#and they move so fast and the sun sets and its a blood moon and the light dragon is this fucking beacon of white and gold and (sobbing)

[schmabbald]

the ending of totk makes me want to ugly sob btw. not just because of the actual ending cutscenes but because of that final final boss. it's so swag it makes me want to scream and cry and break things

[bookishdream]

Stained Floors

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader Synopsys: Reader gets injured while running from Singh's men and Rafe helps her Warnings: blood, cursing, guns Disclaimer: Rafe is so much out of character in this one. Also I have literally no knowledge of biological aspect of a gun shot injury, but I tried my best.

The sun was setting, when y/n made her way to the patio that overlooked John B’s garden and a little marina that was a few yards away from the Chateau. She brought a mug with lukewarm tea closer to her lips while drinking in the last rays of the sun, before it would finally vanish. She loved the golden hour, the moment when the sun was meeting the horizon and the moon was making its way higher and higher. The day was incredibly hot and all she needed was the cold breeze that would be brought with the night. However, her moment of peace and silence was about to end in any minute now, since the rest of the Pouges were coming back from whatever mess they had gotten into. 

“Y/n!” She heard Kiara’s voice coming from the distance. She rolled her eyes and made a few steps towards the railing to see why her friend was yelling. When she laid eyes on Kiara and Sarah running for dear life, chased by two dangerously looking men, she dropped the mug and started running herself. Her feet hit the ground when she heard the first shot. Goosebumps raised on her bare arms, but she didn’t pay it more attention and put all of her will into moving her legs closer and closer to the marina, as to hide from the men. Kie and Sarah quickly caught up with her. Y/n heard another shot, this time nearby her. Then there was a third one, and she felt her body screaming in agony. Pain made her hesitate before taking the next step and Sarah had to grab her hand so that y/n wouldn’t fall. They found John B’s boat and fastly untangled the knot that kept the boat by the pier. Kiara as fast as she could, started the engine and soon they were putting more and more distance with their oppressors.

“Shit, shit, shit” The blond murmured, quickly assessing the seriousness of the wound. “Shit,” 

“Fuck, Sarah, what happened?” Kiara questioned when she motioned for them to get down on the boat’s floor. Y/n turned her head as much as she could in order to see the position of the two men. She couldn’t see them on the pier, which was a bad sign, but all she could care about was how fast she was bleeding out. 

“Y/n got shot,” the young Cameron replied, taking off her shirt and keeping the pressure on y/n’s hip. The shot girl hissed through her teeth at the sudden pain. “Oh, please, you survived worse than that.”

“Sarah, for the love of everything holy, I’ve never been shot,” 

“No, but you’ve kissed my brother and, in my books, it’s worse than getting shot,” Sarah remarked, trying to divert y/n’s attention from the pain of her shot wound. 

“Will you ever let me live that down?” y/n played along, because no matter how stupid it seemed, talking about something that wasn’t her blood getting out of her system was a nice distraction. 

“Hmm,” Sarah trailed off, “No.” With her last word, she pressed the clothing even harder to the other girl’s hip. 

“Fuck, you could’ve warned me,”

“Y/n, are you okay?” Kie asked, briefly looking into her direction, “Where should I dock?”

“Close to the city, I know someone who can help,” y/n replied, propping herself up on the side of the boat. 

“I could help you,” Sarah offered, her eyes gleaming with worry. She was chewing on her lower lip, just like she did whenever she felt stressed. 

“Sarah, love, you were the one being shot, not the one helping to patch you up,” y/n said, clenching her hand on the shirt and pressing even harder. She was still conscious, so that meant she could walk those miles to Tanneyhill.

“What if you drop dead on your way to this person?” Kiara asked, stopping the boat close to the pier. 

“You won’t get rid of me that easily. Go find the others and call me when y’all are safe, yeah?” she said, smiling slightly to mask her own worry for her state. “Now help me out,” 

Both Sarah and Kie took one of y/n’s arms and hauled her up out of the deck. “Be careful,”

“Always am,” she saluted and slowly made her way towards Tanneyhill. And towards Rafe Cameron, which she considered her last resort. 

“Bullshit,” she heard Kiara’s answer, however she didn’t bother with reacting in any way. 

Her steps were slow and she needed to pause her walk every so often. Her head started spinning from relief when she glimpsed the Camerons’ house, which she knew shouldn’t be occupied by anyone other than Rafe. Her steps faltered, but she still made her legs do those few steps that separated her from the house. 

When she reached the main entrance, she raised her hand to knock. Y/n started to think whether it was a good idea to come here and basically beg Rafe to help her. But she got her, in her state and she wasn’t about to turn around. Praying that the door would be open, she pushed it, leaving a bloody mark on it. She cursed, promising in her mind that she would get the stain off when she got better. 

“Rafe?” she asked, her voice echoed in the hall. Still pressing the shirt down to her lower abdomen, she made her way upstairs to Rafe’s room. Hoping he would be there. “Rafe?” she reiterated, opening his door that was slightly ajar. She looked around his room that looked as neat as it could; the bed was made, no clothes were laying on the floor and the window was slightly open, letting in the cold breeze from the outside. 

“One time I need him and he’s not here to get on my nerves,” y/n muttered to herself and immediately after congratulated herself on going crazy that fast. She heard a quiet tap and when she looked down, she noticed her blood had soaked in Sarah’s shirt and started dripping onto Rafe’s bedroom’s floor. She made her way into his bathroom, grabbing a bottle with whiskey on her way and undoing the button of her shorts. The bathroom was kept in light colors, white tiles and white marble counter with golden details. Y/n cursed again when she saw the open wound and blood leaking all around it. She took off her shirt and started looking around the room for a first aid kit. 

She quickly made a mental list of every step she needed to take, so she wouldn’t die of blood loss. First, she needed to take out the bullet and she was thinking clearly enough to take the longest tong in Rafe’s kit and spill some alcohol on it. How Rafe would have medical tongs in his possession, she didn’t know. She was grateful, though. She sipped the whiskey, counted to three and put the tongs into her wound. Tears sprung free from her eyes and she grabbed the counter with all the force she could dig. The curses were flying free out of her mouth as soon as she realized she couldn’t take out the bullet by herself. 

“Did you have to bleed out on all of my floors?” y/n abruptly turned her head towards the male voice coming out of the threshold. “I followed the dots and found you here, still bleeding.” 

“Shit, Rafe, next time I will be wiping it down as I go,” Rafe rolled his eyes at her words, but his gaze quickly turned serious when he noticed y/n’s state. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” He got closer and smacked her hands from her abdomen. “Are you stupid? Did you try to take out the bullet yourself? Do you wanna fucking die?” 

Y/n closed her eyes and stopped her hand from punching him in his mouth. Her head was pounding and she could feel her conscience slipping. “Just help me, please,”

Rafe’s gaze softened at her words, he crouched and delicately put his palm on her hip to see the wound better. “There’s no bullet here, y/n” 

“What?” she asked faintly, her eyes flattering open.

“No, don’t you dare close your eyes again.” Y/n nodded at his words, looking down at him. Her cheeks blushed at this particular position and she noticed a little smirk playing on Rafe’s lips. “Good, if you have the mental power to remember that, you have enough will to keep your pretty eyes open,” 

“Stop fucking flirting, Rafe. What do you mean there is no bullet?”

“I meant that the bullet hit you, yes, but it only grazed your side. On the other hand, you’re bleeding like crazy,”

“When did you get so smart?” she clenched her fists on the edge of the marble counter when Rafe touched her hip. 

“When I got shot myself,” he replied, taking the rubbing alcohol and a gaze. He soaked the material in the liquid and without any warning he pressed the gaze to y/n’s wound. 

“Rafe for fuck’s sake, you’re just like your sister,” she cursed, nearly kicking him. 

“I would’ve never thought that someone would compare me to her in this type of situation,” he smirked, wiping the dried blood around the wound. Y/n only rolled her eyes and she hissed again when Rafe lifted her bridal type. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused. 

“I’m getting you into bed, stupid. You need to rest,” he replied, gently laying her down on his soft, white, sheets. 

“I will ruin them with blood, Rafe,” 

“Let me grab the bandage,” after that he vanished into the bathroom again. Y/n sighed, her head was still hurting but she could see more clearly. When Rafe came back with the ligature, she silently sat up and let him do the work. Cameron put a big patch and stuck it to y/n’s wound then he wrapped her whole abdomen with a bandage and gently pushed her arms down, so she would be laying. 

He put down everything he had in his hands and made his way towards the other side of the bed. Rafe laid down, propping himself up on one of the bigger pillows. 

“I’m sorry I bled out on your floors,” she started, rotating so she would face him. He looked down at her and stretched one of his arms, indicating her to cuddle to his side. She clung to him and put her hand on his chest, inhaling Rafe’s scent. 

“It’s alright, I’m glad you’re okay,” y/n could feel his steady heartbeat under her palm. 

“I will also wipe the door clean,” she said a few minutes after they both fell into blissful silence.

“You bled out on the door, too?” Despite the question sounding serious, y/n could hear a pinch of humor in Rafe’s voice. 

“By accident,” she smiled at him, looking up to meet his blue eyes. She sobered down after a sharp pain radiated from her side. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” 

“Hey,” he used his free hand to lift her chin up, “I don’t care you marked the whole house with your fluids,” he shivered at his words. “I understand,” 

“Thank you, Rafe, for everything,” she came back to her previous position, with her head in the crook of his neck. 

“No problem, gorgeous,” Rafe gently kissed her forehead and with his reassurance, y/n closed her eyes. 

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐼𝐼𝐼: 𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓉 𝐵𝓁𝓊𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝑀𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓁 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: John and Vincent bickering...and that's pretty much it, this one's kinda fluffy

Summary: John finds an out-of-the-way motel where he and Vincent can spend the night in hiding.

A dusty, sun-faded sign read “Blue Moon Motel” in yellow across a periwinkle moon. John almost missed it, and it was for that exact reason that he took a sharp turn just in time to swing into the mostly empty parking lot. It couldn’t be more inconspicuous, and the only thing that caught his eye at all was the flickering neon “Vacancy” sign, half obscured by branches. Perfect.

Even so, it would be a roll of the dice. A hitman could be anywhere, even behind the counter of the tiniest motel. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, gazing at the lit window of the lobby, gathering himself. Should he wake Vincent? No, best not. He was as likely to be another obstacle as a help. Feeling the reassuring weight of a pistol at his hip, he reluctantly left Vincent in the backseat and entered.

Luck was on his side, for the first time all evening. The sole employee, a 60-something in a shockingly pink puff-sleeved blouse, was fast asleep with her face in her crossword puzzle. She had a faded flower tattoo on her forearm, but it wasn’t anything he recognized as an underworld symbol. He cleared his throat, and when that failed, rang the bell. Her name was Marjorie. She did not, as he had feared, pull a gun on him the moment she saw his face. In fact, she booked him a room without asking awkward questions, even when he paid cash.

Nonetheless, he wished she would move a little faster. His ears were trained on the road outside, waiting for an engine in the distance, for a grim reaper going motel to motel, searching. He could already picture them checking the cars, peering down at Vincent and Dog, pulling a gun –

“Room 105. There’ll be a queen bed. Find me if the AC acts up. Breakfast’s 7 to 10. Sleep tight - you look like you need it, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“Thanks. Have a good night, ma’am.” He forced himself not to turn away too quickly, and not to run out the door.

But of course, the night was just as silent as before, and the car untouched. He exhaled in relief. God, this day had fried his nerves.

He opened the door to the backseat and lifted back the throw blanket to reveal an innocent-looking man. Positively angelic, in fact, with a button nose and uncommonly full lips, all dressed in bloodied white finery. He hurt to look at. Soft auburn locks swept back from his forehead, so smooth in the mercy of unconsciousness. In combination with blood loss, the moonlight washed his already pale cheeks even whiter, setting off high cheekbones and deep-set eyes for the overall effect of one in desperate need of saving from an imminent death. This face, which had ordered murders, which had mocked love itself, which had been spouting its worst venom at him five hours ago, was harming no one now. Just lying there, innocent, needing rest and protection.

To hell with it. John slid his arms under Vincent’s back and legs and lifted him…well, not like it was nothing - he was a huge, sprawling bulk of a man, taller than John, and it was a challenge to cradle his head properly without aggravating his chest. But John managed things as gracefully as he could, focusing on not dropping him and trying very hard not to focus on his own heart, which was going inexplicably haywire. Vincent smelled of expensive vanilla cologne even after hours of sweating and his head was lolling back against John’s shoulder in a way that sent thrills through him. No doubt he’d hate to see himself right now. Please don’t wake up until I can put you down, John thought as he struggled to turn the key with the hand that stuck out from under Vincent’s thighs.

“Qu'est-ce que tu crois faire, bordel? [What the fuck do you think you’re doing?]”

And just like that, the innocent cherub was gone. “Je te rabaisse dès que possible. [Putting you down as soon as I can.]” The door swung open and, still in the dark, John laid him onto the bed, minding his chest and head carefully even if the bastard didn’t deserve it. “You seemed…peaceful, so I just… Did I hurt you anywhere?”

“I don’t know. Probably not, I think I’m just sore from the drive. Let’s never speak of this again.”

“Great idea.” He stepped back, catching his breath, and switched on the bedside lamp. It revealed a dingy room with an armchair in one corner, a TV, the bed, and not much else. Despite the nonsmoking sign, it smelled of cigarettes. Dog explored the corners and stuck his head under the bedside table.

“Where are we?”

“Blue Moon Motel, just outside Allentown, PA. Not what you’re used to, I’d imagine,” John said. “But it’s rural. Better chance of not being found overnight.”

“Fair enough. You would know what’s best in these…situations.” Vincent stretched himself and began to stand. “I can walk, by the way.”

“Thought we were never speaking of that again.”

“Well, I’m about to go get a drink of water, and I’d rather not have to stab you for trying to get me to the sink.”

John was blushing. Why was he blushing? “Right.” He went to bring the bag from the car, and stood in the coolness for a few minutes, listening to the night birds. He had to get his head on straight. Whatever he was feeling towards the Marquis could not possibly be reciprocated. Friendship? Obviously impossible - Vincent couldn’t stand him. Attraction? As if. Vincent probably spent the night with models anytime he wanted. Empathy? He’d probably never felt that in his life and made it very clear that he didn’t desire it from others. Any attempt to connect with him on an emotional level would at best lead to embarrassment, and would at worst further traumatize him.

By the time John returned, he was already in bed again, laying in the center with both pillows stacked under his head. “The bed is mine, by the way. Your loss that you didn’t get a room for two.”

“That would have been suspicious. I’m fine with the chair anyway. Are you going to sleep?” He moved towards the light switch.

“No. How am I supposed to sleep when this ordeal is still completely unresolved?”

“Same way you did in the car?”

“That was when I hadn’t slept in two days thanks to the stress of the tribunal, and then the flight to the states. Now I’m wound up again.” He sighed. “I still can’t believe this is happening. After I’ve proven myself a formidable enemy, determined to bring the High Table greater glory than it has ever seen, they throw all of that away. Ridiculous.”

With this, John could agree. “They have no loyalty to you or to anyone.”

“Loyalty to the powerless is foolishness. But disloyalty to the powerful…that’s also foolishness.” It rolled off his tongue easily.

“Is that a quote?”

“Oui. I will show them my power and their idiocy will be corrected.”

John just shook his head and leaned back against the wall. “I can’t say I see the point in it.”

“That surprises me. You’ve had your share of vengeful murder sprees.”

“Not for power, or loyalty. Just to…well, just because I couldn’t not.” He struggled to organize his thoughts for a moment. “Sometimes you care about something and there’s no other way to express it. Maybe because the thing you love…or the person…is out of reach. Already gone. So all you can do is wreck the thing that took them.”

The Marquis tsked. “This is what happens when you let love run away with you. It breeds a total loss of control.” He took a ring from his left hand, and held it up to the lamp. The High Table sigil shone crisply on it even in the dim, yellowy light. “Do you know why I wear this on my ring finger, even though I’m not married?”

“No.”

“It keeps courtesans from getting ideas. A man of my station cannot afford distractions or liabilities, much less those who will seek the advantages of his title through the bedroom. I alone pursue what matters to me, I alone manage my affairs, I alone win honor for the name of Gramont.”

“There was a lot of ‘alone’ in that sentence.”

A livid glare twitched the corners of his mouth. “How astute. Well, I happen to enjoy being alone with myself, because the company is good. Perhaps you wouldn’t know what that’s like. Goodness knows it’s a headache to be stuck with you.“

Damn it, thought John, I’ve already done it again. “I’m not trying to make this hell for you, believe it or not.”

“Then be quiet. I need to think. They are coming for me. If I was in their position, I would never stop.” Vincent took a deep breath, rubbing his temples. “I need a loophole, an angle...and all the while, anyone could come through the door...”

You need to sleep, not think, John wanted to say. No, stop it. Let the man do what he wants. Leave him alone. But the look of frayed nerves on Vincent’s face was clawing him from the inside out.

