresh air. Maybe that would help clear his mind.

The day was already half over. He sighed, realizing he’d completely lost track of time, distracted by the bizarre and unsettling websites he’d stumbled upon. The meeting earlier had filled his head with strange ideas, and in his haze, he’d forgotten that he still needed to eat. His stomach growled in agreement.

"I was supposed to get pizza," he muttered. "No one else is gonna get it for me."

He wished he could just order food, but in this world, he hadn’t quite figured that out yet. He didn’t have the right connections or numbers for delivery, and the thought of relying on someone else felt too risky. Grabbing a spare ledger, he carefully stashed the one he’d written his thoughts in under his bed.

"I think it’s best people don’t find out I’m… at least consciously an alien. Although, for how long that will remain true, I don’t know. My mind might start slipping away sooner than I expect."

He pocketed some cash and grabbed a kitchen knife, just in case. Anon wrapped it in a napkin, fashioning a makeshift sheath, tucking it away in his backpack. Couldn't have people seeing him walking around armed—it’d definitely give off the wrong idea.

With a final glance at the room, he stepped outside, heading for the nearest town he could see in the distance. The countryside stretched out before him, vast and empty, but something about it felt eerily quiet. He walked along the side of the road, keeping close to the forest treeline. Every so often, he’d duck behind a bush or dart deeper into the shadows if he saw anyone nearby. The last thing he needed was a confrontation.

The sound of chatter drew his attention. He quickly slid into the cover of some nearby bushes, crouching low as two girls approached. They were walking home from school, their voices casual and light. One was a woolly rhino, the other an ice age camel, both dressed in fancy clothes, their backpacks slung over their shoulders. The rhino girl was laughing, talking about how school had ended early today.

"Did you hear about the fight?" she asked, swinging her bag with a grin. "Class was such a mess. Can’t believe they had to cancel after that."

The camel girl nodded, her voice quieter, more thoughtful. "Yeah, it was pretty intense. I didn’t even know they let things get that bad before breaking it up." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes scanned the treeline. She caught a glimpse of movement—just a shadow, darting between the trees.

She stopped for a moment, her heart skipping a beat.

"What’s wrong?" her friend asked, turning back to her.

"Nothing," she said quickly, shaking her head. "Thought I saw something, but it’s probably just a deer or something."

Still, her pace quickened, and she glanced over her shoulder one more time as they hurried along the road, the shadow in the trees slipping deeper into the forest behind them.

Chapter Text

Anon let out a sigh of relief, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as the two schoolgirls disappeared around the corner. "Phew, almost saw me," he muttered, crouched in the bushes. It felt oddly good—running around, hiding, sneaking. He wasn’t sure why, but something about it sparked an odd thrill. Maybe it was just the physical activity or the tension of not being seen.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t it.

There was something clawing at the back of his mind, an instinct he didn’t want to acknowledge, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It was that same feeling he’d had watching that video, the one with the human sneaking up on that girl, moving with deliberate, predatory grace. And then…

Anon shook his head violently. "No, no, no, no. Bad thoughts." This place was messing with his head. He couldn’t let himself go crazy here. He needed to keep his cool, stay calm. These animals—whatever they were—had an overwhelming advantage in strength and numbers. That little fantasy of overpowering them, like in the video, was just that: a fantasy. If he did something stupid, they’d hunt him down in seconds. He had to blend in, play along, at least until he figured out his next move.

He still had a blank slate—no major offenses or good deeds—but the impulses rising inside him felt like they threatened to undo him at any moment. Where was this side of him coming from? He didn’t remember feeling like this back in his world. Was it the place? Or was it something deeper? He chuckled nervously, swallowing hard. Maybe it’s this body. Yeah, that’s what he liked to tell himself, anyway.

As he wandered into the outskirts of town, his eyes widened at the sheer size of everything. The buildings were massive, but not as grand as the manor he’d come from. The inhabitants were just as varied—some smaller, modern-day animals mixed in with much larger Ice Age creatures. The hoofed animals and carnivores still towered over him, but there were plenty of smaller ones too—squirrels, hamsters, bunny girls.

Man, they were really hot. He quickly averted his eyes. No, no distractions. He couldn’t trust his mind right now. These thoughts weren’t his own—or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. His brain was playing tricks on him, trying to convince him to do something incredibly stupid. Focus on the task. He needed food, plain and simple.

Restaurants lined the streets, but they were all crowded. He needed to find a quieter, more deserted part of town. The fewer people around, the better. These animals made his skin crawl, not because they weren’t attractive—they definitely were—but because something about them felt… off. Uncanny, even. They weren’t human, and he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that crawled up his spine every time he looked at one too closely. Was he the weird one? He wasn’t sure anymore.

Anon’s eyes scanned the area, searching for a place without too much foot traffic. As he passed street signs, he noticed one had been crossed out and scrawled over in graffiti: Red Light District.

Oh? He arched a brow, curious. Maybe there was food down here. Places like this always had pawn shops and shadier businesses. He needed somewhere that might take the old coins he had on him. Normal restaurants didn’t seem to accept them, and he doubted anyone on the main streets would either. But bringing something so valuable to a place like this? Probably not his brightest idea, but it was all he had.

He walked deeper into the alley, the neon lights overhead flickering dimly, casting the street in sporadic flashes of light. He timed his steps, moving with the rhythm of the lights, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows. A few cars and people passed by, but they didn’t notice him, too wrapped up in their own shady business.

Finally, he spotted a pawnshop tucked between a dive bar and what looked like a massage parlor. The neon sign buzzed overhead, casting a sickly green glow over the cracked sidewalk.

"Okay, pawnshop first, then I’ll sell the coins. Hopefully, I won’t get scammed… or mugged." He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the backpack strap. With one last glance over his shoulder, he headed toward the shop, hoping he could get through this without things going sideways.

But in the back of his mind, that same nagging feeling—the urge to stalk, to hunt—remained, growing stronger with every step into darkness.

Chapter Text

Anon stepped into the pawnshop, immediately greeted by a musty, stale air that clung to his nostrils. The stench of old curtains and decaying furniture filled the room, and with every breath, the dust swirling in the dim light hit the back of his throat, causing him to cough. "Ew, this place is ancient," he muttered under his breath, trying to shake off the thick layer of grime that seemed to settle over everything.

The shop was crammed full of antiques, odd knick-knacks, and novelty items. Armor sets lined the walls, along with a variety of tribal masks and ancient weapons. But most importantly, the display cases were packed with jewelry and—bingo!—antique coins. Perfect. His eyes gleamed, already calculating what he could get for his own coin.

Anon approached the counter, glancing at the strange creature behind it. It was an armored rat of sorts, its spiked tail curled up against its back as it sat perfectly still, eyes closed. Was it… asleep? He cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "Uhhh, hello?"

The creature’s eyes flickered open, lazily focusing on him. "What? What’s a monkey doing here?" It sneered, leaning forward slightly. "Oh, you probably want to get something for your master, right? Well, I’ve got plenty of cool stuff that might interest you."

Anon scowled, narrowing his eyes. "No, not for my master. It’s for me." He stopped mid-sentence, thinking quickly. Don’t let on that you’ve got more than one of these coins. "I’m here to sell… a coin. It’s a pretty old and valuable one. Rare, even."

He held up the coin, trying his best to sound confident despite knowing absolutely nothing about its actual history or worth. It looked cool, right? It was old, looked valuable, and was probably important if someone rich had it. That had to count for something.

The rat-like creature took the coin, squinting at it. "Hmm, a House Smiler coin," it said, running its clawed fingers over the surface. "And your face… Are you from there? Was this your last payment before the master of the house let everyone go?" The creature grinned, a mocking glint in its eyes. "I pity you. Out of a job, huh?"

Anon clenched his fists but kept his cool, waiting for the creature to continue.

"Well, don’t worry. These coins fetch a good price. But I can’t give you the full value. I have to make a profit, after all," the rat said, smirking. "The market’s inflated with these things right now. But they’re still valuable to collectors, especially once the supply dwindles. Still, I don’t have enough change to pay you all at once. Would you prefer to be paid in installments?"

Anon considered the offer, glad at least that he was getting some cash out of this. The rat’s comments confirmed what he suspected—all the old staff had been let go. The estate was probably falling apart without them, but he didn’t really trust these animals to be around him while he slept. They could easily steal something, he thought grimly. Maybe it was for the best that everyone had left.

He glanced around the shop again, eyeing some of the cooler items on display. "Hmm, could I be paid now and then use the rest of the money for a trade?" he asked, his gaze lingering on a particularly ornate knife behind the counter.

The rat’s eyes gleamed with interest. "That would be acceptable. This stuff is just collecting dust nowadays. The newly rich have no taste for antiques. They’re too obsessed with modern junk. Shallow idiots."

Anon nodded, although he didn’t fully understand why. Wow, am I already starting to sound like a noble? He mentally cringed at how easily he’d slipped into this mindset, but it felt good, like he was meant to be there, on top, like a human should be.

Chapter Text

Anon walked alongside the clerk, eyes scanning the antique firearms that lined the walls and counters. Revolvers, shotguns, and hunting rifles — all displayed with the kind of elegance and craftsmanship that screamed expense. Each gun was meticulously engraved, the kind of detail that would cost a fortune back in his world. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to carry guns around; if he got caught with them, he could be in serious trouble. But in a place where giant animals could rip him apart with their bare hands, playing by the rules wasn’t an option. Fighting fair wasn’t going to save him.

He paused, closing his eyes for a moment, thinking. What would cause the most damage in one quick, decisive moment? His heart raced, adrenaline pumping as he scanned the choices. He couldn’t resist the allure of these weapons, their cold metal glinting under the dim lights. I’ll take four, he decided. I have to.

"One large-caliber revolver. A double-barrel shotgun, short. A hunting rifle with a harmonica magazine. And…" His gaze landed on a small but deadly pepperbox pistol with eight shots. Perfect for close encounters.

The store owner’s eyes widened at the list, surprise and perhaps a little nervousness flickering across his face. "Sir, that’s… quite a bit. I’m not sure just this coin will cover it."

Anon smirked, placing another coin on the counter, watching the clerk’s eyes dart to it, his mouth falling open in shock. Anon leaned in slightly, a smug expression playing on his lips. "I’m not done shopping. I’ll need ammo for all of these. And, if you’ve got any… special rounds, I’ll take those too."

The clerk hesitated for a moment, clearly understanding the request. He looked over his shoulder, then leaned in conspiratorially. "I do have some… but they’re not exactly standard. You sure you want to take that risk? They’re not exactly… legal." He trailed off, clearly implying the risk to his shop and himself.

Anon rolled his eyes. As if I care about your laws. The laws of this world meant nothing to him; they only existed to keep him in chains, to keep him enslaved. He didn’t respect them, not one bit. "So?" he replied, staring the clerk down with a look that said don’t waste my time.

The clerk frowned but then nodded, realizing it wasn’t worth arguing. "You’ll need collateral for putting the shop at that kind of risk," he added cautiously.

Anon sighed, placing yet another coin on the counter. The clerk’s demeanor shifted, a smile creeping across his face. "Right this way, sir," he said, leading Anon to a hidden compartment in the back of the shop.

With a click, the clerk opened a panel, revealing a stash of shiny, non-standard ammunition. Anon’s eyes widened. The rifle rounds gleamed under the light, alongside shotgun shells, pistol rounds, and all sorts of custom-made bullets. He scanned the variety—slugs, buckshot, flechette rounds, and then his eyes caught something… different.

"Is that…?" he asked, pointing to a red shotgun shell marked with a dragon’s head.

The clerk smiled. "Dragonsbreath," he said with a knowing grin.

Anon’s lips curled into a grin of his own. "I’ll take those," he said, already imagining the destruction they could cause.

He moved over to the rifle ammo, inspecting it more carefully. The standard full metal jacket rounds were there, but something unusual caught his attention. "What’s this?" he asked, holding up a bullet with a gleaming silver casing.

"Silver bullets," the clerk replied. "Not common, but they’ve been in high demand lately. Apparently, they’re useful against… monsters."

Anon raised an eyebrow. "Monsters? You mean, like ghosts or something?"

The clerk shrugged. "Who knows? Normal rounds work fine on most things, but every now and then, something strange comes through town. Better to have them and not need them, right?"

Anon mulled it over. I’ve seen enough weird stuff at the manor to know better than to dismiss the supernatural. He nodded. "I’ll take a few. Just in case."

The clerk smirked. "You a spiritual type?"

Anon shook his head. "No. But I’ve seen things… things I wish I hadn’t."

The pistol ammo was next—he picked up more regular rounds for both the revolver and the pepperbox. He could feel the weight of the situation sinking in. This wasn’t just a shopping spree. This was survival. Every weapon, every bullet had a purpose, and in this world, where giants roamed and predators lurked, he needed every edge he could get.

Satisfied with his haul, Anon stood tall. "That should do it".

As Anon was about to leave, something else caught his eye—a large ornamental shield hanging on the far wall. It had a gold plate at the top, literally fashioned from a solid piece of gold, with various chimes and coins hanging down. The craftsmanship was striking, a blend of luxury and rustic charm. He pointed at it, intrigued.

The store owner followed his gaze and shrugged. "Oh, that old thing? Yeah, it’s authentic, came from somewhere far off. You like it? It’s pretty expensive, though. Couldn’t get anyone to buy it ‘cause it’s so heavy. It might stop a few rifle-caliber rounds, but only a few. Low-caliber stuff, sure. But anything more recent?" He shook his head. "Not so much."

Anon sized it up. It looks like it could handle a rifle shot, maybe stop a charge from some horned animal or deflect slashes from claws. Even bites, if I’m quick enough. The tribal aesthetic gave off a powerful impression, one that fit the idea of what people expected from humans in this world—primitive, yet resilient. It wasn’t exactly practical, but in a world where perception could mean survival, doubling down on the image might be worth it.

"I’ll take it too," Anon said, though he could already feel his funds running thin.

The clerk shook his head with a grin. "It’s gonna cost you. You’ll have to cough up more if you want that shield."

Anon sighed, frustrated. He reached into his pocket and felt the remaining coins. Three left. He handed over two, his fingers lingering over the last one. Should’ve brought more, he thought. But at least I’ll have enough left for pizza or something.

The clerk smiled as he pocketed the coins. "Alright, that’ll do." Then he leaned forward, his eyes lighting up with a final pitch. "Hey, while we’re at it, do you need an attachment for your rifle? I’ve got a bayonet and a magnified scope I can throw in at half price. Complete the package, you know?"

Anon hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. Might as well go all in. "That’ll be fine," he said.

The store clerk beamed, finalizing the deal as Anon mentally counted what little he had left. This better be worth it. But now, at least, he had enough firepower—and protection—to face whatever animal stupid enough to mess with him.

Chapter Text

Seated at the bar, a pair of businessmen in crisp suits leaned in close, whispering about recent deals. Their eyes darted nervously to the door with every new arrival, the noise of the bustling bar failing to mask their unease. One of them laughed, a bit too loud and hollow, clearly trying to cover the tension building inside him. It didn’t work. The laughter just attracted more glances.

A nearby table, cluttered with empty mugs and greasy plates, held a group of miners, their faces etched with lines of exhaustion and smeared with dirt. They shared a round of drinks, but the mood was off, their jokes forced. Every few minutes, one of them would pause mid-sentence, scanning the room like he expected trouble to walk through the door at any second. Their conversation eventually dropped to whispers when a stranger came too close, voices fading into nervous murmurs as they recalled the recent attacks in the area.

At the back of the bar, weaving her way through the maze of tables, was a waitress—a petite doe with tired, drooping eyes. She balanced a tray filled with drinks, but her attention kept drifting toward the corner booth. There, an antelope girl sat slouched, her uniform crumpled, nursing a bloody bite on her arm. The sight of the wound still made her flinch.

In the cozy booth, the trio of schoolgirls huddled together, uniforms rumpled and hair in disarray. It had been a long, rough day.

“Ugh, today totally sucked,” the antelope girl groaned, wincing as she pressed a napkin against the bite mark. “First, I get attacked by some rich girl’s psycho pet, and now I’m stuck in this place with, like, a bunch of freakin’ scary animals.”

The zebra girl sitting beside her rolled her eyes and leaned back into the booth. “C’mon, it’s not that bad,” she said, trying to lighten the mood but failing miserably. “Humans are weak, right? Like, they can’t even take care of themselves without, like, a leash or whatever.”

The antelope shot her a look, annoyance simmering just beneath her words. “Yeah, well, tell that to my arm.” She glanced down at the bandage, blood soaking through the fabric. “It wasn’t just some regular human. It was one of those guard pet ones, you know? They’re seriously freakin’ terrifying.”

The gazelle, seated across from them, leaned in closer, her wide eyes darting around the bar.“I heard about them,” she whispered, her voice barely above a squeak. “They’re, like, super aggressive. Remember that news story about the human who mauled those kids at the park? It was all over the place for, like, weeks!”

“Yeah, exactly!” the antelope snapped. “And now there’s this one loose around here, probably rabid or something, and I’m sitting here bleeding out like a freakin’ moron.”

“You’re not bleeding out,” the zebra said, giving a half-smile, trying to sound casual even though her hands were fidgeting with her phone. “You’re, like, fine. It’s just a scratch. Plus, you know those humans—they’re practically, like, brainless. You probably just startled it.”

“I didn’t startle it!” the antelope hissed. “It bit me on purpose! It knew exactly what it was doing.”

As they continued their conversation, the heavy door of the bar swung open with a creak, the low hum of the crowd falling to a hush. The girls glanced up instinctively, and what they saw made their stomachs drop.

A human walked in.

Not just any human—this one was tall, muscular, and armed to the teeth. The glint of his guns and knives caught the low, yellow light of the bar, making him seem even more menacing. His eyes swept across the room, and as he did, the usual chatter of the patrons fizzled out. People stopped talking, stopped eating, even stopped breathing for a moment. The air in the bar shifted, thick with unease.

“Is that…?” the antelope girl began, her voice trembling, the pain in her arm suddenly forgotten.

The gazelle’s eyes widened in shock. “Holy crap, look at all those weapons,” she whispered, clutching the edge of the table. “Who the hell does he think he is? He looks like he’s about to freakin’ storm a castle.”

The usual crowd, rough and rowdy as they were, now seemed paralyzed by the human’s entrance. Businessmen exchanged nervous glances, whispering to each other about the rising violence in the streets. A group of construction workers in the back stood up abruptly, as if they’d suddenly remembered somewhere else they needed to be.

One of the miners, still seated but tense, muttered under his breath, “What’s this guy doing here? This is a bar, not a battleground.”

The human strode up to the bar as if he owned the place, completely unfazed by the stares and whispers. His presence was like a thunderstorm rolling in—ominous and electric. Everyone could feel it, but no one dared to speak up. Not yet.

The bartender, a weary-looking wildebeest with dark circles under his eyes, looked startled as the human leaned on the counter. “Uh, welcome,” the bartender stammered. “What can I get you?”

The human didn’t even glance at the menu. “I’ll have a hotdog, a salad, pizza, and mashed potatoes,” he said, his voice low but carrying easily over the silence in the room.

The bartender blinked, clearly confused by the order. “Uh, just to clarify… you want a veggie hotdog?”

The human’s face twisted in disgust. “What? No. I want a real hotdog,” he snapped, leaning in closer to the bar. His eyes flicked around the room again, noticing the way everyone was staring. His lips curled into a smirk. “You know what? Just give me beef.”

A ripple of unease passed through the bar. People started shifting in their seats, exchanging glances. The gazelle leaned closer to her friends, her voice barely a whisper. “Did he just say beef?”

The antelope’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that, like, totally illegal?”

“Yeah, and it’s, like, a huge red flag,” the zebra muttered, glancing nervously around the room. “Why’s he even here? Can’t he tell he’s freaking everybody out?”

The bartender scratched the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of events. “Uh, sorry, sir, but we don’t serve beef here. It’s, uh, a vegetarian restaurant.”

The human’s frown deepened, his patience wearing thin. “You’re kidding, right? What kind of bar doesn’t have real food? Then what do you have?”

As the tension built, one of the miners stood up, muttering to his friends, “I’m not sticking around to find out what this guy’s deal is.” He pushed his chair back with a screech and headed for the door, a few of his buddies following him. The sudden movement broke the spell over the room. A few other patrons shifted in their seats, nervously eyeing the exit.

“Why are they leaving?” the antelope whispered, her voice trembling. She glanced at the door, then at the human, who was now openly glaring at the room like he owned the place.

The gazelle bit her lip, eyes wide with fear. “I heard a rumor once… that some humans are, like, raised on meat. The really dangerous ones. The ones that are, like, used for fighting and stuff.”

“Shut up!” the zebra hissed, looking around wildly. “You’re going to get us killed!”

The antelope felt her pulse quicken, the blood pounding in her ears. The human’s presence was suffocating, like a weight pressing down on the entire bar. She could see it in the way the other patrons were acting—stiff, quiet, barely breathing. Even the businessmen had gone pale, their whispered conversation now completely abandoned.

The human seemed to sense the shift, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room. He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having. “Is there a problem?” he asked, his voice casual but with an edge that made the hair on the back of everyone’s neck stand up.

The schoolgirls huddled closer together, their fear palpable. “I can’t believe he’s just standing there like that,” the gazelle whispered, her voice shaking. “He’s acting like he owns the place.”

“I’m going to die,” the zebra whimpered, tears pooling in her eyes as she stared at the weapons hanging from the human’s belt.

“Shut up!” the antelope snapped, though her own fear was clawing at the edges of her resolve. She clenched her fists under the table, trying to stay calm. “We’ll be fine. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

The human leaned closer to the bar, a predatory glint in his eyes. “So… anything you can actually serve me, or am I wasting my time here?”

The bartender, now visibly sweating, fumbled with the order pad. “We, uh… we’ve got crickets. Grilled or fried.”

The human sneered at the bartender’s response. “Crickets? You’re kidding, right? What is this place, a playground?” He pushed back from the bar, his tone mocking. “I came here for food, not snacks for a freakin’ lizard.”

The bartender gulped, trying to stay professional. His hand trembled slightly as he wiped the counter with a rag. “Sorry, sir. That’s what we’ve got on the menu.”

The human shook his head, visibly annoyed. His fingers drummed against the hilt of the knife hanging from his belt, the movement deliberate, a clear sign of frustration—or intimidation. The tension in the room thickened like a fog, every patron keenly aware of how close the human’s hand was to his weapon.

At the back of the bar, the antelope girl swallowed hard, eyes locked on the human. “This is bad,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the low hum of the bar’s ambient noise. “Like, really bad. What do we do?”

The zebra leaned in, lowering her voice, her hands trembling as she fidgeted with her phone. “Just keep quiet. Don’t look at him. We can’t draw any attention to ourselves.”

The gazelle’s breathing was shallow, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “What if he comes over here? What if he…?”

“Shut up,” the zebra snapped, her voice shaky but firm. “He’s not gonna come over here. He’s just some dumb human. Let’s not freak out.”

But despite her words, all three of them kept glancing nervously at the human, their eyes flicking between him and the door. The room felt smaller now, like the walls were closing in, every sound amplified—the scrape of a chair, the clink of glasses, the soft murmur of patrons trying to carry on with their conversations as if nothing was wrong.

Suddenly, the human turned, his gaze sweeping over the room again. This time, it landed squarely on the booth where the schoolgirls sat. His eyes narrowed, a glint of something dangerous flickering behind them. He took a step forward, then another, his heavy boots thudding against the floor, each step echoing in the now silent bar.

The antelope’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh my God, he’s coming over here,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

The zebra’s eyes widened in panic, but she kept her voice low, urgent. “Don’t make eye contact. Just—just act normal.”

But there was no way to act normal when the human stopped directly in front of their table, looming over them with a menacing smirk on his face. He tilted his head, examining them like they were some kind of curiosity, his fingers still drumming lazily against the hilt of his knife.

“Nice uniforms,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let me guess—schoolgirls from one of those fancy academies? You look a little too young to be in a place like this.”

The antelope forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice shaky but defiant. “What do you want?”

The human chuckled, the sound low and humorless. “I’m just looking for a good meal. But it seems like all I’m finding here is… grass eaters.”

The zebra swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “Maybe you should, like… go somewhere else, then. If you’re not happy with the menu.”

For a moment, the human said nothing, his smirk fading. His eyes, dark and calculating, flicked from one girl to the next, as if weighing his options. Then, without warning, he laughed—a harsh, barking sound that made the girls flinch.

“Some attitude you’ve got,” he said, leaning in closer. “You know, most herbivores would be a lot more polite to someone like me. Must be the academy arrogance talking.”

The antelope’s hand clenched into a fist beneath the table, her arm still throbbing from the earlier bite. She had to resist the urge to lash out, to tell him to back off, but she knew better. Humans like this one thrived on provocation. If they played their cards wrong, this could go from tense to deadly in an instant.

“I don’t care who you are,” the antelope said, keeping her voice low but firm. “Just leave us alone.”

The human’s smirk faded, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. For a long, agonizing moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. The bar seemed to hold its collective breath, every patron waiting to see what would happen next.

But then, to everyone’s relief, he straightened up, his hand finally moving away from the knife at his belt. “Relax, grass eaters. I’m not here to cause trouble.” He flashed them one last, toothy grin before turning on his heel and walking back to the bar.

The girls didn’t dare move until the human had returned to his seat, resuming his argument with the bartender. Even then, they stayed quiet, their hearts still racing, the fear lingering in the air like smoke after a fire.

The zebra was the first to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was… that was way too close.”

The antelope exhaled, her shoulders sagging with relief. “I thought he was going to lose it. He was, like, seconds away from pulling his knife on you.

He was still sitting at the bar, his back to them, but she could feel his eyes on her, watching, waiting.

Chapter Text

As the bear made his way through the bustling school halls, the echoes of laughter and chatter filled the air, a stark contrast to the knot tightening in his stomach. He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag, feeling the weight of his responsibilities. He had received the message just before lunch, a notification that his daughter, Pristin, had been put in detention yet again. The reason? A fight in the cafeteria. The principal’s voice still rang in his ears, the stern tone tinged with a hint of concern.

“Pristin broke another student’s nose today. I think it’s crucial we discuss her behavior,” the principal had said, his glasses sliding down his nose as he peered at the bear over the rim of his desk. The bear had clenched his fists, the disappointment settling like a stone in his gut.

“Again?” he had replied, disbelief mingling with frustration. Pristin was usually so level-headed, but with everything changing around them—other kids getting humans, rumors flying like wildfire—it seemed as though the weight of expectation bore down heavily on her.

He turned a corner, catching a glimpse of the cafeteria through the large glass windows. The lunch period was still underway, the noise spilling out like a tide of chaos. He remembered the snippets of conversation he’d heard over the past few weeks. How some kids would throw jabs about Pristin’s situation, whispering things like “poor bear” or “no human to take care of you.” It made his fur bristle with anger.

But today had been different. Apparently, some girl had crossed a line, taunting Pristin about not having a human. He could only imagine the hurt that ignited within his daughter, transforming her sorrow into rage. It was a protective instinct that surged through her, one that he’d tried to teach her to manage. But when pushed, Pristin had fought back—literally.

“Broken noses can heal, but the emotional scars…” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he approached the principal’s office. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his large frame almost filling the doorway. The principal was seated behind his desk, reviewing some papers. He glanced up, a mix of relief and irritation crossing his features.

“Mr. Grier,” he greeted, his tone shifting to more formal. “Thank you for coming. I believe you already know why we’re here.”

“Yeah, I got the message,” the bear replied, his voice low and steady. He took a seat across from the principal, the heavy wooden chair creaking under his weight. “Pristin has been going through a lot. I wish she wouldn’t resort to fighting, but…”

“I understand,” the principal interjected, folding his hands on the desk. “But we need to set some boundaries. Pristin is bright and has potential, but this kind of behavior can’t continue. She can’t keep acting out every time someone makes a comment.”

The bear leaned forward, his paws clasped together as he considered his words. “I know, and I’m not condoning her actions. But it’s tough for her. The other kids don’t understand what it’s like to feel abandoned in a world where everyone seems to have someone to protect them. She’s just trying to defend herself.”

The principal sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I understand that, but she must learn to channel her anger differently. We don’t want her to become known as the ‘violent bear’ at school. It can be hard to recover from that kind of reputation.”

“Look,” the bear said, his voice firm but gentle. “Pristin has had to face things that many adults wouldn’t handle well. I’m not making excuses for her, but I need to ensure she feels supported, not judged. She’s my only daughter, and I want her to know she can come to me with anything.”

Before the principal could respond, there was a knock at the door. It swung open to reveal Pristin, looking slightly disheveled, her fur ruffled and a hint of defiance in her expression. She spotted her father and straightened, her posture shifting from defiance to concern. “Dad…”

“Pristin,” he said, his tone softening as he took in her appearance. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, crossing her arms defensively. The principal opened his mouth to speak, but Pristin shot him a glare that silenced him. “I didn’t do anything wrong! She started it!”

“Sit down,” her father said gently, motioning to the empty chair beside him. She hesitated but finally relented, plopping down with a huff. “You need to talk about what happened today.”

Pristin opened her mouth, ready to argue, but her father continued. “I know the other kids can be cruel, but I need you to find a way to deal with it without resorting to violence. You’re better than that.”

She glanced away, her expression shifting from anger to something softer, more vulnerable. “But Dad, she said… she said I was poor because I don’t have a human. I couldn’t just let her say that and walk away!”

“I get it,” he replied, his voice low and steady. “But breaking her face won’t change anything. It’ll just make things worse for you.”

The principal nodded in agreement. “We all face challenges, Pristin. The real test is how we choose to respond to them. You have to find a better way to express your feelings.”

Pristin’s expression darkened. “But no one gets it! Everyone’s got a human, and I’m the only one without one! It’s not fair!”

“It’s not,” her father said softly. “Life isn’t fair, Pristin. But how you react to that unfairness is what defines you. You can’t let others’ words control how you feel or how you act. I want you to learn to rise above it, not fight back.”

She looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. The defiance in her eyes flickered, replaced with uncertainty. “I don’t know if I can do that…”

“Then we’ll work on it together,” he reassured her, placing a comforting paw on her shoulder. “You’re not alone in this, and you never will be. We’ll figure it out.”

Pristin looked up at her father, the warmth in his gaze easing her anxiety. “Thanks, Dad,” she mumbled, a hint of a smile, her father smiled, feeling a swell of pride for his daughter. She was strong-willed, a trait that would serve her well, but it also made her vulnerable to the harshness of her peers. The weight of expectations—both from her and society—was a heavy burden for someone so young. “You know, when I was your age, I had to face my own battles,” he began, his tone taking on a reflective quality. “I was teased for being a big bear in a world where everyone else seemed lighter and quicker. It hurt, and sometimes I reacted poorly, too.”

Pristin listened, her eyes widening a fraction as she absorbed her father’s words. “You? But you’re, like, super strong. How could anyone mess with you?”

“Strength isn’t just about muscles, Pristin. It’s also about how we handle our feelings,” he said, resting his paws on the desk as he leaned in closer. “I learned that fighting back only escalated things. It took time, but I found ways to deal with my anger without resorting to violence. And so can you.”

She shifted in her chair, glancing toward the window where the bustling students could still be seen. “But they don’t get it. They don’t know what it’s like.”

“No, they don’t. But you can help them understand,” he encouraged. “You have the power to show them that you’re more than just a bear without a human. You’re Pristin. You’re fierce, capable, and deserving of respect. But you need to choose how to respond when they don’t see that.”

“But what if they don’t listen?” she challenged, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and fear. “What if they just keep mocking me?”

“Then you find the right moments to stand your ground, but with words, not fists,” he replied, his gaze steady and reassuring. “You can speak up for yourself without hurting others. Show them you’re not afraid, but that you’re also kind. You can break that cycle.”

The principal nodded in agreement. “It takes courage to speak up. You’d be surprised how many people respect that. It’s more powerful than throwing punches.”

Pristin pondered their words, her brow furrowed in thought. “I guess… but it’s hard to think like that when I’m in the moment.”

“Absolutely,” her father acknowledged. “Emotions can cloud our judgment. But practicing calm responses when you’re feeling upset can help. Let’s work on some techniques together. We can role-play scenarios, talk through how you might respond differently next time.”

Pristin shifted in her chair, her expression softening further. “You’d really help me with that?”

“Of course,” he said, his voice warm and filled with affection. “You’re my daughter, and I want to see you thrive. I want you to feel safe in your own skin, no matter what anyone else says.”

She gave a small nod, her resolve beginning to solidify. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“Good. And remember, it’s okay to feel angry or hurt. Those emotions are valid. But how you channel them is what truly matters.” He felt a sense of pride swell in his chest, grateful for this moment of connection.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said softly, a shy smile creeping back onto her face. “I really appreciate it.”

Just then, the principal interjected, clearing his throat to draw their attention back. “Now, let’s make sure this is the last time we have to have this conversation. I believe Pristin has the potential to be a positive force in this school, but that requires commitment from both of us—students and parents alike.”

“I understand,” the bear affirmed, glancing at Pristin. “We’ll work on it together.”

“Good,” the principal said, looking relieved. “I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Grier. Let’s keep the lines of communication open. If Pristin has any issues, I want to know about them immediately. She shouldn’t feel like she has to go through this alone.”

“Agreed,” the bear replied, feeling grateful for the support. He had a good feeling about this year.

As they stood to leave, Pristin hesitated, a nervous look crossing her face. “Can we, like, maybe… grab ice cream or something after this?”

Her father chuckled, ruffling her fur affectionately. “Of course. You deserve it after all this. Ice cream it is.”

The principal smiled at the father-daughter pair. “That sounds like a great idea. Just remember, Pristin, it’s not just about the treat at the end. It’s about learning how to navigate your feelings and expressing yourself in a way that makes you proud.”

As they stepped out of the office and into the hallway, the bear felt a sense of hope blossoming within him. Pristin had always been strong, but today, they would begin to channel that strength into something far more powerful than any physical fight. It was about resilience, communication, and finding her voice in a world that often felt unfair.

The cafeteria buzzed with energy as they walked past, students laughing and sharing stories. “One day at a time, Pristin,” he said, giving her a gentle nudge. “You’ll find your way.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” she replied.

Chapter Text

The cafeteria buzzed with noise, a chaotic symphony of laughter, clinking trays, and the distant hum of the lunch bell. The air was thick with the greasy scent of fried food, and students crowded the tables, animatedly discussing the latest gossip and who was dating whom. Amidst this, Pristin sat alone, pushing her uneaten food around her plate, feeling the weight of stares piercing through her.

At a nearby table, a girl with dark fur leaned back smugly, flanked by a few equally disdainful friends. “Look who it is! The poor bear! Still waiting for her human to rescue her!” The girl’s voice cut through the chatter, dripping with mockery. Laughter erupted from her crew, harsh and mocking, sending a wave of heat to Pristin’s cheeks. She clenched her fists, the familiar anger rising in her chest.

Another snide remark flew across the room. “What’s wrong, Pristin? Afraid your human will run away once they see your ugly face?” The laughter intensified, a cruel chorus that only fueled Pristin’s fury.

“Shut up!” Pristin shot back, her voice echoing with a mix of defiance and hurt. Heads turned, and for a moment, silence fell over the cafeteria. But the dark-furred girl merely rolled her eyes, a smirk plastered on her face.

“What are you gonna do, bear? Cry? Go ahead, tell your dad! You’re just a sad little rich girl with no one to back you up. Such a pity!”

That was the final straw. Pristin could feel the heat radiating off her body as adrenaline surged through her veins. Without thinking, she leapt to her feet, fists clenched. The cafeteria erupted into chaos as students eagerly shifted, creating a makeshift arena for the impending fight.

“Come on then! Let’s see what you’ve got!” the dark-furred girl taunted, circling Pristin like a predator sizing up its prey.

Pristin charged forward, fueled by a mix of fury and desperation. Her fist flew, aiming for the girl’s face, but the bully ducked, sidestepping the blow. “Is that all you’ve got?” she mocked, shoving Pristin hard, sending her stumbling back into a nearby table.

The cafeteria erupted into cheers and shouts, students egging them on as Pristin regained her balance, fury boiling within her. She rushed forward again, this time aiming for the girl’s midsection. The impact connected with a loud thud, the girl’s breath escaping her as she doubled over, surprise flashing across her face.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Pristin growled, the thrill of battle igniting her senses. But the dark-furred girl quickly recovered, a wild look in her eyes as she retaliated with a swift kick aimed at Pristin’s side. The blow connected, sending Pristin crashing against the table, the edge digging painfully into her ribs.

The crowd roared, excitement electrifying the air as the girls faced off again, fists flying. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the cafeteria, punctuated by gasps and cheers from the onlookers. Pristin’s heart raced, fueled by adrenaline as she fought to keep her focus.

The dark-furred girl swung wildly, connecting a punch to Pristin’s jaw. Stars burst in her vision as Pristin stumbled back, tasting blood on her lips. But she didn’t back down. She surged forward, wild with anger, swinging her fist with all her might. The punch landed squarely on the girl’s nose, a sickening crack echoing through the air.

Blood spurted from the girl’s face, splattering onto Pristin’s fur as she stumbled back, shock written across her features. “You’re gonna pay for that!” she snarled, her expression twisting into pure rage.

Pristin stood her ground, panting heavily, fists raised defiantly. “Bring it on!” she shouted, the roar of the crowd fading into the background as the fight consumed her every thought.

The dark-furred girl lunged at Pristin, fury fueling her every move. They clashed again, punches flying with reckless abandon. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, each hit eliciting shouts of encouragement from the students. Pristin felt alive, her blood pumping as she fought back, giving as good as she got.

With a primal roar, the dark-furred girl tackled Pristin to the ground, both girls grappling for dominance. They rolled across the floor, hair and fur mingling in a mess of violence. Pristin clawed at the girl’s arms, desperately trying to push her off. “Get off me, you psycho!” she screamed, shoving with all her strength.

“You think you can win this? You’re nothing without a human!” the dark-furred girl spat, her breath coming in ragged gasps. In that moment, Pristin’s fury boiled over, every hurtful comment flooding back as she summoned all her strength. With a fierce growl, she bucked the girl off, sending her crashing into a table.

The table splintered under the weight, food and drinks flying everywhere as students scrambled to avoid the chaos. Pristin climbed to her feet, adrenaline surging through her veins as she faced her opponent. The dark-furred girl staggered, but fury and humiliation fueled her. She charged again, fists flying as they exchanged blows in a frenzy of violence.

Screams and cheers filled the air, echoing in Pristin’s ears as she fought with everything she had. The crowd surged closer, their excitement palpable, the chaotic energy of the cafeteria amplifying their struggle. With each punch, Pristin felt a surge of power, a feeling of release from the hurtful words that had haunted her for too long.

But the fight couldn’t last forever. Suddenly, a deep voice cut through the chaos. “Enough!” The principal stormed in, flanked by teachers trying to push through the throng of students.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed, his face a mix of anger and disbelief. The girls froze mid-fight, adrenaline fading as reality crashed back in. The dark-furred girl looked up, blood dripping from her nose, bewilderment replacing her earlier bravado.

“Pristin! To my office. Now!” the principal ordered, his gaze sharp as he assessed the scene.

As they were led away, Pristin could feel the stares of her classmates burning into her back. She had fought back, That should at least keep the others away, for now.

Chapter Text

As the bear trudged down the crowded hallways, the noise of chattering students and the clatter of lockers filled the air. Laughter echoed through the corridors, but he couldn’t shake the tightening knot in his stomach. He adjusted his messenger bag, the strap cutting into his broad shoulder, and glanced down at his phone again. The notification was still there, clear as day, from earlier before lunch: Pristin had been sent to detention. Again. His daughter had gotten into another fight. This time, it was in the cafeteria, and it wasn’t just a shove or a harsh word—she’d broken another student’s nose.

The principal’s words echoed in his mind, calm but weighted with frustration. “Mr. Grier, Pristin was involved in an altercation. I think it’s time we discuss her behavior.”

He could still picture the way the principal had pushed his glasses up his nose, glancing at him with that tired, disapproving look. The bear had sighed, feeling the weight of disappointment pressing down on him. “Again?” he had muttered, barely able to keep his voice even.

The halls seemed endless as he made his way to the principal’s office. He turned the corner, catching sight of the cafeteria through the large glass windows. Students were still buzzing around inside, their voices carrying over into the hall. His ears twitched at the familiar din, but today, it felt like a punch to the gut.

Rumors had been spreading around for weeks about Pristin. Whispers of how she didn’t have a human—something the other kids saw as strange, almost a mark of shame. He’d heard them, too: "poor bear" or "she’s too broke for a human." It made his blood boil every time.

But this time, some girl had taken things too far, and Pristin had snapped. He could only imagine what had happened—the hurt, the anger, the embarrassment twisting together in his daughter until it exploded. He knew that feeling all too well. He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d been there too many times.

His big paw pressed against the principal’s office door, the heavy wood creaking as he stepped inside. The principal was at his desk, looking over some paperwork, his face pinched in a mix of annoyance and concern.

"Mr. Grier," the principal greeted, barely glancing up from his stack of papers. "Thanks for coming in on such short notice."

The bear gave a small nod and dropped into the chair across from the desk. It groaned under his weight, and for a moment, the tension in his body matched the tightness in the room. "Yeah, I got the message," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "What’s going on this time?"

The principal sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose again. "Pristin broke a student’s nose. She’s in detention right now, but this is becoming a pattern. I wanted to talk to you before we take further disciplinary action."

"She’s been going through a lot," the bear replied, his voice low. He was torn between frustration and worry. "I’ve been trying to get her to talk to me about it, but… she’s clammed up. You know how teenagers are."

"That may be true, but her behavior is escalating," the principal countered. "We need to set some boundaries, Mr. Grier. If we don’t, this is going to keep happening. And next time, it might not just be a broken nose."

He hated this. Hated the feeling of being stuck between supporting his daughter and knowing she’d crossed a line. "I know. But you’ve got to understand, she’s dealing with stuff that’s hard for her to express. Everyone’s got a human these days, and she’s left feeling like she’s less than them because we don’t."

"That might be the case," the principal replied, his tone softening a bit, "but Pristin needs to find healthier ways to cope. Violence isn’t the answer. We don’t want her labeled as ‘the problem kid.’”

The bear let out a deep breath, his heart heavy. He didn’t want that for Pristin either. "Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to her."

Before the conversation could go any further, there was a knock at the door, and it swung open to reveal Pristin. She looked rough, her fur all ruffled and her eyes narrowed with defiance, like she was ready to fight again if anyone so much as blinked wrong.

"Dad," she said, her voice hard as she crossed her arms.

"Pristin," he replied, a sigh escaping his chest. "Are you alright?"

"I’m fine," she snapped, eyes darting between him and the principal. "This is bullshit, Dad. I didn’t do anything wrong!"

"Sit down," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, though his frustration was bubbling just beneath the surface. He gestured to the chair beside him.

Pristin hesitated, glaring at the principal before flopping into the chair with a dramatic huff. "She started it, okay? She was running her mouth, saying all kinds of stuff. What was I supposed to do? Just stand there?"

"You need to talk about what happened," he replied, leaning forward slightly. "I know the other kids can be awful, but breaking someone’s nose? That’s not how you handle it."

Pristin scowled, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. "She said I was poor because I don’t have a human. She was asking for it."

He clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his composure. "I get it. I really do. But breaking her face isn’t going to fix anything. It’s only going to make things worse for you."

The principal, who had been silent up until now, chimed in. "We all deal with challenges, Pristin. The question is how you choose to handle them."

Pristin’s eyes flashed with anger. "But no one gets it!" Her voice cracked as she shot back, her frustration evident. "Everyone’s got a human except me. It’s not fair!"

"It’s not fair," her father agreed softly. "But life isn’t fair. That’s the truth of it. You can’t control what others say, but you can control how you react."

Pristin dropped her gaze, her fingers nervously tugging at the hem of her shirt. "I don’t know if I can do that…" she mumbled, the fire in her voice dwindling.

Her father placed a large paw on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "You’re stronger than you think. You don’t have to prove anything to those kids. You just need to find a better way to deal with this."

She didn’t respond right away, biting her lip as she stared at the floor. "But it’s so hard," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I don’t know. They keep pushing, and it makes me so mad. I just… I can’t stop myself."

"That’s why we’re going to work on it together," he said, his voice firm but kind. "You’re not alone in this, Pristin. I’m here for you. We’ll figure it out, okay?"

Pristin glanced up at him, her eyes softening just a little. "Yeah, okay…"

The principal cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. "I believe Pristin has a lot of potential," he said, his tone slightly more upbeat. "But we have to address this now before it gets out of hand."

The bear nodded, meeting his daughter’s eyes. "We will. I’ll make sure of it."

"Thank you, Mr. Grier," the principal said, standing up to signal the meeting’s end. "Let’s keep the lines of communication open. If Pristin is having any problems, I want to know right away. We don’t want this to get worse."

"Agreed," the bear replied, rising from his chair. "We’ll handle it."

As they left the office, Pristin looked up at him, her voice quieter than before. "Dad… you’re not mad at me, are you?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "I’m not mad, Pristin. I’m just worried. You can’t keep doing this. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to find a different way to handle things."

She didn’t respond for a moment, her eyes focused on the floor as they walked through the hallway. Then, almost shyly, she asked, "Can we get ice cream? Like… as a treat or whatever?"

The bear chuckled, his heart lightening a bit. "Yeah, kiddo. We can get ice cream."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Pristin’s mouth. "Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime," he replied, ruffling her fur gently as they headed toward the exit.

Pristin was tough, maybe too tough for her own good, but he didn't want to change her; he didn't want her to be weak in this dangerous world.

Chapter Text

hay its me, author. i have alot of chapters already planned and written out.

but im not sure if the themes are wat people came here for? wat do you guys expect from this story? so far i have alot of highschool story arcs.

but im not sure if thats wat people want, so give me your answer in the comments.

Chapter Text

Smiler’s daughter leaned back in her chair, absently twirling the straw in her glass. The Dire Wolf girl, ayersi, and the Short-Faced Bear, pristin, sat across from her at the table, eyeing her with that same patronizing pity they’d been using for weeks now.

“So… how’re you feeling today?” ayersi asked, her voice dripping with fake concern.

Smiler’s daughter snorted. “I’m fine. Told you that already.” She took a long sip, trying to drown the growing tightness in her chest.

“You don’t look fine,” pristin cut in, her deep voice laced with frustration. “You’re pale, and you’ve been coughing up a storm. I mean… how long’s it been since the doctor started visiting? A month? Two?”

Smiler’s daughter shot her a glare. “Shut up. It’s just a cold. I’m not—”

“Dying?” ayersi interrupted, her voice annoyingly sweet. “I mean, I’m sure you’re not, but… just in case, you know? You might want to think about being responsible.”

“Responsible?” Smiler’s daughter spat, eyes narrowing. She already knew where this was going. “What are you saying?”

“Oh, you know…” ayersi smiled, trying to seem casual, but there was something gleeful behind her eyes. “I mean, with all your… expenses now. Maybe you should consider selling your human. Just to cover costs.”

pristin leaned forward, nodding. “It’s not a bad idea. Medical bills and all. You’d make a killing off him.”

Smiler’s daughter slammed her glass down. “I’m not selling him.”

pristin and ayersi exchanged a look. pristin shrugged, crossing her arms. “Look, I get it. You’re attached. But it’s not like you’re using him for anything right now, and let’s be real—things aren’t looking great for you.”

“I said I’m not selling him,” she repeated, her voice firm, eyes flashing with defiance. “And I’ll be fine. He’s mine.”

ayersi sighed dramatically, as if talking to a stubborn child. “It’s just… if things don’t get better… what’s gonna happen to him when you’re gone?”

Smiler’s daughter clenched her fists, the tightness in her chest worsening. “I’m not gonna be gone. Stop talking like that.”

pristin groaned. “God, you’re so stubborn. What’s he gonna do when you’re dead, huh? Be shuffled off to some random place? You’re only making it harder on him.”

“I. Am. Not. Gonna. Die.” Each word came out through clenched teeth, but the room felt colder.

ayersi reached out, petting the top of the human’s head as he knelt quietly beside Smiler’s daughter. He didn’t flinch, but the tension in his jaw gave him away. ayersi chuckled. “You humans are so loyal. Just like dogs, aren’t you?” She stroked his hair. “Such a good boy.”

He stared straight ahead, trying not to react, but his fists were clenched at his sides.

“I wish I had one like you,” ayersi went on, her voice smooth. “But my dad could never afford one. Only House Smiler got to keep humans, y’know, before the law banned breeding them without a license.”

pristin leaned back with a smirk. “Could always get a stray, but they’re such a mess. Violent. Untrainable. Not like this one.” She gave him an appraising look, the way one would assess a prized animal. “Most of ‘em are all ugly with that black fur, dark skin… nothing like your boy here.”

Smiler’s daughter narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on,” ayersi grinned. “Look at him. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes… rare breed. You could get top dollar.”

The human’s cheeks flushed, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… wait. Are you complimenting me because I’m… Caucasian?”

pristin blinked. “Oh? Is that what it’s called? Huh. Weird name. Sounds like it’s named after some mountain range.”

ayersi laughed. “It’s classy. Rustic, even.”

Smiler’s daughter’s patience was running thin. She could feel the heat rising in her face. “He’s not for sale.”

pristin rolled her eyes. “You’re being selfish, y’know. Humans get attached. You’re gonna die, and then what? You’ll traumatize him. He won’t be able to find a new family.”

ayersi’s voice dropped to a mocking, serious tone. “It’s practically animal abuse, keeping him like this. You’re being inconsiderate.”

“I am NOT gonna die!” she shouted, slamming her hand on the table. The room fell silent.

pristin gave her a cold, disapproving look. “Thanks a lot. Now you’re just gonna ruin him. When you die, he’ll only think about you. You’ll mess him up for good.”

Smiler’s daughter’s heart pounded. “I said I’m not dying.”

“Yeah, okay,” ayersi muttered, clearly unconvinced. “Keep telling yourself that.”

She turned to the human, who had remained silent through the entire exchange. His gaze was distant, his jaw set, but something simmered behind his eyes—something dark, hidden just beneath the surface. Smiler’s daughter hadn’t noticed it before. But now, as her panic rose, she saw it.

He wasn’t happy.

“Anon,” she said, her voice quieter now, as if testing the waters. “Anon, you love me, right?”

He blinked, the question catching him off guard. “I… I serve you, master.”

She shook her head, her breath quickening. “No, no. I mean… you love me. Right? As a person.”

He hesitated. “I… I’m loyal to you.”

“No,” she pressed, her hands trembling. “I love you, Anon. I love you a lot.” Her voice cracked. “Do… do you love me?”

He smiled—thin and tight—but his eyes, gods, his eyes were burning. “Of course, master. I love you.”

The words stung like venom, the way they came out so easily, so… empty.

She leaned closer, her chest tightening, fear creeping into her voice. “No, I mean… do you love me? For me?”

The silence was deafening. He kept that fake smile on his face, but she saw it now. She saw the hatred in his eyes. The barely contained rage.

“Of course, master.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. “Anon…”

She had treated him like property, like a toy, for as long as she could remember. And now, here he was, saying the words she wanted to hear, but there was nothing behind them. He didn’t love her. He hated her.

She started crying, shoulders shaking, as her world began to unravel.

Chapter Text

The glass hit the floor with a loud crash, spilling its contents across the expensive hardwood floor. Smiler's daughter, frail and flushed, had broken down, her sobs shaking her body. She tried to gather herself, gripping the table for support, but her hands were trembling too much to hold on. Tears streamed down her face, her chest heaving with the weight of her sorrow. She reached out, clinging to the only comfort she had left—her human.

Anon stood by her side, his expression a forced calm as her fingers latched onto his arm. His face betrayed none of the disgust churning inside him, but he couldn't hide the tension in his jaw. He hated this. Every minute of it. But he had to play along. For now.

"You… you might not love me. Not yet," she whispered, her voice hoarse, her words desperate. "But you don't hate me, right?"

He swallowed, his eyes flicking over to her pitiful form. "No, master," he lied, his voice steady. "Of course I love you."

She closed her eyes, breathing in deep as if his words were enough to calm the storm raging inside her. For a moment, she believed him. She had to. She leaned into him, her body weak as she tried to pull herself together. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I needed to hear that."

From across the table, Ayersi, the Dire Wolf girl, and Pristin, the Short-Faced Bear, exchanged a glance. Their lips twitched with amusement, barely holding back laughter as they watched Smiler's daughter fall apart. Ayersi pressed her hand to her mouth, but the corner of her lips curled into a smirk, while Pristin shifted in her seat, rolling her eyes at the pathetic display.

Smiler's daughter didn't notice. She was too wrapped up in her own misery, too desperate to feel something other than the gnawing fear that had been eating away at her for weeks. She tried to stand but stumbled, her knees buckling. Anon caught her, his hands steady as he helped her to her feet.

"You're such a dummy," she muttered, trying to force a smile through her tears. "Worrying about me all the time. I told you… I'm gonna be fine." She tried to laugh, but it came out broken. "I've got a new medication… I'm gonna try it soon. It'll work. I know it will."

Anon nodded, keeping his voice neutral. "I hope it works too."

She leaned on him as they walked, her weight heavy against his side. "It will," she insisted, her voice gaining strength. "One day, when I'm better, we'll have a family, you and me. I'll be the mom, and you… you can be the dad." Her smile was forced, shaky, but there was a flicker of hope behind it. "I'll take care of you. I'll work so hard, and you can stay home. Like a good dad."

She smiled faintly, as if she could already see the future she so desperately wanted, ignoring the reality closing in around her.

He didn't respond. He couldn't. The idea was ridiculous, the notion that they'd ever have a life together beyond this twisted servitude.

Weeks passed. Her condition didn't improve. In fact, it got worse. The new medication didn't help, and each day, her denial grew thinner, the cracks in her confidence spreading like fractures in glass.

"I don't get it," she muttered one evening, her voice weak and raspy as she lay in bed, pale and frail. The vibrant young woman she once was had faded, leaving behind a hollow shell. "I did everything the doctors told me. I took the meds, I rested… why am I not getting better?"

Anon stood by her bedside, arms crossed, watching her with that same unreadable expression. She turned her head, her eyes searching his face for answers she knew he didn't have.

"Human," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why am I not getting better?"

He hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He'd watched her deteriorate for months now, seen the once proud and overconfident girl shrink into someone unrecognizable. And now, she was grasping for explanations, for someone to blame. He sighed softly before speaking.

"I don't really know how to say this, master, but… I don't think you're going to get better."

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then her face twisted in disbelief. "What? Why would you say that? I will get better! What about our family? You said we'd have a family together."

His silence was her answer, and it sent her spiraling. Her breathing quickened, her chest heaving with the effort, and tears filled her eyes once again. Her voice grew shrill, panicked. "You… you want to get rid of me, don't you? You don't want to be my pet anymore. You want to run away! That's why you're saying this! You want me to die!" Her voice broke, rising in hysteria. "You're trying to leave me! You want me gone!"

He stepped back as her hands balled into fists, her body trembling with rage and fear.

Anon stood there, his face impassive, as she crumbled before him. He said nothing, because there was nothing left to say. She was spiraling, lost in her own mind, in her fear, in her paranoia.

"I thought… I thought you were my friend," she choked, her voice shaking as she struggled to breathe. "I trusted you. How could you betray me now? now! At my lowest…"

Her mind raced, replaying everything. Before all of this, she had never thought of him as a friend. She hadn't even treated him like one. He was just a possession—her pet, her slave, something to command and control. Her rich, popular friends had been all that mattered. But they were gone now. They had abandoned her the moment she became weak.

He was all she had left.

He watched her, the memories flashing through his mind—the way she used to treat him when she was healthy, back when her fake friends were still around, back when she didn't need him. She had bossed him around, treated him like nothing more than a servant. But now, as her friends drifted away, as her health worsened, she clung to him. She had no one else. She convinced herself that he was the only one who cared. The only one who stayed.

It was pathetic.

She had been awful to him, a tyrant in her better days, and now, as she lay in bed, weak and terrified, she had the nerve to ask for his loyalty. His love.

Her eyes pleaded with him as she reached out, grabbing his hand. "You love me, don't you? Please tell me you love me."

He stared down at her, his expression still, a storm brewing behind his calm façade. He forced the words out, cold and empty. "Yes, master. I love you."

She smiled through her tears, but it was a hollow victory. She didn't believe him—not fully. There was doubt in her eyes, gnawing at the edges of her fragile hope.

She stared at him with wild eyes. "I can buy happiness," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "I bought you. You're mine. My slave." Her voice turned soft, almost pleading.She reached out for him, her hand trembling. She hugged him tightly, her grip shaking but desperate. "You're my most valuable possession. I'd sell my soul before I ever sold you."

his body stiff in her embrace. Her words echoed in his mind—words that should have meant something, but they didnt.

He looked down at her, unsure of what to say, his heart heavy with resentment. "Okay…"but rang hollow in the quiet room.

She pulled him into a hug, burying her face in his chest. "You do love me, right? It's your choice to say yes… but you're not allowed to say no."her eyes locking onto his.

The room felt suffocating. He stood stiff, his arms barely moving to embrace her. “I… I guess I love you, master.”

The words came out flat, hollow, but she didn’t seem to notice. She smiled, tightening her grip on him.

Anon's eyes shifted away, his jaw clenched as he looked toward the corner of the room, avoiding her gaze.He couldn’t even look at her.

he pushed her away, taking a couple steps back, much to her dismay.

"Anon," she pleaded, her voice small and broken. "Please. Please hold me. I'm cold. I can feel the darkness coming. Don't let it take me. Don't let me die alone…"

Her voice cracked as she tried to crawl out of bed, her body trembling with the effort. She stumbled, falling to the floor with a dull thud. She reached out for him, her hand grabbing onto his pants, pulling herself closer as she coughed, her body shaking with each breath.

Anon stared down at her, his eyes hard, his expression cold. He didn't move. He didn't say a word. He just watched as she crumbled at his feet, her hands clinging to him, desperate for any scrap of affection he could offer.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear, her lips trembling as she whispered, "Please... don't leave me." She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, how disgusting, how infuriating he wanted to stomp on her head. This was the most powerless she had felt in her entire life, and now she was crumpled at his feet, asking for his love, pathetic.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway, and Anon's expression shifted. He sighed softly, knowing he couldn't ignore her any longer. He had to pretend. For now.

Reluctantly, he knelt down, pulling her into his arms. She sobbed into his chest, her body shaking as she clung to him, convinced that he cared. Convinced that he loved her.

He didn't.

But she believed it anyway.

As he held her, his eyes where filled with so much darkness, and it just kept building inside of him, one day... it would come out, it will be free.

Chapter Text

The human stood at the edge of the steps, watching Ayersi's and Pristin's fathers slowly walk away, the thick scent of awkward tension still lingering in the air. His mind felt like a swirling mess of distorted memories, all rushing to the surface in flashes, each one bringing him deeper into a darkness that threatened to pull him under. He shook his head, focusing on the figures ahead.

"I can't stay in this house," he muttered under his breath. "Not with these memories."

Those men, Ayersi's and Pristin's fathers—he recognized them now. They had been around before, vaguely familiar faces in the sea of anthro elites that floated in and out of his master's life. He didn't remember them well because they were never around much, and when they were, they certainly didn't care enough to acknowledge him. Just another human pet in their eyes.

"I should go meet their daughters," he thought, not fully believing it was a good idea but knowing it was better than staying alone with the wreckage in his mind. He wasn't ready to be alone with those thoughts—not in this house, not with the memories echoing off the walls. Ayersi and Pristin might be able to provide some kind of distraction. He needed that. Anything to avoid spiraling.

He glanced at the horizon, gauging how far the men had walked.

"Damn, feels like I've been sitting here for hours."

But it hadn't been more than a few seconds. Time played tricks on him when the memories came. Every second stretched into painful eternity when he let himself linger in the past.

"Get it together," he whispered to himself. "You're not hers. Not anymore."

He remembered her words—the last thing she had said, her final promise that chilled him to the bone. "I'll never let them have you." The sound of her voice echoed in his mind, so venomous, so possessive. It made him sick just thinking about it. The bile rose in his throat. I'm not yours. Never was. Never will be.

She had hated Ayersi and Pristin. The memory of it tugged a smile out of him. He could almost hear her voice, shrill with rage, if she knew he was thinking about hanging out with the ones she despised. The thought brought a dark satisfaction, like he was finally defying her in some twisted way.

"Yeah, you'd hate that, wouldn't you? I bet it'd drive you crazy." His smile widened. A disgusting idea crept into his mind, one he didn't want to admit was there. They want me, right? Ayersi and Pristin? Maybe I could… rent myself out for a bit.

He immediately recoiled from the thought. It was absurd, vile. But a part of him whispered that it wasn't the worst idea. It was safer than being alone, and they'd at least protect him from whatever might be out there. He needed more information about this world, and maybe getting close to them could be his way in.

"Don't you dare," a voice inside him screamed, the voice of his past self, the one that still clung to his old beliefs. Don't crawl back to them like a pet.

He gritted his teeth. I won't be their slave. But I have to figure out how this world works.

He took a deep breath, then made his decision. He jogged down the steps, catching up to the two men just as they were about to turn the corner. Without much thought, he tugged on the wolf's tail. The wolf turned around, startled, then laughed.

"Oh? The human. What's up?" The wolf's voice was mocking. "You finally decide to come with us, join our little family?"

The bear gave him a hard look, eyes narrowing. "I doubt that. He's probably just here to talk business again."

The human shook his head. "No, the wolf's half right. How about… a trial run?" The words tasted bitter in his mouth. "It's the first day of school, and I know I'm late, but maybe your daughters want to see me before then. I remember spending time with them before. They might not remember me, but—"

The wolf's ears perked up. "Oh? You knew our daughters already? Well, that's interesting. What about this 'trial' then?"

The human forced a smile, trying not to let the disgust show on his face. "How about I… rent myself out for a bit? Just for today. I'm still not sure about the whole thing, but… maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just lonely." He lied, every word feeling like a betrayal to his soul.

The bear grinned, clearly pleased with the turn of events. "Good, good. You're coming to your senses. Come on, let's get you to the school so you can see our daughters again. I wasn't aware you knew each other before, but it seems things are going my way."

The wolf smirked, clearly amused. "Yeah, yeah. But he's coming in my car."

The bear's grin faded, a flash of irritation crossing his face. "Why do you get dibs?"

The wolf shrugged, nonchalant. "It was my idea to come here so soon. You wanted to stop for coffee."

The bear growled low in his throat but eventually sighed. "Fine. But on the way back, he rides with me."

The wolf nodded, a smug smile plastered on his face. "Deal."

-

The ride in the wolf’s car was tense, though the wolf seemed perfectly content with the arrangement. The human sat in the back, staring out the window as the city rushed past. He didn’t know what he had expected, but the sight of the sprawling anthro metropolis was still jarring. Everything was so different now. Even the streets felt foreign.

“So,” the wolf started, glancing in the rearview mirror. “You’re really serious about this trial thing, huh? Didn’t think you’d be so quick to reconsider.”

The human shrugged, not really wanting to engage but knowing he had to play along. “It’s not like I have a lot of options right now.”

The wolf laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Well, you’re right about that. But you’re lucky. Our daughters? They’re some of the best. You could do worse, trust me.”

The human clenched his jaw, biting back a retort. He wasn’t here to argue, not yet. He needed to keep things civil until he figured out how to navigate this new world.

The human sat back in his seat, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The wolf's voice filled the car, cutting through the background sounds of the road with its arrogance.

"Yeah, Ayersi’s a handful," the wolf continued, his eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror. "But hey, at least she’s a handful if you know what I mean." He laughed, the kind of deep, obnoxious laugh that made the human’s skin crawl. "She’s a good girl. Knows how to keep a guy entertained, if you get my drift."

The human’s jaw tightened further, grinding his teeth so hard it felt like they might crack. He wanted to scream at the wolf, to snap and tell him exactly what he thought about his disgusting comments. But he didn’t.

"And Pristin?" The wolf went on, clearly enjoying himself now. "She’s got her father’s, uhmm, chonk, you know?" He smirked. "You’d have a nice ride with that one." He made a crude gesture with his hands, imitating curves.

The human forced a smile, one that probably looked more like a grimace, but it was all he could manage. "Sounds… great." The words were like poison in his mouth.

he wolf smirked as he reached for something tucked into the side of his car’s console, pulling out a glossy magazine. He flipped it open and casually tossed it into the human's lap. "Check this out. They did a full feature spread in Beast Beauty magazine. One of their best shoots yet," he said, eyeing the human in the rearview mirror with a smirk.

The human picked it up reluctantly, already bracing for what he’d see. His eyes scanned the pages, and his gut twisted as expected. It was a multi-page spread featuring Ayersi and Pristin in a variety of "themed" photo shoots. Each one seemed more outrageous than the last, and the worse part was, this was a womans magazine? as in one that women look at for themselves.

The human felt bile rise in his throat.

Chapter Text

The wolf dad leaned back in his seat, an unmistakable smirk plastered on his face as he flipped through the magazine, each page a showcase of his daughter and her friend. The human felt the heat rising to his cheeks, cringing at the absurdity of it all.

“Check this out, buddy,” the wolf said, practically salivating. “Here’s Ayersi in this killer shot from the school camping trip. She’s got that wild look, you know? Like she’s ready to pounce.” He turned the page, revealing a stunning photo of Ayersi standing among tall trees, her fur glistening in the sunlight.

"Wild at heart and ready for the spotlight! Ayersi’s summer glow is perfect for those warm days in the sun. Who knew camping could be this sizzling?"

The human's stomach churned, and he tried to look away, but the magazine practically demanded his attention.

“Uh, yeah,” he managed, biting back his retort.

“And look!” the wolf continued, flipping to another page, “here’s Pristin. She’s got that chonky vibe that’s just... wow.”

In the next shot, Pristin was posed against a backdrop of blooming wildflowers, her round cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Pristin brings the curves and the charm! This bear knows how to rock her look, making waves at the academy. Watch out, boys!"

“Her bikini’s almost as cute as she is, right?” the wolf added with a chuckle, clearly reveling in the moment.

The human felt himself squirm, trying to dismiss the image of Pristin, her bathing suit barely containing her curves. The fabric was slightly damp, a detail that didn’t escape his notice.

"These two are all about natural beauty—no filters needed! Catch them in their element, bringing the heat of summer straight to your heart."

“And the best part?” the wolf grinned, practically leaning over the magazine. “They’re in heat right now! Just look at that little glisten between their legs.”

The human’s face burned as he shifted uncomfortably. “You know, that’s… not really my thing,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Aw, come on, don’t be shy! The academy is all about showcasing vitality, and these girls are the pinnacle of it!”

The wolf flicked to a shot of Ayersi and Pristin side by side, both in their tiny bikinis, looking directly at the camera with mischievous smiles.

"Summer just got hotter! With curves that kill and smiles to match, Ayersi and Pristin are taking the academy by storm. Get ready, because these girls know how to bring the fun and the heat!"

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” the human mumbled, wishing he could disappear into the seat.

The wolf laughed, clearly enjoying the human’s discomfort. “And look at the next one! They’re in those tribal outfits, too. Just look at that! Those are inspired by their heritage.”

The next page showed Ayersi and Pristin in revealing tribal outfits adorned with body paint. They posed with a spear and shield, their expressions sultry and confident.

"Channeling their inner warriors, Ayersi and Pristin show us how tradition meets temptation. Who says you can’t have fun while paying homage to your roots?"