With Herculean restraint, “Fine.” There was only one thing he could do now to help Vincent. Only one thing he was good for. He turned the armchair towards the door, took a gun in hand, and waited for something to kill.

“What are you doing now?”

“What I promised to do. Protecting you. Think. Sleep. Do what you need to do. If anyone comes through that door, they’re dead.”

Thus, his vigil began. Dog settled into his lap and a strange, trancelike bliss stole over him. He was in no danger of falling asleep. Somehow, with the knowledge that Vincent was safe behind him, there was something entertaining even about staring at a closed door. The faint sounds of the wind in the trees outside mixed with Vincent’s breathing, and the occasional rustle of pillows or dramatic sigh which gave him some fragment of information about the Marquis’ position and mood. Charged with that information, the whole room buzzed vividly around him.

At some point, Vincent took the motel’s branded notepad and pencil from the beside table and started writing plans which were, one by one, tossed past John into the wastepaper basket on the other side of the room. This continued for a while before there was stillness again.

It was 3:30 AM before he roused himself enough to look at the clock. When he did, it was only because Dog jumped down from his lap. “Where you going?”

He jumped onto the bed where Vincent lay with an arm across his face, the notepad tossed aside. John glanced over at them apprehensively, keen on ensuring that they played nice. The Marquis muttered something under his breath in irritation as Dog sniffed out the blood on his chest. But Dog was not to be deterred. He licked at Vincent’s chin with concern until he relented and scratched behind his ears, saying softly, “Bon chien. Vous êtes fidèle, n'est-ce pas? Reste ici, à côté de moi. [Good dog. You're loyal, aren't you? Stay here, next to me.]”

The next time he looked, it was 4:30. Vincent was asleep, with Dog curled up against the crook of his neck, their heads resting together. A miracle: the angel had taken over Vincent’s body again.

John stood to turn off the light, and caught a glimpse of the notepad on the bed. It lay amongst torn off pages full of scribbled legalese and lines drawn from one name to another, mapping out a network of debts. But the most recent page, not yet torn off, was different from the rest. It was a drawing. And it was damn good.

There was a portrait of John scowling, from memory.  And next to it, on the same page, was a study of his hand gripping the gun as it dangled over the arm of the chair, and dog peeking around the chair to look at Vincent. It was casually done, and it was titled – or perhaps more accurately, it was scribbled upon, next to him and next to Dog. His portrait was titled, “le gros chien de garde stupide [the big, stupid guard dog]”, and Dog’s was titled, “le petit chien de garde intelligent [the little, clever guard dog]”. John stared at it for a long time, switched off the light, and then returned to his post, now in even less danger of sleeping. He gazed into the darkness, trying not to smile, seeing only that drawing until the sun rose.

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[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Only the Night Knows

This little baby blurb popped into my head, and I just had to get it out to kick off this spooky season! Enjoy!

Word Count: 735

Not long after the gates were finally closed, you began having dreams where he visited.

These dreams were so vivid, you still felt the effects long after waking.

You couldn’t tell the others, they already worried too much over you as it was. This would just be another reason to fret over your fragility. Just another nail in the coffin, confirming you actually were certifiable.

“Hey sweetheart. Missed you.” He smiled up at you as you walked over, taking the seat beside him on the bench overlooking the lake. It was dusk. You’re favorite time of the day. The sun setting over the water’s edge with the most brilliant colors of golden hues dancing on the glassy surface.

“Hey Eddie.” It went like this most nights, small hellos. Not many words shared between you. The presence of each other had always been more than enough. But tonight was different.

“They all think I’m crazy.” You were looking out onto Lover’s Lake, afraid to meet his gaze. He took your small hand in his. His fingers seemed longer; nails almost claw like. His skin was colder, but his touch still comforted you. Grounding you there as you continued to speak.  

“When you…” tears beginning to well, biting back a sob threatening its way through, as the acidic bile tried to rise in your throat. You still couldn’t say it out loud.  

“When it happened, they had to tear me away from you. I thought I was going to go right along with you.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter. “But now, they’re all worried about me because this is the only place I can find you and all I want to do is sleep.”

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He took his free hand, lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

He was Eddie, but somehow changed. His eyes, those warm, inviting orbs had lost their light. They were almost black and you could have sworn you saw flecks of red glinting back. His teeth were longer, sharper. Almost threatening. Although he had always been pale, his skin was so white you could see the blue of his veins as if he were almost translucent. But he was still your Eddie, at least what was left of him.

“I love you more than I loved anyone else in this world. Even now, you’re the only reason I’m still here. If it weren’t for you, I would have fully turned by now.”

You looked up at him, confusion written all over your face.

“I know you don’t understand, but you will soon. I’m sorry. Just know that I will never hurt you.” He leaned into your space, moving his hand to caress your cheek, kissing your forehead with parched, cool lips.

“Eddie, what does that even mean?”

He stood then, letting go of you entirely. As he walked away, you shouted after him.

“Eddie, please! Don’t go! Please. I love you! Please just take me with you.”

He looked back over his shoulder, his teeth had somehow lengthened, and his grin looked even more deadly. The red in his eyes now more prominent.

“Soon,” passed from his lips as you startled awake.

You were trying to catch your breath, body sweat soaked and heart beating too fast as you sat up in bed. Alone once more. You looked around the room, trying to take in the now familiar surroundings.

No, you couldn’t tell the others. They wouldn’t even believe you at this point. After all, they’re the ones that committed you to this place. Padded walls, barred windows. No, they wouldn’t believe you. Maybe they would once the carnage began. They would realize all too late.

You stood and looked out onto the lawn of Pennhurst. The moon shining bright enough, you could see his silhouette by the gate. Those same eyes from your dream already on you, glowing blood red. You watched in awe as he unfurled and stretched out his massive wings taking flight into the night sky. You thought he was beautiful in life, but he was magnificent in death.

For the Eddie you knew was long gone, but this Eddie would bring Death in his wake with you by his side. You would gladly follow him into Hell.

You could hear a faint echo in the back of your mind as his wings carried him further into the darkness.

“Soon.”

[silaslich]

It’s My Heart, I Can’t Cut It Out

Simon Riley x John Mactavish

Wc - 5.9k | chapter 4 of ? | chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3 | check cover art for tags + warnings

Price has never run so fast in his life, he’s sure of it.

He hadn’t even thought to grab his coat or shoes, now he runs barefoot and half dressed as he hurls himself around corners and ignores the complaints that the portraits throw toward him because of all the racket he’s making.

He needs to get to John.

Something bright had awoken him. A light so bright it burned through his eyelids. He’d stirred, grumbling at whatever it was that had woken him up. He blinks through the discomfort as he tries to make out the shape. It’s a crow. Yet, it isn’t any ordinary crow. This one is made up of a bright silvery-blue light. It’s eyes round and glowing like sapphires. Price blinks hard, the bleariness of his vision beginning to subside, as he moves to sit up in his bed. The crow hops down from where it had perched on his bedpost. Realisation hits Price like a thundering train.

It’s Simon’s patronus.

It’s all Simon could think of doing at that precise moment in time. Stumbling out of the forest, exhausted and disheveled after a long night. The full moon bringing forth his compulsion to transform. He’s knock-kneed when his feet hit the cobblestone road, his eyes adjusting to the rising dawn across the hill, framing Hogwarts as it sits in the distance with a pale-yellow glow. His hands are caked with dirt and he can taste the familiar coppery twang of blood on his tongue and lips. He smothers his hands down his chest and his shirt, starting off toward the school - when he sees something lying in the middle of the cobblestone path.

Simon thinks nothing of it, walking toward what looks like a wand, he’s in half a mind to leave it where it is incase someone comes looking for it; but then he notices a chip in the wood close to the tip of the wand and the intricate vine-like swirls that weave their way around the base of it - this is Johnny’s wand.

Panic doesn’t immediately set in. Johnny could have just dropped it out of his pocket, but deep down Simon knew that this was something more. He knew Johnny would be missing his wand, so why wasn’t he looking for it? Simon’s judgment of the suns position in the sky gives him only an indication of the time, a mere guess, he has nothing on him to tell him exactly. Surely Johnny would be up and awake by now, he’s so sure of it.

He’d be up by now, Simon’s convinced of it, he’d be up and awake and hungry and most of all grossly aware that his wand was missing.

Simon’s mind reels, confused, his post transformation state is always a delicate one. Fragile and unstable. His rationality is stripped away for now. So when his fingers wrap around Johnny’s wand it’s no surprise that his patronus comes flying out of the tip with an explosion of silvery-blue light. A bursting flurry of feathers and wisps of wind that come with each beat of its wings.

He expects the crow to lead him toward Johnny, but instead, the conjured bird hovers close by, its big blue eyes fixed to the ground below - as if watching a beetle scurry through the grass. Simon reminds himself that this isn’t his wand, perhaps the casting was off, not suited to his magic.

Then, Simon’s legs begin to carry him toward where the crow hovers in the sky, intrigued almost, he’s met with horror instead. “Johnny” his voice is barely that of a whisper.

His eyes fix to Johnny’s lifeless body that lays below, thick with mud and half submerged in green-brown water. A second doesn’t pass before Simon is beside him, up to his thighs in the freezing water as he kneels beside Johnny, quick to support his head and pull him close and out of the reaches of the chilled water, “come on Johnny” Simon murmurs. As if sensing Simon’s panic, the crow darts off toward the castle, leaving a silver trail in its wake.

Simon moves to adjust Johnny in his grip, his face whitening when he pulls his palm from cradling Johnny’s head to find it caked in blood, too much of it. “No no no no” Simon’s unsure of what to do for the best, but he does the only thing that feels right, he can’t wait for help, so with a strain - he hoists Johnny up into his arms and pulls the both of them out of the muddy ditch and starts off toward the castle - quicker then he’s ever had to be before.

~

John dreams.

There are no creatures; and his hands are bloodless, clean as a whistle. He hears birds sing above his head in the trees and there’s the faint smell of the honking daffodils that line the dirt path in front of him. As much as his surroundings feel familiar, John can’t piece the rest of the image together; it’s fragmented. Held together, just barely, strung together like a tattered friendship bracelet he remembers from his childhood. It was green and blue.

As his feet begin to move and his eyes wander, it becomes no clearer to John, but the pulsing in his head is gone and his entire being feels lighter than it has in years. So he won’t question whatever this is. John walks for what feels like hours, but when he turns to look back from where he’s just come from he’s barely moved ten feet. It feels like he’s underwater; everything is hazy, yet, so crystal clear. He blinks and suddenly he’s standing beside a body of water, a lake of sorts, its water is a beautiful shade of blue and the rays from the sun scatter across its surface and create a cacophony of bright shapes that dance with the lakes movement. He’s intrigued, he wonders if it’s simply a mirage, a trickery of his eyes and a sign of his madness.

There’s a lull to his movements, it takes too long to put one foot in front of the other, time moves differently here. Wherever “here” is.

~

By the time Simon reaches the castle, Price is already sprinting toward him, tailed by Ivor McCormick, the Matron at Hogwarts. Ivor is a slight man with a head full of inky black curls and eyes that are impossibly green, he’s round about Simon’s age.

He had come from a specialist branch within St Mungo’s Hospital that specialised in healing injuries incurred by dark magic. His work was widely renowned and it left him in high demand - so he was well travelled despite only being in his late twenties.

Simon is exhausted, no matter how many times he’s endured a full moon, it never seems to get any easier. He’d never had the added weight of Johnny in his arms when he was dragging his own carcass back to the castle, so this time there is more on the line than just himself, he had never really cared about that. Now, it’s different, he’s so weak he can barely stand but he won’t let himself falter, even as his knees threaten to give way from the weight of his own body he still doesn’t slacken his hold on Johnny, his head remains supported gently in the crook of Simon’s arm.

Price is merely feet away, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, gulping air like he’s starved of it. “What happened?” He shouts. The man slides to his knees with his arms extended wide, just in time to catch Simon’s fall as he sinks to one knee, adrenaline is the only thing fuelling him now.

There’s no emotion in Simon’s face, a blank slate, not even a spark in his eyes. Price immediately reaches out to take Johnny’s weight, to give Simon reprieve, but Simon just clutches Johnny tighter to his chest. Unwilling to let even Ivor look at him.

The two men look at each other, they both know of Simon’s condition, for obvious reasons, and that means that they both know that some of Simon’s “wolf-like” behaviours can and do bleed into the human side of him. He has always been aggressive, his childhood had shaped him that way, but his Lycanthropy only worsened this trait, amongst a few more. Trying to take Johnny’s body from him now would be like trying to take a lamb shank away from a starved Manticore - a death wish.

Ivor clears his throat, and although he nears closer to Simon, he keeps his hands raised to the height of his chest in a sign of surrender. “It’s okay Simon” he says softly “we need to help John” he inches closer with each word he speaks, “we won’t hurt him, I promise you that”. Ivor knows that his words hold little regard in Simon’s eyes, but he has to try, and for a fleeting moment Price can see the way Simon folds his gaze over toward the healer; considering him.

Simon’s eyes then fall to Johnny’s face, sloped peacefully in false-sleep despite the blood that’s smeared down his throat and across his cheek, a gruesome image. Simon adjusts his grip, still holding Johnny in the cradle of his arm but freeing his other hand so he can brush the hair from Johnny’s eyes where it’s fallen down across his forehead. He stares down at him for a few long seconds, mapping out every scar and freckle and mole, trying to picture the silverish-blue of his eyes - how could he ever forget it?

“It’s his head” Simon’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, “he’s hit his head” Simon’s body language suddenly shifts, inviting Ivor into the space, the healer wastes no time at all.

As Price stands near, watching Ivor try to work around the death grip Simon maintains around Johnny’s shoulders, he can’t help but wonder - what really happened?

He doesn’t doubt the authenticity of Simon’s words, but he can’t help but put Simon as the catalyst in his own story, he’s the reason Johnny had smashed his skull and was now unconscious.

Had they had an argument? Was it an accident incurred during Simon’s transformation? Price calls down his rationality, the wolfsbane should keep Simon’s mind intact despite his change, perhaps it hadn’t worked - for whatever reason. Then again, there is categorically no chance that John had failed at brewing an effective wolfsbane, unless he had done it on purpose…he knew things between the two men were bad, but he wouldn’t expect that from John.

~

The haze continues. Repeated over and over again. The cycle drags on, but it never ends. John is tired, but the air around him seems to breathe the life back into him when he wavers, his feet drag across the path but the changing scenery around him keeps him moving forward, the trees shift and the lake ripples - and John keeps on walking.

John keeps on walking until he steps on something, it rolls beneath the heel of his boot, it sounds as if something splinters. When his eyes follow the sound and he moves his foot to examine what it is, it’s a wand. It’s his wand. He tilts his head, crouching to pick it up, it’s worn and even more broken at the tip but it’s nothing Olivander’s can’t fix for him.

As his fingers wrap around its base something explodes in his chest, it burns, it’s like a whip lashing across his back. It makes him gasp, stealing the breath from his lungs and the pain makes him snap his eyes shut; only, when he closes his eyes - that’s when he sees the creature once more. Blood drips from its lips and its jaw snaps, but its familiar hazel-green eyes are the only thing John can focus on.

John’s body jolts and he’s suddenly sitting bolt upright in his bed in the hospital wing.

The space is devoid of light bar a few candles across the other side of the room, no doubt for Ivor to make his night checks, but not so bright as to disturb those who are sick or sorry.

John blinks his eyes, trying his best to adjust to the dim light, but everything hurts. There’s an ache that pulses in his body and the side of his head throbs with pain, he brings his fingers up to apply pressure where the pain stems from. He’s met with bandages.

He can’t really remember anything. Nothing of importance at least. There’s a lake and the honking daffodils. The trees rustled and swayed with the wind over his head and the birds were ever so loud. Yet, that hadn’t been real, but it seems to be all he can remember. He doesn’t know how or why he’s here. There’s a bandage on his head and his body aches and he doesn’t have a clue why.

John sits up straighter and tries to get comfy, his neck is stiff and his back hurts, his legs feel like they’re asleep. They’ve gone all fizzy and dead from the lack of movement, and now that he’s noticed it, he can’t un-notice it. As he stretches his body out against the bed he realises that there’s another reason entirely that his legs have lost the feeling in them.

Simon’s arms are folded over John’s knees and his face sits cradled in them, his cheek flat against his forearm with his face aiming away from John.

What the fuck happened?

Thats all John can ask himself. The more he tries to remember, the more it hurts, so he’s quick to stop trying. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s not entirely thrilled that Simon is here, and nor does he understand why he’s here, but he seems peaceful. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the delicate breaths that John can just catch onto in the silence of the hospital wing; it pulls something in John’s chest.

Fatigue eats away at John as he lays there, slowly ebbing its way behind his eyes and into his mind. He doesn’t know how long he tries to fight sleep for, but as he counts Simon’s breaths in time with the swell of his ribcage - everything’s steadily fades to black.

~

From where John sits on the face of the hill he can see Gary very clearly.

It’s a typical summers afternoon for the two of them. John is nose-deep in a book and Gary is wading in the Black Lake with his trousers rolled up to his knees as he searches for leeches. He has only one in his jar so far and they’ve been there for over an hour.