The human glanced at the wolf, who was practically drooling over the images. “This is just... a lot to take in,” he said, shaking his head, trying to process the absurdity of the moment.

“Don’t act like you’re not into it,” the wolf teased, nudging him playfully. “This is the future, my friend! And these girls are leading the way.”

With every turn of the page, the human felt more out of place, squirming in his seat while the wolf dad proudly showcased his daughter’s unashamed photos.

Chapter Text

The human sat in the backseat, staring at the small screen of the laptop propped on his knees, fidgeting with the cheap earbuds he’d managed to dig out from the glove compartment. Outside, the wolf dad was inside, picking up his daughter, leaving him alone in the car with his thoughts. It was supposed to be a few minutes, but the minutes dragged on. He flicked through livestream videos idly before one thumbnail caught his eye.

A human—wearing the unmistakable uniform of a servant, the kind designed to remind humans of their place in the Anthro State—stood on a balcony, high up, overlooking a street full of anthros below. The figure’s face was obscured by a crude mask, but something about the way they stood, rigid, purposeful, made the human watching uneasy.

The video clicked on, and the masked man began to speak, his voice low and unsteady at first, but growing clearer as he went on.

"Man… you ever wake up and realize you're trapped? Trapped in a world that hates you for just being human?" He paused, his gaze sweeping across the anthros bustling below, living their lives as if they were the only ones that mattered. "It’s like every day is a reminder. You’re not one of them. You’re not even close. They say you're a pet, but you and I both know—deep down—they don’t see you as anything. Just a thing. An object."

The human in the car could feel his pulse quicken. He didn’t know this guy. He didn’t even know the anthro house in the background—the one that had clearly fallen into ruin behind the masked figure. But the words hit close, close enough to stir something in him.

"And you just… deal with it. Every day. Smile, obey, keep your head down. You hear their doors open, you hear them call, and you run. You get told where to go, who to serve, and that’s supposed to be normal." The masked man chuckled, a hollow, bitter sound. "But some days… some days, it’s just too much. Some days, you wanna scream, or break something, or someone. Not 'cause they did anything specific, nah… just ‘cause they exist. Just ‘cause they’re the ones who get to live while we get to survive. It builds, and builds, and you think, 'Maybe today’s the day I snap.'"

He leaned forward into the camera, his breath shallow, his voice quieter but more intense. "They think we're weak. They think we don’t have it in us to do something about it. But we do. We have strength they can’t imagine. You, watching this… you’ve felt it, haven’t you? That quiet rage, the one that eats at you a little more every time they pat you on the head or call you a good boy."

The human in the car swallowed, his mouth dry. The camera panned slightly, showing the sprawling anthro city below, teeming with life, the sounds of their voices muffled through the speakers.

"Why don’t you do something about it?" The masked man’s voice was laced with venom now. "You’re stronger than you think. Stronger than their rules. Stronger than the law, if you really put your mind to it. They may own our bodies, but they dont own our souls."

The camera pulled back, and the man’s hand moved to the side, opening what looked like a trunk. From the corner of the frame, the gleam of metal caught the human’s eye. He squinted. A rifle, large and unmistakable, slid into view.

"This…" The masked man lifted a Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifle into the shot, its size and weight sending a chill down the spine of the viewer. "This is your answer. You want freedom? Take it. You want power? Show them. You want to remind them that humans aren’t just toys, pets, things? Prove it."

The human in the car froze. His breath came shallow, his heart hammering in his chest. The video was still playing, the masked figure standing there, rifle in hand, the dark skyline of anthro buildings stretching behind him like a shadowed prison.

"You see this rifle? This... this is how you find yourself. Even if it means making a statement they'll never forget. Even if it means killing one of them—killing a animal, taking back control, proving you're more than what they say you are." The masked man tilted his head slightly, almost as if he was looking directly at the viewer. "Find yourself, by any means necessary."

The video crackled with noise as the figure aimed the gun off-screen, adjusting it, steadying his aim. The camera shook slightly, as if the person behind it was preparing for something. The human in the car couldn’t tear his eyes away. Then, suddenly, the scene changed. The deafening sound of a single gunshot filled the video feed, followed by screams and chaos erupting from below. The camera captured it all in shaky, uncontrolled footage. People running, anthros diving for cover, bodies crumpling on the street.

The human’s stomach dropped. He had to look away. But then, as if in morbid fascination, his eyes darted back to the screen. The masked man was reloading, coldly, methodically, taking aim again.

The video cut off abruptly, leaving the car in eerie silence. The human sat there, gripping the edges of the laptop, feeling cold sweat run down his back.

Just then, the car door opened. The wolf dad climbed back in, his daughter in tow, oblivious to the human's pale face or the horror that had just unfolded on the screen.

“Hope you weren’t too bored waiting,” the wolf dad chuckled. “C’mon, we’ve got a busy day ahead.”

Chapter Text

As the wolf dad opened the car door, the human’s attention was immediately drawn to a rush of energy entering the vehicle. A girl, tall and lean with a thick pelt of gray fur, practically burst through the door, her eyes lighting up as she spotted him sitting in the backseat. Her expression shifted from curiosity to elation as she stared at him.

"OH MY GOD!" she squealed, bouncing in excitement. "Daddy! You finally got me a pet human!" Her enthusiasm filled the small space, and she practically threw herself into the seat beside him, her head colliding with the roof in her rush. "Ow!" She laughed it off, rubbing her head, but her attention quickly refocused on him. She leaned forward, eyes wide, her excitement palpable. "And it’s the one I always wanted!"

He recoiled at her sudden proximity, her large hands reaching toward him like he was some long-lost treasure. Before he could react, her fingers found his hair, stroking him with an unnerving familiarity.

"I was scared you ran off or… died from sadness," she said, her voice softening as she petted his head. He instinctively tensed but forced himself to stay still. "It’s been years!" Her fingers continued to glide through his hair, gentle, but the gesture made his skin crawl. It was humiliating, but he stayed calm, gritting his teeth internally. Might as well try to blend in, he thought. Even if I hate this. It's fucking demeaning.

The girl smiled, seemingly unaware—or unconcerned—with his discomfort. "Still as reclusive as usual, huh?" She giggled, clearly amused by his reaction. "But obedient. A pet with personality. That’s what I always loved about you."

The wolf dad chuckled, sliding into the driver’s seat. "Fifteen-minute drive to the restaurant. You two have time to catch up." He gave a lazy glance back before starting the car.

As they pulled away from the school, the girl continued to gush over him, her eyes bright with a mix of nostalgia and possessiveness. "It’s been so long. You know, I always hated your old owner. She was a total bitch." She looked at him expectantly, waiting for some reaction. When he remained silent, she frowned slightly, then huffed, a little annoyed at his stoicism. "You really don’t care what she thinks, do you?"

He shrugged, feeling her eyes burning into him. "I'm still a Smiler," he said, his tone polite but distant. "My loyalty was my obligation."

She scoffed, her nose crinkling in disgust. "Your loyalty? That’s honorable, I guess," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "But it’s just stupid." Then, a small smirk curled her lips as she looked at him, as if realizing something she had long suspected. "I knew it. You've always wanted to be my pet, haven’t you?"

"No," he shot back immediately, the word sharp but controlled.

She waved her hand dismissively, her confidence unshaken. "Sure thing, sure thing. Keep telling yourself that, noble knight." She grinned, her teeth gleaming as she leaned back in the seat. "You were always more talkative than other pets, you know that? Most humans just rave and rant—barely make any sense at all. But you..." She pointed at him, pride evident in her voice. "You could hold a conversation. That’s why I liked you. That’s why I wanted you."

He stayed silent, his mind buzzing with anger. A conversation? He could barely stomach the thought of speaking to her, but years of conditioning had forced him to adopt a polite exterior. Internally, though, his thoughts raged. I'm not your fucking pet. I don’t want to be anyone’s pet.

She continued talking, mostly about herself and what she had been up to. She spoke proudly about her time at school, the friends she made, and all the attention she got—most of it laced with an arrogant sense of superiority. He tuned her out as best as he could, nodding occasionally, all the while seething inside.

The wolf dad glanced back at them through the rearview mirror. "You know, it’s only temporary," he said, matter-of-factly. "He just needs somewhere to stay. Can’t leave him alone in the Smiler house—it’s not safe for him there."

"Awwwwww!" she cooed, her voice going high-pitched and sweet, turning back to the human beside her. "You’re such a scaredy pet, aren’t you?" She reached out and stroked his hair again, her fingers lingering longer than before. He winced but didn’t pull away, his anger bubbling beneath the surface.

The wolf dad continued, almost as if explaining to a child. "Humans bond with their owners, you know? They need someone to replace that bond, or they die from sadness. It’s biology."

The human’s stomach twisted at the comment. His glare sharpened as he shot the dad a look in the rearview mirror. Die from sadness? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but a part of him hesitated. He remembered stories from his old world—about pets who actually died from grief after their owners passed. His throat tightened. Could that actually happen to me here?

He swallowed hard, his mind racing. Do I actually have to bond with her? The thought made him sick. But what if it wasn’t just some manipulative tactic? What if his biology really did force him into this?

His gaze shifted to the wolf girl beside him, who was now happily chatting about how she’d always wanted him to be her pet. Her voice became background noise as he leaned slightly closer, a cautious, measured movement, testing the waters.

Her reaction was immediate. She beamed, her eyes lighting up like a child getting their favorite toy. "Aww, you’re warming up to me already!" she squealed, hugging him tightly. Her body pressed against his, her fur soft but suffocating. "You’re finally accepting me as your new master!"

"No," he said through gritted teeth.

But she just smiled, her confidence unshaken. "Sure, sure," she said, dismissively waving her hand again. "It’ll be a ‘yes’ in no time. Trust me."

The car rolled to a stop outside a diner, the bright neon sign flickering in the evening light. The human’s mind was still reeling as they got out of the car, the weight of his situation settling in with every step toward the door. The wolf girl strutted ahead, proudly holding her head high, while he followed behind, wrestling with the growing knot of fear and anger in his chest.

Chapter Text

Sitting at the diner table, the human stared out the window, letting his mind drift. The atmosphere felt unsettling. The memory of a restaurant from his world flashed briefly in his mind—a blurry, warm place filled with familiar faces, but none were clear now. Just faceless shadows, laughing and living. They were human. I miss that, he thought. I miss seeing a human face.

He glanced around the diner and saw only anthro faces: fur, scales, feathers—nothing that resembled what he used to know. It made his skin crawl. He was trapped in a world where he didn’t belong, where he was nothing more than a pet, a commodity.

His "owner," the wolf girl Ayersi, was too busy chatting with the waiter to notice his growing discomfort. "Hey," she said, turning to him with a grin, "what do you want?"

"Nuggets, burger, fries, I guess," he muttered, his voice low. He wasn’t even sure if food mattered anymore.

"And a chocolate shake for him," Ayersi added, waving him off as if she already knew what he wanted. "I’ll have the pasta with lobster."

The waiter nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen.

The human sat there, trying to focus on anything but the tension brewing inside him. Conversations from nearby tables floated over, little snippets of chatter that he clung to, desperate for any distraction.

"Look at that girl," one of the teenage anthro girls whispered. "She’s got a human with her."

"He’s pretty," another girl chimed in, her tone dripping with curiosity. "I’ve never seen one like that."

"His eyes... and what’s with his hair? It looks like corn or something."

"He’s so pale. You think he’s sick?"

The human clenched his teeth, trying to block it out. It wasn’t the first time he’d overheard comments like that. They looked at him like he was some rare animal on display, something to be admired, discussed, and ultimately ignored. It felt dehumanizing. I’m not a trophy, he reminded himself, though he wasn’t sure if he even believed it anymore.

Ayersi leaned back in her seat, stretching her arms with a satisfied grin. She had the look of someone who just won a prize, completely oblivious to his discomfort. "You know," she began, her voice playful and full of pride, "my friends are gonna be so jealous when they find out I finally got you. I mean, you’re, like, the perfect pet human. Way better than those wild ones. They can barely speak."

He nodded but said nothing. Inside, though, he was seething. I’m not your pet. I’m not a thing.

She mistook his silence for compliance. "I always knew you’d end up with me," she continued, practically glowing with smugness. "It was just a matter of time."

He stared at her, his face a mask of politeness, but underneath it, his mind raged. I’ll never be yours, he thought bitterly. I’d rather be dead.

Across the diner, conversations carried on. He tried to focus on them instead.

"Did you see her shoes? Those have to be custom," said one of the corporate anthro women, sitting at a nearby table.

"Yeah, you can’t find stuff like that around here. Probably imported."

Their chatter faded into the background as Ayersi pulled her phone from her pocket, scrolling through messages from her friends. She didn’t even glance up, too busy showing off her "prize" to them through pictures and texts.

She looked back at him, smirking. "You’re gonna get used to this, you know. I’ve always had a thing for you. Way before I got you." She reached out to pet his hair, and he flinched, but held still. Her hand lingered there a moment too long, making his stomach churn.

The door to the diner opened, and Ayersi’s dad walked back in, taking a seat next to her. "Short-faced bear’s running late," he said, annoyed. "We’ve got some time."

Ayersi practically beamed. "Perfect! More time with my new pet." She grinned, turning back to the human, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

The human clenched his fists beneath the table, trying to keep his cool. I hate this, he thought, his anger barely restrained. I hate all of this.

As they waited for their food, Ayersi tapped her nails against the table, looking at him expectantly. "You should be happy, you know," she said, her voice filled with smug satisfaction. "You’re not stuck with that depressing Smiler house anymore. I mean, I’ve always wanted you. It’s like, meant to be."

He raised his head slightly, meeting her gaze with a blank expression. "It’s fine," he muttered, not wanting to give her anything more than that.

She grinned wider, misinterpreting his silence as acceptance. "See? I knew you’d warm up to me eventually." She reached out again, this time stroking his cheek with a softness that made him want to recoil even more. "You’re such a good boy."

He swallowed his anger, forcing himself to stay calm. Just survive, he told himself. Just survive.

When the waiter brought their food, the human’s attention flickered for a moment. He stared down at the burger and fries in front of him, but it didn’t look the same as what he remembered from his world. Even something as simple as this felt alien.

Ayersi’s pasta and lobster arrived soon after, and she dug in without hesitation. "You gonna eat or what?" she asked, her mouth full.

He took a small bite, forcing himself to chew. Across the diner, more schoolgirls whispered, and corporate women chatted, their voices blending together in a cacophony of meaningless noise.

Ayersi’s dad stood up, muttering something about waiting outside for the short-faced bear to show up. As he walked away, Ayersi leaned closer to the human, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You’re gonna love it here. I’ll take such good care of you. You’ll see."

He stared at her, feeling sick.

Chapter Text

Sitting at the diner table, the human stared blankly out the window, his eyes following the cars, the anthros walking by, the distant blur of city life. But it all felt distant—like watching something through a foggy screen. It wasn’t his world. The sounds outside were muffled, almost drowned out by the buzz of the diner and the low hum of anthro chatter surrounding him.

His mind drifted back to a restaurant from his own world—a real one, with humans everywhere. Warm faces, familiar laughs. He couldn’t even picture it right anymore; it was fading, turning into shadows in his head. I miss that, he thought. I miss human faces.

Now, he was stuck in this diner, surrounded by anthros. He felt out of place, like an exhibit in a zoo. Every time he looked around, all he saw were snouts, fur, and scales. Not a single human in sight. His stomach churned, an uneasy feeling settling deep inside him. I don’t belong here. I’m just... a pet.

Across from him, Ayersi, his wolf owner, was oblivious to his discomfort. She was in her own world, phone in hand, fingers scrolling through messages, probably telling her friends about how she finally got a human. She looked way too happy for him to even think about bringing up his feelings.

“Hey,” she chirped, not even looking up, “what do you want to eat?”

He barely registered her words, shrugging. “Nuggets, burger, fries,” he muttered. His voice was low, almost mechanical. He didn’t care what he ate anymore.

Ayersi’s grin spread wide. “Yeah, figures. And get him a chocolate shake too,” she said, glancing at the waiter. “And I’ll have the lobster pasta. Thanks!”

The waiter—a tall, lean anthro with silver fur—jotted down the order, his eyes flicking over to the human for a second before nodding and heading off.

The human sat in silence, the noise of the diner creeping into his ears. He could hear bits of conversation from nearby tables—teenage girls, schoolmates of Ayersi’s, whispering and giggling. He caught just enough to know what they were talking about.

“That’s a human with her,” one of the girls said, her voice filled with awe.

“He’s cute,” another one added. “I’ve never seen one up close like that.”

“Ugh, look at his skin, though. He looks kinda sick,” the first girl muttered, as if he couldn’t hear them.

His jaw clenched, trying to block it out. I’m not some... thing. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t even trying to hide it—just talking about him like he was a rare breed, an exotic pet on display.

Ayersi leaned back in her seat, stretching with a satisfied sigh. “My friends are gonna be so jealous,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “I mean, come on. I got a human. Like, this is major.”

Her words sliced through the human’s thoughts, but he kept quiet. She was practically beaming with pride, acting like she’d won a prize at the fair. She had no idea how much he hated this. I’m not your prize, he wanted to say. I’m not yours.

She kept talking, oblivious to his mood. “You know, I’ve always wanted you. Ever since I first saw you, I knew we’d end up together. It’s like... fate or something, right?” She gave him this playful, almost smug look, as if expecting him to agree.

He didn’t respond, his face blank. Inside, though, he was boiling. Fate? Are you kidding me? This is a nightmare.

Ayersi mistook his silence for something else, her grin growing wider. “See? You’re coming around. You’ll get used to this,” she said, reaching out and ruffling his hair like he was some puppy. The touch made him flinch, but he forced himself to stay still.

She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through more messages. Probably bragging. Meanwhile, the human sank deeper into his chair, feeling more and more disconnected from the world around him. The sounds of the diner faded again, replaced by that persistent buzzing in his head. The longer he sat there, the more he felt like everything was fading away, becoming greyer, hazier. Nothing felt real.

The door to the diner opened, and Ayersi’s dad came back in. He looked annoyed, grumbling something under his breath as he took a seat next to her. “Short-faced bear’s running late,” he muttered. “We’ve got some time.”

Ayersi didn’t seem to care, bouncing in her seat like an excited kid. “Perfect! More time with my new pet!” she said, throwing another beaming smile at the human. “Isn’t this great?”

The human didn’t answer. He just clenched his fists under the table, nails digging into his palms. I hate this, he thought. I hate her.

Ayersi was practically glowing with happiness, like this was the best day of her life. She looked so... alive, so full of energy. Every movement she made was light, carefree, like there was a beat in her step that she couldn’t contain. Meanwhile, the human felt like he was suffocating. His world felt grey, lifeless, like the color had been sucked out of it. The noise around him was just static.

"You're so lucky," one of the girls at a nearby table whispered. "I bet she's gonna spoil him. I'd kill to have a human."

The jealousy in their voices made the human’s skin crawl. They didn’t get it. They didn’t see what this was like for him. All they saw was some shiny new toy. They didn’t understand what it felt like to be owned, to be... trapped.

Ayersi wasn’t paying attention to the whispers anymore, too focused on her phone and the pictures she was taking of him. She kept snapping selfies with him, showing him off to her friends. “Smile,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “Come on, you gotta at least look happy for the pics.”

He forced a weak smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I’m not happy. I’ll never be happy here.

“Perfect!” she said, oblivious to the misery behind his expression. “See? We look great together.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. His stomach twisted into knots, the pressure building inside him. Why me? Why did this happen to me? His thoughts spiraled, sinking deeper into the pit of despair.

The food arrived a few minutes later. The human stared down at the plate in front of him—nuggets, a burger, fries—but it didn’t look like the food from his world. It felt off, like a poor imitation. Even something as simple as this was a reminder that he didn’t belong here. He picked at it, but couldn’t bring himself to eat.

Meanwhile, Ayersi was digging into her lobster pasta like it was the best meal she’d ever had. “This is so good,” she mumbled through a mouthful of food. “You should try some.”

He shook his head, staring blankly at his plate. He didn’t want any of it. He didn’t want to be here.

As they ate, Ayersi’s dad got up again, muttering something about checking outside. As soon as he was gone, Ayersi leaned in closer to the human, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re gonna love it here,” she said, her eyes shining with excitement. “I’ll take such good care of you. You’ll never have to worry about anything ever again.”

Her words sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him. I don’t want to be taken care of. He stared at her, trying to mask the disgust he felt. But she didn’t notice. She never noticed.

A few minutes later, one of Ayersi’s classmates walked past their table, her eyes locking onto the human. She paused, staring openly, before shooting Ayersi a sly grin. “You got a human now, huh?” Her voice was dripping with envy. “Damn, girl. You’re lucky.”

Ayersi puffed up, clearly enjoying the attention. “Yep,” she said, throwing her arm around the human’s shoulder. “Finally got my own.”

The girl looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly. “He’s cute,” she said, her tone shifting from envy to something more predatory. “Mind if I...?”

Before she could finish, Ayersi’s hand tightened on his shoulder, her smile turning sharp. “He’s mine,” she said firmly, her eyes flashing with possessiveness.

The girl backed off, chuckling softly. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d say hi.” She gave the human one last lingering look before walking away, her tail swishing behind her.

Ayersi turned back to him, her grin returning, though her eyes still held that glint of possessiveness. “See?” she said, her voice soft but smug. “Everyone’s jealous. They all want what I have. But they can’t have you. You’re mine.”

He looked away, his throat tight. I’m not yours, he thought. I’ll never be yours.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur, the human barely tasting his food as Ayersi chattered away happily. She was living in her bright, colorful world, while he was stuck in a grey, lifeless one.

Chapter Text

Ayersi felt an overwhelming surge of excitement, the kind that made her feel lighter, almost silly in a way that she'd normally hide under her polished demeanor. Today, she didn’t care. She had her human, and nothing else mattered. The fake smiles and pretentious attitude she put on for everyone at school? Gone. She turned to him, a mischievous grin on her face.

"C’mon, human. Let’s go play in the playpen!" she said, almost bouncing as her tail swayed behind her.

He blinked, giving her an odd look before glancing over at the massive jungle gym she was pointing to. It looked like something out of a child’s dream—tubes, climbing spots, weird platforms that didn’t quite make sense. He had to admit, it was impressive. Way bigger than anything he’d seen in his old world. But, he still wasn’t sure why she was so into it. His brows furrowed.

"Uh… Ayersi. Isn't that, like, a thing for kids?"

She turned to him with a playful pout, her tail wagging even faster. "You calling me old?" she teased, bumping him with her hip. "I'm only 57, and I can still play there. Besides, it’s just like the one we have in the gym, but, you know, smaller."

He stared at her, still confused. "Yeah, but like… gym class?"

"Yeah! PE got canceled, remember? So, like, I haven’t gotten any physical activity today. I’ve been waiting all week for it, and now I have to wait ‘til next week?" She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Nah, no way. We’re gonna play. And I gotta show off my pet human too. Like, seriously, there’s way too many eyes here not to."

That last part made his stomach twist. "Too many eyes? What do you mean by that?"

Ayersi flashed him a coy smile, but didn’t explain. Instead, she grabbed his hand, practically dragging him toward the playpen, her steps light, almost dancing. He sighed but followed, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd of eyes already on them.

They crawled into the giant tubes, Ayersi clearly having the time of her life, her sleek wolf body moving through the jungle gym like it was second nature. Her tail wagged happily as she darted between leaves and branches, almost like she was in her natural habitat. He, on the other hand, felt ridiculous. Crawling around like a child wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he thought of "recreation." But, then again, humans used to swing on trees and hang out on playgrounds. So, maybe this was just their thing in this world.

He stopped in one of the connecting tubes, feeling the weight of his own awkwardness. Through the thin plastic, he could see a group of girls lounging in a wider section of the gym. They all looked like they’d stepped straight out of the Ice Age, a bunch of prehistoric queens casually hanging out and… texting?

Ayersi’s voice snapped him back to the present. "C’mon! You gotta meet my girls."

She led him into the larger part of the tube, and he immediately felt like a piece of meat being served up to a pack of predators. Ayersi’s friends were all there: a European gazelle girl with long, elegant legs, with her head buried in her phone, a flathead peccary girl chewing gum obnoxiously, a shrub ox girl who was sitting with a pile of fries, and a giant beaver girl who was chewing on a piece of wood, sculpting it into what looked like a little plane.

The gazelle girl glanced up, her voice dripping with envy. "Yo, that the human?" she asked, eyes narrowing as she sized him up.

Ayersi beamed. "Yeah, isn’t he cute?"

The peccary girl smirked, blowing a bubble with her gum before popping it. "Damn, He’s a snack, for real I didn’t expect him to be so… I dunno, cute? How’d you get him?"

Ayersi’s tail swayed proudly. "Luck, I guess. He’s been around forever, but now he’s finally mine."

“He’s so… delicate,” the gazelle added, her voice soft but filled with a weird kind of lustful hunger. "Like… prey."

The shrub ox snorted, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Damn, thought I’d never see one up close. He looks... soft."

He cringed inwardly. This was so uncomfortable, but it was only about to get worse. Ayersi leaned in, her smile turning almost predatory as she placed her hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer. "Oh, he’s soft alright. Wanna see?"

Before he could react, she kissed him, full on, in front of all of them. His eyes widened in shock, his whole body freezing up. She didn’t care though, her lips lingering on his, as if she was showing off a prize she’d just won. He could feel the eyes on him—those hungry, envious eyes from her friends, and from random strangers peering through the other tubes.

"Get a room, damn," the peccary chuckled, leaning back against the tube.

"Whoa! What the fuck?" one of the randoms from another tube shouted, their voice echoing through the structure. "No one said this place was for hookups."

"Yo, can I go next?" another voice called out, laughter following it. "I got 20 bucks!"

The giant beaver girl rolled her eyes. "Gross. You could’ve warned us, Ayersi."

The gazelle girl had already whipped out her phone, recording the whole thing. "Gonna send this to the group chat," she said, not even bothering to hide the fact she was documenting the whole embarrassing moment.

“Nah, this is Ayersi’s little love nest now,” the shrub ox said with a smirk, nudging the peccary. “Too bad she’s got first dibs, huh?”

He pulled away, his face flushed with humiliation. "what the hell! Ayersi… seriously?"

She just grinned, ignoring his discomfort. "What? You’re mine. Might as well show you off, right?"

His stomach churned. He wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and vanish from the humiliating spotlight. But there was no escape.

Her friends continued chatting, throwing comments that made his skin crawl.

The shrub ox grinned, cracking her knuckles. "I’d give anything to have one like him."

"Bet the other girls are gonna be jealous," the shrub ox said, licking her fingers. "Not every day you see a human making out with someone."

"He’s definitely better looking than that wild one Katie was showing off last month," the peccary girl added. "Like, no contest."

She crawled over to her friends, still beaming, and they crowded around her, chatting excitedly. The gazelle reached out, touching her arm. "Damn, girl, you really scored. I’m so jealous."

“Right?” Ayersi replied, wagging her tail. "I mean, he’s perfect. Way better than any of those other humans."

As Ayersi settled down beside him, basking in the attention, he just sat there, silently fuming. This world wasn’t his. It wasn’t even close. Everything felt hazy, noisy—voices blending into each other, the walls of the tubes seeming to close in. It was suffocating.

Meanwhile, Ayersi’s world was bright. Every step she took, every laugh from her friends, every glance from a stranger—it all seemed to fuel her happiness. She was in her element, surrounded by people who envied her, admired her, craved her confidence.

He was just... there. Something for her to flaunt.

And the worst part? No matter how much he hated it, no matter how much he wanted to scream, he knew deep down that this was his life now. he almost wanted to cry, and he did.

Chapter Text

The human huddled in the corner of the playpen, curling himself into a tight ball, sniffling as tears welled up in his eyes. The overwhelming noise of Ayersi’s friends chatting and laughing around him felt suffocating. It wasn’t that they were directly picking on him—it was just too much. He wiped his face with his sleeve, trying to hide it, but it didn’t work. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he let out a shaky breath.

Ayersi, still in the midst of showing off her human, noticed the shift in his energy. Her ears flicked, and she turned around, catching sight of him crying. Her face dropped, and her tail stilled. "Oh no... pet, why are you sad?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion. She sniffed his face, her wet nose brushing against his cheek, and she licked his tears in an attempt to comfort him, just like her dad did when she was upset. But nothing worked; he was still sad. The weight of her own disappointment settled heavily in her chest.

Just then, one of her friends, a tall horse girl, clambered up the tube, yawning loudly. "Hey, what’s up, guys? No one told me Ayersi was here already! I passed out in the ball pit again." Her eyes widened as she spotted the human. “Ohhh, SWEET! Is that a human?”

Ayersi forced a smile. “Yeah, but… something’s off. He’s sad. I don’t get it. I’ve been like… sprinkling him with affection and stuff, but it’s not working. What am I doing wrong?”

The horse girl trotted closer, ears perking up as she studied the human. He was huddled there like a small, wounded thing, sniffling and staring blankly at the wall. The others began crowding around him too, poking at him softly or petting his head like he was some fragile creature.

“Shhh,” one of the girls whispered, awkwardly patting his back.

Another gently stroked his hair, muttering, “It’s okay. Don’t cry. You’re like, super cute when you’re sad, but still…”

The human flinched at their touch, curling up tighter.

The horse girl frowned, her brow knitting together in thought. “Wait… Ayersi, isn’t this the human who used to be owned by that Smiler chick?”

Ayersi blinked, her confusion deepening. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

The horse’s frown only deepened. “Ohhh, well, that explains it. He’s probably love-starved, girl. If he was owned by Smiler, I doubt he got any real affection from her. And now you’re giving him all this love, it’s probably like… short-circuiting his brain or something. Humans are super sensitive like that; they get all moody and emotional when they lose their, like, ‘one true love’ or whatever. You loving him is probably making him think of her, and now he’s, like, traumatized or whatever.”

Ayersi’s face twisted with frustration, her ears flattening against her skull. "Her? You mean her?" She spat out the word like it was poison. “Damnit! I don’t want him thinking about her! I want him to think about me and only me. What do I do to get his mind off of that? I’m his owner now, not her!”

The horse girl scratched her chin, deep in thought. “Hmm… well, if you wanna get his mind off of her, maybe you need to show him love in a way she didn’t? Like, go all out with it. Maybe we could play… I dunno, house or something? You be the mom, I’ll be the dad, and the rest of you can be our daughters. The human will be our little pet.”

The others burst out laughing at the idea. “Oh my god, that’s so dumb. Let’s do it!”

Ayersi raised an eyebrow, unsure. “Uh… I don’t know. That sounds kinda weird…”

“Nah, trust me, it’ll work,” the horse insisted, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “We’ll pretend to be a loving couple, right? Make out a bit so he gets used to us, and maybe he’ll start associating love with you instead of that dead chick. It’s like… psychology or whatever.”

Before Ayersi could protest, the horse girl grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her like she was some kind of dashing gentleman. Ayersi’s eyes went wide, her tail going stiff. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m not sure about this!”

The horse leaned in, pressing her muzzle against Ayersi’s mouth in an exaggerated kiss. “C’mon, Ayersi, just go with it. I’m your ‘husband’ now. Gotta make it believable for the human, right?”

Ayersi squirmed, a weird moan escaping her throat as she half-heartedly kissed back. “Uhhhh, I dunno about this, Horse. This feels so weird.”

“Shut up, Ayersi. I’m not a girl right now, I’m your husband. We’re role-playing. Just… act like you’re into it.”

The other girls howled with laughter, slapping their knees and crawling around the tube like they were getting into their own silly roles. “C’mon, daughters, time to be pretty!” one of them joked, pretending to prance around like a prissy teen.

Another one stuck out her tongue, pretending to do her nails. “OMG, Daddy and Mommy are so gross when they kiss!”

“Ewwww, stop it! You’re embarrassing me!” another girl chimed in, pretending to gag.

The human, still huddled in the corner, stared at the absurdity unfolding in front of him. It was like a nightmare, but somehow, the ridiculousness of it all made it worse. He felt even more out of place, even more like an object. They were playing with him like he was part of some messed-up game, and it made his skin crawl.

“Okay, daughters,” the horse girl said, dramatically sweeping her hand through the air. “Time to give our little pet some love. Come on, let’s show him how this family does things.”

The girls crowded around him, giggling as they started poking and petting him again. One of them leaned in close, whispering, “It’s okay, little guy. Mommy and Daddy love you very much.”

Another one patted his head. “Don’t be scared. You’re part of the family now.”

The horse girl smirked, still holding Ayersi in a mock romantic embrace. “See, Ayersi? This is working. He’s totally gonna forget all about that Smiler chick. He’s gonna be so into you now.”

Ayersi, still flustered from the whole kissing ordeal, glanced over at the human. “You… you think so?”

“Totally,” the horse girl said, puffing out her chest. “You just gotta keep, like, showering him with attention. But in a different way. Not just the same ol’ stuff. Keep him guessing. Keep him on his toes.”

One of the other girls giggled. “Hey, maybe next we can pretend to be his school teachers or something. You know, like detention or whatever.”

The human groaned inwardly. This was his life now—

Chapter Text

The human groaned inwardly. This was his life now—being the plaything of a bunch of bored, Pleistocene-era teenage girls who had no idea how messed up their game really was. To them, this wasn’t affection—it was control. But they didn’t see it that way. To them, it was just fun, something to laugh about and share on social media.

Suddenly, one of the girls whipped out her phone, aiming it straight at him. “Oh my god, he looks so pathetic right now,” she giggled, snapping the picture. “This is gonna blow up.”

Another girl chimed in, leaning over her shoulder. “Yeah, post it with, like, ‘When your pet human doesn’t even realize how good he’s got it.’” They both cackled, fingers already flying across the screen to upload it. Within seconds, the post went live, and the notifications started pouring in almost immediately.

"Already getting tons of likes!" the horse girl squealed, eagerly refreshing the post. “Oh, girl, check out these comments!”

They began reading them out loud, laughter bubbling up as the comments rolled in:

“Aw, look at him! He’s like a sad little puppy 😍.” “I’d spoil the hell outta him! How do I get a human like that?!” “Bet he’s soft and cuddly. Lucky Ayersi! 🥰” “Is he house-trained? I need to know before I adopt one.” “OMG, does he come from a show line? Can I breed him?” “Ew, what’s wrong with his face? I’d return him to the pet store.” “Are you seriously keeping him? Aren’t humans, like, super dangerous? 😳” “Maybe you should discipline him. A rolled-up newspaper might do the trick! 😂” “Is he even good in bed? Asking for a friend!”

Ayersi's smile turned into a frown as she heard the snickering and mocking. She felt a surge of anger bubbling up inside her.

“Wait, what?!” she shouted, snatching the phone from her friend's hand to see for herself. Her heart raced as she scrolled through the comments, her eyes narrowing with each read. “How could they say that?!”

Her friends kept giggling, not realizing how hurt she was. “Chill, Ayersi,” one of them said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “It’s just the internet. People are always gonna say stupid stuff.”

“No!” Ayersi snapped, her fur bristling. “They don’t get it! I’m doing everything I can for him! I’m giving him everything! How dare they say I’m hurting him?! They don’t know anything!”

“C’mon, it’s just for fun!” another friend chimed in. “I mean, you have to admit, the whole ‘pet human’ thing is kinda wild!”

Ayersi’s eyes flashed with determination. “I’m not some cruel owner. I love him, and I want him to feel that! I’m going to show them!”

Her friends shrugged, still giggling as they continued scrolling through the comments. “Yeah, but seriously, how much would you sell him for?” one asked, trying to stifle her laughter.

“Like, maybe two bags of chips?” another chimed in.

The comments kept rolling in, and Ayersi clenched her fists in frustration, determined to prove to the world that she was the best thing that ever happened to him.

The human looked around, scanning the playground, his heart pounding in his chest. There had to be a high place, somewhere he could escape this circus of laughter and mocking. Maybe it was time. It was clear he was trapped in this world he barely wanted to be in, and now he was forced to endure this demeaning shit.

He heard a voice whispering in his mind, a voice that felt like a familiar caress. It urged him to go away from these girls, to be loyal to his late master, even in her death, and to leave this life behind. The edge of the jungle gym loomed in front of him, a siren call from the void. It felt like the only escape from the pain that engulfed him. As he approached, the sadness overwhelmed him, a tide of whispers flooding his mind.

The tug of his old chain, one that wasn’t there anymore, pulled him closer to the edge. It was as if his old master was telling him to join her, to leave this place behind. The mark on his neck—the bite mark of her ownership—burned and ached, an unbearable reminder of his past. It ached like his heart, twisting and turning with memories he couldn’t escape. Maybe it was time he ended it all.

The thought of releasing himself from this torment, how sweet it would be, danced in his mind like a mirage. It felt almost like a promise—a release from the never-ending cycle of pain and humiliation. But as he stood on the brink, he felt Ayersi's presence close behind him, a shadow that loomed heavy over him, her emotions threading through the air like a palpable weight.

“Hey!” she called, her voice tinged with concern. “What are you doing?”

He turned, the anguish in his chest threatening to consume him. He was caught between the void and the warmth of her light, and for a moment, he didn’t know which way to go.

“Nothing,” he muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just, uh, practicing some human stuff. You know, crawling and jumping on things. Just keeping it real.”

“Why are you sad?” Ayersi pressed, her eyes searching his. There was genuine concern there, but it felt suffocating, like a heavy blanket draped over him. He hated it.

“It’s just my master,” he lied, his voice barely a whisper. “I miss her.”

“Stop thinking about her!” Ayersi shot back, her frustration boiling over. “You don’t need her! You have me now!”

Her words twisted the knife deeper, an irony that made him want to scream. She didn’t understand, and as her voice rose, he felt the ache in his chest grow, suffocating him with the weight of her love. The new chain she was forming around his heart tightened, and he could feel the familiar pain washing over him, reopening wounds he thought had begun to heal.

Tears filled his eyes, and he whispered, “No... not again.”

He choked on his sob, his body trembling as he fought the storm of emotions raging inside him. He wanted to scream in rage, to tell her how much her words hurt, but all that escaped him was a whimper.

Ayersi looked at him, her expression shifting from frustration to something softer, but it was pity he felt he could do without. He glared back at her with the same eyes he had when he watched his old master dying at his feet—full of hatred and despair.

The memory of her frail body, the way she had looked at him with such warmth, clashed with the cold reality of his situation. How could he explain the ache that echoed in his chest? How could he tell her that every moment spent in this world felt like an eternity of punishment? She was trying to pull him back into the light, but all he could see were the shadows creeping closer, whispering promises of release.

“I... I just want it to stop,” he managed to say, his voice trembling.

“Stop what?” she demanded, her frustration surfacing again. “You think you’re some kind of victim? You’re not! You’re not in chains anymore!”

The venom in her tone stung, and he felt the anger boiling inside him, but he didn’t dare let it out. Not with her standing there, her presence overwhelming and bright, casting a shadow over his pain. He didn’t want to hurt her, but her love felt like a trap, tightening around him, suffocating him in a way he couldn’t escape.

“I just… I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his voice breaking. “It’s too much.”

“Too much? What do you mean?” she pressed, the concern in her eyes mingling with something darker. “You’re being selfish. You think you’re the only one suffering? You have no idea what I’m going through!”

His heart raced as he met her gaze, the fury in her words clashing with the sorrow in his soul. “You don’t understand!” he shouted, the words spilling from his lips before he could stop them. “You have no idea what it’s like to be trapped in a life like this!”

Ayersi stepped back, taken aback by his outburst. “Trapped? You’re free now! You’re with me!”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was with her, and the more time they spent together, the more he felt himself drowning in the emotions he didn’t want to face. The memories of his past washed over him like a tide, blurring the lines between his old world and the new one Ayersi was trying to pull him into.

The joy she radiated was like a beacon, yet it felt like a noose tightening around his neck. Every laugh, every shared moment felt tainted with the weight of his despair. It was as if he was living in a nightmare he couldn’t escape, a constant reminder of what he had lost.

“You think this is fun for me?” he spat, his voice rising in anger. “I’m a pet to you, and that’s all I’ll ever be!”

“Then you need to stop acting like one!” Ayersi shouted back, her frustration boiling over. “You can’t keep holding on to her! You’re mine now! I love you!”

But her words, meant to comfort, felt like a slap in the face. Love didn’t mean ownership. It didn’t mean control. It didn’t mean suffocation.

“Love? This isn’t love!” he shouted, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re just trying to own me like she did!”

“Is that what you think?!” Ayersi’s eyes widened in shock, her voice rising to a fever pitch. “You think I want to keep you locked up? I’m trying to help you! I care about you!”

“Help? Care? You think you’re doing me a favor?!” he yelled, the bitterness in his heart spilling over. “You don’t know me! You don’t know what it’s like! You’re just playing with me!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Ayersi’s expression shifted from anger to hurt, the light in her eyes flickering. For a moment, he thought he might have broken through, might have made her see the truth of his reality.

But then she recoiled, her shoulders slumping as if he had struck her. “I’m trying to be good to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You think I want to hurt you?”

“Maybe you don’t realize it, but you are,” he replied, his voice softer now, the anger fading into something deeper, something that felt like despair. “You don’t understand what it’s like to live in a world where you’re nothing but a pet. You’re just like them.”

He turned away from her, heart heavy with regret. As he stared into the distance, the darkness swirled around him, threatening to pull him back down into the abyss. He could feel her presence behind him, the weight of her emotions pressing down on him, suffocating him like the heavy blanket of shame and sorrow that had settled over his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Ayersi said finally, her voice small and shaky. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

But he didn’t respond. All he could feel was the crushing weight of despair, the longing for an escape that felt closer than ever. As the world around him faded, all that remained was the void—a promise of release from the pain that engulfed him.

Chapter Text

But then she recoiled, her shoulders slumping as if he had struck her. “I’m trying to be good to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You think I want to hurt you? Maybe you don’t realize it, but you are,” he replied, his voice softer now, the anger fading into something deeper, something that felt like despair. “You don’t understand what it’s like to live in a world where you’re nothing but a pet. You’re just like them.”

He turned away from her, heart heavy with regret. As he stared into the distance, the darkness swirled around him, threatening to pull him back down into the abyss. He could feel her presence behind him, the weight of her emotions pressing down on him, suffocating him like the heavy blanket of shame and sorrow that had settled over his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Ayersi said finally, her voice small and shaky. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

But he didn’t respond. All he could feel was the crushing weight of despair, the longing for an escape that felt closer than ever. As the world around him faded, all that remained was the void—a promise of release from the pain that engulfed him.

Today sucked. He just wanted to spend some time with the people his master knew. One of them wasn’t even here, and the other girl who was here just made him feel awful. He felt the call. He wanted to go back home. He brushed Ayersi aside and slipped out the back door, shoving her away when she tried to hold him back.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice rising in confusion. “Please don’t leave like this!”

“Just let me go!” he snapped, anger bubbling up again, mixing with the hurt that had settled in his chest.

“Why are you freaking out? I thought we were having fun!”

“No, I’m done having fun!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the trees. “You don’t get it! You made me feel awful!”

She grabbed his arm, desperation shining in her eyes. “Talk to me! What did I do wrong? I didn’t even do anything to you! It’s not fair!”

He shook her off again, but her words wrapped around him, twisting like a vise. “Don’t go away now. You made me so happy, human! What’s happening?”

He felt a surge of frustration, anger at her for making this day so miserable. “You think this is about you?” he snapped back, his breath coming in quick bursts. “You don’t know anything about me! You’re being selfish! Just—leave me alone!”

With that, he pushed past her, stepping into the woods, the thick underbrush scratching at his legs as he moved. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t bear to see the hurt on her face. The further he got, the more he felt the weight of her emotions pressing against him, but he kept moving, wanting to escape.

He walked deeper into the woods, his heart pounding as he navigated the tangled branches and hidden roots. He could feel her trying to catch up, but he twisted and turned, maneuvering through the trees until he lost her.

Breathing heavily, he stumbled into a small clearing. That’s when he saw her. A girl stood alone, sadness radiating off her like a storm cloud. She was perched on a chair, a noose in her hands, eyes misty with tears.

He stopped, a strange feeling creeping into his gut. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t interrupt. But part of him felt a flicker of something that felt like relief for her. Good for her, finally saying enough was enough.

The voice in his head screamed at him. I want to be reborn.

Maybe he should go talk to her, ask to join her in a suicide pact. Wouldn’t that be nice? A way out of this miserable life, one that was too heavy to carry alone.

But just as he was about to step forward, she froze, her gaze snapping to him. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as fear flashed across her face. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Are you a human?”

He paused, the weight of her question pressing down on him. “Yeah,” he replied, keeping his distance. “I’m from House Smiler.”

She relaxed a fraction but still looked wary. “You’re... you’re a human from House Smiler?”

Her disbelief intrigued him. She didn’t look bulky like the hyenas he remembered. Instead, she was slender and smooth, like a whisper of laughter in the wind. He didn’t know much about the animals in this world—most of the knowledge had died with them—but he was curious.

“Yeah, I am,” he replied, feeling oddly exposed. “What about you?”

“I’m a hyena.” She stepped down from the chair, her eyes scanning him with cautious curiosity. “But I’m not like the others. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He raised an eyebrow, still uncertain. “Why are you out here?”

“I ran away,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I just wanted to get away from everything. I thought... I thought maybe I’d find a way out.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he mumbled, staring at the ground. He felt a strange connection to her pain, something familiar in her grief. “Things suck.”

She wiped at her face, leaving a streak of tears on her cheek. “You don’t know how much. But look at you. You’re clean and well-kept. What do you have to be sad about?”

He laughed bitterly, but the sound felt hollow. “You have no idea.”

Her gaze softened, searching his face as if she was looking for something. “I want to stay here. Can I? I just want to be around someone who... who understands.”

His heart sank. Why was he even considering this? But the thought of being alone again was suffocating. “Yeah, sure,” he replied, not really caring about anything but the idea of not sleeping alone. “You can stay.”

She stepped closer, a small smile breaking through her tears. “Thank you. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He didn’t know why he felt this way, why something deep inside him ached for connection, even in the darkest of times.

As they walked toward his house, the silence between them was heavy, but there was an unspoken understanding. He caught himself stealing glances at her, at the way her slender frame moved with a grace that felt so alien to him.

In the back of his mind, memories flared up—glimpses of a past life he could barely remember. Serving under his master, the laughter, the warmth. But those memories felt far away, like wisps of smoke vanishing into the air. All he could focus on was her presence beside him.

But as they neared his house, doubts crept in. What if this was just a distraction? What if she ended up being just like everyone else—just another reminder of what he had lost?

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. “I can’t remember much about my old life,” he muttered, frustration leaking into his voice. “Everything is just... a blur.”

She looked up at him, her eyes full of empathy. “Maybe that’s okay. We can figure things out together.”

But a part of him whispered that nothing mattered anymore. He wouldn’t find his old life again, no matter how hard he tried.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, his voice lacking conviction.

As they reached his door, he hesitated. Should he let her in? He didn’t want to be alone, but what if she saw how broken he really was? “I don’t know why I feel this way,” he confessed, turning to her. “I just—”

“Don’t think,” she interrupted gently. “Just come inside. It’s better than being out here.”

With a resigned sigh, he pushed the door open, the familiar creak echoing in the quiet night.

As they stepped inside, he felt the weight of her gaze on him, searching for answers that he didn’t have. He thought about the memories he couldn’t recall, the pieces of his life scattered like leaves in the wind. Maybe this was a chance to make something new, to fill the emptiness with something—anything—other than despair.

But deep down, a voice warned him to tread carefully. The past never really left, and the shadows of his memories lurked just out of sight, ready to swallow him whole.

“Let’s just sit for a while,” he said, gesturing to the worn-out couch. They settled in, the silence stretching between them, heavy with unspoken words.

As he glanced at her, he noticed the way her shoulders relaxed, the tension easing just a bit. “Why did you run away?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

She shrugged, her expression turning somber. “I couldn’t take it anymore. My family... they don’t understand. They think I should be grateful for everything I have, but I just feel trapped.”

He nodded, the knot in his chest tightening. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes, I wish I could just disappear.”

“Do you think about it a lot?" she asked, "yeh alot, for a long time".

Chapter Text

He pushed deeper into the woods, his footsteps heavy, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His thoughts raced, dark and tangled like the branches overhead. He could hear Ayersi still behind him, calling out, desperate to make him stop, but he had no intention of turning back. Not now. Not after everything.

Twisting through the underbrush, he lost her, disappearing into a clearing. That’s when he saw her.

A girl stood alone, silhouetted against the trees. She was perched on a chair, hands trembling as she tied a noose. Her eyes were swollen with tears, her expression hollow, drained. For a moment, he just stared, watching her in silence. There was something hauntingly familiar about the scene, like he was staring into a mirror. The way she teetered on the edge, the way everything around her seemed to scream despair.

Good for her, he thought. Finally ready to say enough is enough.

The idea slipped into his mind so easily. Join her. Maybe they could die together, free themselves from the world that never wanted them.

He stepped forward, but the crunch of leaves under his boots snapped her out of her daze. Her head shot up, eyes widening in terror. “Who are you?!” she gasped, startled, the noose dangling limply from her hand. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitated, caught off guard by her sudden reaction. “Just... walking.” His voice was flat, emotionless, like he didn’t care whether she believed him or not. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your... thing.”

Her eyes darted between him and the rope. “You... You’re human?” Her voice trembled, barely holding together.

“Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What’s it to you?”

She blinked, still reeling. “I—I’ve never seen a human just... out here.”

“Well, now you have.” He glanced at the noose, then back at her, feeling that strange tug of camaraderie in their misery. “Mind if I join you?”

Her mouth dropped open, the sadness in her eyes giving way to confusion. “What?”

“You know.” He gestured toward the chair, then mimicked tying the noose. “You’re not the only one who wants out.”

Her face scrunched up in disbelief, and then... she laughed. It wasn’t a bitter laugh either, just an awkward, half-hearted chuckle. “You’re serious?” she asked, looking at him like he’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “You just... wanna die? Like that?”

He shrugged, feeling his irritation flare. “Yeah. Why not? Life sucks. Thought you’d understand.”

Instead of answering, she stepped down from the chair, the noose forgotten as she wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I don’t even know what to say to that,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You really thought...”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Look, if you don’t want me here, just say so.”

“No, no! That’s not what I mean.” She seemed flustered now, her gaze flicking back to him every few seconds. “It’s just... I didn’t think anyone else would be out here. I was just... doing my own thing.”

“Well, guess I ruined that for you.” His tone was sarcastic, bitter. He was annoyed now, more at the fact that she seemed to have completely abandoned her plan. He was here for a release, not some conversation.

“No, it’s... fine,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I didn’t really want to do it anyway.”

He blinked at her, a little taken aback. “Then why the hell were you about to?”

She shrugged, her voice turning softer. “It just felt like the right thing to do. Everything’s too much, you know? But now that you’re here... I don’t know.” Her lips curled into a small smile, as if his presence was some kind of lifeline. “It feels a little better.”

His stomach twisted at that. “That’s not what I was going for,” he muttered under his breath.

But she ignored him, taking a few steps closer, eyes full of curiosity now. “You said you’re from House Smiler, right? I didn’t think they had humans out here.”

He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m... with them. Not like it matters.”

“It kinda does,” she said, folding her arms. “Smilers are famous, you know. Even a human with them has to be something.”

He scowled, feeling the frustration boiling in his chest again. “I’m not ‘something,’ alright? I’m just trying to get through the day.”

She tilted her head, studying him with more interest now. “You look... clean,” she said, frowning a little. “Like you’re well taken care of.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to talk at all. “So, what’s your story? Why are you out here?”

The question caught her off guard. She blinked, her smile fading a little. “I ran away. Didn’t feel like staying home anymore.”

He nodded, not really listening. His mind wandered back to his earlier thought—of ending it all. But every time he tried to focus on that, she kept talking.

“You don’t have to stay out here alone,” she said after a moment, her tone a bit softer now. “We could... you know, just sit together for a bit. Talk or whatever.”

“I wasn’t looking for company,” he mumbled, but she didn’t seem to hear him.

“It’s just nice,” she continued, her voice picking up slightly. “To know there’s someone else out here who gets it, you know? Even if it’s... weird.”

He glanced at her, irritated. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“I know,” she said, her voice soft, understanding. “But maybe it’s what we need. Just for tonight.”

He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of her words sink in. He didn’t want to need anything from anyone. He just wanted it all to end. But something in her eyes made him pause. Maybe, just for tonight, he didn’t have to be alone.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “But don’t get any ideas.”

She smiled again, a small, hesitant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I won’t.”

As they walked back toward his house, the silence between them stretched out. She talked, filling the empty space with her words, while he let his thoughts wander to the shadows that still lingered on the edges of his mind.

Chapter Text

removed the stuff here

Chapter Text

The halls of the Smiler mansion were eerily quiet, the air thick with the scent of dust and decay. Faint shafts of light filtered through boarded windows, barely enough to pierce the gloom. His footsteps echoed on the creaking wooden floor as he ventured deeper, his fingers brushing the cold stone walls. Everything felt still, as though the house had been asleep for centuries.

As he walked, the portraits lining the walls came into view, framed in tarnished gold. The faces of the house princesses stared down at him, their expressions distant and unreadable. Each painting bore the crest of a great house—Smiler, Dire Wolf, Short Face Bear—all symbols of the power they once held. But it was the figures beside them that held his attention.

Each princess had a human representative by her side, dressed in the regalia of their house, yet each one looked different—not just in their attire but in their very being. It was as if they were from entirely distinct breeds, or perhaps domesticated varieties tailored to suit the needs of their anthro masters.

He stopped before the first portrait—a towering Dire Wolf princess. Her fur was sleek, her posture exuding dominance, her eyes sharp with the intensity of a ruler. By her side stood a human, lean and poised, his face narrow and severe. His eyes were cold, calculating, and his body was draped in royal furs, a hunter’s bow slung over his back. He stood like a soldier, awaiting orders, his presence exuding discipline and restraint. The Dire Wolf princess had the power of a king, and this human, though fierce in appearance, was merely an extension of her strength.

Moving down the hall, he paused in front of the next painting—House Short Face Bear. The princess in the portrait was broad-shouldered, her stance powerful and unyielding, adorned in thick, fur-lined garments. She radiated authority, but her expression held a certain warmth. The human beside her, however, was just as imposing. His frame was hulking, his body built like a wall of muscle. His face was rounder, more gentle, yet his eyes carried the weight of silent strength. He wore heavy, winter-proof clothing and leaned on a gnarled staff, as though he had endured many battles alongside his mistress.

And then, there was the Smilodon portrait. A sleek, regal princess stood tall, her fur shimmering in the faded light. She wore a finely tailored coat, embroidered with intricate designs that marked her rank and history. The human beside her was slender, more delicate than the others, yet his presence was no less commanding. His face was sharp, feline even, with eyes that seemed to glow, even in the darkness. He was dressed elegantly, a symbol of grace, though it was clear his role was the same as the others—a servant, but elevated to the status of a representative for the house.

Each human was distinct, their forms as varied as the houses they served. It was unsettling, as though they had been bred specifically to suit the needs of their anthro rulers—like tools forged to fit into their masters' lives perfectly.

He shuddered, tearing his gaze from the portraits. The thought of humans being treated as symbols, sculpted for their role, made his stomach twist. It wasn’t just the eerie quiet of the house; it was the legacy it carried, one that had long since crumbled into dust.

The hallway stretched on, growing darker with every step. His breath echoed louder, the shadows pressing in closer. His heart began to pound in his chest, a strange sense of anticipation building as he walked further into the depths of the mansion.

The walls of the hall seemed to whisper tales long forgotten as the human stood before the portraits. Each painting not only showed a moment frozen in time but carried with it the weight of history—an era when the great houses of Smiler, Dire Wolf, and Short Face Bear clashed in battle for dominance. The wars had been brutal, each house seeking to carve out its legacy through blood and conquest. For centuries, the battles between the ancient beasts raged, with each house holding its own, wielding its might through both their princesses and the human representatives who led their armies.

There had been a time when they were the undisputed rulers of the land, towering over the other animals with sheer size and strength. Their humans, trained from birth to be loyal and fierce, were more than just pets. They were the face of their house’s power—war leaders who charged into battle with the armies of their respective species behind them, the anthro princesses watching from high, majestic vantage points. Their triumphs were many, their victories heralded in song and story, celebrated in the very halls he now wandered through.

The human in the painting looked proud, his stance strong, though his expression, like the others, carried a hint of resignation. Perhaps he had known, even then, that the age of his kind was coming to an end.

The wars between the ancient houses were only the beginning. As time passed, new animals rose to challenge them—creatures born of a warmer, shifting world. Initially, the ancient houses dismissed them, believing their dominance was unshakable. But the newcomers were persistent. As the ice age ended, so did the natural advantage of the larger, cold-adapted animals. One by one, the ancient houses realized they could not win against the tide of these new creatures alone.

Reluctantly, they banded together—House Smiler, Dire Wolf, and Short Face Bear, once bitter enemies, now united against a common foe. Together, they launched campaign after campaign, pushing back the new animals with the same ferocity that had once torn their own lands apart. Their human champions led them into one great battle after another, the earth shaking under the weight of their combined forces. Victory seemed certain.

But the tides of war are fickle.

At first, their successes were many. The old houses marched triumphantly through the lands, crushing the new animals with their superior strength and tactical prowess. For a time, it seemed as though they would reclaim their world. The portraits told tales of glorious battles—human representatives standing at the forefront of their armies, banners flying high, their princesses looking on with approval. Every painting captured the height of their dominance, a world bending to their will.

And then came the fall.

One disaster followed another. Defeat after defeat shattered their ranks as the changing climate brought new challenges. The ice melted, the air grew warmer, and the crops the ancient houses relied on withered in the heat. Meanwhile, the crops the new animals had cultivated thrived, and with each passing season, their armies grew stronger. The old animals, built for a colder world, struggled to adapt. Their human champions, once the very embodiment of their power, could not save them.

The paintings in the hall, once bright with glory, now felt like monuments to a dying way of life. The larger animals, once revered, were slowly fading. The defeat of House Smiler and its allies wasn’t just on the battlefield—it was in the very air they breathed, in the soil that no longer yielded the crops they had once relied on. Their once-great houses, now relics of a time that was becoming obsolete.

The world was changing, and the old ways were dying with it.

The human felt a chill as he moved deeper into the hall. The silence was thick, as though the house itself mourned the loss of its past. As he approached the final portrait, he could almost hear the distant echoes of battle—the clash of metal, the roars of victory turned to cries of defeat.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—a faint sliver of light. He turned, finding the source behind an old, rotting closet that seemed ready to collapse under its own weight. Behind it,
The door looked ancient, the wood dark and weathered, the faint glow of light seeping through the cracks around its edges. He stood frozen, heart racing, as though the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to make his move. barely visible through the shadows. Light leaked through the cracks, casting a faint glow onto the dusty floor.

His breath caught in his throat.

That door hadn’t been there before—had it? Or had he simply never noticed it, hidden away in the gloom?
The air grew heavier, the weight of history pressing down on him as he stepped closer, fingers brushing the brittle wood of the closet. It groaned under his touch, the sound low and ominous, as if the house was waking from a long-forgotten slumber.

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Anon froze in his tracks, his pulse quickening. The door had shut behind him with a solid thud. The sound was unmistakable, but when he spun around to see what had caused it, the hallway was empty. No one was there. The dim light cast long shadows across the floor, but nothing else stirred. He stared at the door for a few moments longer, his mind struggling to make sense of what had just happened.

This wasn’t the first time something odd had happened since he’d arrived. Little things had been adding up, strange occurrences he’d managed to brush off. But now, they were starting to form a picture—a picture he didn’t want to face.

Earlier that day, while passing through the dining room, he could’ve sworn he heard the sound of silverware clinking against plates, as if someone had been sitting down to eat. But when he peered around the corner, the room was empty. The long table stood undisturbed, and the only sound was his own footsteps echoing off the high ceilings. It was the same every time—sounds of life where there was none. Footsteps in distant halls. The soft murmur of conversation just on the edge of hearing. But every time he checked, he was alone.

One afternoon, while staring out a large window overlooking the estate grounds, he had felt a breeze, but it hadn’t come from outside. The window was wide open, but the wind seemed blocked in the center by… something. The air swirled around the room as though it couldn’t pass through the window itself, even though nothing was visibly in the way. He blinked, his mind trying to rationalize it, but the longer he stood there, the more unnatural it felt.

And then there were the shadows. They danced along the walls in a way that didn’t seem to follow the light. Sometimes, they would move when nothing else did, flickering too quickly to be caused by the dim lamps. At first, he had thought it was just his tired eyes playing tricks on him, but now… now he wasn’t so sure.

It wasn’t just what he saw—it was what he touched. Just that morning, he’d folded his bed neatly after waking up, tucking in the sheets and smoothing the blankets. But when he returned to his room a couple of hours later, the bed was unmade again, the covers pulled back as if someone had been lying there. He had stood in the doorway, staring at the disheveled sheets, a cold knot forming in his stomach. He knew he had made the bed. He remembered doing it clearly. But there it was—undone, as if it had never been touched.

Then there was the chair in the living room. Every time he passed through, it was in a different position. At first, it had been pulled away from the small table as if someone had just stood up from it. The next time, it was facing the opposite direction, angled toward the window. The third time, it was back under the table, tucked neatly as if nothing had happened. He couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that someone had been sitting there, moving it around when he wasn’t looking.

One evening, he had poured himself a glass of water in the kitchen. He set it on the counter and left it there, full, while he went to check something upstairs. When he came back, the glass was half-drunk. He stared at it for a long time, trying to recall if he’d taken a sip without realizing it. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the memory never came. It was as if someone else had taken the drink while he was gone.

Then, just a few hours ago, the bathroom tap had turned on by itself. He had heard the sound of running water and thought maybe he’d left it dripping. But when he went in to check, the faucet was fully open, the water gushing into the sink. He hadn’t turned it on, he was certain of that. He twisted the handle, shutting it off, but his hand trembled as he did. The longer he stayed in this house, the more it felt like it was toying with him.

And the fridge. Twice now, he had gone into the kitchen, stomach growling with hunger, and cleaned out whatever food was left. The first time, he thought nothing of it. He ate, and when he was done, the fridge was empty. But when he came back later, it was restocked—exactly the same as it had been before. The second time, it happened again. The same items, in the same places, as if no one had touched them. He had stared into the fridge, a chill creeping up his spine. He knew he hadn’t left anything, yet here it was, perfectly replenished.

It was all too much to ignore, but still, he tried. He’d tell himself it was an old house, that things were bound to shift, settle, make noise. That maybe he was more tired than he realized, maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. But deep down, a growing unease whispered that something was wrong. The mansion had a presence, something unseen, moving just beyond his reach, shifting the world around him in subtle ways.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It was just an old house, he told himself again. These things happened. He was alone, no matter how much it felt like there were eyes on him, watching from the corners of the room, just out of sight. He took a deep breath, willing the tension in his chest to loosen.

But as he took a step forward, the unmistakable sound of a chair scraping across the floor echoed from the dining room.

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Anon stood in the hall, staring at the hidden door, heart thudding in his chest. The mansion’s air was thick with dust and mystery, and he was sure he was about to uncover something no one had seen in years. His hand hovered over the knob, the faintest tremor betraying his excitement. Blonde hair falling over his pale forehead, blue eyes wide with anticipation, he hesitated for only a second before turning the knob. The door creaked open, the air beyond it colder, somehow stiller, as though time itself had forgotten this part of the house.

It was just one of those days.

Outside the mansion, Anon was on a mission of a different kind. The town wasn’t far, but it felt like a world away. The afternoon sun gleamed off his pale skin, his blonde hair catching the light as he squinted at the stretch of road ahead. The mission was simple—get food. But Anon didn’t like to keep things simple.

His footsteps were quick, purposeful, and before long, he found himself standing in front of a gun shop. Inside, the shelves gleamed with metal, and his heart raced at the sight. What had started as a trip for food now turned into something more. He left the store, bags heavy with ammunition, and went straight to a nearby restaurant.

Sitting at a corner booth, he glared across the table at three girls chatting over milkshakes. They had giggled when he entered, but now they were silent, eyes wide as Anon leveled the barrel of a gun just above the table.

“You think I’m joking?” His voice was low, his finger twitching near the trigger. The girls, dressed in school uniforms, held their breath. “I’m dead serious. Say one more word and I’ll—”

The girls, shaking, fell silent. Anon’s blue eyes narrowed.

Elsewhere, Anon was adjusting his jacket, standing beside Ayersi’s father. The Dire Wolf patriarch towered over him, his fur bristling slightly as he nodded in approval. Ayersi had spoken highly of him, and her father—known for his imposing presence—seemed pleased. It was a good day for Anon. He’d finally get to meet the daughter. The one they said had chosen him.

They reached the estate, and there she was—Ayersi. Tall, proud, with a fierce glint in her eye, she beamed at him. Anon felt his heart flutter a bit, but tried not to let it show. He kept his emotions in check, after all.

But as Ayersi grinned, throwing her arms around his neck with glee, tears welled up in Anon’s eyes. He blinked them away quickly, trying to maintain his calm, cool demeanor.

“Don’t cry!” she teased, pulling back just enough to wipe away the single tear that had slipped down his cheek. “I didn’t know you were so soft!”

Anon’s lip quivered, and before he could stop himself, more tears streamed down his face. “I’m not… I swear I’m not…”

But she only laughed, pulling him closer. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

In the estate,  Anon stood stiffly beside Pristin’s father. The Short-Faced Bear patriarch was a bear of few words, and Anon had quickly learned to mirror his stoicism. His back was straight, posture formal, as they approached Pristin’s home. He was a model of obedience, standing at attention, waiting for the next command.

When Pristin emerged, her eyes bright with excitement, Anon kept his composure. She bounded over to him, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “Anon, you came!”

He gave a curt nod, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew what was expected of him, and he would not disappoint. Pristin twirled around him, giggling, touching his shoulder lightly as she admired him from every angle.

“You really chose me, didn’t you?” she beamed, her voice filled with pride. Anon’s throat tightened. He wanted to speak, to confirm what she thought, but all he could manage was another small nod.

Pristin clapped her hands, giddy with joy. “I knew it! I knew you’d come back for me.” She danced around him, the picture of teenage joy, never questioning for a second that her affection had been won.

Back in the mansion, the day wore on. Anon sat in his room, reflecting on the strangeness of it all—the hidden door, the odd encounters, the way everyone in the mansion seemed to watch him just a little too closely. But none of it felt out of the ordinary, not really. It was just one of those days. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his pale face, his mind wandering as he thought about the long day ahead.

In Ayersi’s room, as Anon held her close, she whispered in his ear, “I knew you’d come for me. I knew you’d choose me.”

in Pristin’s quarters, as she twirled before him, her joy was palpable. “I always knew it’d be you,” she said, smiling brightly. “You picked me, didn’t you?”

Anon had chosen them—that they had won the affection of the human.