It’s just the two of them. As it always is. They’ve chosen not to go home for the entirety of the holidays this year. John’s family is away visiting even more family abroad and Gary is muggle born, meaning half of the things he wants to do over the summer to prepare for his next school year - he simply can’t do. Not because they don’t support him, but because they prefer he didn’t do it at home. For whatever reasons.

There are a number of other students who stay too, for multiple reasons, Hogwarts never turns anyone away.

John thinks he prefers staying. He adores his family, more than words can express; but he doesn’t miss the dynamics. It’s something he doesn’t know where to fit into. His dad works long and tedious hours as a broom-maker and his mum suffers with her health meaning she can’t do anything too strenuous; it makes for many arguments between his parents. They’re both tired in their own respects and it gets lost in translation between them half of the time. Between that and the added strain his siblings bring to the mix, it’s stress John can easily do without at this point in his life.

He used to feel bad about not going home. Having received letters from his mum that detail how much she misses having him around the house. He reads deeper into it, she misses putting the chores onto him. John isn’t scared of work or lazy by any means, not at all, but he’d spent too long feeling as though he owed his parents everything. His siblings are no help at all, and that’s what annoys John more.

His older brother Eric had dropped out of Hogwarts in his fifth year. Too overtaken by the wrong crowd and unable to keep up with the workload. He barely comes home and when he does he picks fights and torments the household. Stealing money and things to sell to fuel his drinking habits. Eric is older than John by four years and he’s the first born, and that means that his mother refuses to see the wrong in what he does.

Iris is John’s younger sister, and by heck is she a handful. She’s two years younger than John and that means that she also gets away with murder. John was quick to learn what it meant to be a middle child. It means that there’s more expected of him, for what reasons, he doesn’t know exactly. It must be some unwritten hierarchy when people have kids, that the middle is the most forgettable but is also expected to pick up the slack where his siblings don’t.

John’s sister doesn’t attend Hogwarts however, because she’s a squib. A squib is someone who is born to magical parents but they themselves possess no magical abilities. He remembers distinctly when Iris and their parents had found out. Everyone insisted she was just a late bloomer, some children are, she’ll get there eventually. Only - she didn’t. It came closer and closer to her eleventh birthday and finally John’s parents decided that she needed to see a specialist. They had traveled all the way to London and back again. John sat by the window reading his book, waiting for them to return. When they did, it was like hurricane had ripped through their home.

Although not magically adept, Iris managed to destroy anything and everything in her path when she came through the front door.

Who could blame her? Finding something like that out at such a fragile age. John tried his best to be patient with her, he tried to be sympathetic, but she shut him out - she shut everyone out.

It took some adjusting, learning to live with someone who was non-magical. Sure, over the last ten years they had known no different. But now John could no longer talk to Iris about potions or flying lessons or life at Hogwarts because she would never be able to experience that. Before John had indulged her, he had told her how much she’d love it once her magical abilities finally started to peek through. He fears he’s the main reason for her disappointment, he had told her how bright her future was going to be and told her endless stories about life at Hogwarts since he’d moved there. He’d set her up for disappointment, and John is sure she hates him for it.

Gary has always lived that way, however, it’s his parents who are the non-magical ones. There was utter disbelief when his acceptance letter came through the letter box, a beautiful snowy owl had been sitting on the garden gate when Gary had walked past the window and seen it by chance. His parents had never heard of such a school. They assumed it was a prank, some kind of a joke - but it wasn’t.

Ever since being a tiny child Gary has always been the odd one out. Always strange and rough around the edges. An awkward little kid who loved creepy crawleys and playing in mud and being outside. He liked keeping to himself and wasn’t overly bothered about making many friends. He happened to enjoy his own company. Until he met John.

The two had immediately hit it off. John could never put it into words. It was like finding the other half of himself that he didn’t know he’d lost. John and Gary shared so many similarities and so many differences, but their souls were one and the same. Platonic soulmates. Each one a half that creates a whole. An unwritten understanding of living and loving. They finish each other’s sentences and share the same thoughts about things. John loves sweet things and Gary loves savoury things. They compliment each other in every way possible and there’s too many to list.

Gary suddenly cries out and it pulls John from his book. When he looks down the face of the hill toward where Gary had been paddling, he sees three figures. Two are stood hunched over the other, the one that’s now dangerously close to being pushed under the surface of the water.

Gary.

There’s no thought process. His legs simply move on their own accord. He’s sprinting so fast down the hill that his chest burns and his legs almost twist around themselves. As John nears closer he can see more clearly who is holding onto the front of Gary’s shirt. It’s Sockett and Sledge. A pair of “nitwits” as Gary called them once. There’s any wonder how they’ve made it a whole six-almost-seven years through Hogwarts. They’re as uninterested as John’s brother was, and they’re not the sharpest tools in the shed either.

John’s shoes catch on the sand and smooth pebbles as he jumps from the sand bank onto the shore, losing his footing for a split second. He steadies himself but when he looks up, he’s unsure of what to think.

Someway - somehow. Gary is up and out of harms way. Water dripping from him as he’s bracketed behind Simon’s arm, the other arm sits limply at his side, the knuckles gnarled and bloody as it drips to the cool-toned sand below.

Now it’s Sockett and Sledge who are on their backs in the water. Sockett’s nose is clearly broken from the angle it’s now sitting, blood spurts from his nostrils as he breathes through his mouth. He’s shocked. Sledge on the other hand has some sort of wound to his cheek, it’s hard to tell exactly, the only tell of the injury is that his palm is clapped tightly to his skin as blood seeps between the gaps of his fingers.

Simon doesn’t say anything, but he must make some sort of gesture with his face or eyes. The two beaten boys look at Simon and then look at each other, and as quick as they had appeared- they’re gone.

John and Gary can’t see Simon’s face, but perhaps that’s a good thing.

The older and much taller boy turns toward Gary, inspecting his face with his eyes, as if looking for any cuts or scrapes. “Are you okay?” He finally asks, Simon doesn’t realise it, but he’s so close and so much taller than Gary that it makes him tower over him. It leads Gary to step back, to give himself room to process, Simon’s face drops.

John has stopped dead in his tracks. He’s unsure why. Perhaps because the danger is gone now, he thinks. He knows very little about Simon Riley, but he knows he’s not to be messed with. They’ve been poked and prodded and teased enough by him over the years - so why help them now?

What’s changed?

Gary swallows. As he looks up at Simon, he can’t help but notice the cut on his lip and the swelling above his right eye. He thinks that Simon notices him notice, because he suddenly goes rigid. Before he can storm away, Gary manages a few words. “Yeah I’m good” he blurts out, averting his eyes from the injuries on Simon’s face, “all thanks to you” his voice softens, he’s genuinely grateful.

As Simon stands there looking at the ground, it looks like he wants to say something back, but as he opens his mouth to do so he simply closes it again. Then he looks up and nods his head with a creased brow, and turns to walk away.

Again, both Gary and John notice that as he strides away, there’s a limp in Simon’s step.

They turn to look at one another, sharing the same telepathic thought with one another.

What the actual fuck?

~

John startles awake. There’s a pressure in his skull and he’s suddenly aware of the heat his own body is giving off. There’s too many layers covering him. He feels suffocated.

He’s disoriented for the first few seconds after he opens his eyes and there’s a bright green glow that surrounds the space in front of his face, meaning he has to further squint to focus. As he does, he sees the clear outline of the Hogwarts Matron, Ivor, standing at his beside with a grim look on his face. The grim look happens to change once Ivor notices John stir awake. He’s quick to withdraw his wand from where he had been casting a diagnostic charm, instead he brings up his free hand to brush inky curls from his forehead as he plasters on a sincere looking smile.

“Ah! You’re awake” he squeaks, “I’m so pleased” his teeth almost glow in the low light when his smile stretches from ear to ear. For whatever reason, it unnerves John.

The Scotsman looks around the hospital wing. It looks to be getting dark outside, he can’t even muster up the strength to guess what time it could be. They should put up a clock in here. John clears his throat, it feels like he’s tried to swallow a cactus, “how long has it been?” He says hoarsely. Ivor takes less than a beat to answer, “Simon found you three days ago”.

There was a lake, and the daffodils. The birds were loud and no matter how long John walked for it seemed that he just wasn’t going anywhere. It felt so real. For the most part. So real he could smell the flowers and taste the pollen in air.

Yet, staring into the eyes of that beast had been the most veritable experience John had in a very long time. He was never one to dream that vividly. Not to the point it scared him awake. Not going as far as feeling the beasts hot breath against his face and smelling the unmistakable musk of blood as it dripped from its jaws.

The pain in his head seems to have shifted and John finally notices it. He brings up a shaky hand and ghosts over the bandages that are still wrapped around the crown of his head. He can’t remember what had happened exactly. Nor does he understand how and where Simon had found him.

Almost on cue, Ivor pipes up, watching as John tries to piece everything together in his head. “You took a tumble not far from Hogsmeade” he says, shuffling around John’s bed, pouring a pre-made remedy from a glass bottle into a mug for John to drink. “You bumped your head on something rather sharp and also managed to break your right ankle and fracture your wrist on the same side” Ivor seems almost taken aback by the amount of damage John had managed just from one slip, but he refrains from adding in the details of John’s condition at the time. So sloshed to the point you couldn’t walk straight pops into his mind but he manages not to share it.

John looks surprised. Apart from a sore head, which he usually lives with anyway, he feels pretty much fine everywhere else. Again, he’s about to ask but Ivor beats him to it. “I managed to get away with just regrowing your wrist” he looks rather pleased with himself. “The ankle was a nice clean break but your wrist was pretty mangled” he presses the mug of thick blue liquid into John’s hand and gestures for him to drink it. “I fished all of the stray bone fragments out of your wrist as I regrew you a new one so everything should be in fine working order”. Ivor shares that same unnervingly wide smile again and John simply sips at his drink. He thinks it’s because Ivor just isn’t used to smiling. It’s like the muscles aren’t trained properly.

The view of the sky from the windows tells John it must be even later than he thought it was before. In the blink of an eye it seems the sky had turned a deep midnight blue.

He hands off his empty mug back to Ivor with a small smile. “Thank you for doing this” he says, sincerely. It wasn’t often that John needed to be healed by someone else. He’d never been knocked out like this before. As an Auror it’d always been hexes and cuts and scrapes. Things he was easily able to manage and heal all by himself. After he’d seen to everyone else of course.

Ivor smiles back at John, and this time, it’s more natural. “You’re welcome John”.

~

Simon can only stare at Johnny.

His brain can’t process anything other than him at the minute. As much as Simon would like to pretend he doesn’t understand, he does, and it makes it hurt so much more.

Ivor had just finished up with regrowing Johnny’s wrist and Simon had stayed the whole time. He hadn’t left Johnny’s side since arriving back at Hogwarts.

There’s certain parts of Simon that became elevated after being bitten by that werewolf. All the nasty parts of himself that he hated the most seemed to be doubled. A sick twist in his already broken story. He’s somehow even more angry that he had been, and he wasn’t sure how that was even physically possible. Anger had been the first thing Simon ever tasted. Not love or adoration or affection. He was born from hatred and fear and weakness. Shared from both his mother and father. He had never known a kind hand. There was nothing gentle about Simon’s childhood and upbringing. He never learnt right from wrong or how to apologise or how to be accountable.

He was only ever told about the things that were wrong with him. Too skinny. Too blonde. Too weak. Too lazy. Too scrawny. ‘Bout time you earned your keep don’t you think boy? Why can’t you be more like Tommy? He’s just a boy leave him alone! I won’t have someone like him under my fuckin’ roof. He’s a fuckin’ puff. Don’t make him angry Simon, it hurts us all.

He’s had wooden chairs broken across his back for speaking out of turn and he’s had shattered glass pushed into his skin for making too much noise as his father tried to sleep his hangover away. He’d been forced to kiss a snake despite how truly terrifying it was because his father thought it was funny and he’d been made to eat dog food because he dared stand up for his own mother after she’d already been beaten senseless four times that week. It was only Wednesday.

How ironic it had been to get his Hogwarts letter. Shipping off and never looking back. Staring at the emerald serpentine crest that was now stitched to every piece of uniform he owned. All provided by Hogwarts because he couldn’t afford it. He reclaimed his fear of snakes after his sorting ceremony, because no longer would he be pressed under the thumb of his scumbag of a father.

He might have moved on physically, but Simon never really let go of everything that made him who he was. In reality, he was afraid to. Everything he had ever known suddenly stripped away, it was an adjustment. Living life at Hogwarts alone because it felt safer. Building up his walls because he was scared people could read his mind like he could theirs. It took him a long time to realise he was gifted; that not everyone could rifle through someone’s mind without really meaning to.

Simon lived his teenage years in a never ending destructive cycle. He craved friendships and he craved normality. Teenage romance and getting drunk on fire whiskey by the black lake in the summers. Attending end of year balls and fooling around in Hogsmeade at weekends to kill the time and make fun memories. He was never up for any of that. As much as he wanted to, part of him felt he didn’t deserve it. Maybe that’s why he resented Gary and Johnny so much when they were at school, because they had what he wanted.

Instead Simon would stalk the halls and snap at anyone who was in his way. He kept his head down through classes and exceeded expectations. Continuing on with his destructive behaviours outside of academics; pushing and shoving and tripping Gary at any given opportunity - not really knowing why.

Except he did. Gary was an example of what Simon failed at. They were both born to muggle parents and that should have given them something to relate over. Instead, it fuelled Simon’s resentment. Simon came from a broken home and Gary didn’t. They couldn’t have been any further apart when it came to upbringings and parents. Gary was loved and fawned over and pushed to do his best at everything he tried his hand at.

Simon’s parents didn’t even know where he was.

As Simon sits staring at Johnny, it suddenly occurs to him that the anger that usually sits bubbling in his chest - simmering away. It simply isn’t there. It’s as if just being near Johnny calms him. At this present moment, it really shouldn’t, because Simon could have easily lost him. He’s lucky he found him when he did, because he dreads to think about what the outcome would have been if he was even just another hour later.

Sleep usually escapes Simon. He’s always been able to run off as little as four hours, it’s never ever bothered him before. He gets by as best as he’s able to, and so far, it’s not affected him too dearly. In the presence of Johnny however, the tiredness creeps in, like something is poured over him. A slow molasses like feeling that oozes and soaks into every muscle and fibre that makes Simon whole. It seeps into him and with each passing minute Simon can feel the way his limbs grow limp and his eyelids start to droop. His blood pumps thick and lazy in his veins and he can hear it in his eardrums, tonight it sounds like the best kind of lullaby.

Within minutes, Simon leans over from where he sits in his chair and lays his head to rest against his arms as he props his head against the bedsheets that cover Johnny’s legs. Just rest your eyes for a second, he says to himself. It won’t hurt. Just a minute. As Simon closes his eyes, there’s that feeling of safety that washes through him again, and before he knows it - he’s fallen asleep to the sound of Johnny breathing. Safe and sound.

[synthetickitsune]

Crescent Moons | Gumiho!Lee Soohyuk | [s]

Requested prompts: ➢ “Your heart is beating so fast right now.” ➢ Scaring them ➢ Supernatural/Monster!AU ➢ You have always wanted to caress every monster. ➢ I confuse instinct for desire - isn’t bite also touch? Word count: 4.7k Warnings: suggestive, blood & blood drinking, mentions of scarring ♫ The Fox's Wedding - Hatsune Miku & Gumi ♫ Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

The sun is setting, the evening getting darker. Purples and blues paint the sky, making it difficult to see. Therefore once you reach the fork in the road, you opt to walk the path along a meadow where the sky remains visible, and once the sun disappears, hopefully the moon will guide your way. 

It’s quiet, the birds don’t sing and neither do insects perform their music. You’ve been taught that nature is never silent. If it is, you need to turn back to where you came from and run.

You don’t. 

The unnatural silence nor the darkness stop you, you walk on, prompted by your curiosity. You wonder whether he’ll make the joke about the cat should you meet him. You think you might not, or maybe he’s just taking his sweet time.

The moon is weak. Its light does not suffice to guide you and you stumble. It’d be wise to turn back while you still can, but you’ve made enough bad choices today, so you keep going.

You keep going even as the silence deepens, so much so it’s deafening. You’re almost tempted to hum to yourself, if only to make sure you can still hear. To feel something other than the cold.

And you keep going even when you feel a sudden rush of air brush against your body. Not a leaf moves, there’s no breeze. Then it happens again and you hesitate. The third time there’s something solid nudging your body, featherlight and if you weren’t so hyper aware of your surroundings, you might’ve dismissed it as hallucination. It’s scary, of course. Nothing is quite as terrifying as trusting blindly - because what if you’re wrong. What if this is not him.

Your heart races in your chest, breathing becoming fast and shallow. Your body is ready to attack or to flee. Yet your mind remains curious above all, strong enough to will your body to keep walking slowly.

You don’t stop even as the blue fox fires appear and illuminate the path. You let them hover closer, trusting their wielder not to harm you. That might be the worst of your today’s choices yet.