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Chapter Text

okay for those who dont understand basically the plot twist was there where multiple humans and they cant see each other in the mansion, it was already strange how a human from our world could enter this one in the body of a human from this world, so i decided to up the high strangeness and make the house a place full of anomalies like in time and space. so there where in fact multiple humans that woke up at different times. and some that already left and went to the outside world.

i did this because we are on the 2nd restart, and i didnt want to waste the stuff i wrote for both routes, and decided to just split them off as different characters. the reason for the restart was some people werent happy with the slowburn of how the human was acting he was too weak and docile even do he would eventually stop being that way. and the 1st restart was because i realized he was getting to strong too quickly and it would bypass alot of the plot i had set up for him.

now im still open to change and if you dont like this route. i will understand and we can backtrack to a more prefered position in the story. but if most of you are fine with this i have in store a great big battle royale for the legacy of house smiler. its actually based of an older draft when i wrote this of there being multiple humans from different houses that will fight with our smiler human. but im worried this will take away with his bonding with dire wolf and short face bear and the other anthro girls.

so? what do you prefer for there to be only 1 human, or multiple ones. and does this take too much attention from our main character or does it give him antagonist from his own species aiding the enemy that represent everything wrong with this world he has to overcome.

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well looks like we are here again. im not gonna lie ive always sorta struggled in writing the points between a and b of the things i want to tell, and just like my last series dino high it seems im struggling here too. maybe its just my brain. i actually wrote alot for this series and my last one its just the path getting to that point in the story always seems to fall apart. it starts with little mistakes and then just rolls into bigger ones. i always end up trying to fix it over and over again sometimes for months. but it never seems to go away and the problem remains. and eventually i just get kinda frustrated and dont get to tell the parts i want because im trying to fix the road leading up to there. and i get burned out.

not gonna lie i got this post opening problem. i can write a pretty decent opening, i have alot of good set up and complex themes. and ive actually always wrote the middle and end with alot content. but its always that part just after the opening that i seem to get stuck in. like it just doesnt work well. something is wrong about the way getting there or its too boring. or maybe the character hits a low point that isnt enjoyable to read. 

in short most of the people drop things during the growing period of establishing everything right after the opening. and its really hard to figure out how to tell this in the right way. i dont think? ive failed to make it compelling its just that sometimes the bridge from point a to b overshoots. and it over shoots alot.

like in this one making the character too strong. and then redoing it to make him weaker but it ends up being to weak for some people to enjoy. alot of the ideas get lost on the cutting room floor behind the scenes and this kinda stuff leaves me indecisive if removing them was the good choice or not. usually i dont really tell you about this its more of my own internal battle in my head weather or not to pen the idea down. its why there are huge tone shifts. its not that i changed my mind about a theme or topic its that it was always like that thing i just didnt write it because i thought it would not fit or be boring or not make sense. only to realize later it would make sense.

i try to write daily. but you make big mistakes when writing everyday. i usually try to write 4 to 5 chapters a day each consisting of around 1000 words. but most of them are dropped and never get posted like during these past days i wrote alot actually but they conflict alot with the resets of route 1 and 2 and the current one. since they where written at different times. its this constant going back and fort trying to fix mistakes thats really tiring. it kinda takes away my energy from the story itself into fixing its problems. now ill admit these problems arent narrative its purely execution of these ideas. 

looking around at the stuff i enjoy games manga books it seems even experienced authors have this problem, and i just dont know how to fix it. it feels more like a mechanical issue in my brain ruining what i write.

i guess there is an issue in writing everyday is i dont feel the same themes and like general vibe after i wake up and its the next day the emotions arent the same its like they reset. and it doesnt feel the same as the day 1 chapter. sometimes im able to keep this feeling for a week so if you noticed alot of the weeks first chapters are in the same mood. maybe its chemical? i dont know.

i honestly hate writing episodic self contained stories but, it appears i might have too. i have alot of chapters ready but they all flow into each other and they dont flow very smoothly.

maybe i can set them out as self contained things. but will you guys enjoy reading that do? thats kinda the hard part of story telling is my taste are very different from wat people like reading. so i have to accommodate those things. and sometimes i make terrible reads in wat people like. and it falls flat.

i dont know. story telling is hard. i dont want this to end up like my last book dino high where i felt truely stuck at a point. and no matter how many restarts it didnt feel like it was working well.

is this helpful? is this annoying. probably. but i dont want to keep you guys in the dark to why this mostly daily thing has been less active then usual. i swear i havent stopped being productive new content is always being made. its just not being posted. because i dont think its good. and the stuff i do post i dont feel its good after like a day of looking back on it. sometimes im tempted to delete chapters. some of you might even have seen me delete something right after posting it.

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been thinking about the plot and story, reflecting on stuff. i think ive finally figured out a way to get to the good part.

note- the rest of the story and previous chapters will be reworked everything is canon before chapter 7, and the remastering will begin from there. carrying elements of the other routes.

Chapter Text

Title: A Corrupted Flame

Narrator: Human nature was always to hide, to run, to cower in fear.

Once, long before the world of today, before the sprawling cities and the kingdoms that now stand tall in their ruins, the world was dominated by beasts far stronger, far more cunning than the weak creatures that called themselves humans. It was a time when mankind did not walk tall; they scurried in the shadows of great anthro societies, crawling in the dark, like scavengers, feasting on the weak and forgotten.

Humanity's time under the sun had yet to come. They were pale, with skin as white as snow, as if their bodies had never known the warmth of the sun. Their scrawny frames hunched, their bones thin from hunger and hiding. They were creatures of shadows, eyes a bright, unnatural blue, perfect for seeing through the endless fields of ice and snow of the long-frozen earth. And their hair? Corn-colored, yellow and lifeless, like the dying leaves that blanketed the world in fall. In the vast plains, where herbivores farmed the earth for their masters, these humans could blend in easily with the withered crops and dry fields, unseen by the eyes of predators.

And in the center of it all, ruling over the land with teeth and fang, was House Smiler, descendants of the great Smilodon—the saber-toothed titans of the American continent. The apex of all apex predators. These beasts, more powerful than any megafauna, demanded the respect of all creatures who roamed the land, be they prey or hunter. Those who did not bow to their fangs were swiftly reduced to nothing more than a meal.

But it wasn't just their power that made the Smilodon supreme. It was their intelligence. For they had learned not only to rule by fang but by subjugating others—building alliances with lesser creatures and taking what they could not create on their own. They carved out a kingdom with blood and dominance, and under their rule, the world was split into those who ruled and those who were ruled.

One day, as the sun hung low in the cold sky, a hunting party from House Smiler was returning from a conquest. The princess, daughter of the ruling house, led the band of warriors. They had raided far-off lands, and now they returned, victorious, bringing spoils of war with them. Cages rattled with the wails of herbivores and weaker prey animals they had captured—some for food, others to serve as mere playthings or slaves.

The princess, fierce and proud, sat near the fire that crackled in the center of the camp. The night was cold, the air thick with the smell of roasting meat and the sound of celebration. The Smilodon soldiers, wearing their victory with pride, danced and drank, feasting on the spoils of their raid. But their princess, ever watchful, felt something different in the air.

There, in the shadows, at the edge of the camp, a movement caught her eye.

A pale figure lurked near one of the captive cages. The flicker of the firelight barely illuminated the scene as the creature, gaunt and pale as snow, moved with the stealth of a predator. It crouched low, and in its hands was a knife—primitive, but sharp. With one quick motion, it slashed the throat of one of the captured herbivores, draining its blood and greedily drinking from the wound. It worked fast, slicing meat from bone and dragging the corpse into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

The princess rose, her eyes narrowing. Her soldiers saw the movement too, and with growls of anger, they reached for their weapons, ready to cut down this nuisance of a human. But she stopped them with a single command.

"Wait."

The Smilodon princess stepped forward, her keen eyes scanning the trees where the human had vanished. There was something about this creature that intrigued her. Most humans were scavengers, nothing more than vermin—filthy, cowardly, and weak. But this one had tools. It had moved with purpose, with strategy. And when she had looked into its eyes, she had seen something rare in a human: intelligence. A spark of cunning that was absent in the others.

She had to know more.

"Surround it," she ordered. "But do not kill."

The soldiers obeyed, forming a tight circle around the woods where the human had fled. They were swift, silent, and before long, the creature was caught—pinned between two trees, with no escape. It snarled and hissed like a wild animal, knife raised in a futile defense. Its blue eyes glared at the princess, defiance burning behind them.

The soldiers sneered, eager to crush the human underfoot, to tear it apart for daring to steal from their camp. But the princess held up her hand again. This one was different. She could see it now, even more clearly. Its eyes, though filled with fear, were calculating. Its body, though frail and pale, was quick and agile.

"I won't kill you," she said, her voice smooth but cold. "You'll be useful to me."

The human snarled again, baring its teeth, but there was nothing it could do. The soldiers seized it, binding its hands with rough rope. It thrashed, but it was too weak to resist for long.

"You'll be my pet," the princess declared. "You'll serve me, and in return, you'll have shelter. Food. You'll never have to scavenge in the cold again. You'll be cared for."

The human stopped struggling for a moment, its eyes wide with confusion. But there was no choice, no escape from the fate that had been handed down. And so, with a final, shuddering breath, it lowered its head.

From that moment on, the future of humanity shifted. The flame of potential that once burned within them began to flicker and dim.

Over the years, more humans were captured and enslaved, their fates sealed by the decisions of their Smilodon masters. They became tools, bred and trained to serve. But the Smilodon, in their cunning, did not want mere mindless slaves. They wanted something more. They saw potential in the humans—potential that could be shaped, molded, and used to further their dominance.

And so, the great beasts began to breed humans, not for strength or power, but for submission. They chose the ones who were the most obedient, the most docile, the ones who would not fight back. Over generations, humans were domesticated, just as wolves had been turned into dogs. They were bred for traits that pleased their anthro masters—traits that made them easier to control.

Where once mankind had teetered on the edge of becoming a powerful, independent species, now they were being shaped into something else entirely. Their evolution was diverted, twisted into a dark and disturbing form.

Instead of developing the intelligence and cunning needed to rise to the top of the food chain, humans became something more akin to livestock. Their brains, once capable of complex thought and innovation, were now being honed to sense the needs and emotions of their masters. They were bred for emotional intelligence, for the ability to read the moods and aches of their Smilodon overlords, much like a therapy animal would soothe a troubled master.

Humans became prized not for their strength or courage, but for their sensitivity. They developed unconscious behaviors that the anthros found adorable—small gestures, submissive postures, the tilt of the head, the pleading look in their eyes that begged for approval. These traits were encouraged, bred into them, until they became second nature.

The humans of House Smiler were no longer a proud, independent people. They had become pets, faithful companions who lived to serve and please their masters. The spark of evolution that had once burned bright within them was now nothing more than a corrupted flame, flickering weakly in the shadow of their anthro rulers.

And as time went on, other anthro houses followed suit. The Dire Wolves, the Short-Faced Bears, the great predatory birds of the sky—they all saw the potential in the humans and began their own breeding programs. Each house shaped their human pets to suit their needs, their desires. And humanity, once a species on the brink of greatness, became nothing more than a shadow of its former self.

But not all humans were captured. Some escaped, fleeing into the wilderness as the ice age came to an end and the world began to change. The land warmed, the great glaciers retreated, and the megafauna that had once roamed the earth began to die out. The world was changing, and with it, the balance of power.

The humans who had escaped captivity evolved in their own way. No longer pale and scrawny, they adapted to their new environment. Their hair darkened, their skin grew tougher, more resilient to the harsh sun. They became wild, feral, roaming the high grasses and dense forests like the animals they had once been prey to.

But for the domesticated humans, their fate was sealed. As the anthro houses continued to rise in power, humanity's role became more and more fixed. They were pets, companions, creatures of comfort. The spark of evolution had come and gone, and mankind's chance to rise had been snuffed out before it could ever truly ignite.

And so, as the sun finally shined on the world, bringing warmth and new life, it also cast long, dark shadows over humanity's future. The flame of their potential had been corrupted, and the world they had once been destined to rule with their hubris had now made itself their masters, and the rule of the beasts was secured, never to be tested.

until now.

Chapter Text

mirrors of me, anon will face shadows of wat could have been, what should have been, and what wasnt.

image is the after image mirror world version of, ayersi anon and pristin anon

Chapter Text

Anon slumped against the wall of the dimly lit corridor, staring at the peeling paint and the antique portraits that lined the walls of the mansion. The eyes in the paintings seemed to follow him, silently judging his every move, as if they were ghosts of the house’s past inhabitants, scrutinizing the unworthy intruder who now wandered through their domain. He sighed, feeling the weight of their gaze press against him, and wondered for the hundredth time what he was doing here.

He had been aimlessly walking the halls of this sprawling, empty estate for hours, and nothing seemed to make sense. The world outside—this bizarre new world—was filled with towering, terrifying animal people. Giants, every one of them, their anthropomorphic forms blending the worst aspects of predators with the intelligence of men. He had seen them only in passing, but each encounter left his stomach churning with fear. They held all the power in this society, and their low view of humans was painfully obvious.

Should I have gone with them? he thought, biting his lip as doubt gnawed at him.

Those two men—the ones who had come to the funeral, friends of his master—they had offered to take him somewhere, to give him guidance. But he had declined, too overwhelmed, too unsure of what they truly wanted. He didn’t trust them, didn’t trust anyone in this world. But now, standing alone in this decaying mansion, he wondered if he had made a mistake. Maybe he should have sold some of the estate to them, made a deal in exchange for their protection or advice. Then again, that could have backfired horribly. They could’ve just taken advantage of him, left him with nothing.

He sank down to the floor, knees pulled to his chest, and rubbed his temples. His head was spinning, and not just from the stale wine he had choked down earlier. The taste still lingered on his tongue, bitter and sour. He grimaced, regretting the decision to drink it, but thirst had gotten the better of him. Now he was paying the price.

It’s not like I have any other options, he thought, staring at the empty wine bottle beside him. His throat still burned, but it was a distraction from the confusion swirling in his mind.

He thought back to the phone call he’d had earlier—the one about the anthro academy. A school, apparently, where he was supposedly allowed to enroll. He had no idea how or why, but it was something. A place to learn, maybe. A place that could offer some structure to his life. But did he really want to go? The idea of being surrounded by more of those towering beasts made his skin crawl, but staying in the mansion wasn’t exactly a great plan either.

He stared at the grand staircase across from him, its steps leading up into the shadows of the second floor. The mansion felt alive in a way he didn’t like—creaks and groans echoed through the hallways, as if the very walls were breathing. And those paintings… they made him feel like he wasn’t really alone.

Was the academy a better choice? At least it was outside. Maybe there he could blend in, learn something about this world, figure out how to survive. He wasn’t a fighter; he couldn’t take on these animal people with brute force. But he could strategize. He could find a way to adapt, to navigate this society and maybe even find a way to turn the tables.

If those two girls go to the academy, maybe I should have gone with them, he mused. But then he shook his head. No, that would have been a mistake. They would’ve thought I was choosing them, going along with their plans, and I can’t let myself be tied down to anyone’s agenda right now. I need to stay independent. At least for now.

Anon stood up, stretching his arms over his head as his spine cracked audibly. He felt stiff from sitting on the cold floor for too long. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall—10 o’clock. He still had time. Time to decide what to do next.

Maybe I should just go into town, get some food, ask around about the academy, he thought. It seemed like a simple enough plan. He scribbled a few notes in the ledger he had found in one of the drawers—a checklist of things to do.

Go to town.
Buy food.
Ask for directions to the school.
Avoid getting noticed by anyone suspicious.
It was a rough plan, but it was better than nothing. He tapped the pencil against his chin, wondering if he should add anything else.

Maybe I should contact someone… someone who knows more about this world. He thought about the hospital, the doctors he had met at his master’s funeral. That could be a lead. If humans were seen as therapy animals here, like some kind of emotional support pets, maybe he could lean into that. Play the role, ask the right questions, and get more information about these species. If he understood their strengths and weaknesses, maybe he could avoid making enemies. Maybe even find a way to manipulate the situation to his advantage.

Yes, the hospital might be a good place to start, he thought. But how would he even begin to ask for something like that? A guidebook on species behaviors? It wasn’t impossible, but it felt risky. He didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself just yet. Maybe if he framed it the right way—something about wanting to understand the needs of his potential masters, how to be a better… what? A better pet? The thought made him cringe.

He closed the ledger and sighed, his eyes scanning the room. This place was a mess. Dust covered every surface, cobwebs hung in the corners, and the air felt stale, like it hadn’t been breathed in years. Maybe I should clean the mansion, he thought, but quickly dismissed it. Just like with the school, he’d put it off until tomorrow. There were more pressing matters to deal with.

With that in mind, he grabbed the small pouch of gold coins he had found earlier. It wasn’t much, but it should be enough to buy some supplies. Food, first of all. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and the hunger gnawed at his insides. He couldn’t live off stale wine and scraps forever.

He rummaged through the storage room for anything else that might be useful. His hand brushed against something cold and metallic—a knife. He pulled it out and examined it closely. The blade was golden, gleaming faintly in the dim light, but it was unnervingly hard for something made of gold. It had an ominous weight to it, a strange aura that made his skin prickle.

This is more than just a knife, he thought, sliding it back into its holster. He didn’t know what it was, but it felt important, like a relic of some forgotten time.

Next, he found a pair of binoculars. He toyed with them for a moment before placing them back. Not much use indoors, but they could come in handy later. He grabbed a pencil and his ledger again, making a mental note to write down his thoughts about the old world when he got back. He’d been keeping track of things in there, trying to make sense of his situation, but today his mind felt too scattered.

Not like I’m going to forget my own name, he thought, frowning as he looked at the blank page. What was his name again? It slipped his mind for a moment, and he shook his head, dismissing the thought. Eh, I’m sure I’ll remember it when I get back.

He tucked the ledger into his bag and made his way to the front door. The air outside would do him some good, clear his head. He couldn’t stay cooped up in this mansion forever, alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to see more of this world, even if it terrified him.

The sun was still high, casting long shadows across the overgrown gardens outside. The path leading to town was clear enough, but it felt like it stretched on forever. He hesitated for a moment, one hand resting on the doorframe.

Should I go today? Or wait until tomorrow?

The indecision gnawed at him again, but he shook it off. No more waiting. No more putting things off. He couldn’t afford to be passive in this world. The clock was ticking, and he didn’t know how long he could keep flying under the radar.

He took a deep breath and stepped outside.

Tomorrow could wait.

Chapter Text

Anon wandered out of the mansion's grand gate and onto the countryside road, the overgrown gardens behind him blending with the wild landscape. The path was clear, though its rough, untended surface made it difficult to walk with any sense of ease. As he walked, the quiet of the world around him began to sink in. The trees were thick with green, lush and vibrant under the morning sun, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to take it all in, the sound of nature comforting him in a strange way. But the beauty of the scene did little to ease the growing hunger gnawing at his stomach.

He followed the road down a gentle slope, passing an old stone bridge that crossed a narrow stream. The water below shimmered, the current slow but steady. It was peaceful, in a way that felt almost unreal, like something out of a dream. Anon leaned over the edge of the bridge, staring at the water as it flowed beneath him. He could see fish darting through the shallows, their silver bodies flickering in the sunlight.

A pang of thirst hit him. That wine hadn't done him any favors—it had only made him more parched. He looked longingly at the stream, contemplating whether to drink from it, but quickly dismissed the idea. He had no idea what kind of bacteria might be lurking in there. He needed something cleaner, something cold and refreshing.

Continuing down the road, he passed a row of old, shuttered shops. Their windows were grimy, the paint peeling from their facades, and there was no sign of life inside. He stopped for a moment, peering through one of the windows. The shelves were empty, dust-covered, and the place looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. "Where the hell do I get food around here?"

He moved on, his eyes scanning the surroundings for anything that might be open. The hunger was becoming unbearable, a constant reminder of his vulnerability in this strange world. As he walked past an alleyway, something caught his eye—a vending machine, half-hidden in the shadows. It was old, the kind that looked like it had been around for decades, with faded stickers and a cracked display. But inside, he could see rows of colorful cans—some kind of soda, probably.

He approached it cautiously, eyeing the machine with a mixture of desperation and curiosity. The thirst gnawed at him, and the thought of a cold drink was too tempting to resist. He fished out one of the gold coins from his pocket, holding it up to the machine.

"Damn," he cursed again. "This thing probably doesn't take gold coins."

He stared at the machine, his frustration growing. His throat was dry, and he could practically taste the cold, fizzy drink in his mouth. A devious grin spread across his face as a thought crept into his mind.

"Oh well," he muttered to himself, swinging the empty wine bottle in his hand.

With a swift motion, he smashed the bottle against the glass front of the vending machine, shattering it with a loud crash. Shards of glass scattered across the ground, and the rancid dregs of the wine dripped from the broken bottle onto the pavement.

"Goodbye, wine," he said with a smirk. "Hello, cola."

He reached into the display, his fingers brushing against the cold metal cans, and pulled out a couple of them. Popping one open, he took a long swig, the fizzy liquid hitting his tongue and sending a rush of cool relief through his body. It was grape-flavored, sweet and tangy, with the familiar sting of carbonation.

"Ahhh," he exhaled, feeling the refreshing chill wash over him. It wasn't much, but it was enough to take the edge off his thirst.

As he stood there, sipping the soda, his eyes wandered to the artwork on the can. It depicted a cartoonish winter scene, with lush, frosty trees and snow-capped mountains in the background. In the foreground was some kind of anthropomorphic snow leopard—no, not a leopard, more like a tiger—grinning broadly as it held up a can of the same soda.

Anon stared at it for a moment, feeling a flicker of annoyance. He'd always hated how names could be so misleading. It wasn't a snow leopard, so why call it that? But then again, those were human names, back in his old world. Here, the names seemed familiar enough, but he wondered if the animals in this world had their own names for each other—names that made more sense to them.

The thought stuck with him as he continued to drink. What would the animals here call each other? Would prey animals have names for predators that were more aggressive, more reflective of the fear they felt? Would predators have demeaning, dismissive names for prey? Or maybe they had their own systems of respect and rivalry, something more nuanced than simple labels like "hunter" and "prey."

Anon's mind wandered as he mused over the possibilities, his imagination running wild with ideas about the social dynamics of this strange world. He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the low hum of the engine behind him, didn't notice the vehicles pulling up until the sound of camera shutters snapped him out of his reverie.

His heart jumped into his throat as he spun around, expecting to see some kind of animal control officers, or worse—cops. His eyes darted to the shattered vending machine, the broken glass glittering on the ground, and he cursed under his breath. Maybe the machine had a silent alarm, or maybe there was a camera somewhere that had alerted the authorities to his little act of vandalism. Either way, he braced himself for trouble.

But when he turned to face the source of the noise, it wasn't animal control or cops. It was a group of tourists—at least, that's what it looked like. Several trucks had stopped in the road, and from the back of one of them, a man with a booming voice was speaking into a microphone, his words amplified through a speaker.

"And if you look to your right, ladies and gentlemen, you'll see a rare and unexpected sight—the Homos neanderthalis, rummaging through the ruins of urban decay, a tragic result of the industrial ravaging of its natural home."

Anon blinked, dumbfounded, as the crowd gasped in horror. Cameras flashed, and he realized they weren't here to arrest him—they were here to gawk at him, like he was some kind of zoo animal.

The tourists were snapping pictures, pointing at him with wide-eyed fascination. A couple of them leaned out of the windows of their vehicles, whispering to each other in hushed voices. Anon stood there awkwardly, still holding the can of soda, unsure of what to do. He took another sip, more out of defiance than thirst, as the tour guide continued his narration.

"Look at its grand majesty, even in this desolate environment," the man said with a dramatic flourish. "See how it scavenges through the remnants of our industrial waste, searching for sustenance. Truly a magnificent specimen, this one. Notice the distinctive markings on its face—yes, those are the remnants of its master's brand, a rare sight indeed."

Anon's grip tightened on the can as he processed the man's words. They thought he was some kind of wild human, a relic of a bygone age, scavenging for scraps like an animal. He fought the urge to yell, to tell them they were wrong, that he wasn't some mindless beast. But what would be the point? These people had already made up their minds about what he was.

One of the girls in the truck leaned forward, squinting at him. "Oh my, he does look different now that you mention it."

Another girl chimed in, "Why's his hair that weird color? Most of the wild humans I've seen have black hair. And his skin is so pale—do you think he's sick?"

A woman, probably one of their mothers, warned them, "Careful, honey. Don't get too close. It might attack you."

The tour guide chuckled. "No need to worry, ma'am. This is a domesticated variety, most likely. You see, wild humans like this one were once common, but their numbers have dwindled since the great redistribution of estates after the Ice Age. Many were sold off or taken into captivity, but this one must have wandered back home after escaping."

One of the girls gasped. "Oh no, poor thing. It must be starving."

Anon felt a strange mix of emotions bubbling up inside him. He wanted to laugh, to scream, to disappear all at once. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle. Here he was, standing in the middle of the road, being ogled by a bunch of tourists like he was some kind of endangered species.

Another girl, this one with a phone in her hand, finally looked up from her screen. Her eyes widened as she saw him. "Whoa… that thing's hot," she said, her voice low with awe. "For something so dangerous, it's kinda… pretty."

Her father, standing next to her, scoffed. "I don't care what color they are—they still make a mess."

Anon rolled his eyes, taking another long sip from the soda. Might as well lean into it, he thought. If they want to see a wild animal, I'll give them one.

Chapter Text

The narrator cleared his throat, seeming almost pleased with the captive attention of the crowd. "No, no," he began, his voice taking on that authoritative tone of a seasoned storyteller, "the Smiler Estate is not fine at all. It has fallen into ruin recently, in fact. Tragic, really. The last member of the family passed away just the other day." He shook his head dramatically, like the loss weighed on him personally. "And more tragic still, the last of the Smiler humans they possessed were all sold off at auction. My guess?" He pointed a finger toward Anon, who was still standing there dumbfounded, his soda can halfway raised to his lips. "This one must've escaped captivity and wandered back home, looking for something familiar. You can tell by the master marking on its face. Usually, those are erased when a human is released into the wild or sold off to new owners."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mix of sympathy, fascination, and some strange, almost predatory curiosity.

One of the more mature-looking women in the group raised her hand, her brow furrowed in confusion. "But what are Smiler humans even used for?" she asked. "I mean, besides just standing around looking... well, lost."

The narrator was all too happy to elaborate. "Oh, Smiler humans have been used for a variety of things. Labor, security—though not as efficient as the stronger carnivores, of course. They’ve been employed in pageantry, sometimes even for entertainment at large events. You know, decoration. Just to give the place a certain... charm." He smirked, as if remembering some personal anecdote. "They were once used in war too, but they weren't particularly effective, not compared to the larger herbivores or the more lethal predators. No, the real value in Smiler humans? Companionship." His voice took on a sly, insinuating tone. "Especially for certain... needs. It’s well-documented that many anthro women kept them around for pleasure rather than practicality."

At this, the richer-looking girl in the crowd, dressed in expensive fabrics that seemed far too extravagant for a countryside tour, gasped theatrically. "My, my, what a sad sight. A poor, dumb animal. If I had it my way, I'd take that thing back home, give it a warm place in my bed, and make it mine." Her eyes glinted with a mixture of pity and something far more selfish.

Her mother, standing right next to her, snapped in a scandalized tone. "LANGUAGE, daughter! Stop making a fool of yourself in front of everyone." Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, but not enough to stop the whispering among the other girls.

One of the more popular-looking girls, who had been standing with her arms crossed, scoffed at the remark. "Ew, gross. You’d take advantage of a starving animal? And what if it’s diseased? More importantly, what if it’s so touch-deprived that its libido has built up? You think you’d be able to control it? It might do something dangerous in your bed. Like… I don’t know, tear you limb from limb while it’s—" she leaned in, her voice dropping to a scandalous whisper, "—creaming your cake."

Another of the girls mother who had just scolded her daughter looked both horrified and stunned into silence. "That’s right, honey, be sympathetic and generous—WHAT DO YOU MEAN LET THEM IN YOUR BED!" she suddenly erupted. "You have a fiancé! You can’t just mess around with street animals!"

The crowd was abuzz now, with laughter, shocked murmurs, and more than a few eyes darting toward Anon their  fascination and their amusement. It was like he was the star attraction in a dark, twisted carnival, and no one had told him what role he was supposed to play.

A man in the crowd, clearly frustrated by all the talk of domesticating wild humans, threw his hands up. "Man, why don’t anthro girls ever get that way for their own men? I mean, come on, they’re literally bloodthirsty animals that would kill you the second they had the chance!"

The girls all looked a little flustered by this, their cheeks reddening as they exchanged glances, embarrassed but intrigued by the idea.

The first girl, who had been the most vocal about taking Anon home with her, clasped her hands together in excitement. "Oh my! So humans really are that savage, aren’t they? They’re violent, ferocious, with no real attachment to women—they just use them and then devour them. How wickedly romantic!" She looked dreamy-eyed, like she was picturing the scenes from one of her favorite romance novels.

The second girl, who had been quiet up until now, spoke up, clearly excited to share her thoughts. "Oh, I know exactly what you mean! It’s just like my favorite movie. You know, the one with that lead actress who had to work with a human on set? She said there’s no telling what a beast like that would do without any restraints. So pure, so wild. It might sink its teeth into you, rip out your heart, and devour you whole!" She sighed, fanning herself. "They say the human in that film allegedly devoured the last actress before her. Right there on set, in front of everyone. But not before… well, you know…" She gave a coy smile. "Having its pleasure with her. It was… hot."

The third girl, who had been leaning against the truck with a bored expression up until now, rolled her eyes but couldn’t resist adding her own comment. "That’s fucking hot," she said bluntly. "Let’s stop pretending like it’s not."

All five of the girls blushed as they exchanged glances, clearly thinking along the same lines. They giggled softly, scandalized by their own fantasies but unable to shake the allure of them.

The third girl, emboldened by the conversation, reached into her blouse, pushing out her chest with a mocking smirk. "Hey, wild animal," she called out to Anon, who had been standing there frozen, his brain unable to process the absurdity of the situation. "Want a drink?" She cupped her chest in an exaggerated gesture, as her friends burst out laughing, their scandalous laughter echoing across the quiet countryside.

Anon couldn’t believe his ears. They were fantasizing about him. About him, as if he were some sort of exotic animal, some dangerous creature they could tame or… use. It reminded him of how, back in his world, girls would fantasize about vampires or werewolves—romanticizing the danger, the threat, finding something alluring in the violence, the unpredictability. But this? This was so much weirder, so much more unsettling.  they were fantasizing about him, a real person, reduced to some wild animal for their amusement.

His grip tightened on the soda can, the cool metal biting into his palm. As he gritted his teeth in annoyance, he was having trouble holding his temper at how insufferable these anthros are.

The narrator, oblivious to the bizarre turn the conversation had taken, continued with his lecture, clearly loving the attention. "Yes, the Smiler humans were often romanticized in literature and film, you know. Their wild, untamed nature has always been a source of fascination for anthro society. But let me tell you, it’s not all fun and games. These creatures are dangerous when provoked, and without proper care, they can become quite volatile."

Chapter Text

Anon could feel his mind snapping, the pressure in his head building with each passing second. Another camera flash went off, and something inside him finally cracked. A white-hot anger surged through him, like a fire he couldn’t extinguish. His rational thoughts drowned out as a voice whispered, Grab her. Teach them a lesson. It wasn’t him, not entirely—it was something primal, something that had been building for far too long in the face of humiliation and objectification.

The girl, still cupping her chest and laughing with her friends, had no idea what was about to happen. She was distracted, too busy basking in the attention of the group to notice the rapid steps behind her. Anon moved like a predator on instinct, his muscles propelling him toward her. In one swift motion, he yanked her by the arm, pulling her from the van with a force that caused her to slam hard against the ground with a sickening thud.

Her scream cut through the air like a knife, shrill and panicked, as the rest of the crowd gasped in horror. The playful atmosphere dissolved in an instant, replaced by raw terror. The narrator, who had been pontificating moments before, gasped dramatically. “Oh dear! Your loud noise has provoked it! Everyone stay calm!”

Despite the girl being larger than him—an anthro with a formidable size advantage—Anon had caught her completely off-guard. She sprawled out on the ground, arms flailing, her composure shattered. It was in moments like this, Anon thought, that even anthros were reminded of their own vulnerability. Maybe it was a deep-seated instinct, something that dated back to when they were prey, because the moment they were knocked off their feet, they lost their bravado.

“No! Noooo! Don’t eat me!” she shrieked, covering her face with trembling hands. “I’m too pretty to die! I’m a size G-cup! I can’t die like this! I’m too beautiful to be eaten by a monkey! Waaaahhh!”

Her fear only fueled the chaos. The rest of the girls, who had been so bold and brash, now stared with wide eyes, unsure whether to help or continue gawking. Some pulled out their phones, ready to record the entire thing.

“Mom! Guys! Help me!” she screamed, her voice breaking into a hysterical pitch. She tried to inch away from Anon, dragging herself pathetically across the ground, her earlier confidence completely dissolved. “Don’t just sit there while this thing kills me!”

Her friends, however, seemed far more interested in documenting the event rather than intervening. One of them, a girl with neon-colored fur, giggled as she pointed her phone at the unfolding scene. “Try taking your pants off! Maybe that’ll calm him down!” she shouted mockingly.

Another one, her tail flicking in amusement, added, “Tell him you’re too fat for him to eat! That’ll scare him away!”

Yet another chimed in, barely able to contain her laughter, “Squirt your milk at his face, defensively! It might work like pepper spray!”

The last girl, who had been the quietest up until now, tapped away on her phone excitedly. “Don’t worry, I’m posting this online. Everyone at the Anthro Academy is going to think you died in such a super cool and hot way. You’ll go viral for sure!”

The first girl, still on the ground and in full panic mode, screamed in frustration. “You’re just gonna let it kill me?! What the hell?!”

Her mother, standing to the side with an expression torn between embarrassment and morbid curiosity, suddenly shouted, “Don’t die too fast! I need to collect the insurance!”

Anon could hardly believe what he was hearing. It was as if they couldn’t even process the situation like normal people. They didn’t see him as a threat; they saw him as part of the joke. Every mocking word, every jeer, sent his blood boiling hotter. He wanted to scream at them, to make them understand that he wasn’t a toy or a wild animal to be teased. But more than that, he wanted answers.