“If they touch you, you’ll be burned to a crisp in a blink of an eye,” the gumiho speaks, his deep voice resonating somewhere above your head in the trees, “Body and soul.”

“Are they warm?” you smile, hand reaching towards one of the little flames. Despite the bravado, you’re trembling. There’s a hiss, and the fires disappear. All but a few that float around the figure you’ve been searching for.

He looks scary in the darkness like this, sharp features illuminated by fire only. Yet his eyes are as warm as ever - as warm as a fox's eyes can be.

“It’s nice to see you,” you greet the spirit, standing still. You never dare to make the first move.

“Clearly,” he scoffs, “Did you miss me so much you’d risk your life?”

You note the angry undertone in his voice. Soohyuk may try to seem cold - and he can be, sometimes - but most of the time all the complexities of his words and actions make you wonder whether it’s real. Maybe that’s the mask he chose for himself, or maybe that’s him. Either way, you live.

“I was just asking, I didn’t plan on touching the flame,” you sooth, smiling at him gently, “But I did miss you.”

He perks up, the black fuzzy ears on top of his head moving cutely. You don’t comment on it, though, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it. His tail is barely visible in the darkness too, further blending in with the dark robe he’s wearing. You wouldn’t notice it if he didn’t slowly sway it to the other side of his body.

“Did you?” he hums, and he seems almost satisfied to hear that, “The little human got lonely? How’s that, when you’re surrounded by so many others.” You watch as he makes a couple steps closer to you, allowing you to see him better. 

At first you thought he must be shy, talking to you without showing his face the first couple times you’ve crossed paths. Now you’re not that sure. It’s just as well possible he simply likes acting mysterious and playing with you. You must admit he does a great job keeping you on edge.

“There is such a thing as missing a particular person,” you answer, “Don’t you remember?” If he wants push and pull, you might as well play along. He smirks, circling you like a hawk. His fingers dance playfully along your bare arm as he passes behind you.

It’s especially nerve wracking, not being able to see him. And you know he takes pleasure in that.

“I’m not one for sentiment,” he shares, dipping his head to speak right into your ear. You doubt it. It’s yet another foolish act, to try to analyze his behavior and make assumptions about his true character, but you’re not afraid to make mistakes. You’re biased too, you admit, however it’s impossible not to be when the subject in question is Soohyuk.

“Then you’ll just have to take my word for it,” you shrug, suppressing a shiver as he finally stands in front of you, looking down into your eyes. His fingers slip down your arm, curling around your wrist to press on your pulse point. He studies you, tilting his head slightly for a second. Your heart is beating rapidly, your breathing signals fear too. But you’re not afraid.   

"You should be careful. There's more of my kind roaming around than you know," he tells you as he lets go of you. 

"I thought you said you were a solitary kind, and this is your domain, isn't it?" you ask. You don't dare suggest it should be safe for you then, because it isn't.

"Solitary doesn't mean we don't crave company, occasionally," he sends you a playful look. “Or that we don’t like causing mischief, provoke each other.”

“You should watch your tongue,” you hum, returning the playfulness written on his face, “If you don’t, you might make it sound like some rogue fox killing me would be asking for trouble, not a dinner invitation.” 

“Wouldn’t it?” he wonders, “Other humans might come look for you and disturb me.” You laugh. You can’t take him seriously when he observes your reactions so closely. It’s almost like he wants you to take offense at his nonchalance. Then again, he is a trickster spirit. You never know whether he means his words or not.

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, “You made me swear only you would be allowed to feast on me anyway.” It’s his turn to laugh. The sound used to be tainted with malice, and perhaps it still lingers somewhere, but lately it just seems relaxed. Comfortable.

“Did I?” he tries to recollect. Truth be told, he doesn’t remember these details. With eons of memories and only so much will to collect them, he needs to choose wisely which to keep. And these words, this promise, it didn’t seem important back then. “Is that what you came here for? To be my dinner? What would you offer me to feast on, hm?”

“My body,” you answer, watching Soohyuk watch you. His eyes scan your figure as they did so many times before. Always with the same hunger. He licks his lips.

“And if that’s not enough?” he challenges. Even if his face remains stoic, his tail betrays him. It flows behind his body, but its tip is curling from one side to another. What is it that he’s feeling that won’t allow him to relax?

“Then my flesh,” you offer, “My heart, if you’d accept it.” His eyes squint, darkness threatening to overtake them before the usual teasing glint returns. 

He moves faster than you can see then, and when you focus on him again, he’s so close. He swoops in front of you, his hands embracing your body so you can’t escape, can’t even take a step back. You wouldn’t try anyway, but it’s comfortable to have him hold you. He’s warm, and you might have underestimated the chill of the night.

"Ah ah ah, love," he chides as he tilts your head up with his fingers, "Haven't you heard? Foxes like to snack on livers."

He holds you gently, one hand on the small of your back, the other trailing down until it’s absentmindedly drawing patterns on the right side of your torso, just under your breast. Where your liver is.

He says that, but you know any piece of your flesh would satisfy him.

All the books you’ve read said that the gumiho are evil beings, man-eaters. Sometimes it could pay off to believe fairy tales.  

You try to even out your breathing, but you were never good at controlling how your body reacts. Much less around him. You know you’re breathing ridiculously quickly, shallow breaths filling your lungs with his scent. The fox seems to enjoy it, watching you with a glint in his eyes. You’ve learned he likes to study all your reactions closely. It’s almost eerie, the way he’s aware of the effect he has on you, what the tiniest touch or any single word does to you.

He knows what to expect. So he’s already smirking, one sharp fang pulling on his lip, when you jump slightly as he caresses your bare ankle with his tail. He steadies you as you grab onto his clothes, pulling you closer until your chests are almost touching. His hand is still separating you, stroking from your ribcage to the center of your chest, resting there.

“Your heart is beating so fast right now,” he says with a voice that doesn’t match his expression. He looks playful, almost teasing, but his voice is soft and betrays his inner feeling of wonder. Affection, almost. “Are you scared?”

“You scared me before,” you chuckle, a little breathy, “But I’m not scared of you. You should know that already.”

“Prove it,” the challenge is whispered as tenderly as his question earlier. 

You smile up at him, letting go of his clothes to lay your hands on his chest. He’s doing it again, you notice. Standing straighter, posture tense like a warrior ready to strike. You don’t know where his tail is, only that it lingers somewhere around your legs. He’s tripped you like that a couple times before, and while there is a possibility of him doing it again right now, you doubt he will.

You lean closer, but as you do, you feel his claws extend. Their sharp tips dig into the flesh of your chest only slightly, nowhere near enough to so much as tear your clothes, even if it'd be very easy for him to do. His eyes remain stoic, merely observing. Playing games as always. It’s nothing you’re not used to, and maybe you should’ve learned. Maybe you’ll wish you did.

Without hesitation, or anything that he could consider a warning sign, you lean further into him, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw. There’s pain, only for a second. You hear fabric being ripped, and in the back of your mind you realize you’ll miss this piece. You feel as your skin dents, and then the tips of his claws puncture the tissue and stab into the layer underneath. But as quickly as it all happens, he also pulls his hand away. Only five crescents where blood begins to pool left as a memory of his touch.

It stings a little. Then again, you’ve cut yourself deeper when cooking. Is it that you’re that bad of a cook or is he deliberately avoiding hurting you? 

Now it’s you holding him, his hands wrapping around your wrists with utmost tenderness as he signals for you to let him go. His eyes fall to the front of your shirt, a couple red specks appearing. It’s only bleeding lightly. The cuts are not even that deep. So why does he look so panicked for a second before he blinks the feeling away?

He could easily free himself, your fingers are merely tracing his jaw and cheeks. Yet he doesn’t dare to part from your touch. His eyes glare at you, yet their fire is extinguished.

“Now you look like you’re scared,” you say to him gently, not missing the way his gaze hardens for a second. His ears twitch on top of his head. Perhaps you’re being too cruel. You know a lot about his kind, he’s explained enough to you. You know that what you’ve done was dangerous, after all you feel the blood trickling down your stomach. And with the way he visibly tries to hold his breath and not sniff around, you wonder whether perhaps you really will regret your actions.

“Foxes are unpredictable,” he’s told you once, “We’re always hungry. Blood drives us crazy.”

“Why would you do that?” he says, voice on the edge between fragile and hungry. But he’s made that joke enough - that you could very well end up in his bed or on his plate. So far he’s always let you go. Maybe you’re getting tired of that.

“Didn’t you say so yourself?” you smile gently, fingers never ceasing to caress his face, “That once I approach a fox of my own will, I must be ready to embrace death?”

Soohyuk hums, remembering the memory faintly. That was when he had no expectation of you ever coming back to this rarely traveled road after he appeared in front of you, much less of meeting you time and time again, and then the impossibility of… well, perhaps that’s better not said.

“Why lean into it?” he inquires, his ears twitching again. Remembering their softness, you long to touch them. They’re sensitive too. Maybe what you really long for is any sense of control. Maybe you just hope to see him vulnerable too.

“I was curious what will happen,” you admit, hands sliding down to his neck. He growls quietly, a soft rumble in his chest. Why do you risk so much this evening? You’re not sure yourself. “And what you will do.”

Your hands wrap around his neck. Not enough to choke him, but you’re surprised he lets you anyway. Perhaps he’s curious too. You trace the outline of his windpipe with your thumbs, grazing his Adam's apple with your nails. You still don’t use any pressure in your touches.

“And what do you think I did?” he says. You can feel the vibrations of his voice in his throat. 

“I told you, didn’t I?” you chuckle softly, “I think you got scared. Just for a second.”

“And then what?” he muses. Much like you did, he also leans forward. You follow the movement, never allowing your hands to press on his neck. Your lips quirk up, eyes falling from his gaze to your hands. He offers you his vulnerability. Nonetheless, even in this position it seems like you’re just a helpless prey. You run your thumb over his Adam’s apple, acknowledging his gesture before letting your hands slide back to his hair. You won’t hurt him. 

“Then you wanted to reach deeper, didn’t you?” you whisper, pulling yourself closer to him. He lets you, his own hands falling to your waist and wrapping around you. “You wanted to hold my beating heart in your hand.”

“Why would I want that?” he asks lowly, his lips brushing against your ear in this new position. If you a tremble didn’t pass through your body at his voice, it would at the light scratch of his claws on the small of your back.

“Because it’s the nature of foxes,” you murmur, “To hunger, to crave human flesh. Or maybe you just want to feel someone so close and so intimately you don’t know how to go about it any other way.”

“And that doesn’t scare you?” you hear the playfulness in his voice, but the caution too. It’s comforting. You close your eyes and lean on him more.

“Why would it? It’s you. It’s your nature, it’s just how it should be,” your hands travel up, carding through his hair until they brush against the base of his ears. He purrs, resting more of his weight on you. You’re careful, only delicately stroking the black fur of his ears with slow motions. “You warned me. That’s already more than I could ask for. Being scared of you would be just like being scared of the rest of the world. Anything I do or encounter in this life might get me killed. You’re at least honest about it.” He scoffs.

“It’s really more like poking a sleeping tiger,” he counters, “You’re bound to get eaten.”

“Then why’d you get scared?” you hum, a faint smile on your lips when you feel his body tense. It passes so quickly you’d miss it if he wasn’t leaning on you as much as he is. You feel the muscles moving his ears strain with effort for them to stay still. “You never once denied it.”

“What does it matter anyway?” his voice is light, unconcerned, “Haven’t I told you before? Everything’s just a plaything for foxes.”

“You don’t get attached to playthings,” you almost sound like you’re scolding him, “And you can’t get scared if you’re not attached.”

“What do you know, little human?” he huffs, “You’re still so young. You don’t know about the world.”

“Perhaps,” you accept. He might be right, or he might be defensive. Either way, you allow it. You let go of him too, giving him the freedom to pull away. He does eventually, after a few more seconds.

“What you’re doing is dangerous,” he warns again. His arms remain wrapped around your waist. “It will get you killed.”

“Eaten?” you smile. He watches you, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he grins right back, self-assured.

“Naturally,” he agrees, “You can never know what’s going on in a fox’s mind. Especially in one that’s clouded with the scent of human blood.”

“I can’t,” you admit, “Tell me? Teach me?”

His lips twist in a smirk. His eyes fall to the crimson patch on your chest and he raises his hand, using it to cover the spot. He pushes only gently, but it makes you grimace anyway.

Then, suddenly, he smooths his robe back and fixes his posture. Without breaking eye contact, he kneels in front of you. It surprises you, and he chuckles lowly at your reaction. He doesn’t let you step away, both hands holding you in place with a firm grip on your waist.

“Don’t run away from your lesson, little one,” he scolds this time, “You asked me to teach you, after all.”

You relax quickly. This is what you talked about. It’s just the way he is. It’s his nature to be unpredictable, and you accept it unconditionally. You nod at him, telling him you’re ready to listen.

“Some part of me wants to tear you apart,” he sighs, nuzzling into your chest, ruining your clothes further, “And the other wants to heal you.”

“I can imagine the pleasure,” a purr rumbles in his chest as he speaks. You feel it in your fingertips as you run your hands over his back. “Maybe I’d shift into a fox. Snuggle to your bleeding chest and soak my fur with your blood as I lap it up.”

“Perhaps I’d eat your liver first,” he continues, his voice getting thoughtful, if only for a second, “Then your lungs, the intestines, until you’re hollow. I’d crawl inside you, curl up there and sleep peacefully.” Your hands move higher, playing with his hair as he speaks. He’s rubbed his face against your chest enough for his face to be decorated with streaks of your blood when he looks up. His eyes are so dark and wide, almost entirely black. He’s not trying to cover his fangs anymore. You can’t decide whether he’s looking at you like a fool in love or a lunatic about to devour you.

“It’d be so warm. So safe,” he whispers while looking straight into your eyes, “After so many centuries, I’d feel at peace.”  

You almost pity him. Such a powerful being, centuries or millennia old, kneeling in front of you. Your hand falls from his hair to his face, brushing away stray strands with all the love you have for him. You brush away the blood too, collecting it on your thumb before offering it to him, the digit resting on his lip for just a moment before he sucks it into his mouth. His eyes close, brows furrow, and when he lets go, he sighs as if he’s feeling pleasure. Yet he looks like he’s in so much pain.

“Why don’t you do that, then?” you ask, nothing but genuine curiosity and sympathy lacing your words. The gumiho leans into your hand that lingers near his face. Sometimes he really does resemble a little fox. Even his ears flatten against his head. You can’t resist running your free hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. Then you rest your hand on top of his head, carefully stroking the rim of one of his black fuzzy ears.

“What if I’m just confused?” he hums, nudging his nose against your hand, asking for more attention. It’s so strange to see him like this. Almost like he’s at your mercy, when it’s really the other way around.

“Confused about what?” you ask, gently stroking his cheek with the back of your hand. He enjoys your touch for a beat longer before his eyes open again and meet yours. You remember a biology lesson you’ve had years ago.

Foxes are predators.

“About the obvious, my dear,” he says, patiently, as if it really should be clear to you. His hands travel from your hips, up towards your waist and higher still. All the way up to where the fabric of your top was torn. His gaze turns questioning. Wordlessly, you give him your consent. 

His fingers curl around the fabric before he tears it in half, cleanly from top to the bottom. He smirks at the gasp that falls from your lips. You shiver as the night air envelops your bare skin. Strangely, you trust him. You know he’ll take care of you, should you survive the night.

But while the shivers caused by the chill of night could be easily overcome, nothing could stop the tremors and shivering he forces out of your body with his mouth on your skin.

He laps at the drying droplets of blood, massaging the skin on your stomach and chest with his tongue to clean up the redness. He fights to keep his eyes open at the taste. 

“What I’m confused about, precious,” he mouths against your skin, “Is how exactly I want to eat you.”

“But then again,” he sighs, chuckling a little, “I suppose it’s the same with your heart.”

“My heart?” you ask, nearly breathless. The tenseness in your abdomen tightens at the mirthful look he gives you.

“Your heart,” he confirms, something between a loving smile and smirk on his lips, “I contemplated whether to eat it or to cherish it.” 

He hums as he returns to his task, licking up until he reaches the little crescent stab wounds between your breasts, right above your heart. “I took so long thinking about it that before I could make a decision, you just gave it to me. All pretty on a silver platter.”

“And what about now?” you swallow, somewhat uneasily, “Do you know what you’re going to do with it?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he nuzzles into your skin, kissing all around the wounds. It's a sensitive spot, even more so now, and you hiss with each of his kisses. His tongue presses into the semi circles, drawing more pained whimpers from your lips. His hands sooth over your waist as he pulls away. He admires his work, both the moon-like indents in your skin and the blooming marks around them.

He looks hungry. Blood stains his lips, and you wipe it again once more with a patient smile. He seems amused by it. The smirk present on his lips even as he licks the ruby liquid off, tongue wrapping around your finger.

“You should taste it yourself,” he suggests, resting his chin on your stomach, looking up at you, a satisfied expression adoring his face. 

“I know what my blood tastes like, and it doesn’t bring me any pleasure,” you shake your head.

“How ignorant,” he sighs, leaning back to look over the marks on your chest once more. You see something you haven’t seen before in his eyes. You can’t describe it, and you’re sure he wouldn’t answer if you asked. It’s a warm feeling, however, you’re sure of it.

“Let them scar,” he whispers, raising his hand towards the shallow cuts left by his claws. He runs his fingers over them gently. “So you’re always wearing my marks.”

“Does that mean I’ll get out of the woods alive tonight, Mr. Fox?” you tease, unwisely, “Does it mean, perhaps, that you’ve decided to cherish my heart?”

He smirks, tilting his head slightly. You recognize the fondness in his gaze, even if it only flickers there for a second.

“No, not tonight,” he tells you. Laughter spills from his lips as your face pales instinctively. Yet he knows you’re not scared - not as he wants you to be, not as you should be. He wonders how come you’re so ready to accept death at his hands. Why you’d risk your life, why you’d embrace him so. Perhaps one day he’ll ask you. Perhaps he’ll devour you right after getting his answers. Or perhaps he’ll spend the rest of your days pondering the unspoken questions by your side. 

“Tomorrow morning, maybe,” he thinks aloud and takes a moment to take in the way your breathing quickens, “If you’re lucky.”

“There’s something I’m curious about though,” he continues with his fingers still caressing over the marks, “Can you make it until I make these into the phases of the moon?” You feel a shiver run down your spine at the suggestion, at all its implications.

“That would, of course, all depend on you, Soohyuk,” you reply, and this time it’s him who feels his body react to your words, to his long forgotten name being said aloud. You caress him again, fingers tracing his jawline. How is it that you don’t fear him? “As you said, foxes are fickle creatures and their moods can be dangerous. I’m a guest in your world, and I’ll only stay as long as you allow me.”

He smiles, closing his eyes and you know it’s so that you don’t see the emotion in them. For such a long time he was alone, without the need to hide his feelings, so now that there is that need, he lacks practice. It’s endearing. All the more so as he once more leans into your touch. His lips press a kiss into your palm.

“You’re a welcomed guest. For the time being,” he says. Is it a threat? Is it reassurance? Is it a fact? Or is he trying to persuade you of it, or maybe even himself? You’ll never know, but it doesn’t matter.

What does matter is him shifting forward, lips attaching to your bare stomach again, and his claws resting softly on your waist. His teeth graze your sensitive skin.

Fox’s hunger is hard to satisfy.

In the sky, the moon is waning. Ready to die and be reborn. 

You watch it as he guides you through the woods. Maybe you’re the same, both dying tonight.

The memory of the moon as well as the night remains permanent on your skin. The fox makes sure the cuts he made above your heart decorate your body forever. 

You leave his den with the sunrise, wearing his robe and his marks.

[triskhellion]

Hunter, Dragon, Wolf

I've been wanting to try second-person POV, so here's this. (I feel like this is Mature, but put both just in case.)

Rated: Mature/Explicit | 1k | Teen Wolf

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Chris Argent, Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale

Tags: Second Person POV (Chris, Stiles, & Derek,) Major Character Death (Not Sterek,) Alternate Universe, Non-Graphic Violence, Injury, Dragon Stiles, Getting Together, Mature/Explicit Sexual Content, Top Stiles/Bottom Derek.

Summary: The one where a dragon takes care of a werewolf's Hunter problem and they get together.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Equiknots: Harvest & Hunter's Moon prompts: Between, Flame, Hunter & Travel

The Hunter

Every decision — theirs and yours — has led to this. Your mother taking your father’s hand. Initiation and the knowledge of poison and steel. Days and nights spent on rooftops and underground chasing abominations.  

And if the oaths were corrupted, silver tarnished and steadily dimmed by recklessness and cruelty, well, it was still bright enough beside the dark. The things that should not be. Your spine still strong enough twisting to look the other way. 

You track your quarry through forest and over rocky inclines, a lucky shot to see through to the end. It is your purpose to rid the world of monsters and while you do not feel joy at the trail of heavy prints and splotches of blood there is a grim satisfaction.

You are skilled, you are tenacious, you are confidant. It will take quite some time to make it back to headquarters, but there will be proud looks when the report is made and proof offered. Some small trophy to be displayed with the others. 

There is a deep slash in the hillside large enough for a man — a man-sized creature — to slip through. Drops of black near the entrance. Carefully you venture in, heart pounding as you pass through winding stone until light finds your eyes once more. 

Slack-jawed, you step into the warm, amber-lit chamber and set down your bag. There is no sign of the Were or anything else, only piles of books surrounded by rich tapestries and flickering lanterns upon the walls. Thin layers of gold spread across the ground as if a puddle from a spring. You wander closer and reach to touch a bejeweled tome. 

At a scraping from above you lift your head to see a great, metallic bronze head with spiraling black horns descend from the shadows on a sinuous neck. Nostrils flare and eyes of fire narrow meeting yours, dilated. A rumbled hissing grows and its maw of knives opens wide. 

You feel a momentary chill as night fast approaches. Before you is the sun.

The Dragon

You were disturbed from your slumber by the sound of gasping and scuffing feet. The scent of fear and weariness, of blood and pain, from something born of earth and moon. A changing-wolf. One scrabbling at the fissure before staggering on. Sensing you or perhaps not willing to risk being trapped.

Interest piqued, you uncoil and rise from the bed of soft gold that soon forms wherever you rest in this shape. The only one you’ve lived in these past several years, your slender body the length of a cottage, long neck and tail with massive leathery wings of dark sienna. Yawning, you stretch and twist — popping your spine with satisfaction — and then move about your lair. 

To seek out the stranger or not? It’s been a long time since you spoke to another. What if it only led to disappointment? Trouble. Refreshed the loneliness and grief. 

But they were injured, needed help. You could try.

A different set of footsteps approaches quietly, the odor of old blood faintly clinging to stalking boots. Killing herbs. Once more there’s a pause, but no retreat. You quickly take to your hidden perch near the ceiling and wait. 

The human — the Hunter — is amazed. Curious. Careless. Did he never read of dragons in one of his peoples’s little books? Hear stories around a childhood campfire? No matter. He came to the wrong place chasing the wolf, to the child of murdered “monsters.” Up close he reeks of destruction and emptiness and you end him where he stands with molten flame. 

There’s no time to waste making your way to the larger opening on the other side of the mountain and then coming around to find the dying one. Concentrating, eyes shut and jaw clenched, you recall the trick and begin to shrink. To change. You stop at your in-between, man-shaped, but more. 

You grab the Hunter’s bag and drape more delicate gliding wings around yourself, rushing into chill wind and bright of day. 

The Wolf

For days you traversed the land weakened, grieving, and alone with death trailing after. At forest’s end you took the rightward path, which led you twisting high along the spine of the mountain. Foolishly (helplessly) you fell asleep and he caught up.

Wolfsbane bullets burning in your gut, you run until you cannot. Shifting back upright you stumble, searching for your final resting place. Somewhere you can see the sky, but the Hunter cannot reach. This is all you have left. 

Your legs give out. 

The chill spreads through your body and a young man smelling of coal and clay appears. As he approaches you can make out short dark horns and a whipping tail. His sand colored skin sparkles with tiny scales. Before kneeling his strange cloak flies backward. Wings. You only realize he isn’t a hallucination when clawed fingers dig into your belly.

You stop snarling when he removes the first bullet. After the second he breaks open more from a pouch, breathing upon the contents before slapping them over the wounds. You pass out screaming. 

Waking atop a nest of tapestries is a pleasant surprise. 

You exchange names with your stranger — a dragon — and he sets food and drink beside you. He offers you his home.

Days pass and strength returns, but you have no desire to leave. He is beautiful and clever, humorous and attentive. Post-broken and alone with fire in his eyes. You offer him yourself. 

He crawls onto you, his body running even hotter than your own. Skin against skin, you kiss and caress, frotting and fondling each other. He uses his long tongue and your thick fingers to prepare you, producing a more viscous saliva. You moan when he spreads your legs wider, coating himself and easing inside. Together you move and breathe and cry out, spilling when he floods you with warmth in a rhythmic crescendo. 

After, you rest with satisfaction under the blanket of his wings. Entwined.

[hope-to-hell]

Fulgurite Dreams

And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old

Well I don't know, I don't know

I don't know, I hope so

Modest Mouse, Ocean Breathes Salty

Home is more than just four walls and a floor. It’s a gap in the clouds, the smell of warm bread, breath tickling the back of your neck. It’s a soft shirt worn through at the elbows and armpits. It’s steel and grease and above all it’s

One foot in front of the other. Come on. We’re almost there.

Adrian Toomes x Reader. A light sprinkling of smut, a pinch of gore, but nothing too serious. This is an experiment in style; it was simultaneously frustrating and exhilarating to write.

———

One: prism.

What do you think is out there among the stars? Ice and dust and the remains of satellites that strayed too far from home?

Maybe, but remember: there are also many worlds. Some sparkle with a rain of diamonds, some are lush and green. And some are mirrors to our own.

The moon and the earth remember each other. They dance to music that can only be heard in the quiet at the very edge of the atmosphere. They remind us that to be broken is natural, inevitable; they remind us that there is beauty in the remaking.

Tension floats oil-slick through his veins and you bleed it from him, working knotted muscles until he hums and reaches out a hand. ‘S good. His flannel’s hanging loose from your shoulders and the open cuff tickles his neck; his hand around your wrist is warm, callused, iron-strong. Get down here, he says, and chuffs when you land on his chest.

What’re you gonna do now?

Whatever I want. Maybe even sleep at night, for a change.

This is the morning after fate nudged Adrian Toomes a little harder than it might’ve otherwise done, leaving its bone-deep prints all down his back. The sun rises just the same, but he sees it from the other side for once; he watches light filtering through the curtains and blinks away his dreams.

At some point he’ll probably be out underneath his station wagon tinkering with something or other; that kid— what’s his name? Thomas or Paul or some other apostle— anyway, the kid’s been hanging around with Liz and Adrian’s been pulling the protective papa routine, making it known in no uncertain terms what’ll happen if his baby girl gets hurt.

(Come on, kid. You’ll be driving soon enough, and if you’re gonna be taking my girl anywhere you’d better know how to change a tire at least.)

When the days are long, Adrian soaks up the sun like a cat, sweat beading on his brow and rolling down the knobs of his spine. He says he’d like to fly over the Grand Canyon someday and let the wind carry him along— it’s cold up there when you’re moving fast; seasons don’t matter so much, long as it isn’t storming— but it isn’t gonna happen, not with how sharply he draws the line between his work and the rest of him.

You can still dream about it, though.

You dream of being in the air with him, tucked beneath his jacket, moving as he moves, puppeted by the shift and roll of his body in flight. The sun sets in the East and he’s saying let’s go break something. I want to see some blood that’s not my own. His arms are yours and you are many-limbed, crackling with potential, sharp with the smell of metal. You fall and he lets you go but it isn’t an ending— it isn’t betrayal or fear or how could you— but rather it’s like learning to swim, like being thrown from the diving board with a come on, you can do it. Let’s see you rise.

When you wake the bed is empty; there’s that momentary stab of alone alone alone where did he go, but the smell of breakfast drifts in; there’s the clink of forks on dishes and Adrian is there with a towel thrown over one shoulder and a plate in his hand; the kids are chattering about some minor drama in robotics club. Wondered when you’d join us, he says but there’s a softness to his words, a gentle mischief underscored by the briefest stroke of his little finger against your palm.

He’s falling, Icarus by moonlight, gears and bolts and bits of molten steel trailing in his wake. When he hits the ground, sand flies up and rains back down as shards of glass. He’s all blood and wire and the grind of bone on bone, but his eyes are clear and he is laughing. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Either way, you have to play the game.

The kid— Peter— hides himself well but he’s still filled with the hubris of the young; he knows about mortality in an abstract way and sometimes dreams of suffocation, of dust on his tongue, but it’s all so far away with morning light streaming in through the bay windows. He talks through mouthfuls of toast and jam, drawing schematics in the air; he knocks his juice glass off the table and catches it just a bit too quickly. Adrian sees because he sees everything; tension runs across his shoulders and down his arm before he shakes it loose with a flick of his dishtowel. Careful, he says.

(Yessir. I’ll be careful.

Come on out to the workshop. I’ve got something for you.

No— no way, Mr T. No fuckin way.

Language, son.)

Adrian takes it slow; he savors the taste of you, stroking his thumbs down the inside of your thighs. Watch out. A man could get used to this.

It’s yours when you want it. Just— fuck, do that again— just

It’s over and done, he mouths against you; he pulls back with his face shining wetly clear up to his eyes. I intend to enjoy my retirement, and right now that means— whatever he might’ve said is swallowed up by tongue and teeth and the way he’s got you seeing stars, but you hear it all the same. Right now it means you and me and all your thoughts lost to the wind. Lie back, honey, ‘cause I’m gonna take my time.

Adrian rolls his sleeves to the elbow; summer’s here in all its muggy humid misery and so he’s out in the workshop earlier and earlier each day. Got some new power cells in. Pete and I are gonna see if we can get that old junker running. He rises from the edge of the bed and runs a hand over your belly. Crew’s coming by tonight.

Don’t tell me you’re gonna—

Now, don’t you worry your pretty head, honey. I’m just consulting. There’s no job sweet enough to bring me out of retirement.

Do they know that?

A pause. Yeah.

Okay. But if you end up on the news it’d better be for winning the science fair or rescuing kittens or something.

(Well, would you look at that.

Oh shit, I can’t believe it’s working, does this mean I can drive—

What’d I say about watching your language, kid? When you get your license we can talk about it.)

You don’t have to ask him how’d it go because it’s there in the tight line of his shoulders, in the way his hand closes white-knuckled on his glass and oh, no. Tell me you didn’t.

No, but it was a near thing. You’d best stay close to home for a few days; some people don’t take kindly to being told ‘no.’

Hey. He’s warm under his shirt, warmer still when you get his belt open. Don’t worry about me. Plenty to do around here. It’ll blow over, right? And if he doesn’t answer, it must be because he’s too busy brushing his lips openmouthed over yours, breathing in that shuddery way that says let me forget myself in you.

(Hey, Mr T.

You ever gonna stop calling me that?

Probably not. I mean, yeah, but like. It’s already kinda stuck in my brain, y’know?

What do you want?

Dunno. I mean. What do you do when you have a big secret? It feels like it’s gonna bust out of your skin, or maybe— but you can’t, I mean—

You’re worried about hurting someone.

I— yeah.)

He comes home with blood on his collar, and when you meet him at the door his hands are so gentle on you, so careful, but his knuckles leave the smell of copper on your cheek. It’ll blow over, alright, yeah, like a hurricane.

[asukamood]

TW: Violence, blood, non consensual use of drugs, shock collar and a n g s t .

Dream and Nightmare belongs to jokublog, the concept of radiants and corrupts to onebizarrekai, Outer to 2mil27 (I think?), Error by Crayon Queen and Ink by Myebi.

Ink and Outer are just mentioned but hush-

This is very difficult to summarise but basically, Dream and Nightmare are part of an endangered species and are taken in a lab meant to protect them from harm but a lot of things go wrong. Some do go right, especially in the romantic department for Doctor Blue and Doctor Error who are the ones most in charge of the last two.

This post is part of The Elysium’s Dream series.

Previous part

Next part

Extra 01 — Extra 00

***

“Whose turn is it to keep an eye on 01?” A man in a lab coat asked, fluffing up his disheveled blue hair in the process. His eyes were fixated on “01”, the radiant that the Celestial Conservation Department managed to retrieve in the middle of a hunt, who was currently sitting in his room with notebooks scattered around.

His golden circlet stuck to his messy blonde hair as usual and his teal blue blouse moved with its owner everytime the latter would make big gestures while struggling to comprehend the math exercises in front of him. However, it was restrained by his belt, engraved with the acronym “DJ” so there was no way it would expose any skin. His yellow boots squeaked in discomfort every time he would move his legs around, impatient to be up and running around his room again.

He was hovering over the notebook, golden eyes narrowed in concentration. One of his gloved hands held a pen, which had been staying still for the past three minutes, while the other one held a part of his cape, the sun pattern drawn on it slightly deformed by the action.

01 always had trouble with academic related stuff in contrast to his corrupt counterpart, 00. The latter was found with 01 bloodied and injured but still very much ready to take the military on if he had to, at the time, he was found squeezing a barely conscious 01 in his arms as his purple eyes sent a death glare to the newcomers.

00 picked up fast on the human’s academic knowledge, while he was very confused on what was asked of him in the beginning, he was extremely smart and was soon resolving advanced mathematical problems in two minutes.

Moreover, out of the two of them, the corrupt being seemed to be the cockiest. Everytime he would exceed the scientists’ expectations, he would turn his head around to send them a smug look, a grin plastered on his face which was further enhanced by the circlet engraved with a moon stuck to his pitch black hair.

But while he was extremely knowledgeable, he lacked socialization skills. Everytime he would find himself alone without 01, he would act pretty rash and aggressive, making him the least favored of the two.