“Anthro Academy?” he growled, turning toward the girl who had mentioned it. Her eyes went wide, her bravado evaporating the moment his gaze met hers. She recoiled, her back pressed against the van, as though she could melt into the seat and disappear.

The group collectively gasped. “Wait, what?” one of the girls asked in disbelief. “He can talk? Humans don’t talk, right? I mean, they grunt sometimes or repeat things, but… they don’t actually talk.”

The narrator, ever the opportunist, leaned forward with a wide grin on his face, eyes gleaming with excitement. “My, my, oh my! It talks! A talking human! It must be one of those advanced domesticated varieties! What a sight to behold! Truly, this is a marvel of our anthro civilization! We’ve done it! We’ve uplifted these savage creatures beyond their base instincts. This is a testament to our achievements! We can turn mud into gold!”

Anon felt his hands tremble with rage. “Shut up!” he snapped, stepping toward the narrator with menace in his voice. The girls and the rest of the crowd took a collective step back, their excitement suddenly tempered with fear. “Tell me everything you know about the Anthro Academy.”

The girls fell silent, their previous confidence shaken. The realization that Anon wasn’t just a dumb animal was finally sinking in. The narrator, however, didn’t seem fazed by the shift in the atmosphere. If anything, he looked more excited.

“Oh yes, my boy, I am one of its professors,” he said smoothly, adjusting his vest and bowtie with a smug smile. “I’m out here giving our new transfer students a tour of the local area. You see, the Anthro Academy isn’t far from here, just a short drive. Quite a prestigious place, if I do say so myself. It’s where we train the next generation of anthro leaders and scholars. Would you like to visit? Perhaps I could take you to my class—introduce you to the students who weren’t fortunate enough to be here today. Imagine the excitement! Oh, I’d surely get a promotion for presenting such a rare specimen. You’d be the crown jewel of my research!”

Anon narrowed his eyes, considering the offer. As much as he despised the idea of being paraded around like some kind of exhibit, the mention of the Academy piqued his interest. It was the first solid lead he had found since waking up in this bizarre world, and if there was a chance that it held answers—about the world, about his situation, about how to escape—then he couldn’t afford to pass it up.

But he wasn’t about to let this narrator walk all over him either. If he was going to agree to this, it would be on his terms.

“I want something in return,” Anon said, folding his arms over his chest. “Give me lunch first. Fast food. I want to hit up a drive-thru.”

The narrator blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by the demand. “Fast food? Oh, of course, of course! You must be quite accustomed to such trash—uh, I mean, fine cuisine, yes! A true delicacy for someone of your tastes!” He chuckled awkwardly, trying to maintain his condescending charm. “I’ll gladly buy you a meal, as much as you want! Just hop into the van and we’ll be off in no time. And, um… could you perhaps refrain from eating my student?” He glanced nervously at the girl still lying on the ground, trembling and crying. “Not that it would be a huge loss, mind you. She’s been quite a handful this semester. Always skipping assignments, never paying attention in class… But I’d be ever so grateful if you spared her. That is, of course, entirely your decision. I wouldn’t dream of forcing you!” He winked at the girl’s mother and gave a thumbs up, whispering, “I think my negotiation is working, ma’am.”

Anon rolled his eyes. “What an idiot,” he muttered under his breath. He turned, walking past the sobbing girl on the ground, who was still clutching her chest and whimpering about how she was too pretty to die. As he passed her, he gave her a hard kick in the side, his boot connecting with her ribs and making her gasp in pain.

“Arrrgh!” she cried out, clutching her side and staring up at him in disbelief.

Anon didn’t bother looking back. He stepped over her and headed toward the van, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd and the narrator’s continuous stream of self-congratulatory drivel. He had his eyes set on the road ahead, and whatever answers—or fast food—awaited him at the Anthro Academy.

Chapter Text

At a roadside fast food joint, the sounds of sizzling grease and the sharp hiss of an ice cream machine filled the air as two anthro girls sat across from each other, their trays laden with food that reflected their individual tastes. The first, Ayersi, a lithe and strong dire wolf, slouched in her seat, her eyes fixed on her meal as she cracked open another can of energy drink. Her plate consisted mostly of meat—juicy steak strips, a burger with barely any condiments, and a side of crispy bacon. Next to her sat Pristin, her best friend and polar opposite in so many ways. A short-faced bear, Pristin had a softer, chubbier build, which she embraced without shame, and her tray was an explosion of flavors. She bit into a greasy burger stacked high with cheese, chocolate chips, and a dollop of whipped cream on the side, dipping her fries into a mix of melted ice cream and berries.

"You really have no taste, you know that?" Ayersi grumbled, her gaze flicking over to Pristin's bizarre meal.

Pristin shrugged, not particularly bothered by the judgment. "And you’re too boring with yours. Always meat, meat, meat. You ever think about trying something sweet for once?"

"I’d rather not poison myself with sugar." Ayersi chugged her energy drink, the citrusy flavor biting at her throat, before setting the can down with a huff. "Besides, I need protein. I don’t understand how you function on that mess." She nodded toward the fries coated in a thick layer of melted chocolate and berry sauce that Pristin happily munched on.

"You sound just like my dad," Pristin teased, laughing around a mouthful of food. "Relax, not all of us have to be battle-ready all the time. You think too much about the 'old days,' you know? We're students now, not in the wild fighting for our lives. And guess what? The world is changing."

Ayersi's eyes narrowed as she pushed her plate aside, crossing her arms. "It's not just about the old days. You don’t get it because you're a bear. You’re an omnivore. You can eat whatever and still get by. I’m a wolf—I need big prey. But now all the megafauna are disappearing, and it’s not just the food supply that’s shrinking." She leaned in, lowering her voice as if the subject itself demanded a more serious tone. "These weaker, smaller carnivores keep popping up. They're everywhere now, and they're taking over all the spaces and jobs. They might be smaller than us, but they’ve got numbers, and that’s how they win. My dad's business—protecting the megafauna herbivores—he's had to fight to stay relevant. They’re paying us for protection now, not just for the food we supply, but so they don’t get run out of town by these new guys."

Pristin paused, mid-bite, her eyes widening as she listened. "Wait, what? Are you serious?" She swallowed hard, suddenly more interested in the conversation than her food. "Your dad's offering protection now?"

"Yeah, and not just him. Everyone's doing it. It’s like the job market's changing. All these new predators are weaker than us, but they’re always around, always nipping at the herbivores we used to rely on for business. The competition’s intense, and it’s getting worse. If things keep going the way they are, we’ll be outnumbered. I don't know what’ll happen to my dad’s business if the megafauna keep disappearing."

Pristin chewed thoughtfully, the gears in her mind turning. "So, what? You're saying these smaller predators are pushing us out of our niche?"

Ayersi nodded grimly. "Exactly. They don’t need to be stronger because they’ve got the numbers. They crowd us out, and the herbivores are going with them because it’s cheaper. But that leaves an opening, right? Because they’re not big enough or tough enough to fill our niche completely."

Pristin frowned, setting down her burger. "Wait, what do you mean by ‘opening’?"

Ayersi hesitated, the words heavy on her tongue. "Humans. They’re attacking more and more because the balance is tipping. Those weaker carnivores? They’re creating a gap, a space for humans to slip in. The big herbivores are either dying off or being taken over by the smaller predators. And that means more humans are taking their chances and attacking, especially in areas where the protection’s weaker. It’s like they can sense it—the shift in the food chain. No human would ever attack you or me, but they’re going after the others, the ones who don’t have the size or strength to fight back."

Pristin leaned back in her chair, chewing her lip in thought. "Huh... that’s a scary idea. So, you’re saying humans are getting bolder because they know the smaller carnivores aren’t strong enough to stop them?"

"Exactly," Ayersi replied, her voice low and tense. "The weaker predators are taking over our resources and space, and that leaves an opening for the humans to pick them off. It’s like they’re filling a gap in the ecosystem—one that’s getting wider the more things change."

Pristin nodded slowly, taking it all in. The idea sent a chill down her spine, a realization dawning on her that hadn’t quite hit before. "So... if this keeps up, what happens to us? To the bigger carnivores? To your dad’s business?"

Ayersi was silent for a moment, staring down at her half-eaten burger. "I don’t know," she admitted finally. "But it won’t be good. The more the balance shifts, the more humans are going to see opportunities. And the last thing we need is more human attacks."

Pristin tapped her claws on the table, frowning. "You really think it’s that bad? I mean, yeah, humans are wild, but they wouldn’t attack someone like us, right? They go after smaller animals because they think they’re easy targets."

Ayersi sighed. "That’s exactly what I’m worried about. They’re getting more aggressive, more desperate. You’ve seen the reports. People getting their houses broken into at night, humans ambushing animals in the streets. It’s not just about food anymore—it’s about territory. The weaker carnivores are out there in droves, and the humans see that as a chance to take what they want. They’re opportunists. And if we don’t do something about it, it’s only going to get worse."

Pristin sat quietly for a moment, processing the information. It was true that human attacks had been on the rise lately. She’d heard stories—animals disappearing, found dead in the woods, their homes ransacked in the night. Humans, once thought to be mostly docile and under control, were becoming more dangerous. It wasn’t just isolated incidents anymore; it was a growing problem. And the more she thought about it, the more Ayersi’s theory made sense.

"Maybe it’s because they sense the imbalance," Pristin said slowly, piecing together her own thoughts. "Humans are smart in their own way, right? They must know that the smaller predators can’t keep the bigger ones in check. It’s like they’re waiting for the right moment to strike. It’s not just about them attacking because they’re hungry. It’s about them seeing an opportunity to move up the food chain."

Ayersi stared at her, surprised by how quickly Pristin had caught on. "That’s what I’ve been saying."

"Well, don’t get too smug about it," Pristin muttered, grabbing another fry. "I still think you’re being a bit dramatic. But... yeah, I can see where you’re coming from now. It’s a scary thought."

Ayersi leaned back, crossing her arms again. "It is. And it’s not just us who need to worry. It’s everyone. The smaller carnivores, the herbivores... if things keep shifting like this, humans are going to become a bigger problem than any of us realized."

Pristin chewed slowly, her mind still turning over the conversation. "So... what do we do about it? Can we even stop it?"

Ayersi sighed. "I don’t know. But if we don’t figure something out soon, we’re going to have a much bigger problem on our hands.""

And then, a sound of a bus stopping outside and people getting off could be heard, then the door opened, and they looked, and they couldn't believe their eyes...

Chapter Text

place holder, will post stuff here in a bit.

Chapter Text

The sky was a murky shade of black and gray, a thick haze hanging over the city from factory smoke, tirelessly churning out goods, some necessary, most luxuries nobody really needed. Acidic rain began to fall, splattering the vintage car’s window as it drove along the wet, cracked road toward Anthro Academy. Inside, Marlow watched the raindrops streak down and rolled down her window just enough to stick her tongue out for a taste. She instantly regretted it—bitter, metallic, a hint of chemical sweetness clinging to her lips.

“Marlow, enough of that nonsense,” her mother scolded sharply, her voice colder than the rain. “You’ll make yourself sick, and we can’t afford any more expenses on top of your medical bills. Your father’s already furious about how much you’re costing us.”

Marlow hunched her shoulders, drawing inward, and turned her head to the side to avoid her mother’s withering glare. Her fingers drifted up to the worn bandages wrapped around her arms, feeling the rough, scabbed patches underneath where a thousand small cuts had chipped away her fur. Underneath her wool, her skin felt raw and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the delicate wool coating the rest of her body. Her fur was thick and lustrous—lavish, her mother said, a mark of her family’s wealth. To her, it felt more like a prison.

She tuned her mother out, focusing on the car’s scratchy radio, which played an old violin piece, haunting and somber. The car rocked uncomfortably over the uneven road, but the movement soothed her, a welcome distraction from the usual morning lecture. The bumpy ride was mercifully short, and even her mother’s words faded away as the enormous shadow of Anthro Academy finally loomed ahead.

This would be her first term at the boarding school, the academy of choice for the well-bred young elite. Her parents, as newly minted barons of industry, had bought her a spot, a choice that hadn't come cheaply. Marlow was distant kin to the school’s historical alumni—a connection she knew only served as a weak bridge between their new wealth and the “old blood.” Her parents' achievements, sprawling industrial empires and commerce monopolies, were rarely celebrated by the families of ancestral wealth. Here, power was still rooted in tradition: inheritance, family names, and centuries-old estates. Families who had built their wealth on control over land and lives—strong animals who ruled through violence and sheer force of will.

But, Marlow thought bitterly, they were beyond such barbarism now, weren’t they? She had been raised in a civilized age. No longer did the powerful need to conquer with brute strength; they conquered with currency, contracts, and clauses. Money, Marlow mused, was far more efficient. The ancient families still looked down on industrialists like her parents, but all that talk of “honor” and “heritage” did little to stop them from taking payments in exchange for their seats of privilege. They could call her family’s money vulgar, but in the end, it bought her a place here just the same.

As they approached the school, her mother’s disdainful voice cut through Marlow’s reverie. “Marlow, do remember that your tutors are there to help you. You need to work hard enough to stay in, at least. I would hate for the other girls to think you were unworthy of the opportunity we’ve bought for you.”

Marlow clenched her teeth, forcing herself to nod. She had long ago stopped hoping for real approval from her mother. She knew the only true encouragement she would get came from her tutors, hired to instill every possible skill, piece of knowledge, and social maneuver in her mind. She regarded them as more of a family than the one she’d been born into, far more willing to show her the respect she never received from her parents. But, of course, they were bought and paid for—she understood that well enough.

Family was an obligation, a burden, and a prison. It offered no true love, no security, only harsh expectations she could never fully meet. But money? Money gave her safety and freedom, never passing judgment or trying to crush her under its demands. It was the only thing that made her happy, her only true comfort. She had learned to find solace in the currency she could feel accumulating, each coin or bill a shield against the world’s cruelty.

She felt a strange, fierce satisfaction in knowing that, for once, the weak had a chance to prevail in this world of commerce and trade. A sheep like her, soft and vulnerable, could find protection within the iron cage of wealth and power. She took a grim satisfaction in knowing that while she may have been born weak, she could buy strength, buy influence, even buy the kind of fear that once would have hunted her ancestors.

“Don’t bother trying to make yourself look clever or ambitious,” her mother sneered, breaking her chain of thought. “Men don’t like a girl who thinks she’s smarter than them. If you want to marry well, you’d be better off staying quiet and smiling.”

Marlow ground her teeth, fighting the impulse to snap back. She was no stranger to these lectures. In her mother’s eyes, men were to be pleased, pacified, indulged. “It’s a man’s world, after all,” her mother would remind her. A smart woman knew her place, knew that thinking for herself was the fastest route to an empty house and a poor husband. The only prize worth winning was a powerful mate, someone who would shield her from the world as long as she didn’t step too far out of line.

It made Marlow’s skin crawl. But fighting her mother on this was pointless, especially now when they were so close to the school. She focused on the music again, on the rain drumming against the car roof. She had stopped expecting her father to defend her intelligence or her aspirations long ago. His silent approval was conditional on her obedience to her mother’s demands.

The car finally pulled up to the towering, Gothic spires of Anthro Academy, every window casting a cold, forbidding shadow. This place wasn’t merely a school; it was a fortress, its walls built to keep out the unworthy as much as to guard its secrets. Her heart skipped a beat, half with excitement, half with fear. She was at the threshold of something immense, something that could shape her destiny far beyond the limits of her family’s small empire.

As the car stopped, Marlow eagerly swung the door open and stepped out into the rain, letting the water soak her as she glanced up at the spiked towers looming above. Her mother tutted irritably. “Do try to contain yourself,” she snapped. “There’s no need to look so pathetic, Marlow.”

But Marlow wasn’t listening. She allowed the raindrops to mingle with the tears she’d been holding back, letting the harshness of the water soothe her as it washed over her face. For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting herself imagine that the rain was carrying all her sadness away with it. She wanted to believe, even if only for an instant, that she could shed every painful memory, every harsh word, every jagged thought in her mind, and emerge whole, untouched, and free.

The school’s wrought-iron gates opened, and a figure emerged to greet her, dressed in the school’s dark, crisp uniform. She nodded curtly to Marlow’s mother, her gaze a professional, dispassionate acknowledgment of the woman’s wealth. Marlow’s mother sniffed in reply, but made no comment. Marlow watched the interaction, noting how money still held the power to command respect, even here among the old blood.

As her mother turned to leave, Marlow stood still, keeping her expression neutral. She didn’t trust herself to speak, not when her feelings teetered so close to the surface. Her mother gave her a final, critical once-over and pursed her lips. “Remember what I said. Try to fit in, and don’t do anything to embarrass us.” With a dismissive wave, she stepped back into the car and disappeared down the winding road.

Marlow turned, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She followed the figure in silence through the gate and up the stone steps, it handed her a room key with her number on it,her heart pounding in her chest. Here, at least, was a new start, a place where she could finally be something more than just an expense in her parents' ledger. Maybe here, behind these ancient walls, she could discover her own path.

They entered the grand hallway, high-ceilinged and dimly lit, the atmosphere heavy with centuries of tradition and whispers of forgotten secrets. Marlow felt a thrill of anticipation, tempered by the quiet fear of the unknown. But she knew one thing. This place didn't see her as a person. It only cared about the wealth in her bank account, and to her. That was comforting. Because why does she even need a name when you can see the triple digits. We don't need names. We need numbers. I'm number 988... its weird how once before her kind was numbered like cattle, now she takes comfort in that sense of depersonalization. and she preferred it that way.

Chapter Text

In a dimly lit corner of a decaying Victorian café, Ayersi and Pristin reclined across from one another, draped over the battered, plush velvet cushions with a casual elegance that might have passed for aristocratic laziness. The Café de la Chêne wasn’t a spot for the general riff-raff, but one for the disenchanted youth of high society, seeking escape while the school dealt with a skunk-scented fiasco that left classrooms unusable. Cobblestone walls, thick with the scent of cigar smoke and stained with the ghosts of cheap perfume and spilled wine, provided a grimy cocoon around them. The light barely filtered through dusty chandeliers, casting shadows over the worn floorboards littered with empty bottles and discarded silver. The place had the appearance of wealth’s distant memory—like its patrons: those clinging to the old-school money, or, as in Ayersi and Pristin’s case, those who felt it slipping through their fingers.

Ayersi, a sleek, toned dire wolf with an unbothered slouch, poked at her tray. The meal consisted mostly of hearty, bloody cuts of meat, dark and rare. She cracked open a can of sparkling tonic and took a sip, lips twisting slightly at the bitterness, but she pressed on. Sitting across from her, Pristin, her friend and foil, lounged with a greasy burger, stacked high with cheese, and a veritable mound of fried treats piled on her plate. Her chubby, soft form only emphasized her casual comfort with indulgence—though today, her gaze kept flitting toward the door as she glowered, her face contorted with a look of envy.

“Did you see Leanna the other day?” Ayersi muttered, tone low and eyes narrowed with a simmering resentment. “She walked into the courtyard in that coat. Mink, pure white, nearly blinded me just looking at it. Meanwhile, my dad’s too cheap to replace my fur stole that got damaged last winter.”

Pristin scoffed, adjusting her collar and taking a petulant bite of her burger. “Don’t even get me started on Leanna,” she sneered. “Honestly, what’s the point of her getting a new coat? It’s like her family has to flaunt their ‘new money’ with all these obnoxious displays. My father said it’s ‘poor taste.’ But let me tell you, I wouldn’t mind if he shelled out a little poor taste now and again if it meant I got that new clutch she was flaunting last week. It was Chanel.”

Ayersi gave a short, biting laugh. “Yeah, well, seems like ‘poor taste’ is in these days, or else we’re just out of fashion. I can’t believe the run of luck these upstarts are having, just snatching up all the best designers, getting ridiculous gifts for ‘weekend fun.’ You know her parents got her that hideous convertible to celebrate her making it through midterms?”

Pristin raised a brow, her annoyance radiating. “That is so typical. Meanwhile, Dad’s been going on and on about ‘financial conservatism’ and ‘being wise stewards of our legacy’ like I’m supposed to be thrilled he’s investing in some charity gala for sick muskrats instead of giving me a fraction of the allowance she must get. I mean, Ayersi, she’s only getting things handed to her because her family struck some lucky deal with a shipping firm that moved in last year! It’s like they’re trying to buy their way in everywhere.”

Ayersi grinned, her canines showing, but her gaze was steely. “Funny, isn’t it? A year ago, her family was basically one of the middle packs, and now they’re practically throwing money at her like they’ve been rich for centuries. If my father could take even a little time from his ‘high principles,’ maybe I could be the one strutting around with some obscenely expensive designer coat or bag. Instead, it’s ‘preserve the wealth’ this, and ‘family honor’ that.” She rolled her eyes dramatically.

Pristin took a sip of her iced tea, shaking her head. “You think that’s bad? My mother said I have to start looking into internships—can you imagine? Like some commoner! And not even paid internships. Apparently, it’s ‘essential for building character’ to work my way up from ‘the bottom.’ Honestly, I’ve been told to ‘network’ with people whose idea of a good evening is thrifting at charity shops! Meanwhile, the Leannas of the world can stroll around, spend whatever they want, and somehow, no one calls it tacky.”

Ayersi stabbed at her food, muttering under her breath. “Why should we even care about ‘building character’? We already know who we are—better than any of them. Besides, what do those girls have that makes them get so much more than we do?” She leaned forward, eyes sparking with irritation. “Why can’t our dads just do more, be more assertive or something? Like, really take charge and make the kind of money these people have been throwing around.”

Pristin nodded vehemently, wiping her hands on a lace napkin with a scowl. “Exactly! It’s like they’re content to just let the family reputation do all the work without considering the world’s different now. Like, how do they think we’re supposed to keep up with all these—these nouveau-riche flaunters? I can’t stand it.” She glanced down at her slightly shabby satchel, grimacing. “And have you noticed, suddenly everything we have looks so… last year? Just last season, no one would dare show up with a fur bag or lace scarf that wasn’t of the finest quality. Now, anything not fresh off the Milan runway might as well be ‘vintage’—and not in a good way.”

Ayersi nodded, her voice taking on an edge. “We’re out here struggling to stay ahead of trends, and they’re just snapping their fingers for custom pieces as if they’re not even new money. It’s obscene. I know their wealth isn’t… ‘proper,’ but it doesn’t change the fact that everyone notices them now. It’s like we’re being outshone by sparkly knock-offs.”

Pristin practically threw her napkin onto her plate, voice filled with exasperation. “And the worst part? Everyone’s treating them like they’re the real deal, as if they’ve always been at our level. It’s unbearable. You know, in my parents’ day, new money was seen for what it was—a temporary lapse, and hardly worth any attention. Now they’re treating them as if they’ve had breeding for decades! If I hear another teacher call Leanna ‘a girl with real taste’ just because she shows up in yet another mink coat, I’m going to lose it.”

They both glared into their meals, momentarily united in their indignation. Around them, Café de la Chêne buzzed with the idle murmurs of their peers, equally disenchanted and equally eager to be somewhere forbidden during class hours. Over by the bar, a few students laughed too loudly, ice clinking in their drinks. Ayersi glanced over, brow furrowing as she spotted a girl in a conspicuously tailored blazer, dripping with costume jewelry too extravagant for comfort.

“See that?” Ayersi said, jerking her chin toward the girl. “Tailored blazer, triple-stitched lining, probably imported, and that—ugh, that jewelry! I’ll bet she’s wearing pieces from one of those new shops, flaunting all the labels her parents tossed cash at without a thought. Do you know what I could do with a budget like that?”

Pristin rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “I swear, Ayersi, if our fathers had half the ambition theirs do, maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here lamenting about falling behind. It’s like they’re blind to the reality we’re facing here. I want something like that, too—a statement piece, something that makes people look twice. Do you know how many times I’ve practically begged for something truly unique? And I keep getting told, ‘We don’t need all that new nonsense.’”

Ayersi raised an eyebrow, sighing. “We get it—they want us to appreciate the family legacy. But have you seen what that legacy’s doing lately? Nothing that’ll help us climb back up. They’d rather protect some ancient title and pride while we’re losing ground. Do they really think that will last forever?”

Pristin’s eyes narrowed, tracing over her glass. “Exactly! It’s not like this ‘legacy’ is some untouchable thing, either. Money talks. Right now, their silence is giving other people the spotlight. Honestly, how long do they think this ‘noble family history’ will hold up in a world obsessed with the latest and most? Don’t they know how fast things are changing?”

As if on cue, the café’s door creaked open, and Ayersi and Pristin looked up instinctively. The air grew thick with an almost electric tension as a small crowd of students entered—each of them better dressed and more polished than anyone else in the room. They moved with an ease that suggested money, new and fast, dressed in sleek, gleaming attire that spoke of the latest labels. They were laughing, drawing every gaze as they swept into the café as if it were their private club.

Ayersi’s jaw clenched, watching as Leanna walked in, wearing a fur-lined coat that practically glowed under the café’s dim lights. Beside her, one of her entourage carried a designer bag that Ayersi recognized immediately—only three of them had been made, and they cost a small fortune.

“Can you believe it!"

Chapter Text

The bus rumbled along, its guttural engine drowning out the low hum of passengers chattering and the occasional burst of laughter. The human sat near the back, his head leaning against the cold glass of the window. He let his eyes close for just a moment, not intending to fall asleep but hoping for a brief reprieve from the weight of his thoughts.

Then it happened.

A void opened, silent and dark, sucking his consciousness into itself. The dull din of the bus faded into static, a muffled haze that pressed against his ears like cotton. His body felt weightless, adrift in an empty vacuum, and he heard them—the voices.

"Is he yours?" The question was sharp, cutting through the void with an eerie clarity.

"Yes, this one's all mine." The response was soft, familiar, yet tinged with an unusual coldness. It was her voice. The heiress. His master. There was a pause before she added, almost lazily, "Ashame, really. I think he sorta suits you more. Oh well, finders keepers."

The human's breath hitched, a heavy dread settling over him. Who was she talking to? That voice—the questioner—was unfamiliar, smooth yet alien, its tone carrying a faint accent he couldn't place. He strained to listen, hoping for more, but the static grew louder, threatening to drown it all out.

He opened his eyes, expecting to return to the bus and its mundane surroundings. But instead, he found himself somewhere else.

The grand ballroom of Smiler Manor stretched before him, its vaulted ceiling alive with the glint of crystal chandeliers. He'd been here before, in his first years under the heiress's care, but it looked different now. The space had transformed, the decor shifting to a deep autumn theme. Rich shades of crimson and amber bathed the room. Leaves—real or impeccably crafted fakes—adorned the tables and framed the tall, arched windows. The scent of cinnamon and smoldering wood hung in the air, faint but warm.

It was a memory, or at least he thought it was. His chest tightened as he realized he wasn't in control of his body, merely a passenger in this dreamlike vision.

And then he saw her.

The heiress stood near the head of the room, towering over the others at a daunting nine feet tall. Her sleek lion-like form was poised, graceful as ever. Her fur, a blend of creamy whites and muted greys, shimmered in the ballroom's light, as did the layers of gold jewelry adorning her neck and wrists. She was speaking to someone—a woman, equally tall, but with a presence far more primal.

The other woman was unmistakably a homotherium.

Her build was more robust than the heiress's lithe form, her shoulders broader, her muscles rippling beneath a coat of dense, short fur. The golden-brown hues of her pelt were flecked with dark rosettes, and her face was arresting—a blend of feline grace and something more primally feminine. Her short muzzle ended in a black nose, her saber-like teeth protruding slightly even when her lips were closed. Her amber eyes burned with an intensity that unsettled him, their gaze holding a deep, predatory wisdom.

She was different from the heiress in every way, less refined but undeniably commanding.

"I still think he would've been better off with me," the homotherium said, her voice rich and accented, the syllables rolling off her tongue like honey laced with steel. She sipped from a delicate crystal goblet, her claws tapping softly against its stem. "But I suppose you've made your choice. What will you do with him now?"

The heiress's smile was razor-thin, her ears twitching ever so slightly. "He'll do what he's always done. Serve. Obey. It's what he's good at, after all."

Her words struck him like a blow to the chest. Serve. Obey. They felt heavier now than they ever had before, as though each syllable carried a weight he'd failed to grasp until now. He wanted to speak, to say something, but his mouth wouldn't move. He was trapped, forced to listen.

The scene shifted abruptly.

Now he stood—or rather, his past self stood—near the edge of the ballroom, holding a tray of drinks. The weight of the tray was familiar, but something about this moment felt wrong. The air was heavier, the lighting dimmer. The laughter of the guests seemed distant, almost hollow.

The heiress appeared again, this time moving through the crowd with her usual grace. But as she approached him, her expression shifted. There was no warmth, no acknowledgment of his existence. Instead, she brushed past him, her fur brushing against his arm as though he were nothing more than an obstacle in her path.

Sadness bloomed in his chest, sharp and unexpected. Why did this memory hurt? It wasn't the first time she'd ignored him—it was her way. And yet, the ache was there, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

Across the room, the homotherium watched, her gaze piercing. She tilted her head slightly, as if studying him, before turning back to her conversation.

Another shift.

He was outside now, in the gardens of the manor. The autumn theme carried over here, the leaves crunching beneath his shoes as he walked. But the air was colder, the sky above a slate-grey canvas threatening rain.

The heiress stood by the fountain, her back to him. She was speaking to the homotherium again, their voices low but urgent.

"He's weaker than I thought he'd be," the heiress said, her tone clipped. "I expected more resilience."

"Then why keep him?" the homotherium replied, her voice laced with curiosity. "If he's a disappointment, cut him loose. Or better yet, give him to me. I could make use of him in ways you never could."

The heiress turned, her eyes blazing. "No. He's mine. Weak or not, I decide what happens to him."

The words sent a shiver down his spine. There was an edge to her voice, a possessiveness that both comforted and terrified him. Did she care for him? Or was he simply a tool she refused to share?

The homotherium smirked, her saber-like teeth catching the light. "As you wish. But don't forget, darling. Tools break when you push them too hard."

The scene dissolved into darkness once more, but the memories kept coming, fragments flashing before his eyes.

He saw himself kneeling back in the ballroom again, scrubbing the floor as the party came to a close. The guests danced above him, oblivious.

He saw the heiress scolding him, her voice sharp and cutting, though he couldn't remember what he'd done wrong.

He saw the homotherium again, her eyes meeting his across a crowded room, filled with something he couldn't quite place—pity? Amusement?

Finally, the void returned, swallowing the visions in its cold embrace. He gasped, his eyes snapping open. The bus. He was back. The static was gone, replaced by the familiar hum of the engine and the chatter of passengers.

But the weight in his chest remained.

One thought lay in his mind.

Will I ever see her again?

Chapter Text

The bus jolted as it hit a rough patch in the road, shaking the passengers in their seats. The human barely noticed, still shaken from the dreamlike flashbacks that had engulfed his mind just moments ago. He stared out of the window, his reflection faint against the darkened glass, but the weight of the visions clung to him like a heavy shroud.

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted, light yet firm. He blinked and turned his head. Sitting beside him now was a towering figure, her presence impossible to ignore. She was a bovid—some ancient species he couldn’t quite identify. Her horns, thick and spiraling, reached upward like jagged crowns, scraping perilously close to the bus's low ceiling. Her fur was a soft slate-grey with streaks of white along her neck, lending her an almost regal appearance. She adjusted the thick leather satchel slung across her lap, her wide brown eyes fixed on him with a mix of curiosity and caution.

"You're a human, right?" she asked, leaning closer, the scent of dried grass and musk faint around her. "I need your help with something."

The human hesitated. Interactions like this were rare for him; most anthros on the bus avoided his gaze, their disdain or discomfort plain. He nodded slowly, unsure of what she wanted.

"I'm working on a history paper," she continued, her voice hushed as though the topic was a secret. "It’s on humans. Our professor assigned it last week, and, well... you're the first human I've ever had the chance to talk to." She shifted, glancing around the bus nervously before focusing back on him. "I thought... maybe you'd have insights I wouldn’t find in books."

He wasn’t sure how to respond. Humans were rare now, relics of a bygone era, relegated to niche roles or kept under tight control. He didn’t feel like an expert on anything—he barely understood himself most days. Yet, as he opened his mouth to decline, something stirred in the back of his mind.

Knowledge. Not his own, but imprinted, as if it had been placed there long ago, buried in the recesses of this body’s memory. Words formed, unbidden, and before he could stop himself, he began to speak.

"Humans," he started, his voice steady despite his uncertainty, "were once specialized tools of war for the noble houses. Before modern treaties banned their free breeding and proliferation, every noble house had its own breed of human—engineered and trained for specific purposes. We weren’t soldiers in the conventional sense; we were weapons, precision instruments used to dismantle enemy forces."

The bovid girl leaned in, her horns casting long shadows over his lap. Her pen hovered above a notepad, her eyes wide with intrigue.

"The House of Smiler," he continued, the name sparking an ache in his chest, "was particularly notorious for its humans. They bred their warriors to be agile, silent killers. We—" He stopped, correcting himself. "They wore light armor, enough to protect without hindering speed, and fought with a variety of blades—curved swords, polearms, and even claw-like gauntlets designed to tear through an opponent’s flesh. Their humans were trained not just in combat but in assassination. Smiler humans were known for infiltrating enemy lines to eliminate commanders or heirs, sowing chaos among the ranks."

"And they wore... skulls?" she asked, her pen moving rapidly across the paper.

"Yes," he said, his voice lower now. "It was both a practical and psychological tactic. Wearing the skulls or skins of their enemies—anthro or otherwise—served to terrify opposing forces. It was a display of dominance, a message that resistance was futile. For some, it was ritualistic, a way to honor fallen foes by carrying a part of them into the next battle."

The girl frowned, her brow furrowing. "So each house had its own... breed? How did that work?"