Plus, it was really hard to dislike 01. He was warm and friendly to everyone, sending them a smile whenever he could. He also asked for a lot of physical contact such as hugs and pats in such a cute way that everyone couldn’t help but coo at him despite him being older by a few centuries at least.

He was so adorable in fact that most of the staff fought tooth and nail just to be the one in charge of him for one day while said boy was cuddling with 00 and seemingly “talking” to him about a subject that kept the other boy interested.

Through the six years they had spent with the staff, the humans soon discovered that the two of them were mute to some extent. Whenever they would open their mouths to say something, only growls or hums were heard. Or it could be that the human mind wasn’t made to understand them, after all, corrupts and radiants were creatures that could be easily mistaken as deities.

Thus why some people began to chase them, selling their organs and stuff on the black market. These species were in extinction, which was exactly why the government was dead set on retrieving these two and transferring them to the lab, where they could be safe and wouldn’t have to worry about hunters.

“Doctor Blue?” A dark skinned man called, snapping his fingers in front of the other’s face to get his attention.

“Oh, Doctor Error.” Blue acknowledged, recognising the iconic tear streaks of the Doctor with his mismatched eyes and pristine white hair. “Is something the matter?”

“Doctor Hate went ahead and entered 01’s room.” Blue glanced at the window and sure enough, he saw the red haired man trying to communicate with the radiant. “As for me, I’m off to go see how 00 is doing. I would suggest keeping an eye on him.” He whispered the last part, looking away from his fellow coworker.

At that, the other scientist raised a questioning eyebrow. “Keeping an eye on who? 01? He wouldn’t hurt anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.” Error sighed, taking his glasses off and wiping them with a tissue.

“No, I’m talking about Doctor Hate. I have a bad feeling about him.” Blue looked back at the latter through the window, and noticed he was sitting next to 01 and was seemingly in the middle of helping the radiant with his exercises.

“I don’t think there’s any need for that, thank you for looking out for 01 though.”

Error stared at him through his glasses for a second before shrugging and walking away. “Do as you please Doctor Blue, you’re the one in charge of 01 anyway.”

***

The blue haired scientist was in the cafeteria sipping on a cup of coffee, the latest newspaper in hand, when the alarm roared in the hallways. The whole building glowed red because of the lights changing hue to enhance the sense of danger.

“What in the world is going on?” He exclaimed in the cloud of panic from the others in the cafeteria with him before his phone rang loudly like a Church’s bell. The name “Error” appeared on the lit up screen.

Obviously, he answered the call as he exited the room in a sprint. “Doctor Error? What the hell is going on?”

Rag breaths were heard from the other side of the line. “What’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on!” Gunshots and screams rang out in the distance. “00 is going berserk and using his fucking tentacles to throw guards out of the way! We need 01 to calm him down and now.”

“Why didn’t you call Doctor Hate?” Blue took a sharp turn in the hallways, running for dear life toward 01’s room.

“You think I didn’t try?! Motherfucker refused to pick up!” The sounds of hurried footsteps arrived from the other side as more gunshots were heard. “GOD DAMN IT 00, CALM DOWN!”

“I’m in front of his room, you try not to die!” Before he hung up, the doctor swore he heard Error yell out something along the lines of: ‘IF YOU THINK I’LL LET AN OCTOPUS KILL ME THEN YOU’RE EVEN MORE IDIOTIC THAN INK!’.

Deciding there was no time for politeness, Blue kicked the door open which crashed into the wall and startled the man inside of the room, who jumped and turned on his heels to the speed of light.

“What was that for?” Hate asked, a device in hand, Blue didn’t pay much attention to it though and stepped into the room in a hurry. The doctor just now heard the blazing alarm and raised a brow at that, it wasn’t much of a surprise though since 01’s room was soundproofed. “Why is the alarm going off?”

The average sized man huffed in some air before speaking. “00 is going berserk, I don’t know the details but we have to get 01 with him before—“ He stopped himself mid sentence with widened eyes when he noticed the radiant boy behind the doctor.

For starters, he was laying down on the ground and shaking violently, not quite convulsing but close. His eyes were squeezed out shut as tears streamed down on his face steadily, lips slightly parted to let out the most quiet sniffles and distressed whimpers Blue had ever heard in his life.

Several empty syringes were carelessly left around his body, one of his gloves resting with them. The now naked hand had little holes visible in them and a metallic collar with a red lamp in the center had been wrapped around his throat, a collar that was very obviously hurting him.

“YOU EXPERIMENTED ON 01?!” Blue yelled, completely forgetting what he came here for as he shoved Hate out of the way and rushed towards the trembling boy. “WHAT THE FUCK HATE? THEY AREN’T TEST SUBJECTS, THEY HAVE FEELINGS! WE’RE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT THEM, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” He crouched next to him before supporting him so he could sit up. 01’s eyes were half lidded and he was obviously barely conscious, a breathy sigh escaped him as he leaned his head on Blue’s shoulder.

He fiddled with the collar, scraping at it to get it off. He was trying so hard that at one point, his nail even broke. “TAKE IT OFF, NOW!” Before Hate could answer, a deep roar rang in the hallways, so loudly that everyone in the building heard it. While it was slightly deformed compared to his usual tone, there was no denying it, that was 00’s voice.

“Ugh, just shut up!” Hate groaned, pressing the button on the device in his hand. The order was given. The lamp on 01’s collar lit up green and shocking waves of electricity ran through him, making the latter gasp and cry out in pain. The man almost rolled down on the floor again if it wasn’t for Blue holding him for dear life.

“STOP IT YOU DEGENERATE, YOU’VE ALREADY TAKEN IT TOO FAR!” The doctor was about to continue his scolding and maybe swing his fist at the other when 01 pulled him down by his neck so his face was pressed against his chest.

“01? What are you—“ Without giving him the time to finish his sentence, 01 screamed loudly in a strident voice, body glowing yellow as glass-like wings briefly materialized on his back before they abruptly faded away as fast as they came to be. He hugged the doctor tighter after that, breathing heavily.

As if replying to his call, 00 appeared right in front of the door, covered in a tar black goop that seemed to endlessly melt on his body and clothes. His left eye was covered by the goop and the right one, instead of glowing a purple hue, was lit up with a cold turquoise color.

This eye, as freezing as ice, locked itself on the doctor Hate. For a second, nothing happened. But it soon changed when 00 launched himself at the doctor with a war cry and started to repeatedly stab him with his tentacles as his fists collided with his face, blood soon covering the ground.

Blue watched the scene unfold in front of him with terror, already imagining 00 beating him up the same way he was currently destroying Hate. 01 seemed to notice and hugged him even tighter, turning his face toward his chest so he wouldn’t have to look at the bloodbath a few feet away from him.

But it didn’t quite matter whether he looked or not, he could still hear pained screams until at one moment, it stopped. 01 lost his grip on him and released him, much to Blue’s dismay. He was pretty certain that the second 01 would let him go, 00 would have his head.

However, it didn’t go quite like he had imagined. When 00 stepped closer, he was expecting to get completely obliterated but instead, the man completely ignored him to take 01 in his arms, tendrils and goopy cover fading away.

His eyes reverted back to an orchid diamond color that laid on his radiant counterpart with a comforting and protective glow to them, clearly different from the murder intent his turquoise eye was radiating ten seconds ago.

In his arms, 01 cried softly against his shoulder as 00 rubbed little circles on his back.

“Shh… It’s okay I’m here now.” Blue’s jaw dropped at hearing a coherent sentence from the man in a purple blouse, weren’t they supposed to be mute? “Big brother is here, I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore.”

“You… can talk?” A surprised expression welcomed his sentence before it reverted to a hard as a rock one in a matter of seconds.

“You. Who are you?”

“Me? Uh-“ Blue stammered, pearls of sweat gathering on his forehead. “Blue. My name is Blue.”

“Alright, listen here Blue.” 00 started, hugging his brother even tighter. “It seems like Dream trusts you enough to let you understand us.” He continued, briefly glancing at the sobbing boy before returning his attention to the doctor. “So I’ll leave you a chance to prove your worth but if I find out you’re no better than that bastard I just killed…”

His left eye was once again covered in goop, a tentacle spreading out from his back. “I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

A weak tug to his sleeve made 00 stop from thinking of continuing to threaten the man in white. 01, apparently called ‘Dream’ looked up at his brother and pointed at Blue with a trembling arm. “Night no… Blue… good…” He whispered with a hiccup, letting his hand fall on his stomach again.

‘Night’ growled but listened nonetheless, tentacle retreating back into his body. “Fine.”

Blue coughed awkwardly, making a mental note in his head to give 01 extra sweets next time for quite literally saving his life. “So his name is Dream and you’re Night?”

00 sent him a dirty look. “My name is Nightmare, only Dream can call me Night.”

Blue raised his hands in defense. “My apologies. So… Nightmare, we should get out of here and look for Outer, he could help Drea—“

Nightmare hissed, glaring daggers into Blue’s eyes. “Fuck no, I’m not letting any of these assholes lay a hand on my brother again.”

That… never happened before. Even if 00- No, Nightmare, never liked the organization, he never doubted the medical focused team. For him to react in such a way at the suggestion only meant one thing, Hate had done more than just hurt Dream on a physical level.

He broke the trust the brothers placed in the laboratory and its staff.

***

✨First part done✨

I sacrificed my Genshin time to write this, please send F for Nilou who’s been waiting for me for ages now-

This mini series will contain Dreamberry and Errormare so if you don’t like these ships, please don’t start hating me thank you-

If you saw any grammar mistakes then no you didn’t. This is a collective hallucination.

[its-not-a-cure]

Weekly Overview October 23rd-October 29th

Sunday and Monday finish out our Waning Crescent, wrapping up the end of a cycle of shedding and rest. 

Sunday also brings many new changes to our skies (don’t be surprised if you’re a little more tired than usual Sunday, there are multiple big moves above us. Finish resting.) 

First, Venus will move into Scorpio from now through the first half of November. This will be a time to keep a smaller circle and be choosy about who we spend our time with - especially who we select to love. It is a good time for building trust and deepening bonds that have already been created. It is less helpful towards starting new relationships, as many will feel vulnerable and will worry about being taken advantage of by people they don’t know well yet. This can be a highly emotional period. We may begin to feel consumed by the relationships we have with others - all the more reason to keep our circle small right now, as all interactions feel like they hold importance to them. We will also be more interested in dramatic hobbies, such as theater, passionate art, and the disturbing or mysterious. This can also be a good time for finances.

Today is also the day that the Sun will enter Scorpio for a month. It will offer us 4 weeks of deeper, more intimate energy. If we explore its depth properly, we can find healing for ourselves that will create the changes we are seeking in our life. Just don’t get carried away into the drama of life, thinking that is living, and forget to plan for yourself - and don’t forget to be kind to others even as you may recognize the need to put up boundaries.

Lastly today, Juno goes direct in Pisces, where she will transit until halfway through January of 2023. This was a complicated retrograde, but back in the right direction now, we will be able to connect on deeper levels again. People may become less selfish, and able to be more caring and involved in their partnerships. This is a time where people who have been seeking help may finally be noticed and assisted by others. The retrograde here had us stuck in our own heads a bit, and now we can turn back outward and make firmer connections with others.

Tuesday we will have a Solar Eclipse New Moon in Scorpio, here at the start of Scorpio season. The best thing we can do during this is event is to let old grudges go and release any bad blood we have with others, lest it all begin to fester unpleasantly.

Wednesday and the rest of the week we will be in a Waxing Crescent phase, putting us through a creative cycle that helps us heal and set new plans after what we have just left behind.

On Thursday, Jupiter moves into Pisces. Some things we believed to be left in our past last Spring may pop back up, proving themselves to have been unsolved so far. Luckily, this is often a good transit, expanding our compassion and showing us options that we had overlooked last time. It is a good sign that these things bubbling to the surface are being handed back to us now because we are in a better position to fix them effectively. This is a good time for being open to others, and people hearing each other out more. A downside to watch out for is that all of this sudden connection back into sociability, after some thoughtful time alone, may be exhausting for many of us. Remember not to push yourself, as a lot is happening fast - take time out to rest and relax, and keep your energy safe.

Saturday gives us one last change, as Mercury makes its way into Scorpio from now until mid-November. Mercury marks communication and Scorpio marks passion - it is a time to purposely be very careful about what you say. Run each sentence through a filter before blurting it out, or we are likely to hurt each other accidentally. Many other transits have us being much more social than we were before, and then this slides in here sneakily for us, making it a little more challenging as we build these connections. If we let emotions get the better of us we can end up saying more than we meant to, especially when chatting with everyone feels so right at the time. If you are a parent you may find yourself concerned about your child's social life and their grades, even if these things haven’t taken a recent downturn. If your worries are warranted and you can swing it, it might be a good idea to get them that tutor you’re wondering about. We are all affected by the transits, and your kids might be getting hit with a lot as often as we are. As far as career, now is a better time to plod along with what you were doing and picking up steam slowly, as new investments or gambling is unlikely to see positive results during this time.

[foxclcves]

𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒆 (𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 04)

Howls in the distance echoed low and overlapped, gaining in numbers and moving closer, but the woman continued her trek through the forest without looking over her shoulder. The hood of her cloak covered her face from view and the occasional, whispering breeze that would find her between the thick trunks of ancient trees.

The creatures had been stalking her since sundown, when she had long since adequately distanced herself from civilization and any road. They skittered in the undergrowth and their eyes flashed gold and orange, like candles being hastened down corridors, their carriers desperate to escape the engulfing blackness of night. She felt no desperation in being surrounded. They were becoming more daring. The sky might have cleared, but on this night there was a new moon, leaving all across the land at the mercy of the darkness. And let them hide; blockade their windows and doors from any sort of monsters that lurked under atmospheric cloak, and let the humans’ hearths remain fueled until dawn. Her determination had not left her since she had entered this nefarious wood. She flinched not at any snarl or snapping of twigs, too close. They were becoming brave, yes; strength in numbers and low visibility on their side. But they still kept their distance, kept their gnashing, salivating jaws at bay, for they knew her to be a monster, too. Her smile never left her face.

The sliest of glimpses over her shoulder, and she saw a few flee back into the brush, the trees parting enough to lead her into an aisle of gnarled brier. They were well adapted, certainly; their coats not fur but grass and moss, always in a human’s sights but only seen out of the corner of the eye. They were fast and magnificent beasts, and the only thing that would give them away was their gleaming eyes, only visible if you were to look straight into them, but by that time, it might be too late. They used the brier now, no longer as subtle as they were when they first began following her trail. They shifted, blended, soft green smothered by vicious coils of vines and thorns. They tugged free of the abrasive plant without harm, shaking it off as a dog would and feasting their eyes upon her venturing figure yet again. She looked ahead, her chin lifting in the slightest.

If they devoured her, she would not be angry. Not at ravenous dogs for their cravings of flesh and blood. How starved they were, ever since humans became wary of these woods and seldom wandered far into it these days. No, her wrath would consume them first because her starvation vastly outweighed theirs, and it could not be conquered. Once it sank its own fangs into any unfortunate soul, it would hold them; clutch them until they were lifeless. Blood drained and left to stain the floor; stain the carpet, the bed sheets, absorbing into wood and oozing through, seeping into the earth. Lifeless in her arms, and hers, hers, hers. She was sure the beasts sensed this within her, their desperate tenacity keeping them at her heels but their instincts made them wander at bay. Her pace did not quicken, did not slow. She continued to take her time, oh, so slowly, and she would not be deterred by monsters. She was far worse than any wolf, for she did not need to wait for the death of a day’s sun to torment anyone. But she waited for the right time; oh sweet, prolonged reveal. For tormenting death was exactly what she set out to do.

[thearchedangel]

Part One; Vampire Lord Buys Feral Werewolf Girl

You were raised in a large family. A community by human standards; but a family to you. You were raised to be aggressive and fierce. To fend for yourself and above all survive. So, survive you did. Even after your home was torn into useless debris, alongside most of your family members.

All men had been slaughtered like deer. No child was spared. The women were lined up in a row and stripped to be judged by a hooded figure. Silently they had walked past, pointing out the rejects and ignoring the rest. You can still smell the blood and dust. You can still hear the squelching and screaming.

But you’re alive. You’ve survived. And now you find yourself in a tinted car, surrounded by large men with bags gripped in meaty fists. You stare at everyone, daring them to fight you. You know better than to start the fight when you’re crammed into such a tight space.

The car slows. You’ve been traveling for long enough that the sun had set and the moon had revealed it’s phase. You’re seemingly nowhere. The man seated across from you opens his bag, pulling out coils of rope.

“Hands” his voice is like tire on gravel. You don’t move a muscle. What were they going to do? They obviously wanted you badly enough to spare you. If you refused, would you rejoin your family? The man leaned forward, his seat creaking harshly through the silent car.

“Hands,” he repeated louder and clearer. The man seated next to you tightened his grip on his own bag. The room became tense. You decide to display both hands despite every cell of your body screaming to resist.

You watch as he ties unfamiliar knots around your wrists. You’ve been raised tying knots for securing shelters and creating fishing rods. These knots are cruel. They tighten when you move too much too fast. The extra rope he uses as a leash, binding you to him.

Your door opens, and another masked man is revealed. He takes your rope, tugging harshly. The rope bites into your skin and it stings. You’re pulled out of the car, stumbling out into the frigid winter night.

There are woods around you. The air smells thick and grimy; you recognize this as the undead territory. Vampire territory. You had frozen without realizing it.

“I think she knows,” a man chuckled. The door of the car was slammed shut, breaking your body out of its freeze. What do you do? What can you do? You were taught to survive. Doing anything right now was a sure way to die. You feel a sharp kick hit the small of your back. It’s hard enough that you hit the ground before you realize you’re on it.

“Don’t think you’re smart. Any one of us will have you dead and twitching before you’ve finished pulling anything,” you’re warned. For now, you’ll listen. You’ve heard of this happening. Raids on camps where the suitable girls are taken and sold to rich lords as entertainment.

You’ve dreaded this day as much as you’ve hoped for it. You’ve day dreamed about what you would do if you found yourself belonging to someone who meant something to the world.

You’re practically dragged along this dark road. Your bare feet make an awful scraping sound. You focus instead on the sheer amount of people who were sent to ensure your deliverance. They were smart enough to know you weren’t a weakling. You were a genuine threat.

The group moved in a solid formation, turning off the road and immediately onto a packed trail. Your eyes were made to see the world lot only by moonlight. By smell alone. You could tell these were human. Beefed up and strong humans, but human. How they could see anything was a mystery.

The smell of grime turned sour and putrid. Vampires smelt of rot and decaying blood to you. The smell of water whisked it quickly away though, revealing to you a lake nearby.

“She stinks,” one man snarled as he tripped over a stray root.

“She’s perfect,” one barked back. You stumble and almost trip as you pay too much attention on their words. They’ve said almost nothing since the attack, so anything they say is important.

“You need some bl-,”

“NO! I do not!” The conversation ended and we all picked up our speed. Before long, the path led out of the woods to reveal a posh garden and manicured lawn. The garden was well maintained despite the season, and the lawn remained immaculate since the last maintenance day.

In the middle of it all was a brick home. Dare say a mini mansion of sorts. It was the only building on the property, nothing terribly extra like a barn or private plane hangar. Every window had velvet curtains brightened by a single candle. It was the sort of place humans dreamed of having

[deadtravelfast]

From: Mina M****y *********@gmail.com

To: John Harker ******************@gmail.com

Date: August 8th, 20** at 5:36 pm

Dear John,

One thing after another seems to keep afflicting us on what was supposed to be a peaceful vacation. Lucy’s sudden sleepwalking, my racist run-ins, the bad weather, a ship crashing, people dying – and now Lucy’s been hurt. Not terribly, she’s back from hospital already, patched up. The official story is she got out of the house at night and scratched herself on something badly enough to leave the two deep indentations on her neck that produced the most blood but…

…but John, it’s stranger than that. I couldn’t give all the details to the doctors because I can barely believe what I saw myself. I must have been still half asleep when I got to her but…

Let me start at the the beginning. Get everything straightened out in my mind. I was exhausted after the funeral and took a melatonin. Usually they just barely push me over so I can sleep naturally, but this one must have knocked me out quite badly, because one moment I’d closed my eyes with the sun barely set, then next I woke bolt-upright like they do in movies, and it was one in the morning. I had this unbearable sense of dread, that something was horribly, horribly wrong. If it was because of some nightmare I’d been having, well, I’ve forgotten it completely. I suspect rather it was by subconscious telling me that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Lucy wasn’t in the bed next to me anymore. In fact, the sheets were cold, as if she hadn’t been there for hours. I immediately panicked and went to the door. It was shut, but unlocked. Can sleepwalkers unlock doors? I don’t know. I threw on my bathrobe and went out into the hall of the house, calling her name and heard no answer back. I was shouting now, racing into every room, it’s not a big house, but she wasn’t there. Then I checked the front door. It was shut, but just like the one in our room, it was unlocked.

I was bloody panicking at this point. I grabbed a torch and slid on my shoes and I ran into the street. I thought at first to shout for her, but I had a sudden fear that the neighbours might not take kindly to an Asian woman waking them up in the middle of the night. Instead I hissed her name and swept the beam around as I zigzagged through the streets and alleys. There was no one – even the usual nightlife was mostly absent, thanks to the rumours of a rabid dog on the loose. I was down at the pier before I started really shouting for her, and then my torch beam caught something white up on the East Cliff, at the bench Lucy and I had sat at just the other day. I had a brief wave of relief that I’d found her, that she’d just sleepwalked her way into one of our strolls.

I ran up the slope of the cliff towards her. It was a full moon last night, which was helping with the search. I’d turned my torch off, but then clouds slipped up over the moon as I neared the top, darkening everything so that for a moment I felt almost blinded. It was only for a moment, however, and then the moon was back and everything was extremely crystalline clear on the cliff side – the old Abbey, the churchyard, our bench, and yes, that was Lucy, half-lying down on it.

But, John—she wasn’t alone. I sort of told Artie, but I didn’t give him all the details because in my own mind I feel I must have been somehow dreaming. My feet felt as though they had lead weight on them, as if I could only move in slow motion towards Lucy and the thing that was bending over her, the long, black thing stretched over her, touching her, and I screamed her name and it looked up at me and its face was so white and its eyes were so red but I couldn’t move fast enough.

Then the clouds passed over the moon again and suddenly I could run to her side. The thing was gone. Lucy was sleeping soundly, but breathing strangely, long raspy breaths like she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. When I tried to look at her, she shrugged off my touch and pulled up her pyjamas up over her throat. She was so very cold, I took off my own robe and threw it over her, then gently shook her until she woke up. It look a long while, until she blinked her eyes open like a little child, just an adorable face, and then the cuteness was gone and she shuddered and clung to my arm. After she stopped trembling, whether from the cold or the shock of being woken from her sleepwalking, she gulped and said, “Let’s get home, Mins.”

I would have just taken her home, but I saw the blood spots seeping through the collar of her pyjamas and made her stop. She didn’t want me to look at them at first, kept saying it was nothing, but I batted her hands away until I could pull it down. Well, it wasn’t nothing, they were two nasty punctures and a smear of blood. Suddenly her low body temperature and trembling took on a much more sinister tone and I insisted we call 999.

The doctors confirmed she was in mild shock – lost almost a liter of blood. Nothing life threatening, she’s bandaged up and home already, with an updated tetanus jab since they think she stuck herself on something in the churchyard. When I told them I thought she might have been attacked by someone – well, I could hardly tell them what I thought I saw, could I? So without the details, and since it doesn’t look like a knife or a bite, they think it was an accident.

And it probably is. But I swear it reminded me of this illustration in a children’s book I’d read growing up, New Tales of Vikram and the Vetal. They’re just a collection of fairy tales, but supposedly they were narrated, Scheherazade-style, by a creature called vetal, that hangs upside down beside graveyards and possesses corpses to make them walk again, like zombies. I really hated the picture of the vetal when I was little, with its pasty white skin, red eyes and mouth, clinging to Vikram’s back and telling its stories.

Boogeymen, black dogs, ghost ships, maybe Whitby really is haunted.

I'm glad we're leaving it all behind soon.

[happyficwriterbird]

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types

Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia

Tags: Nightmare, blood, some graphic description of wounds, blood and sensations from wounds, childhood problems, hurt/comfort, character can not break his stupid rules even in front of someone he trusts, but unwittingly breaks them, feeling bad about it.

AO3 [ENG] | Original tumblr post [ENG] | Ficbook [RUS]

In the dark sky, scarred by the prickly branches of the leafless trees, the moon is like an all-seeing eye.  

And he runs, runs, runs...  

The needles hurt the skin, the disfigured nose feels it - feels the protruding blood, his own blood; and his hands itch so much, the wool covers them, and they itch - he wants to lie down somewhere and tear off the skin with his ugly animal claws; wants to scream, but only a growl comes out of the throat, not a human voice at all.

The roots of the trees, like long hooked fingers of hunters, crawl out, striving to grab him in a stranglehold.

The moon is grinning at him, reflected in rare puddles. He runs.

The crossbow bolt slides along his side, tearing the remnants of clothing and flesh. Blood flows in a continuous stream - the body is struck by a lightning bolt of pain, he falls sideways, falling into the mud; stones caught in the wound only cause more pain.

Fear is bubbling in the throat. Fear makes him overcome the pain and get up, makes him run on. A dog's roar is heard behind him. 

He looks back. Stupid mistake. A root emerges from the ground, plunging its sharp end into his stomach.

He feels bad. Everything hurts. He barely has the strength to move his fingers.

He hears laughter - this monstrous, disgusting laughter; he wants to jump up, scratch that disgusting face, tear off his skin, and just see how the blood washes that smug smile off his face, how the mockery in the eyes turns into animal fear, the very one that makes him run.

But he is lying there, almost motionless.

The dog's roar is getting closer and closer.

The hunter follows the hounds. Tall, in a cloak that hides everything. Hiding everything except for inhuman amber-colored eyes with a vertical pupil and a few strands of white, like snow, like the moon mocking his fate, hair.

The hunter is talking to him. Calling by name. But the meaning of the words is lost, as if he hears them through the thickness of water - or blood. Is he dying? Is this... is this the end?

The hunter's hands reach out to him, roughly grabbing his shoulder and turning him over on his back. Pupils constrict. 

The heart is beating too fast. The temples are buzzing. 

The hunter bends down, covering the sky with himself. His eyes seem to look into the very soul.

This is the end.

It must be terribly poetic - with the setting of the sun, the imperial family has come to naught; with the dawn of the sun, Nilfgaard will welcome the new emperor.

The hand on the shoulder tightens. He is being shaken - for what? He can not resist, he can not, he wants to shout about it, but the blood in his mouth gets in the way - he coughs and looks away. 

Too many things. The wound in the stomach is like a swarm of wasps, a lump is stuck in the throat and there is too much blood in the mouth, the head feels as if it was split by a stone. His eyes are blurry. He closes his eyes.

The hunter's voice is familiar. Too familiar.

"Emhyr!"

Is he... is he alive?

Wait, what is this?

"Emhyr, damn you, wake up!"

His eyes open with difficulty, as if they hold the weight of all his sins.

He sees the face of a hunter - no, not a hunter. Geralt's face.

And he hears Geralt's voice.

"Emhyr? Hey?"

It takes him a little more than a minute to get to the point: it was just a dream. Nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

He does not hear Geralt's words, only his voice and intonation. He sounds strange.

Emhyr puts his hands on Geralt's forearms. 

"I'm fine."

"No, you're absolutely not fine!"

Geralt's hand rises to his face, gently touches it, the forefinger habitually puts a lock of hair behind his ear, the pinky rubs the place under his ear, and the thumb touches the cheekbone, just below the eyes. And now Emhyr feels it too. Strange moisture.

Emhyr raises his hand to under the second eye, touches the skin and stretches out his hand to the light. The fingers are wet, too wet for it to be just sweat, it is...

Tears.

His tears.

He involuntarily looks down at the blanket and pillows, and yes, he clearly sees the spots darkened by tears.

He looks at Geralt again, expecting to see contempt, but does not find it. There is only concern in the Witcher's eyes.

Geralt's hand slides over Emhyr's shoulders, pulling him to the chest, the other hand rests on his elbow.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Geralt bends down. He obscures the window and most of the moonlight.

In the shadows of the room, Emhyr hears a dog whining.

The hand rises by itself and pushes Geralt away - gently, just a little pressure on the chest, preventing him from bending too close.

Geralt looks puzzled and almost wounded. When Emhyr almost opens his mouth to make excuses, Geralt skillfully depicts fun on his face:

"No kissing, huh? Fine."

His tone made Emhyr feel unwell. 

It must have shown on his face, because Geralt instantly looks very worried again, gently rubbing Emhyr's shoulder and elbow.

Emhyr looks at the window over Geralt's shoulder. The Witcher looks back too.

When his gaze returns to Emhyr's face, he looks nervous. The right hand rises to the face again and gently passes from the chin to the eye and back. Then he runs his knuckles over approximately the same places on the second half of the Emhyr's face.

"Hush, my Sun." he whispers.

And Emhyr only now realizes that he is still crying. 

He tries to hide it and save the remnants of his pride by pressing his face against Geralt's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Geralt says, patting his back. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not going to tell anyone that you're crying because of a nightmare."

Emhyr tries to snort with laughter in order to show how absurd this idea is. 

"No one will believe you if you say that." 

"Emperors don't cry, idiot."

Because of this, Geralt laughs, hugging Emhyr harder.

"Sure! Only my little sunshine do."

Emhyr hits Geralt lightly in the ribs with the edge of his palm.

"Oi! Emhyr!"

Emhyr's hand strokes the place of strike.

Geralt sighs.

"Dawn is still a few hours away. What do you think about a few rounds of Gwent? And then we could watch the sunrise together."

Emhyr slightly changes the position of his head, pressing closer to Geralt. His slow heartbeat helps to calm down. Just a little.

"I would like to."

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

In the dark sky, scarred by the prickly branches of the leafless trees, the moon is like an all-seeing eye.

And he runs, runs, runs...

The needles hurt the skin, the disfigured nose feels it - feels the protruding blood, his own blood; and his hands itch so much, the wool covers them, and they itch - he wants to lie down somewhere and tear off the skin with his ugly animal claws; wants to scream, but only a growl comes out of the throat, not a human voice at all.

The roots of the trees, like long hooked fingers of hunters, crawl out, striving to grab him in a stranglehold.

The moon is grinning at him, reflected in rare puddles. He runs.

The crossbow bolt slides along his side, tearing the remnants of clothing and flesh. Blood flows in a continuous stream - the body is struck by a lightning bolt of pain, he falls sideways, falling into the mud; stones caught in the wound only cause more pain.

Fear is bubbling in the throat. Fear makes him overcome the pain and get up, makes him run on. A dog's roar is heard behind him.

He looks back. Stupid mistake. A root emerges from the ground, plunging its sharp end into his stomach.

He feels bad. Everything hurts. He barely has the strength to move his fingers.

He hears laughter - this monstrous, disgusting laughter; he wants to jump up, scratch that disgusting face, tear off his skin, and just see how the blood washes that smug smile off his face, how the mockery in the eyes turns into animal fear, the very one that makes him run.

But he is lying there, almost motionless.

The dog's roar is getting closer and closer.

The hunter follows the hounds. Tall, in a cloak that hides everything. Hiding everything except for inhuman amber-colored eyes with a vertical pupil and a few strands of white, like snow, like the moon mocking his fate, hair.

The hunter is talking to him. Calling by name. But the meaning of the words is lost, as if he hears them through the thickness of water - or blood. Is he dying? Is this... is this the end?

The hunter's hands reach out to him, roughly grabbing his shoulder and turning him over on his back. Pupils constrict.

The heart is beating too fast. The temples are buzzing.

The hunter bends down, covering the sky with himself. His eyes seem to look into the very soul.

This is the end.

It must be terribly poetic - with the setting of the sun, the imperial family has come to naught; with the dawn of the sun, Nilfgaard will welcome the new emperor.

The hand on my shoulder tightens. He is being shaken - for what? He can not resist, he can not, he wants to shout about it, but the blood in his mouth gets in the way - he coughs and looks away.

Too many things. The wound in the stomach is like a swarm of wasps, a lump is stuck in the throat and there is too much blood in the mouth, the head feels as if it was split by a stone. His eyes are blurry. He closes his eyes.

The hunter's voice is familiar. Too familiar.

"Emhyr!"

Is he... is he alive?

Wait, what is this?

"Emhyr, damn you, wake up!"

His eyes open with difficulty, as if they hold the weight of all his sins.

He sees the face of a hunter - no, not a hunter. Geralt's face.

And he hears Geralt's voice.

"Emhyr? Hey?"

It takes him a little more than a minute to get to the point: it was just a dream. Nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

He does not hear Geralt's words, only his voice and intonation. He sounds strange.

Emhyr puts his hands on Geralt's forearms.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're absolutely not fine!"

Geralt's hand rises to his face, gently touches it, the forefinger habitually puts a lock of hair behind his ear, the pinky rubs the place under his ear, and the thumb touches the cheekbone, just below the eyes. And now Emhyr feels it too. Strange moisture.

Emhyr raises his hand to under the second eye, touches the skin and stretches out his hand to the light. The fingers are wet, too wet for it to be just sweat, it is...

Tears.

His tears.

He involuntarily looks down at the blanket and pillows, and yes, he clearly sees the spots darkened by tears.

He looks at Geralt again, expecting to see contempt, but does not find it. There is only concern in the Witcher's eyes.

Geralt's hand slides over Emhyr's shoulders, pulling him to the chest, the other hand rests on his elbow.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Geralt bends down. He obscures the window and most of the moonlight.

In the shadows of the room, Emhyr hears a dog whining.

The hand rises by itself and pushes Geralt away - gently, just a little pressure on the chest, preventing him from bending too close.