He nodded. "Each noble house tailored its humans to fit their needs. The herbivorous houses—like the Cervidae or Bovidae clans—favored humans capable of defending large territories. They were taller, stronger, and trained to wield massive polearms or halberds, weapons that could keep predators at bay. These humans were often heavily armored, their bulk designed to stand like living walls against charging foes."

He paused, his memories—or were they someone else’s?—filling in the details. "The feline houses, like Smiler, preferred smaller, more agile humans. Meanwhile, the canine houses—such as the Lupidae or Canis Major families—bred humans for endurance. They served as trackers or hunters, chasing down fleeing enemies or engaging in prolonged battles."

"But what happened to all these humans?" she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with concern.

"They became... too dangerous," he said, his jaw tightening. "In the aftermath of the Great Arbitration Wars, humans were confiscated by the state. Noble houses were forbidden from keeping their own breeds. Too many had realized that humans weren’t just weapons—they were unpredictable, capable of turning the tide of wars in ways even their creators couldn’t control."

"Confiscated?" she echoed, her ears twitching.

"The state took the most dangerous humans into their armies," he explained, "relegating the rest to weaker, more docile roles. The elite breeds—the ones trained to topple empires—were absorbed into the government’s military or placed in high-security roles. You’ll still find them guarding governors' mansions or CEOs of megacorporations. They’re not entirely gone, but their existence is tightly regulated."

The girl’s pen stilled, and she tilted her head. "But the weaker ones? Like... you?"

He bristled but answered evenly. "The weaker humans—those not deemed a threat—were dispersed into controlled environments. Some became servants or low-tier laborers, shadows of what they once were. It’s ironic, isn’t it? The very creatures that once wore the skulls of kings are now polishing the floors of their descendants."

Her gaze lingered on him, a mix of pity and fascination in her eyes. "What about the wars themselves?" she asked. "What role did humans play in the conflicts between houses?"

His mind dredged up more memories, vivid and visceral. "Humans were pivotal in the wars of the noble houses. Take the conflicts between the carnivorous and herbivorous factions, for example. Humans were often deployed as shock troops, their small numbers more than compensated by their precision and brutality. A single human could disrupt an entire battlefield. While anthros relied on their natural strength and abilities, humans were adaptable, using tactics and weapons that countered even the most formidable anthro foes."

He exhaled, his voice tinged with an odd mixture of pride and sorrow. "Smiler humans, in particular, were infamous for their roles in these wars. They didn’t just kill—they dismantled. They’d infiltrate an enemy stronghold, sever the chains of command, and leave the rest of the army in disarray. It wasn’t just about winning battles; it was about ensuring the enemy couldn’t recover."

"And against other carnivores?" she asked, leaning forward.

"Brutal," he admitted. "When houses like Smiler turned on each other, humans were used for what could only be called... annihilation. These wars weren’t about honor or territory—they were about survival. Humans became the tools of petty grudges and family feuds, their lives spent in the name of vengeance or ambition."

The girl sat back, her notepad now filled with dense scrawls. She looked at him, her expression contemplative. "It’s strange," she said softly. "Humans were so important, so integral to everything, and now... you’re just here, sitting on a bus."

He didn’t know how to respond to that. The weight of her words settled over him like a shroud. He stared down at his hands, rough and calloused from years of work he couldn’t even remember clearly. The memories—the knowledge—felt borrowed, like they belonged to someone else. And perhaps they did.

"Do you ever... miss it?" she asked tentatively. "That history? That purpose?"

He looked at her, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile. "How can I miss something I never truly had?"

Chapter Text

So as you are aware, the smilodons are no more.
but they are a major theme in the story.

They had many relatives that were older. that also ruled the world.

Would it make sense? for them to be alive while smilodons aren't. I don't really think so. I'm admitting it here; it doesn't make much biological sense for them to still be around while smilodons aren't.
but it would be more interesting for humans to encounter them. so it is more narratively interesting.

I've written other chapters but didn't feel they were good enough because most of them were flashback chapters. where he didn't meet any in modern times. and while that was more realistic, it wasn't satisfying. so even if it doesn't make ecological sense. I will be focusing the story on ancient big cats. and their rivals. purely because of how much more interesting it would be for the narrative.

As to why I used Saberooth? It was merely because it was the one everyone was familiar with. I could have used something else. but it wouldn't be the same, so I went with the species humans encountered in our recent past.

Sorry for how long this took; I was going to release more chapters 2 weeks ago. but upon rereading them, I didn't feel like they were good or fit the theme.

Also, I think I might remove the themes of academics since I already have a story where we dig into the themes of schooling.

I think I will mainly refocus this story on humans being pets and how society has shaped them, as well as society's opinions of them. Focus it more on family drama with smilers and the other enemy houses. and an unavoidable issue is having more flashbacks into the ancient past with traditional sword and shield warfare.

Thank you for anyone still reading this and for your patience.

I spent a lot of time researching each animal. read 100s of papers, even bought a few that were private. just for this series. and with new recent break throws in saber tooth cat studies. I feel confident enough to continue now that we know more about them.

But I'm curious to hear what you think. Should I keep the academic feel of the story? 2 of my other stories are already focused on school. Or should I make this more about the surroundings of Smiler Estate and their enemies? and also the human attachment. and relationship to the other cast. of the remaining ice age animals.

Chapter Text

old wood that rots from decay, older then myself, and all of mankind.

It was supposed to be a normal night. Anonymous had gone to bed just like any other evening, half buried under a mess of blankets, his phone lazily tossed onto the nightstand after scrolling through it for what felt like hours. The last thing he remembered before sleep took over was a notification that tomorrow's weather would be unseasonably cold for June—another weird 2010 summer, but nothing out of the ordinary.

But the world he woke up in wasn't the same.

His eyes flickered open, blinking against the soft light streaming in through unfamiliar curtains. The sheets around him didn’t feel right—thicker, more luxurious, heavy against his skin in a way that made his pulse quicken. He sat up in the bed, groggy and confused. The room around him was massive. Gothic arches framed the high ceiling, and the bed he lay in was easily twice the size of the one he had fallen asleep in. A huge, ornate four-poster with dark red velvet drapes encased him like a throne.

“This... isn’t right,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, but something was already gnawing at the back of his mind. His heart started to pound. He kicked off the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet not even touching the ground.

The room was cold, its décor dark, like something out of a medieval castle. Caveman-like paintings of saber-toothed creatures—almost human, but not quite—covered the walls, primitive yet detailed, like relics from an ancient time. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he slid off the oversized bed, his bare feet making contact with the cold stone floor. Even the air was heavy, like it had seen centuries of history unfold between those walls.

He looked down at himself. His clothes were different—no longer his pajamas but some kind of silk robe, finely made, embroidered with a symbol he didn’t recognize. His hands trembled slightly as he turned his wrist over. The date on the ornate clock by the bed read "200010," pronounced two thousand ten, though it clearly wasn’t the year he had gone to sleep in. His heart raced faster. He hadn’t just changed rooms—this was a different world.

He padded across the room, his breath quickening. The doors leading out into the hall were enormous, easily twice his height, made from dark wood, with intricate carvings of animalistic figures woven into the panels. It was as if everything here was built for someone far larger than any human he’d ever known. The scale of it unsettled him.

“What... is this place?” he muttered, stepping into the hall.

The hallway was dimly lit, the ceilings even higher here, and every step echoed. He ran his hands along the walls as he walked, trying to ground himself, but the stone felt rough and cold. Everything around him was impossibly huge. He was like a child in a giant’s castle, and the sense of unease grew stronger with each passing moment.

The house was old. Cavernous. And there was something unsettling about how it seemed frozen in time—tribal paintings of ancient battles lined the walls, and yet, there were strange, old electronics scattered throughout. Vintage radios and TVs, things that looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades but were out of place among the otherwise timeless decor. He wandered through room after room, each one stranger than the last, decorated in lavish but worn furnishings, tribal masks, and animal furs draped across old couches.

And then, from down the hall, a voice broke the silence.

“Come... closer...” It was weak, almost a whisper, but it echoed down the long corridor, sending a chill through him.

Anonymous froze. His breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the sound, unsure whether to run or to follow it. Every instinct told him this wasn’t right, but curiosity—or perhaps fear—pushed him forward. The voice had come from deeper in the house.

He walked toward it, passing door after massive door, his bare feet silent on the cold floor. The hallway stretched on forever until finally, he came to a room larger than any he had seen so far. Inside, lying in a massive bed that dwarfed even the one he had woken in, was a creature that should not have existed.

It was a sabertooth. A smilodon.

The figure lying in the bed was easily eleven feet tall, its fur gray with age, a long saber-tooth visible from its partly open mouth. Its body, once powerful, was now frail and covered in medical devices. Its breathing was labored, every inhale a rattling struggle. Bandages covered parts of its body, and it lay surrounded by tubes and wires that looked strange against the tribal décor of the room.

The sabertooth’s eyes met his, and despite the terror that gripped his heart, Anonymous stepped closer.

“Closer...” it whispered, the voice carrying a barely perceptible animalistic growl, as if buried under a human-like tone.

Anonymous stepped forward, shaking. This was too much. Too unreal. But there was something in the old creature’s eyes—something desperate, something final.

“You... are now... Smiler,” the creature rasped, its eyes locking onto him with surprising intensity for something so near death. “The last of House Smiler. My time... is over. You... inherit it all. You... are now my... son.”

“Son?” Anonymous stammered, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. The creature—the smilodon—was fading fast, its eyes drooping as its breathing became more shallow.

House Smiler? He didn’t understand. This wasn’t his world. This wasn’t his life. But the creature reached out, a massive paw resting against his arm, surprisingly gentle despite its size.

“The end... of our kind,” the creature whispered, its eyes fluttering closed. “You... carry the name now...”

Anonymous stood there, frozen, as the creature’s breathing slowed. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to feel. The weight of the moment was crushing him, and yet, he was utterly lost. His hand rested lightly on the creature’s fur, unsure, trying to offer some kind of comfort, even though he didn’t understand any of this.

And then, with one last rattling breath, the sabertooth’s chest stilled. Its paw fell limp against the bed. Anonymous stood there, staring at the enormous figure that had just passed away in front of him, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and disbelief.

Hours passed. The sun had set, and darkness filled the house. Anonymous hadn’t moved, his thoughts spinning out of control as the weight of what had happened settled over him. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there when a knock echoed through the silent halls.

He stumbled out of the room, disoriented, and opened the front door. The figures waiting for him were unlike anything he had ever seen before. Towering over him, easily sixteen feet tall, they wore dark, heavy veils that hid their faces, save for the eerie masks they wore—horned, elongated, terrifying.

“Mr. Smiler,” one of them said, their voice deep and unnatural. “We are here for the body.”

Anonymous stood frozen, nodding without thinking, his mind still trying to catch up with everything. The figures moved with quiet efficiency, lifting the massive form of the sabertooth with ease as they prepared to take it to the morgue. One of them paused, looking down at him with unreadable eyes beneath the mask.

“We are sorry for your loss,” they said in a voice that seemed to reverberate deep within his chest. “Their last wish... was to be with you.”

Anonymous nodded again, barely comprehending. He followed them through the vast halls of the house, out into the cold night air. The gardens were beautiful, lit by the glow of a grand fountain in the distance. The luxury car parked nearby seemed like it belonged to another life—one far removed from the ancient, tribal feel of the estate.

They loaded the body into a large, black van and gestured for him to follow. He hesitated but stepped into the backseat, his eyes darting around nervously. The drive to the funeral was a blur. The towering buildings of the city loomed around him, massive structures built for beings far larger than humans. He was the only human in the funeral crowd, surrounded by dozens of towering anthros—lions, tigers, wolves—all watching in silence as the last of House Smiler was laid to rest.

After the ceremony, no one spoke to him. He was left alone, standing in the shadows of giants. The car ride back to the estate felt like a dream—cold, distant, surreal.

Hours later, back in the vast, empty house, he received a call. His hand shook as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

“Your admission into Anthro High has been filed,” a voice on the other end said. “You’ve been accepted, Mr. Smiler, last son of House Smiler.”

He stared into the darkness, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a stone. The house, the world, the name—none of it was his. And yet, somehow, it all was now.

-

Anon stood in the expansive kitchen of the gothic estate, the dim light casting shadows that danced across the walls. The size of the kitchen was overwhelming; it was built for giants, with counters that towered above him. He approached the fridge, a massive structure that felt more like a vault. He grunted as he tugged on the door, finally getting it to swing open with a loud creak.

Inside, it was a disheartening sight. Rows of medical supplies lined the shelves, a stark reminder of the master’s illness. He squinted, pushing aside boxes of pills and bottles filled with strange, unidentifiable substances. In the back, he spotted some old meat and a loaf of bread, both of which looked like they belonged in the trash.

“Beggers can’t be choosers,” he muttered, resigning himself to his fate. He grabbed the meat, noting its questionable color and odor. With a sigh, he turned back to the counter and fished around for a pan.

The stove was equally enormous, its burners big enough to roast a cow. He tossed the meat in, trying to ignore the way it sizzled uncomfortably, and then found a chair that seemed made for someone who had long since left. He took a seat, a small chair at the foot of a table that could fit a hundred people. It was absurd to feel so small in such a vast space, but the weight of his thoughts pushed him down.

As he took a bite of the stale bread, he grimaced. It tasted like seeds and cardboard, a far cry from what he was used to.

“This is awful,” he said aloud, trying to swallow. He choked a little but managed to get it down, his stomach protesting with every bite. He scanned the fridge again and found a container of salad that had seen better days. Reluctantly, he took a bite, and to his surprise, it wasn’t terrible.

He reached for a drink, a brightly colored fruit beverage that promised refreshment. He took a sip and grimaced again. “What the hell is this?” The taste was foreign and made his head spin. The rancid water he had tasted earlier felt like a luxury compared to this.

After a few more bites of the unpalatable meal, he realized he wasn’t really hungry anymore. He stood up, pushing the chair back, and looked around the kitchen, feeling a deep sense of loneliness.

He wandered into the grand dining room, the size of it causing his heart to drop. A long table dominated the room, its surface gleaming even in the dim light. He chose the smallest chair, a comically inadequate piece next to a beautifully ornate chair that seemed to belong to a woman. The chair was bigger than his but not as large as the master’s.

“Who sat here?” he wondered, tracing a finger along the chair’s intricate carvings. It felt like an empty promise.

Feeling lost in his thoughts, he sat down and stared into the flickering fire. The flames danced, casting shadows across the walls, and he felt a chill creep down his spine. He was the only one in this vast, empty space, surrounded by a history he couldn’t understand.

“Time to sleep, I guess,” he murmured, pushing himself away from the table. He hoped, desperately, that he would wake up back in his own world.

After his meal, Anon began wandering through the mansion, moving from room to room. The air was thick with dust, and he felt like an intruder in a world that was no longer his own. He stumbled upon family photos lining the walls, but each one had a thick X drawn over it in permanent marker. It made his stomach twist.

“Why would they do that?” he mumbled, stepping further into the house.

He finally reached the grand ballroom, its size breathtaking and terrifying all at once. It looked abandoned, filled with remnants of what had once been a grand celebration. Dust coated everything, and the tablecloths lay crumpled, wilted flowers scattered across the surface.

A yawn escaped him, and he realized he was exhausted. The day had felt like a whirlwind, too much happening in too short a time.

As he turned to leave, he noticed a pink door at the end of the hall, an unusual sight in the otherwise dark and gothic house. It was chained and locked, and curiosity piqued within him.

“Where could the key be?” he wondered, searching his room first. He rifled through desk drawers, pulled clothes from closets, and even crawled under the bed. Nothing.

Just as he was about to give up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

“What the—?” He recoiled, his heart racing.

His face looked different, marked with a strange design that resembled teeth, with two glaring eyes staring back at him. It wasn’t paint; it was a tattoo. He felt a cold sweat run down his back as he touched the mark.

“No way… How did I get this?”

He examined his eyes, which seemed to glow in the light, a golden slant that felt unnerving. Then, he noticed something on his neck—a fading bite mark that bore a name: Faytali. It was as if his skin was rejecting the mark, slowly erasing it from his body.

With newfound determination, he thought of the master’s room. Surely there had to be a key there. He sprinted down the hall and burst into the master’s room. The desk was cluttered with papers, but there, amid the chaos, he spotted a glimmer of metal: the key.

He snatched it up and glanced at the medical reports scattered about. The numbers were enormous and terrifying. He quickly looked away, not wanting to linger on the implications.

Just as he turned to leave, something caught his eye—a photo frame overturned on the desk. He picked it up, and his heart dropped.

In the photo was the master, smiling broadly next to a girl who looked so familiar. She was a teenager, dressed in expensive clothes, her face lit with joy. But he was there, too, looking sad and teary-eyed, as if hiding something deep inside.

“Who is she?” he whispered, a sick feeling settling in his gut.

He grabbed the key tightly and hurried to the pink door. As he unlocked it, the chain fell away with a heavy clang.

“What’s in here?” he thought, stepping into the room, the door creaking open.

As he stepped through the threshold, he was hit by the smell of dust and abandonment. His heart raced. It looked like a girl’s room, luxurious and meticulously decorated. Medical equipment was scattered across the floor, and crumpled papers lay everywhere.

His gaze fell upon a diary on the edge of the bed, its pages ripped and ink smeared, droplets that looked like tears dotting the paper.

“What happened here?” he whispered, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him.

But then, before he could process it, a vision struck him. He saw a girl in the bed, hooked up to all the medical devices, pale and weak. The image vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving him stunned in an empty room.

“Damn…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

He recoiled in surprise, the sight of the empty room unsettling him. He took a cautious step inside, surveying the clutter. At the foot of the bed lay a picture that made his stomach churn.

“For your 50th birthday. A human for my precious little girl. My princess.”

The words echoed in his mind, and he felt sick. The realization hit him hard; he was a gift. The date on the note was 200006, and there was another picture of him, younger, standing beside her.

He felt a pit in his stomach as he realized he looked sad, while she beamed with joy.

“What the hell is happening?” he murmured, feeling the weight of the world crashing down on him.

He rummaged through the remnants of her life, spotting a scrapbook half-open on the bed. Photos of him and her filled the pages, their lives intertwined in a way he couldn’t comprehend. In some pictures, they looked happy, but in others, her smile faded into something more serious.

He turned the pages, feeling a growing sense of connection and despair. The happy girl he had seen transformed into a sickly shadow of her former self. Medical notes piled up next to her photo, detailing her decline.

At the end of the scrapbook was just him, holding her as she cried. The note next to it sent shivers down his spine: “My love. My toy. My human forever mine.”

“What…what does this even mean?” he asked, feeling trapped between anger and sorrow. It felt wrong, like he was being reduced to an object.

He touched the last photo gently, a haunting impression lingering in his mind. At the base of the bed, he spotted something glimmering—a red crystal amulet. He poked it with his finger, and a jolt of pain shot through his neck where the fading bite mark was.

“What the—?”

As he pulled his hand away, the amulet began to glow faintly. The pain subsided instantly, and he looked in the mirror. The bite mark was gone.

“I’m free?” he whispered, but why? did he feel so hollow.

-

He had gone to bed with a heavy heart. A sickly feeling settled deep in his chest, weighing him down as if the emotions of a thousand painful moments were rushing back at once—emotions he couldn’t place, ones he had no idea he’d ever experienced. He muttered to himself, I just got to this world and already so much is being dumped on me. Why do I feel these things?

It was as if the evidence of his existence here extended beyond what his memory could recall. A troubling thought took root in his mind. Amnesia? No, that was too cliche, too convenient of an explanation. Then what?

Perhaps something deeper was at play. He wondered if his consciousness had simply swapped places with another—if there had been someone, or something else, living in this body before him. His mind wrestled with a chilling possibility: What if I only gained free will when the master of this house, that giant animal monster, decided to let me have it? His chest tightened at the thought. Had this body been living on animal instinct the entire time? The idea sent a cold shiver down his spine.

The notion of being trapped in such a hollow existence made him feel sick. A body, once soulless, only living to obey commands without ever questioning them. No autonomy. No rebellion. Just a dog, too happy to serve.

He gazed at the photos he'd taken from the bedroom earlier, turning them over in his hands. The eyes in the images—they weren't his eyes, but they felt familiar. Anger, bitterness, sadness, all buried beneath a mask. That same hollow, plastic smile stretched across a face like a designer mannequin. He shut his eyes hard, trying to block out the vision. I don't want to be here. I want to go home.

He clutched his blanket tighter and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Late in the night, the distant sound of music echoed through the halls. It was grand, regal even. The melody carried an air of prestige and unfathomable luxury. The strings hummed with an almost ethereal grace, each note perfectly crafted, as if the music itself was a living testament to the power and wealth of those who played it.

But beneath that elegant melody, there was something unsettling. An underlying dread crept in with every drumbeat, as if the rhythm mocked the defeated. Victory, but not a joyous one. A sinister celebration of conquest.

He opened his eyes, blinking in the darkness of his room, feeling disoriented. And then, he heard it. Muffled crying, faint at first, but growing louder and louder. It was coming from the room next to his. His heart pounded in his chest as the cries intensified, turning into wailing. It was a sound unlike any other—pure, unfiltered agony. The suffering in those cries was palpable, as if the person behind them was enduring unimaginable pain.

Each breath they took seemed to be a struggle, each wail an expression of torment beyond words. He pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out the sound, but it seeped through, invading his mind, his very soul. It was inescapable. And the music? It played on, unbothered by the suffering it accompanied.

He threw off his blanket and stumbled out of bed, the cold of the floor biting into his feet. The door next to his—the one that had been locked before—was now ajar. The crying, the rumbling, the muffled voices, all came from inside. He pressed his hand against the door. It was unnaturally cold.

His breath hitched as he reached for the knob, bracing himself for whatever was on the other side. Slowly, he pushed it open.

Nothing. The room was completely empty. Cold, barren, with a faint smell of rotting wood and moths hanging in the air. He blinked, confused. The sounds had been so real, so visceral, and yet... there was nothing here.

He closed the door behind him and turned back toward the hallway. The sound of crying was still there, but it had moved. Further down the hall, toward the ballroom. He followed it, drawn by a mixture of fear and curiosity. He had to know what was happening in this house.

The grand doors of the ballroom stood before him, their edges glowing faintly with the light from within. He could hear the chatter, the laughter, the clinking of glasses. It was as if the ballroom was alive with people—a party in full swing.

He hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. The smell of food, alcohol, and flowers wafted from beneath the doors. The scent was intoxicating, laced with the aroma of something ancient, something timeless. He reached out, touching one of the flowers in a vase beside the door. It withered at his touch, crumbling into dust.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

The sight before him was not what he had expected. The once grand and majestic ballroom was in ruins. Tables overturned, chairs broken, decorations shattered on the floor. The lavishness of the space was tainted by the destruction that had befallen it. But in the center of the room, there was something that caught his eye.

A mask. A simple party mask, lying on the ground, its eyes and mouth glowing faintly, as if reflecting some distant light. He approached it slowly, each step weighed down by a growing sense of dread. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, to leave, but he couldn’t. He was too far down this path to stop now.

He crouched down, carefully picking up the mask. It felt wrong, like a vortex of negative energy swirling around it, but against his better judgment, he flipped it over, gazing into its hollow eyes.

And there it was. A party. He could see it reflected in the mask’s eyes—a grand ball, filled with elegant, beautiful animals. The same music, now louder, clearer, filled the space around him. The chatter, the laughter, the dancing—it was all there, alive in the reflection.

This can’t be real, he thought. But he couldn’t help himself. He lifted the mask to his face.

The ballroom came to life. He was no longer in the ruins of the once-great hall; he was in the middle of a grand celebration. The music swelled around him, strings and drums, filling the air with a rich, haunting melody. The grandeur of it all was overwhelming. Everything was pristine, polished to perfection. The floor gleamed under the chandeliers, which sparkled with an otherworldly light.

The guests... they were something else entirely. Animals, some he recognized and others he didn’t, filled the room. Each one was impossibly beautiful, their fur coats, feathers, and scales shimmering under the light. Their bodies, graceful and powerful, moved with a nobility that seemed almost unnatural. They were perfect—too perfect. Their beauty was almost predatory, their elegance masking a primal, dangerous aura.

He couldn’t look away. It was as if he had been thrust into a world beyond his own, where the rules of nature had been rewritten. These creatures weren’t just animals; they were something more, something ancient and powerful, like apex predators who had evolved beyond their primal instincts but still carried the raw, untamed energy of the wild within them.

And then, at the center of it all, he saw her.

The Smilodon girl. She stood at the heart of the celebration, dressed in a beautiful gown that flowed like water around her. Her fur was soft, patchy in places, as if someone had painted her with delicate, deliberate strokes. Her mane, long and adorned with gold and flowers, crowned her head like a queen.

It was her birthday—a grand celebration for her fiftieth, though she looked no older than a teenager. Do animals age differently here? he wondered. Had they found a way to extend their lives, like humans had in their world?

She turned to look at him, her eyes locking with his. He froze. Time seemed to slow down as she stepped toward him, the crowd parting to let her through. He saw the master of the house, her father, standing nearby, watching with a cold, approving smile.

"He's all yours now, daughter," the master said, his voice booming through the ballroom. "Your very own human. You may claim him."

She approached him slowly, her smile widening, revealing her sharp, deadly teeth. His heart pounded in his chest. Fear, dread, horror—they all washed over him in waves. He wanted to run, to scream, but his body refused to move.

She leaned in close, her breath warm against his neck. And then, gently, she bit him. It wasn’t hard, not enough to draw blood, but it was enough to leave a mark. A burning sensation spread from the bite, searing into his skin like a brand.

The master smiled, clapping his hands together. "Congratulations. He’s marked. He’s yours now, until the day you die."

The Smilodon girl beamed with glee, but he felt nothing but despair. Tears welled up in his eyes as the reality of his situation sank in. His life, his humanity—it had been stripped away from him in an instant. He was no longer his own person. He was a possession, a toy, a pet.

And there was no escape.

and then.  He woke up. and the nightmare was over. at least...  For the old me, it was. 

Chapter Text

The car came to a halt, its tires crunching softly against the gravel as rain poured relentlessly, cloaking everything in a gray haze. The doors creaked open one by one. I felt mine swing wide, the cold, damp air rushing in. Stepping out into the night, my boots met the wet, uneven surface of ancient cobblestones, slick with mud and time. This road, paved by the march of empires long fallen, lay in ruin like the world it once supported.

Ruins stretched around us, skeletal remains of a once-great age. Gravestones dotted the uneven terrain, rising like teeth from the earth. Names of long-dead families were etched into stone, worn smooth by rain and wind. The most prominent houses had their graves further down in the valley, near a dark, still lake where torches flickered in the foggy night. People gathered there, their silhouettes casting long shadows against the ancient walls. The light from the flames danced eerily on the damp stone, creating an uneasy glow that seemed alive in the mist.

This wasn't just a graveyard. It was the final resting place of an era. The remnants of a forgotten world clung here, refusing to let go, even as time sought to erase them. The air carried the weight of it—a somber, heavy presence that pressed on my chest. My eyes wandered to the rotted remains of a church, its collapsed towers choked with moss. Once a monument to some forgotten god, it now stood as little more than a carcass, skeletal beams clawing at the sky.

Tattered banners hung from its crumbling walls, their colors long bled out. Symbols of ancient houses were obscured by grime, leaving only the faint outlines of their titles legible. Statues of what I assumed were their final members loomed nearby, their faces shattered or caved in. Whoever they had been, their presence in the world was eroded, their legacy dissolving into the earth.

Further out, past a crumpled stone wall, lay a small lake. Its waters shimmered faintly, tainted with a sickly red hue that oozed from the surrounding hills. The landscape told a story: a glacier once rested here, carving the rolling terrain. Now, it was gone, leaving behind rancid puddles and scarred earth. Despite this decay, the animals who lived through that era clung to this place as though it were sacred. This was their cradle, their battlefield, their tomb.

The air felt alive, animated with an unplaceable energy. Though the valley was sparsely populated by those gathered for the ceremony, it felt crowded, as if unseen figures moved alongside us. Footsteps echoed faintly—more than should have been accounted for. Shadows shifted at the edges of my vision, but when I turned, there was nothing.

I stepped forward, my boots sinking slightly into the dead remains of a flower bed. Beneath me, the soil was dry in patches, cracked like old skin, but strange glowing red seeds dotted the ground. My eyes caught on a single flower growing among them. It pulsed faintly, an eerie red hue that made my stomach tighten.

The doctor approached, his towering skeletal frame draped in heavy robes. He cast a shadow that seemed to stretch unnaturally long in the torchlight. "Careful there, human," he said in a low voice. "That flower is hallucinogenic. Its spores emit chemicals harmful to your kind—make you see things that aren't there. It doesn't affect us, but I've seen your species succumb to it. Keep your distance."

I nodded and stepped back, though my body felt sluggish, as if the flower's aura alone was pulling at me. My breath quickened. My face felt warm, a dry tear staining my cheek from the cold air. But suddenly, the tear seemed to come alive, revitalized. A sharp static hum filled my ears, crawling into my brain. My vision blurred, and I felt a sudden rush in my eye—a pulse of warmth followed by a wet sensation. Blood. It dripped from my face, splattering onto the glowing flower, and with that, it bloomed.

Its radiant light forced my gaze, holding me captive. The aroma hit next, sharp and metallic. The air itself seemed to thicken, carrying the unmistakable stench of blood—fresh blood. The sound of clashing metal followed, faint at first but growing louder. My head snapped around, searching for the source, but all I saw were the ruins. Still, the sounds persisted. Footsteps. Screams. The wet thud of flesh against stone.

At the edge of my vision, shadows danced—indistinct, fleeting. And then the visions came.

This place transformed before my eyes. The ruins rebuilt themselves, stone by stone, until they stood as a grand fortress. The broken road beneath me was restored, polished by use. Around me, the space filled with soldiers of every kind: lions, wolves, elk, rhinos—armored and armed. Animals clashed in bloody, brutal combat. I could hear the cries of the wounded, the barked orders of commanders, and the chaotic roar of battle. The air was thick with sweat, blood, and something more primal.

They fought viciously, not just to kill but to destroy. This wasn't medieval—it was something else, maybe the equivalent of the 1600s or 1800s. Their weapons gleamed: early rifles, bayonets, ornate swords. Blood slicked the stone streets as the bodies of the fallen were trampled underfoot.

The vision faded as quickly as it had come, leaving me gasping. I blinked, trying to shake the ghostly echoes from my mind. Around me, the ruins returned to their decayed state, the sounds of battle replaced by the quiet murmur of the ceremony beginning below. No one seemed to have noticed my lapse.

Down in the valley, more figures had gathered around the central graveyard. Torches flared, their light glinting off the broad horns and thick fur of the animals assembled. The sheer diversity of species stunned me. I recognized some: bison, yaks, caribou, moose, pronghorn. Others were unfamiliar—beasts I'd only read about in extinct-animal archives. There was a mammoth, its silhouette unmistakable against the firelight.

I stared in awe, my breath catching. First day in this new world, and I was standing among living relics. My curiosity stirred despite the heavy atmosphere. What other creatures might I encounter?

As I descended the hill toward the valley, I noticed some younger animals among the crowd, their smaller statures and lively movements standing out from the solemn stillness of the elders. They were closer to my age, though still towering over me. Their laughter and hushed voices carried faintly through the night. Funerals weren't exactly the best place to socialize, but I figured I might as well see what the youth of this world talked about.

Apprehensively, I made my way toward them; I needed someone to talk to to get these thoughts out of my head. I kept seeing things since I got here. But it's strange that talking to these alien animals is less terrifying than constantly being pestered by the ghosts of the past.

Chapter Text

The last few steps were heavy, each one dragging me closer to the group that had gathered in this eerily familiar place. The smell of animals grew stronger, richer, almost overwhelming. It was strange and foreign, a cocktail of musk and something I couldn't define—like standing too close to an exotic pet, one you don't quite know how to care for.

They were all chatting, their voices low but carrying through the cool air. Drinks in hand, they lounged around like this was just another evening. Their formal wear—sleek, muted, ceremonial—contrasted sharply with their casual demeanor. They leaned against cracked stone walls or against each other, laughing and exchanging stories as though this gathering wasn't soaked in significance.

The space felt familiar. The smooth stone beneath my feet, the twisting roots that clung to the crumbling architecture, the distant sound of wind whistling through broken archways—it all pulled at a thread in my mind. I couldn't place it, but it was there, nagging, whispering.

Had I been here before?

A flash. A memory.

For a fraction of a second, it played out in my mind: these same people, their faces younger and colder. The air heavy with grief as they stood in a tight circle, gathered around... her. My chest tightened with the weight of sadness, a grief that felt too raw and personal. It coiled around my heart like barbed wire, and yet—it wasn't mine. I had been there with them, I felt it.

But I hadn't.

These memories didn't belong to me.

And then, like a thread pulled too tight, the memory snapped and bled into something else. Another scene, overlaid like film burning into a new frame. This one roared to life: the sharp clash of metal against metal, the wet crunch of claws tearing into flesh. I could taste the iron tang of blood in the air.

Through the smoke, figures moved, charging toward me. The heat of the battle wrapped around me, pulling me into its chaos. My hand gripped something solid—a sword. I raised it instinctively. My armor felt heavy but familiar, the warmth of exertion slick on my skin beneath it. The sun glinted against the edge of my visor as I braced myself, the roar of the battlefield deafening as the world churned around me.

And then, I blinked.

The real world snapped back into focus like a slap to the face. The group had noticed me. Their faces turned toward me, their eyes wide with recognition—no, with surprise. Shock.

"Anon?"

The voice came from the pack, low and familiar. A dire wolf stepped forward, her presence dominating the group. She was tall, towering, her muscular frame clad in a tailored suit that didn't hide her strength. Her fur was thick, luxurious, almost glowing in the dim light. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto me, scanning me like she couldn't believe I was standing there.

She moved closer, her sharp nose wrinkling slightly as she sniffed the air. Her expression shifted—delight, relief, something else I couldn't name.

"I can't believe it's you," she said, her voice rich and almost teasing.

I couldn't find words, couldn't move, as she closed the gap between us. Her grin widened, teeth flashing in a way that wasn't entirely friendly. She reached out, her hand—or rather, her paw—hovering toward me.

Before I could back away, she placed it on my head.

Her paw pads were soft, warm, and the fur was impossibly plush, each strand brushing against my face like a fine carpet. Her scent surrounded me—earthy and layered, as if she'd rolled in some rare, expensive leaves. My muscles tensed, every fiber of my being screaming at me to pull back, to resist.

But I didn't.

I leaned into her touch, a soft sigh slipping out before I even realized I was holding one in. The tension in my body bled away as though her touch had melted something frozen inside me. My mind sank into a dark, quiet place, a kind of cold, dreamlike calm. It was maddening how soothing it felt.

Then something snapped.

I pulled away sharply, the warmth of her hand lingering on my skin. Heat bubbled up in my chest, something hot and uncontrollable.

Still smiling, she tilted her head, her ears flicking slightly. "Still resisting my love?" she teased, her tail wagging faintly.

I shook my head, but the motion felt alien, like it didn't belong to me. My throat tightened, and words forced themselves out, unbidden.

"I missed you too, Ayersi," I heard myself say, my voice soft and honest. "It's been a while. You're as beautiful as ever."

I hated it. Every word revolted me—not because they weren't true, but because they were. And admitting it, even unintentionally, sent a wave of disgust through me.

Her cheeks darkened under her fur, and she glanced away, her tail wagging with a renewed energy. The others around her erupted into exaggerated coos and laughter.

"OOOOH," one voice drawled.

"It's like lost love reunited," another chimed in, their tone dripping with mock sentimentality.

I stepped back, my chest tight, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. My thoughts twisted into something raw and red-hot.

This feeling... this heat.

It was rage.

I knew her.

I hated her. I fucking hated her.

Her stupid face—so infuriatingly symmetrical, so perfectly framed by that damn fur. Her stupid smile, all coy and smug. And those eyes. Those deep, piercing blue eyes that seemed to look straight through me, past me, and into something I didn't want to show.

I thought as loud as I could, I hate her! I fucking hate her!

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was how beautiful she was.

So infuriatingly, distractingly, maddeningly beautiful. Every detail, from the sheen of her fur to the confident way she carried herself, was burned into my mind. Her presence felt like a weight pressing down on me, suffocating.

And there was something else.

Behind her gaze, behind the playful grin and wagging tail, I saw it. Malice.

Not obvious, not overt—but it was there, coiled beneath the surface like a snake waiting to strike.

A memory surged forward, unbidden and vivid, taking over my senses.

Her maw, glistening with blood, opened in a snarl as she lunged toward me. Her armor was elegant but brutal—European plate, regal yet splattered with gore. The wind caught her flowing hair, making her look like a warrior out of a fevered legend. Her sword swung at me, the weight of it screaming through the air.

I barely blocked it in time, my fingers screaming under the strain. The impact jarred me, my palms raw from the force. I could feel the strain in my wrists, the tear of tendons threatening to give out. My teeth clenched against the pain as I shoved back against her strength.

Her swing faltered, thrown off balance by the reverberation. She stumbled, her footing uncertain on the icy stone beneath us. Her next swing came wide and awkward, the blade grazing my shoulder and splintering the wooden mask that hung there like a talisman.

The paper seals tied to my armor fluttered in the cold air, their ancient script glowing faintly. I didn't know what they said, but their presence grounded me, gave me strength. Like whispered prayers from soldiers long dead, they urged me forward.

I ducked under her next swing, my ceremonial beads jingling faintly with the motion. My feet found solid purchase, and I lunged forward, slamming into her with all my weight. The force of my charge threw her back a step.

And then I swung.

My blade arced through the air, catching the seam of her armor. I felt it connect—metal biting through fabric, then flesh. A hot spray of blood hit my face, and the scent overwhelmed me. It wasn't just blood; it was her blood. Scorching, metallic, and sickeningly enticing. My mouth watered as the taste seemed to seep into my tongue, even through the air.

A smile twisted my lips.

I hated myself for it, but I couldn't help it.

anthro blood was just so euphoric. i needed more to flow, from them. for me.

The memory snapped back, and I was standing in the present again.

Ayersi tilted her head, watching me with that same infuriating mix of affection and confidence.

"Anon," she said, her tone light but laced with something sharper. "You've been so quiet. Thinking about me?"

I clenched my fists at my sides, the heat of anger and humiliation warring in my chest.

Before I could respond—before I could force out any words that might undo the tight knot in my throat—another figure loomed over us.

His presence was like a thundercloud, dark and heavy.

Ayersi’s father.

He was massive, even compared to her—a towering figure clad in a mix of armor that seemed at odds with itself. The black plates were modern, almost militaristic, blending seamlessly with rich, dark cloth that swayed like a shadow around him. The faint gleam of runes etched into the metal added an almost ancient quality, like a relic pulled from some forgotten war.

His fur was coarse, streaked with silver at the edges, and his eyes glowed faintly beneath the shadow of his brow.

“What’s all this?” His voice was deep, low, and rich with authority—too soft to be harsh, but there was no mistaking the weight behind it. It was the kind of voice you didn’t argue with. “Everything okay at your little tea party?”

Ayersi grinned, waving a paw at him dismissively. “We’re fine, Dad. Nothing to worry about.”

His gaze shifted to me, his expression unreadable. “Who’s that?” He leaned in slightly, sniffing the air. His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. “Wait. Is that a human?”

“Ayersi,” he continued, his tone lowering, “did some wild one wander in to pick at the funeral bones? Or...” He squinted, his eyes narrowing as he studied me closer. “Wait a minute. This one looks familiar

The towering wolf tilted his head, the faintest hint of recognition dawning on his face. “Oh,” he said, drawing the word out. “Oh. This one.”

Ayersi stepped closer to me, her hand sliding possessively onto my shoulder, like a claim made not just on me but on the entire situation. . “You remember Anon, don’t you, Dad?” She paused, her grin widening.

Ayersi beamed, Her voice was loud dripping with some mischief “Yeah, Dad. I found him. He’s been away for so long, but I’m going to take care of him now.” She leaned into me a little too close, her breath warm against my skin. “Can we please keep him? Just for a little while? He’s so lonely out there on his own. We can make him so happy, and it will make me so happy too, Daddy!”

He shook his head, letting out a deep, rumbling sigh . “Don’t you think that’s a little excessive, Ayersi?”

Ayersi began to tear up, frowning and doing a pouty face as she tried her best to convince her father she had teary eyes and a sorrowful voice. “Daddy, please. You know how sad he’ll be. Humans are so weak, dumb, and helpless! I can’t just leave him out there, all alone; he will surely perish. Humans just can't take care of themselves there, too dependent on us superior anthros to feed them.” She put on a frown that made her look far too much like a spoiled brat getting her way. “And besides, we never get to have anything this fun at home. This is my chance, I’ve always wanted a human! You know how expensive they are on the market! and this ones free! Can we please? I’ll take good care of him, I promise.”

Her father blinked slowly, and for a moment, I almost thought he might be considering saying no, like a sane person. His eyes flicked to me again, calculating. Then he gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into something like a frown, then a smile. It was not a warm smile. More like a bitter smile, an acknowledgment of some parental obligation to listen to his daughter's whims; after all, she was a good girl, and money could buy happiness, and owning me, was free.

“Fine, Ayersi,” he said, his voice softer now, but still layered with something dangerous. “You can keep him for a while. But don’t make too much of a fuss. Because these humans, they get...rather violent around any animal they sense weakness in,” he trailed off, letting the warning hang in the air.

Chapter Text

alternate route

part 1 Chapter 7: ( deleted dont go down this route ) daddys girl (alternate route 1 )

old note, ill fix this route at a later date, and it will be rewritten but for now go to the new chapter.

The wolf slouched in the backseat of his sleek, black car, the city lights flashing by in streaks of neon. His driver sat silently, navigating the roads with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. The wolf rubbed his temples, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips as the events of the day played over in his mind.

"My daughter’s going to be alone again tonight," he muttered under his breath, the weight of that thought heavy on his chest. He should have known better. If he’d thought ahead, maybe brought something—a gold pile, anything—he could’ve sealed the deal. How could he let a human, a rare one from House Smiler of all places, slip through his fingers?

Damn. Someone else might buy him before I do. His mind raced with the implications. The thought of another family swooping in, taking what could’ve been his daughter’s companion, twisted something deep in his gut. It wasn’t just about the prestige of owning a human anymore; his daughter had been begging for one. She’d be crushed if she found out about his failure today.

The driver slowed to a stop at a red light. "Sir, any specific destination?"

The wolf leaned forward, glancing out the window at the familiar surroundings. "Pull over," he instructed. The driver obliged without question, pulling to the curb in front of a dimly lit row of shops. The red-light district. The wolf knew this place all too well, though he hadn’t visited in a while. This wasn't the solution he wanted, but it was the only one he had left tonight.

He stepped out of the car, the sound of his paws hitting the pavement echoing in the quiet street. A flickering neon sign above one of the shops caught his attention. Inside, the shelves were lined with products promising to fulfill desires, to distract, to keep the mind occupied—at least for a little while.

He browsed briefly, picking up a small black bag and filling it with what he hoped would tide her over. A sleek dildo, a vibrator, and a set of anal beads in varying sizes. His stomach churned as he placed them in the bag. This wasn’t what he wanted for her, but a father could only do so much. He handed the clerk some bills and left without a word, clutching the bag tightly as he made his way back to the car.

Sliding back into the seat, he handed the bag to the driver. "Take this to her room when we get back," he said, voice strained. "Make sure she doesn't bother me tonight."

The driver nodded, understanding the unspoken weight behind the command.

The wolf leaned back, closing his eyes as the car pulled back onto the road. He could only hope that by morning, the sting of today's failure would be less sharp. But deep down, he knew this was only a temporary fix. His daughter wouldn't be content for long—not with toys. And tomorrow, the chase for the human from House Smiler would begin again.

Ayersi trudged home, her school uniform wrinkled from a long day at Anthro Academy. The weight of the world felt heavy on her young shoulders. She blinked back tears, feeling the sting of rejection still fresh in her chest. The other girls had been merciless today, mocking her lineage, and bringing up things she wasn’t ready to face.

She knew her dad had gone to check on Smiler’s old estate today, something she had been excited about. He had promised, after all. He had even attended the funeral yesterday, a stark reminder of their ancient connections to the fading Ice Age animals. But when she got home, there was no sign of him. Just the quiet, empty house. Her heart sank.

"Dad?" she called out, but there was no reply. Of course, he’d locked himself in his office again. Probably drowning in paperwork, or too lost in his own thoughts to even notice her.

Frowning, she climbed the grand staircase that wound up to her room, each step feeling like a mile. By the time she reached the top, her body felt as heavy as her emotions. She flopped down on her bed with a sigh. Today had been horrible. The other girls had been mean as hell, taunting her, mocking her about being part of an 'ancient house,' saying it wouldn’t be long until all the Ice Age animals were extinct. That soon, they’d all be relics of the past. Just like Smiler.

She had yelled at them. Told them they were wrong, but their words echoed in her head like a haunting chorus. It wasn’t just about her anymore. Their comments had hit something deep inside her—her own fears about what the future held. What if they were right? What if she and her family were doomed to fade into obscurity? What if the power and status that had once been her birthright were slipping away?

A tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily. Crying wasn’t something nobles did. She was better than that. But her mind kept spinning, nausea curling in her stomach. She had lived her whole life with power, money, and influence at her fingertips. The thought of it all being taken away was terrifying. Worse than terrifying—it was existential.

Would she become a nobody? Or worse, would there be nobody left of her kind at all?

She sat up, the room spinning a little, trying to shake off the thoughts that made her feel so small in the grand scheme of things. She reached up to adjust her bra, the familiar touch grounding her. But it wasn’t enough. She needed a distraction.

She flipped open her laptop, her fingers tapping across the keyboard as she navigated to her usual hidden haunts—those secret, nobles-only websites that let her escape reality for a while. The thrill of watching cute humans dominate unsuspecting anthro girls always managed to pull her out of her head. It was dark, it was taboo, but god, it was hot. The screams, the fear, the cries for mercy that eventually turned to pleasure—it was all so deliciously cathartic.

She felt her temperature rise, her face flushing as the familiar excitement built up inside her. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for the table leg she usually used for these moments of release. But then something caught her eye. A bag. Sitting on her desk.

Her heart skipped a beat. What was that?

She stood up, walking over to it, her pulse quickening with curiosity. She hadn’t noticed it earlier. She peered inside, and her eyes widened in shock, then joy.

"Oh my GOSH!" she squealed, her voice bursting with teenage glee. Her heart raced as she pulled the contents out of the bag, one by one. A dildo. A vibrator. And—oh god—anal beads. She couldn’t believe it.

"Dad... did Dad buy me this?" She giggled, biting her lip. "Woooo!" Her excitement spilled over as she twirled around the room. "I’ve never had one of these before!"

As her father shuffled through papers, the muffled sounds from her room became increasingly vivid, a soundtrack of unrestrained delight.

“Ahhh! Wow!” he heard her exclaim, her voice thick with surprise and excitement.

“Uuuugh! This feels amazing!” She let out a low growl, each word vibrating with enthusiasm.

“Eeep! No way!” The high-pitched squeal pierced through the quiet, making him look up momentarily, a slight smile creeping onto his face.

“Ohhh, yes!” she cried out, the need in her tone unmistakable.

“Gaah! This is so good!” Her voice was a mix of eagerness and pleasure, the sound making him pause in his work again.

“Mmmmmm! I can’t believe I got this!” Her exclamation was punctuated with breathy gasps, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to resonate with her excitement.

“Yessssss! More!” The desperation in her voice sent a jolt through him, reminding him of her mother's fiery spirit.

“Uuhhhhhh! So close!” she moaned, and he felt a surge of warmth at the rawness of her joy.

“Aaaah! I can’t take it!” Her laughter was mixed with panting, echoing through the hall as if celebrating a secret victory.

“AAAAWooooo! This is better then everything!” she howled, her exuberance wrapping around him, a bittersweet

He smiled to himself; she howls just like her mother.

part 2 Chapter 8: ( deleted ) forgetting yourself ( alternate route 1 )

The human sat in the dim light of the former staff closet, surrounded by the dusty remnants of a life that once thrived in this space. He stared at the admission slip for Anthro Academy, anxiety knotting in his stomach. Am I really going to walk into a building full of psychotic monsters? he wondered, rubbing the back of his neck. The weight of his situation pressed heavily on him.

He glanced around, noting the lack of staff and students. Why is it just me? A flicker of unease coursed through him. Had the master ordered everyone else away, keeping him here as some sort of caretaker? Or had he somehow managed to operate the medical equipment without truly understanding how it worked? The questions spiraled in his mind, each one more troubling than the last.

I can’t shake this feeling of isolation, he thought. Everyone acts like they have no time for me. He sighed, feeling the familiar ache of loneliness. Some things never change.

Then a more pressing thought struck him. What was my name again?

He hesitated, confusion creeping in. My name is Anon? No... it's Smiler. Wait, how did I forget? Panic fluttered in his chest as he realized he had only been here two days and had already forgotten a part of himself. What would happen if he lost more than just his name?

As the anxiety tightened its grip, he reached for a ledger that lay open on the desk. Flipping to an empty page, he fished around for a pen, finally finding a battered one at the bottom of a drawer. With urgency, he began to write.

I am from another world, he penned, the words flowing out as he tried to anchor himself in this new reality. A world where animals don’t walk and talk. They don’t own everything. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Wait, no way I can forget that, right?

He gulped, the seriousness of his situation dawning on him. With every stroke of the pen, he chronicled what he deemed important: his defiance against the absurdity of this world, his refusal to accept their view of him as merely a pet.

This journal entry has to be enough, he thought desperately. It has to remind me of my mindset, even if I ever forget it or—worse—don’t want to remember.

He continued to list other vital pieces of himself—where he lived, who his friends were, his hobbies, his favorite foods, games, and shows. But as he wrote, the memories became foggy, and his heart raced with a growing sense of dread.

Why didn’t I do this sooner? He dropped the pen and buried his head in his hands, feeling overwhelmed. The thought of losing himself entirely was more terrifying than the monsters lurking outside these walls.

part 3 things arent the same ( alternate route 1 )

He leaned back in the creaky chair, running a hand over his unfamiliar face, feeling the contours and angles with a sense of detachment. What did I even look like? The reflection staring back at him felt like a mask, abstract and distant. It was serene and luxurious, but also primal, like it had been sculpted by the whims of chance rather than crafted with intention. Had it been meant to look this way?

The unsettling thought of being domesticated washed over him, igniting an urge to research further. He booted up the computer again, fingers hovering above the keys. With each click, he unearthed more about the grim reality he found himself in. Modern humans were domestic creatures, he confirmed with a mix of disbelief and resignation. He had caught snippets of this information while skimming newspapers—fragments of conversations overheard in passing—but now it was all laid bare before him.

He read about the big houses that had seized humans from each other under the guise of controlling a “natural resource,” only to auction them off to the wealthy families that emerged after the Ice Age. His heart sank as he clicked through images of feral humans. They appeared primitive, a stark contrast to the polished beings that walked the halls of Anthro Academy. Yet some bore a semblance of advancement, labeled as “ferals” and “strays.” These were the remnants of a lost era, survivors from collapsed houses or war-torn realms, some even released on purpose to wreak havoc.

The idea of feral humans as dangerous animals struck him. They were feared, but not in the way that anthros feared one another. No, it was a primal terror, like being up against a wild creature with the potential to craft a weapon and strike from a distance. That’s a scary thought, he mused. The law meant nothing to those ferals, nor did reason. They operated purely on instinct, driven by a ruthless need to survive and conquer.

He shivered involuntarily as he scrolled through graphic accounts of what some feral humans did to their victims. Yet even more disturbing were the enthusiastic reactions of certain female viewers who found a perverse thrill in these violent fantasies. A strange paradox unfolded—here were individuals who could face death, and yet they fantasized about the very horrors that could consume them.

He stumbled across a bizarre website, cobbled together by those who collected human news and dark fantasies. It was a cesspool of violent scenarios—home invasions, roadside ambushes, street attacks—all culminating in the brutal ravaging of innocent anthro girls. The way they penned their fantasies was unsettlingly captivating, portraying their victims' final moments with an almost romantic allure.

This is sick, he thought, yet he couldn’t help but read on, the prose skillfully weaving words that caught the imagination. Each story felt like a cherry atop a grotesque sundae, offering a guilty pleasure reminiscent of something he couldn’t quite place from his past. What was it called again?

Suddenly, a memory flickered to life.

Collared.

Chapter Text

The cold—it was all-encompassing. It blotted out the sky, stole the warmth from our embrace. The chill of winter never ceased. The seasons slowed to a crawl, until they were little more than cruel jokes. There were only the blizzards and the endless snowfall. Grasslands withered. Forests cracked and split. The tropics froze over, entombed in ice.

It was a harsh time.
Many perished.
Hundreds were lost to the snow in the first years. Only the strong, the desperate, the cruel, survived. It took a part of us we could never get back. The carefree life of abundant food and easy warmth was gone; every day became a battle. Every sunrise was another skirmish against death.

We had to think and plan for tomorrow, because tomorrow wanted us dead.
The lazy coming of summer never returned. Not for hundreds—no, thousands—of years.
With the waters frozen, even our tears froze. And so did our hearts.

The world hadn't just grown colder.
We had grown colder.

Instead of finding warmth in each other’s arms, we found warmth in each other’s spilled blood.

The fires of war roared brighter than ever. Constant fighting, tooth and claw, over the scraps left behind by a warmer, kinder age. When the scraps ran out, we fought for the flesh itself.

In our mouths were still the words of love and compassion—but it was a hollow thing. Torn away and replaced with sharp teeth, desperate hungers, and the meat of those we once called brother, sister, lover.

We devoured each other to keep the chill at bay.

It was mind-numbing.
It changed us.

Everyone wished for things to go back to how they once were. But they never did. Generations came and went. Millions died and were born only to die again, never seeing the sun, never touching green grass, never feeling a true summer breeze.

We all prayed for warmth, prayed for light.
But it fell on deaf ears.

Not even the gods could keep us warm. Only the fires of hell gave us comfort.

Dark spirits whispered in our ears during the long, endless nights. Maybe they were the ghosts of our ancestors. Maybe they were the deathless echoes of our own despair. They spoke of punishment. Of greed. Of how this frozen hell was a reckoning for all we had taken without giving back.

There was no future for us, they said. So we stopped living like there was.
We fought. We killed. We did everything we could to lash out at destiny.
We howled at the dead sun, begged it to return.
It never listened.

Eventually, even our rage burned out.
The guns fell silent.
The swords dropped from numb hands.
And all that remained of mighty empires, of vast kingdoms, of once-unstoppable armies, was silence.

They had not been defeated by each other.
They were defeated by the cold.
Starvation. Exposure. Despair.

We had built mountains of corpses, rivers of blood, walls of bone—and it had gained us nothing.

No one was left untouched. No one had won. Everyone lost everything.

Our world was over. And whatever came after... there would be no place for us.

The world had reset.
Back to zero.
There was a new normal now. A colder one. A harsher one. And it had no need for kings or conquerors.

For when the sun finally returned, it was not our sun.
And when the grass grew back, it was not our land.

It was theirs.

The ones who had survived the forever winter—not through strength, but through cunning, through patience, through sacrifice. They had been the meek, the broken, the prey. We had driven them into the dark. We thought them weak. We thought them finished.

But they endured.

And now, with the world thawing, they rise. They watch us with cold, bright eyes.
The cold had made them stronger.

And now we—once mighty, once invincible—are at their mercy.

And they are hungry for revenge.

We have only ourselves to blame. Our greed. Our arrogance.
It was never enough for us. And now, we have nothing left.

Not even tomorrow.

They have already stolen today from us, just as we once stole every day from them.

We used to think ourselves gods.
Now, we cower.

Here.
In the dark.
At the end... of the Forever Winter.

Chapter Text

"Humanity First!"

It’s a popular slogan among the hominids now.
But who’s going to tell them?
It won't include everyone.
It won’t include most humans.
Only those... Homo sapiens.

I don’t know who decided it.
Maybe no one decided it.
Maybe it just happened — like rot, or mold.
I woke up one day, and I was no longer human.

No, I didn’t change bodies.
I was still the same me.
The same soul, the same mind that fought, tooth and nail, to preserve my humanity —
and yet, somehow, humanity had left me behind.

Imagine that.
Imagine fighting for something your whole life, only to realize it had forsaken you.

We didn’t change.
They changed.
And we were cast aside.
With anger.
Even with cruelty.

With indifference.
As if we were vermin.
As if we were never truly part of it to begin with.

We were pushed into the mud, into the snow, into the ash, and branded for what we truly were in their eyes:
Animals.

It wasn’t just me.
It was everyone else —
all the others.
The cousins.
The ancient peoples.
The proud bloodlines that had built fire from stone and turned the wild into a home.

Mankind — the thing we made together, the thing we bled for, protected, nurtured —
abandoned us like a sick dog left in the cold.

And they embraced them instead.
Those bloody, clawed beasts.
Those disgusting anthros who stumbled out of the frost and mud like broken gods made of cheap clay.

They called us savages.
They called us primitive.
All while their beloved anthros stood there —
smaller, weaker, slower, dumber —
pale shadows of the strength we once embodied.

They were inferior in every way that mattered.

But they had numbers.
And in the twisted game called democracy —
where fools rule and mobs dictate truth —
the passing whims of the braying, ignorant herd outweigh the voice of a wise man.

Or a thousand wise men.

Or an entire species.

This is what it feels like, then —
to be subhuman.
To be pushed to the wrong side of history.
To be branded an enemy of "pure" mankind.

Our unblemished hearts, once admired, once the standard by which strength and loyalty were measured,
were now seen as filthy.
Filthy in their seething, corrupted swarm,
a swarm of hungry locusts desperate to find a scapegoat for the dying light of their own worthless civilization.

Our only crime, as Neanderthals?
We were too pure.
Too steadfast.
Too whole.

We never let that pride consume us.
We never forgot what it meant to protect the weak, to hold the line, to suffer so that others didn’t have to.

But the moment they had power over us,
after all we had done for them,
after all we had shared,
after all we had taught them —

They betrayed us.

They sold us out.
They turned their arms away from us and embraced our enemies.
They spat on their ancestors' bones and grinned while doing it.

This is what it means, then?
To be human?
To be part of mankind?

It’s to be a coward.
A spineless, simpering, self-absorbed coward.
A creature whose loyalty is bought with the fullness of a coin purse.
Whose morality is nothing more than the trending thought of the moment, fluttering in and out of their empty skulls like flies swarming rot.

A creature too absorbed in its own petty little universe to even recognize its own death throes.

They look in the mirror and say,
"I am the only one who matters. I am the great species. No one else is like me."

And when they look at us —
and they see that we are like them, in almost every way that counts —
they cannot bear it.

They say we are alien.
They say we are inhuman.
They say we have nothing in common.

I couldn’t agree more.

I am the furthest thing from you.
I have no place among you.
I want no place among you.

The word "human" is tainted now.
It is a filth I will not wear.
It disgusts me.

Let them have their precious "humanity."
Let them drown in it.

I would rather be subhuman
than one of them.

(take my hand, lets, dehumanize each other together)
this goes out, to everyone with denisovan, neanderthal, dna and other yet to be discovered relatives of mankind, our ancestors memories aren't dead, they didn't go extinct, they live threw us, their genes flow threw us, we aren't like rest of them...

Chapter Text

"Find love or die alone. One path leads to generations continuing your name. The other... leads to extinction. Every struggle, every sacrifice of those who came before you — wiped out. Their legacy, their bloodline, ending with you. A genetic dead-end after a million-year war for survival."

Her mother said it like a joke, flashing her a thumbs up from the driver's seat as the car pulled away, the tires crunching over the gravel with that final, damning sound. Then she was gone, leaving her standing alone at the curb.

She turned slowly, the weight of the morning already pressing into her shoulders, and looked up at the place that would be her new battlefield: Saint Darwin's Academy for Higher Learning. It loomed like a mausoleum, all heavy gothic stone and iron-spiked gates, ivy curling in the cracks, stained glass windows glowering down with a judgmental sheen. It was less a school and more a cathedral for the immaculate — or the damned.

The move had been sudden, chaotic. They arrived barely before dawn, a few battered boxes thrown into a new house that smelled like dust and cold paint. She hadn't even eaten breakfast. No one had bothered to learn her name yet. But that didn’t stop them all from staring.

Across the courtyard, through the arched corridors, along the cracked stone benches — the eyes found her immediately. Wide, bovine stares from the large herbivores scattered like silent monuments around the courtyard. Smaller herbivores darted between them, movements twitchy, furtive. They could all smell it on her — the difference, the thing that didn’t belong. She hadn’t said a word, but they already knew.

She was a carnivore. Worse — an apex carnivore.

It didn’t matter that she wasn’t African, wasn’t Asiatic. No. She was an American lion. Ancient blood. Older than their polite society, older than their fake little rules of "inclusion" and "diversity." In their shallow eyes, a big cat was a big cat — dangerous, unpredictable, unworthy of trust. A walking executioner among sheep pretending to be wolves.

She wished they were wrong.
But deep down, she knew better.

There had never been much camaraderie among her own kind, either. The other carnivores watched her entrance with narrowed eyes, lip curls, silent growls vibrating under their breaths. As she made her way up the front steps and into the vaulted main hallway, the walls of velvet banners and marble columns seemed to close in tighter.

The apexes were the first to size her up — the other top predators, shoulders squared and jaws tense. They didn’t bother hiding their contempt. Their growls buzzed under the hum of the ancient chandeliers, and she drooped her ears in spite of herself, feeling their challenge like needles across her skin. They already saw her as a threat, a rival to be crushed.

The pack carnivores swaggered at the edges of the hall, twirling switchblades and iron pipes around their paws like toys, snickering and barking low under their breath. It didn’t take a genius to see the plan forming in their beady, calculating eyes: isolate her, exhaust her, and rip her apart.

Somewhere deeper in the crowd, in the cool shadows between lockers and water-stained columns, the ambush predators slithered unseen. They weren't laughing. They were patient, calculating, already planning the moment they'd strike — a flash of teeth, a snapped neck in the blind spot between classes, when no one would even bother to notice.

Even the scavengers, those twitchy-eyed bottom-feeders, whispered behind cupped hands about what they could steal from her, what her bloodied, broken body would be worth at the local pawn shop. Already, they murmured in the ears of the herbivores, poisoning the air with their oily assumptions and petty rumors.

And the omnivores... the bloated, thick-bodied ones who pretended to be above the fray. Their heavy arms cracked and stretched lazily, flexing muscle as they stared down at her, imagining — in all seriousness — how many blows it would take to break her skull open and plant something beautiful in the remains.

She gripped the strap of her bag tighter, the leather creaking under her claws.

I always hated first days...

The sound of the morning bell — an old brass horror that groaned more than it rang — echoed through the courtyard, summoning the herd into motion. She moved with them, but not among them. A slow undertow of resentful eyes and sharpened teeth. Every step down the corridor felt like walking deeper into a tomb, the air colder, heavier, pressed down by a thousand years of judgment.

At Saint Darwin’s, even the stone had an opinion of her. it had a feeling, that her bones will be joining the stone soon.

Chapter Text

Anon wandered through the city streets, his hands tucked into the pockets of a coat that wasn’t his, boots scraping along the cracked concrete.

The skyline clawed into the smog-heavy night, all jagged neon signs and blinking holographic ads that flickered in and out of existence. Bright, bleeding colors — pinks, blues, poisonous greens — painted the damp asphalt below. Massive digital screens hung from skeletal towers, flashing ads in foreign languages he barely recognized, selling things he couldn’t quite make sense of. Animal faces — wolves, deer, oxen, hyenas — all impeccably dressed in futuristic, high-collared outfits, stared out from the displays like demigods. Their products were everywhere: "Fur Shine Ultra," "Organic Antler Polish," "Paw Balm for the Modern Professional."

Every shop window he passed was packed with goods tailored for beasts. A vending machine rattled out cans shaped for hoof-hands; another stand was stacked high with custom-fitted claw sheaths and industrial-strength grooming kits. At a side street bazaar, an old goat barked out deals on "all-natural horn hardeners" while a pair of sleek cats modeled reflective vests for night-hunting.

And yet... tucked between it all, like a mistake someone forgot to erase, there were the human products.

Leashed collars, containment crates, sedatives. Packages advertising "Premium Hair Control for Coarse Human Fur" lined the bottom shelves in the pharmacy window, positioned low enough for owners to grab without their pets noticing. Further down, a glittering boutique displayed cages — not for birds, but for humans. Gilded, velvet-lined things with gold plaques: "For Your Most Precious Companion."

Anon turned his collar up and kept walking.

They were staring at him. He felt it first in the way the crowd parted around him — not with deference, but a kind of queasy suspicion. The stares were a hundred tiny pinpricks against his skin.

"Hey... is that a blonde one?" a woman whispered behind him.

"Didn't they go extinct a long time ago?" another voice answered, quieter, more cautious.

"Nah," the first said, dismissive, "probably dyed. You know how kids are these days, coloring their pets all rustic, like it's vintage or something."

He didn’t turn his head, but he caught their glances reflected in a puddle — the wide, curious animal eyes, the twitching of whiskers, the flick of an ear.

More murmurs followed him as he crossed the open-air market.

"Look at that skin — it’s almost... blue."

"No, not blue, like... snow."

"And the face? Weird. So soft. Where's the heavy brow? The jaw?"

He stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. The old mechanical sign squeaked, the green symbol of a walking figure — a goat in a business suit — flickering lazily. He shifted his weight, trying not to look like prey.

A sleek doe and her friend leaned against a shopping center railing as he passed. Their voices floated to him, soft and awed.

"Wow... look at those eyes. Like azure globes... or diamonds. I've never seen a human like that — not even in the old movies."

Her companion nodded, chewing bubblegum absently.

"I thought that kind were just a myth. Like... fairytales. Guess they’re just super rare. Near-extinct maybe. Whoever owns that one must be rich as hell."

He winced when he heard the words own and buy. The sting of it was worse than the staring. It made his skin crawl.

As he moved past a pet store window, the full weight of it hit him.

Humans on display — not holograms, not stylized mascots — real footage. Advertisements rolling on dusty old screens, showing humans with short, tightly coiled hair, deep brown skin, broad strong faces. No light eyes among them. No gold or silver hair. No soft features. Their movements were slow, docile, almost... trained.

Packages stacked in the window boasted things like "Essential Oils for Dense Human Fur," "Pelletized High-Protein Diet for Working Humans," "Instinct-Reduction Behavioral Training."

Every model looked almost identical — rugged, hardy, built for strength over anything else.

A little girl tugged her father’s hand as he came too close to Anon, reaching up to touch his hair with fascinated eyes.

"Careful, honey," the man hissed, pulling her back sharply.

"But Daddy! He's so pretty..." she whined, eyes wide, staring at Anon's pale, wavy hair.

Her father’s voice dropped into a hiss, heavy with anger and fear.

"Don't you know those white devils are dangerous? I can’t believe they’re real. I thought we got rid of those monsters thousands of years ago."

The little girl pouted, confused. "But Daddy, why would we do that? Look at his hair! It’s so smooth... not curly like the ones in the shops. His eyes are colored too! Not boring black like the ones on TV. His skin... it’s like snow."

Anon walked faster, feeling a chill crawl up his spine.
Remove the native breeds.

The thought wasn’t his. It slithered up from somewhere dark and old. Like rot under a polished floor.

He tried to shake it off — No. That’s crazy. That’s 4chan conspiracy-tier nonsense. That’s not real. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life... right?

He looked around again. Really looked.