Geralt looks puzzled and almost wounded. When Emhyr almost opens his mouth to make excuses, Geralt skillfully depicts fun on his face:

"No kissing, huh? Fine."

His tone made Emhyr feel unwell.

It must have shown on his face, because Geralt instantly looks very worried again, gently rubbing Emhyr's shoulder and elbow.

Emhyr looks at the window over Geralt's shoulder. The Witcher looks back too.

When his gaze returns to Emhyr's face, he looks nervous. The right hand rises to the face again and gently passes from the chin to the eye and back. Then he runs his knuckles over approximately the same places on the second half of the Emhyr's face.

"Hush, my Sun." he whispers.

And Emhyr only now realizes that he is still crying.

He tries to hide it and save the remnants of his pride by pressing his face against Geralt's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Geralt says, patting his back. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not going to tell anyone that you're crying because of a nightmare."

Emhyr tries to snort with laughter in order to show how absurd this idea is.

"No one will believe you if you say that."

"Emperors don't cry, idiot."

Because of this, Geralt laughs, hugging Emhyr harder.

"Sure! Only my little sunshine do."

Emhyr hits Geralt lightly in the ribs with the edge of his palm.

"Oi! Emhyr!"

Emhyr's hand strokes the place of strike.

Geralt sighs.

"Dawn is still a few hours away. What do you think about a few rounds of Gwent? And then we could watch the sunrise together."

Emhyr slightly changes the position of his head, pressing closer to Geralt. His slow heartbeat helps to calm down. Just a little.

"I would like to."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

[sdr2lovemail]

You like angst? I'll give you angst. (SOILERS!) The bad ending where Freddy sets the place on fire. Sundrop and Moondrop's S/O are trying to look for them while its burning. You can decide if it has a happy enfing or not

It's almost 6am, I have classes in the morning. What does that matter when I can write about my fictional boyfriends.

I've seen people's designs around for like a Sun and Moon combo named Eclipse and I felt inspired.

This one gets real angsty!

I hope you enjoy! And cry!

The Sun, The Moon, The Star. (named after a metal song I like)

The smoke from the fire burning around you fills your lungs. Dark, black fumes cause your chest to ache. Almost enough to distract you from the searing knife wound in your stomach. Your hand pressed against it to staunch the bleeding. It did little to help as the thick, red liquid seeped through your fingers with ease. Having to concentrate just to move. Having to think about putting one foot after another.

You couldn’t leave. Every exit was blocked by debris or was on fire, you were too weak to try to go through it. With your security badge too low of a level, the fire exits didn’t work either.

You were going to die. You had to accept it. That was fate.

If you were going to die, you had to see them one last time.

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

“Alright newbie. You’re going to be working in the daycare. All you gotta do is monitor everything and help out the daycare attendant from time to time.”

Your manager sets a security badge in your hand. Taking a moment, you look around the colorful room. It was unlike anything you’ve ever seen. This daycare was huge! Any kid would be happy to play here!

“The daycare attendants…What are they like?” You’ve seen pictures of them. A moon animatronic and a sun animatronic. They seemed so interesting, having animatronics to run a daycare.

Your manager gives you a smile, though it felt a bit…condescending. “You misheard, daycare attendant, just one. Yeah, Fazcorp thought it was a brilliant idea to put two personality chips in one robot. Wouldn’t you know, they gave them anxiety while they were at it. He isn’t able to keep a helper around for long, all of them quit shortly after.” He sighs and then looks at you.

“Oops, probably not the best first day pep talk. But hey, it’s a fair warning.” He begins to walk for the daycare exit. “Once his charging cycle finishes he’ll be down to meet you. Good luck, newbie.” And with that you were alone, waiting for your new robotic coworker.

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

You were alone.

Leaning against a wall taking shaky breaths. The daycare was only a little away, you could make it. Clumsily, you push off the wall and keep walking. There’s a trail of blood following you. The fire continues to glow brighter. With all the smoke and how fast you’re losing blood, it’s getting hard for you to see. Hard for you to hear. Hard for you to think…

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

Sitting at the security desk, you flick on the cameras to see how they work. A few parents have already checked their kids into the daycare. Though, even in the attendant’s absence the kids already seem to know what to do. Perhaps they come here often.

After a few minutes, mechanical clicks fill the air followed by digital laughter. Looking up, there on the platform high above, stands the sun animatronic. Spinning around and bringing their arms up into the air.

Blank, white eyes scan the room, they pause on you for just a moment. Even from the other side of the daycare you could feel the animatronics gaze on you. The attention doesn’t last too long as the sun begins to call out to the children.

“Goooooood morning, kids! Are you all ready for another woooooonderful day? Well, are yah? Are yah?!” A few of the kids shout out in excitement, some just seem to ignore the attendant’s antics, while others…cower in fear.

Happy to hear the children awake and ready for the day, the animatronic dives into the ballpit below. These robots were pretty high tech.

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

Pausing your walk, you begin to cough up blood. Irritating your already sore throat.

How could this happen?

You were just trying to look for that child.

Whoever was in that rabbit suit…you hoped they were burning along with you.

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

Checking another kid into the daycare, you give them their wristband and watch them run off. You give their parents a farewell and turn back to your desk. Once you do, there’s the daycare attendant standing in front of it. Eagerly hopping from one foot to the other.

“Hello, new buddy! I am so happy to have a new friend to work with! It’ll be so so so fun! We can do all sorts of things together. The kids will love it!” He rambles a bit before taking an unnecessary gulp of air. “Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Sun! Though people tend to call me lots of things! Sundrop, Sunrise, whatever you’re comfortable with.” Sun is quite energetic, extending a long hand for you to shake. A refreshing difference from your old job.

With a smile, you grab Sun’s hand giving it a firm shake. “I hope we work well together, Sun. I can already tell we’re going to be a great team. I’m not fully sure how you work, but, if you can relay that message to Moon as well. I’d really appreciate it!”

Sun was ecstatic. He almost pulled you in for a hug but was reprimanded by Moon.

‘You can’t just hug people you don’t know! We’re not sure if they can be trusted yet.’

‘But Moon, they seem so nice! Not like the others at all!’

‘You say that every time, Sun’

‘I mean it this time!’

‘You say that every time too…’

Pulling your hand out of theirs, you clasp your own together.

“Look at that, I forgot to introduce myself as well. I’m…”

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

You reach the doors of the daycare. Looking behind you the fire is growing larger, the smoke growing thicker. Mustering up any strength you could, you push open the heavy, wooden doors.

Flames have already begun pooling into the daycare. Play structures melting from the heat. There’s a loud bang, followed by a few more, the lights go out. Though, the fire helps to illuminate the room.

You call out to Sun, Moon, anyone, to the best of your ability. Your throat and mouth ran dry, smoke causing your lungs to burn. There’s no sign of them anywhere.

What if they left the building already…

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

After helping the last kid to sleep, you make your way back to the security desk. Nap time is your unofficial lunch time as your manager failed to give you one. While you didn’t bring anything to eat, you still had a Fizzyfaz you could sip on.

Working at the daycare has been pretty fun. Sun is a delight to have around. Their energy has been rubbing off on you, to the point where you’re actually excited to go to work.

Though, Moon has been avoiding you like the plague. Every nap time they’re always brushing you off to the side. Acting defensive…you knew the staff here wasn’t the best, but you were hoping he would at least give you a chance.

Your thoughts are pulled away as you look up from your canned drink. Big metallic hands place themselves on the ledge of your desk. With mechanical clicking, the moon rises up. His faceplate spins as he leans in close.

“Oh, hey Moon. Did you need any help with something?” You could feel sweat run down the back of your neck from the close proximity.

They let out a low growl before standing to their full height. The night animatronic easily towering over you. “I don’t know what type of game you’re playing at security guard but I don’t buy it. You may have Sun fooled, but I know you won’t last much longer here. You’ll be putting in your two weeks in no time flat. Just like every other annoying guard.” He claws at the desk, clearly upset.

Ah, you see now. Moon was putting up walls as a defense mechanism. It probably hurt them to be walked out on so many times. To be left for something they can’t help.

You hesitantly set your hand on Moon’s, he flinches at your touch.

“I don’t know how the other guards treated you two, but I’m here to help. I want to give working here my all. I’ll do everything I can to help you guys, promise.” You give them a smile.

For a moment, Moon just stands there, unmoving. The bright red lights of his eyes staring down at you. The only sound being the faint tune of the music box built in him.

They suddenly jerk their hand away from your touch. Their faceplate can’t move, but his body folds in on itself slightly. “You…You don’t mean that…'' Their voice box has a slight static. He’s quick to slink away from the desk, not turning back.

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

You can’t walk anymore, you’re too tired.

Too weak.

Taking a seat in the chair of the security desk, your vision starts to blur.

You’re wet. When did the sprinklers turn on?

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

Ever since your encounter with Moon, the daycare attendant has been getting closer to you.

They both have been asking how your day was, leaving you notes at your desk, bringing you so many cans of Fizzyfaz. It was kinda nice to be doted on. Once you gave Sun the all clear for hugs he’s been making sure you get at least two a day.

While Moon isn’t as intense as Sun, he’s been showing you affection in different ways. Letting you doze off during nap time, giving you blankets if you look even slightly cold.

Now, you wouldn’t want to abuse their kind acts. You made sure to give just as much back. Sun just adores when you play house with him and the kids, almost getting a bit too in character. Moon can’t help his cooling system kicking on when you call them those stupid nicknames.

You bring them stuff from the outside; more blankets and pillows, various card and board games, storybooks that the daycare didn’t have.

You always make sure to help them out with cleaning. Always so kind and gentle when it’s time to scrub them down after a long day. Respecting the fact they like everything to be clean and in order. Never getting mad when they have a meltdown.

To them you were the perfect worker, the perfect friend. too good to be true.

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

“....Sunsh….you have to….ke up…”

“Sta…ight…please….come ba…to us…”

There’s a glint of orange and blue in your vision. Two warped voices and the occasional spark can be slightly heard through your ringing ears…

Were your ears ringing…?

Or was that just the fire alarm…?

“Moon, the fire! It’s starting to close in!...ghh!” The water has been into the daycare attendant, sparks shooting from them. Slowly frying their circuits.

“I know that, Sun! I’m trying to think!” Moon’s AI was shorting out quicker than Sun’s. The lighting was doing little to help, their servers trying to override the other’s. The water caused them to glitch into each other’s programming. They were in pain, half of Sun’s spikes forced out of their head. Moon’s hat barely hanging on.

Sun takes control the best they can. Lifting you up into their arms and connecting their body to the cable on the ceiling. They couldn’t leave, not like this.

Not with you on the brink of death, not with them short circuiting, and not with every exit being blocked with what is left of the daycare structures. They’ve tried opening the wooden doors by the security desk, though they seem to be blocked from the outside.

They head up to their room, the only place high enough for the fire to not have touched yet. Setting you on the soaked mattress, Sun goes to close the curtains. He couldn’t stand the sight of his daycare burning any longer.

Was everyone else okay? They could only hope the others had a better fate.

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

You stretch as you enter the staff room, ready to clock out for the night. In the room is the night guard, Vanessa, checking in for her shift. You like to think you have a solid friendship with her. The two of you engage in idle chatter discussing your days. Vanessa seems to notice how much you talk about Sun and Moon.

“So, when are you and the daycare attendant gonna make out? I won’t judge you too much.” She snickers.

“Huh?! Why would we do that? We’re just work friends, that’s all.” Kissing Sun and Moon? That’s absurd…to think that you would fall for an animatronic…you wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“Please, the way you talk about them doesn’t sound very friendly to me. It sounds like you guys are married. If I didn’t know anything about this place, I would assume you were talking about a partner.”

Flustered, you don’t respond as you clock out for the night.

The night guard continues to tease. “Hey if it makes you feel any better, they seem to be into you too. Telling me just how great you are. They’re always asking me when you’re coming around again. How am I supposed to know? I’m just the nightshift, not like I know your whole schedule.”

“Just because they’re curious about me doesn’t mean they want to date me.” You gather your stuff from your locker and head for the door.

“That’s not even the best part, last night they asked me about marriage. Those guys wouldn’t even look my way before you showed up. I’m telling you, they’re in love.”

“Ugh, goodbye Vanessa. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You rush out the staff room hoping to ignore the flush of your face.”

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

At some point, you’re able to come back to your senses, just barely. You’re leaned up against your robotic lovers. Their arms wrapped tightly around you, twitching from the water. The smoke pooling in chokes you. The red hot glow from the fire inching closer and closer to the closed curtains. They weren’t going to last much longer and neither were you.

“Starlight…we’re sorry…we couldn’t protect you.” Their body jerks with a few sparks.

“We wish we could’ve done more together, Sunshine…”

You couldn’t move.

As much as you wish you could, you can’t look back at them. All energy was drained from your body. Forced to look ahead with your back pressed against them.

“....I’m sorry…we couldn’t do everything I promised you. I wish things could’ve been different…I really do.”

They begin to shake harder, pressing their faceplate into the top of your head. A strained, staticky sob leaves their voice box.

Your vision begins to unfocus.

You were so sleepy.

It wouldn’t hurt to take…just a little rest.

“I’m going to…close my eyes for a little bit. I love you, Sun. I…love you too, Moon.”

With a shaky arm, Sun?...Moon? grabs a blanket and drapes it over you. If they ignored the blood seeping through and your drained, sweaty face; it almost looked as if you were sleeping.

“Sleep well, Starlight. We’ll be here for you…I love you too.”

“Yes, yes…go to sleep. It’ll be easier that way. I love you, Sunshine.”

You didn’t respond.

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

Entering the daycare in the early morning, you see a note on your desk.

‘Please come to our room! -☼&☾’

What were they planning?

Thinking back on Vanessa’s words, you feel just a bit flustered. No…this probably wasn’t for anything like that. They might just need help with their chargers or something.

Entering the hidden door and climbing up the stairs, you make it to the back part of their room. Through the hole in the wall, you can see Sun standing with his back towards you. He’s anxiously bouncing in place. You crawl through the tube and call out to him.

“Hey, Sunny. Did you guys need something?”

Hearing your voice causes him to jolt in surprise. He turns to you quickly, hiding something behind him. Their usual neck ruffles were replaced with a paper bow tie.

“Sunshine! You’re here! We, Moon and I, have a very important question. Very very very important! So SO Important!”

‘Get on with it, Sun!’

Sun bounds up to you before getting down on both knees. From behind, he pulls out a bouquet of yellow and blue paper flowers.

“Will you human marry us?! Will you? Will you?”

Your face goes a little red as you take the bouquet from their hands.

“Marry? Um, Sunny, Moony, dears.”

“Are you saying no?” Moon glitches in, his voice dejected.

You scramble to answer. “No! I’m not saying no…It’s just that marriage usually comes after a couple years dating. I wasn’t expecting to get proposed to out of the blue.”

“So, you’ll marry us after a date?” Comes Sun’s chipper voice.

Setting a hand on the cheek of the faceplate, you gently smile at them. “I would be open to going on a date with you guys. Maybe I can ask Vanessa and see if I can take over her night shift on my day off.”

In a flash, they suddenly spring up and pull you into a hug. Spinning around , you can hear their inner fans running at max speed.

“We’re so so happy!” Sun pressed their faceplate against your cheek. “Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”

‘Let me out, Sun!’

‘I was just about too!’

‘Likely story…’

With you still in their arms, Sun goes to shut the light of their room off. Shifting control over to Moon, he lets out a low chuckle.

“Oh, Starlight. Don’t you just know how to make us the happiest animatronic here.” He pressed his permanent smile into your other cheek. Not making the exaggerated kissy noises Sun made.

Well, it’s only fair if you return a kiss.

Gently you place your lips against their faceplate. The cool material feels a bit strange against your mouth. At this point, their cooling systems were doing everything they could for them not to overheat. A puff of steam escaping them. Pulling away you give them another kiss on the cheek, Moon says nothing. His grasp on you falters. Deciding for it to be safer, you set yourself back on the ground. A faint beeping sound can be heard from the daycare attendant.

Before you could speak, a woman’s voice could be heard from the other side of the curtain.

Right, you were still at work.

Taking their hand in your own, you give it a squeeze. “We can talk about the details of our date later. We have work to do. I’ll see you down there.” With that, you make your way down back to your desk.

Both Sun and Moon were flustered beyond belief. An overheating sign pulls up in their vision before they fell back onto their mattress.

☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾

The fire surrounded your bodies. Though thoroughly fried, Sun’s sensors could still feel the flames. It wouldn’t be long before he goes offline. The water and heat combined was breaking them down quickly. Moon went silent a while ago. You were quiet too. Leaving just Sun and his thoughts.

Maybe somewhere else you guys would get married.

Maybe in a different timeline they could be human and get to live a normal life with you.

At least that’s what he would like to imagine.

Sun sends out one last message into their built in communication servers. To The Glamrocks, Vanessa, a staff bot, anyone…

There is no response.

ALERT: SYSTEM OVERHEATING

ALERT: SYSTEM EXPOSED TO MOISTURE

ALERT: LOW BATTERY

SHUTTING DOWN………