#Nocturn is just an aspect of Dream

[bet-on-me-13]

Death, Destruction, and Danny

(disclaimer: I have the barest bones idea of what the Endless are or their personalities, so this is just a quick blub of something I thought of at Work)

So! The JLA have just had an encounter with a member of the Endless, and called in Constantine to explain what exactly they are.

"Okay, so it's like this. Before Existence, before The Universe itself, the Personification of Time had a group of Children. These Children each Represent an Aspect of the Universe, and they are as Immortal as Immortal can get." Constantine explained.

"These children are called the Endless. They are, Dream, Destiny, Despair, Desire, Delirium, Destruction, Death, and Danny."

"...Danny?"

"Oh yeah, Danny's a cool guy. He was adopted later on by Time Itself, and he represents Balance. But that's not a word that starts with D so he just goes by his Mortal Name, Danny, to fit in."

[hyuckiefluff]

MOONSTRUCK | p. jisung

pairing: werewolf!hufflepuff! jisung x hufflepuff!fem. reader genre: best friends to lovers, hogwarts/supernatural au, angst, smut. wc: 18.3k+ summary: after a cruel prank leaves jisung cursed, he withdraws from everyone—including you, his closest friend. but secrets can't stay hidden forever, and when a full moon pulls you into the darkness he's tried so desperately to conceal, there's no going back. content warnings: werewolf lore & transformation, drug usage, rut/mating behavior, rough sex, biting/marking, mild breeding kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, bulge kink, mentions of bruising & blood, mild body horror, brief medical talk (contraceptive), aftercare. lmk if i missed any! a/n: nearly a month in the making and i can finally say i’m satisfied enough to post this lol. i’m actually really happy with how it turned out—and i finally got to write about werewolves, which has been on my list forever. canonically, werewolves in the HP universe (and most lore tbh) are dangerous nocturnal creatures and primarily bloodthirsty. but for this fic, i took a step away from that and leaned into the rut aspect instead because why not ;) pls don’t judge the cover, i had picsart and a dream lol. btw moonstruck by enhypen and nda by billie eilish are two songs u should listen to while reading this!

ps: i don’t know why i was under the assumption that everyone knows hp terms but i realized that is not the case after my mark fic 😭 so even though i didn’t use too many obscure ones here, here’s a little reference guide just in case: legilimens– someone who can read minds or emotions squib– a non-magical person born into a magical family (in this fic, it’s thrown around more like calling someone useless/coward) wolfsbane– a potion that allows werewolves to keep their mind during a full moon; in hp lore they still transform, but in this fic it's not a full transformation. feel free to message me if anything else was confusing! happy reading<3

You didn’t expect your seventh year at Hogwarts to feel like grieving someone who was still alive.

Three months ago, Park Jisung was still your best friend. Now, he can’t even stand being near you. 

The suddenness of this change was something you couldn’t wrap around your head. But things don’t always fall apart all at once. Sometimes they drift until you’re left staring across a room at someone who used to know everything about you and wondering when they became a stranger.

He was the very first friend you made at Hogwarts. You remember how he barely spoke to anyone, and you sat next to him in Transfiguration class just because there was an empty seat. You charmed your quill into a frog that wouldn’t stop croaking, and when he finally cracked a smile, it felt like you’d won something important.

He was awkward and soft-spoken, unsure of himself in the way most boys are before they grow into their limbs. But you liked him instantly. Probably because he liked the same books as you, or because he never made fun of you for being nervous on a broom. 

He even held your hand during your first flying lesson, hovering near you the whole time so you wouldn’t be scared. Years later, you found out he was just as scared of heights as you were and only pretended not to be to make you feel safe.

By fifth year, you spent so much time together that you could finish each other’s sentences. By sixth, you were bringing blankets to the highest tower in the castle and naming stars until you both fell asleep mid conversation. There wasn’t a single version of your life in Hogwarts that didn’t include him.

You thought seventh year would be just like that…. 

You were wrong.

After a summer of sending each other daily letters, pages and pages of thoughts, jokes, and half-sincere promises to never grow up, you returned to school thinking nothing could change.

And at first, it didn’t.

You walked to classes together, fell asleep with your legs tangled on the same couch, pretending not to hear the way people whispered about it the next morning, and snuck out of the common room after curfew not caring that you’d get caught.

The Astronomy Tower was your favorite place, you discovered how pretty it looked at night in your third year. 

It was quiet that evening, the wind tugging at your robes as you leaned over the battlement. Jisung set down the little paper packet he’d smuggled from the kitchens—honey biscuits, still warm—and nudged it toward you.

“Payment for helping with my Potions homework,” he said, trying to be casual, though the tips of his ears were already pink.

You laughed and took one, bumping his shoulder with yours. “You’d owe me a whole bakery if this were the price.”

He smiled softly. The moonlight caught in his hair, and for a second you forgot the chill entirely.

“Close your eyes,” he said suddenly.

You arched an eyebrow but obeyed. Something light, wool‑soft, was placed around your shoulders. You opened your eyes to find his black‑and‑yellow scarf wrapped there, smelling faintly of cedarwood soap and parchment ink—purely, unmistakably Jisung.

“You’re shivering,” he mumbled, eyes on his shoes. “Couldn’t have my star‑chart partner freeze.”

You swallowed a reply that felt too big, and instead reached for his hand where it rested on the stone ledge. Your fingers threaded with his, easy as blinking. He stiffened for a second then squeezed back. When you looked up, his gaze was already fixed on you, wide and bright, as though the whole sky were reflected there instead of above your heads.

Neither of you moved for a long while. Orion wheeled overhead, the biscuits cooled, and the castle bells tolled curfew far below. But the only thing you really noticed was the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way your heart tripped every time he glanced your way and smiled shyly. 

You learned just how soft‑hearted Jisung was that day on the Astronomy Tower.

Which is why, a few weeks into seventh year, it struck you as utterly wrong when rumors reached you that he’d been seen tagging along behind Lee Seungmin. Seungmin was everything Jisung wasn’t—loud, sharp‑tongued, the sort of Slytherin who thought shoving first‑years into suits of armor was a hobby and swapping curse ingredients under the table was a joke. He hexed quills to peck at classmates and bragged about detentions like they were trophies.  

Jisung, by contrast, apologized when he bumped into someone and brought extra quills for anyone who forgot theirs. He flinched at raised voices and fed the barn owls after hours because he worried they were lonely.

So hearing his name linked with Seungmin’s felt like hearing that rain was falling upward. At first you laughed it off, because surely someone must have mixed him up with another quiet Hufflepuff. But then Jisung started arriving late to meals, dodging your study sessions, mumbling vague excuses you’d never heard from him before.

That was when you realized the rumor wasn’t a mistake—and that something was very, very wrong.

Seventh Year

September settled over the castle in a bright rush of golden leaves and new parchment, and for a while everything felt the way it always had. You and Jisung were crossing the courtyard—still laughing about his theory that Professor Lockhart polished his hair with Mrs. Skower’s Extra‑Shine—when a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

“Oi, Park!”

You both turned. Lee Seungmin jogged toward you, grinning widelys. You didn’t bother hiding your sigh.

“Still on for tonight?” he asked, dropping his voice as he leaned in toward Jisung.

“I’m not sure. I’ve got a Potions essay to finish.” Jisung shifted akwardly.

Seungmin smacked him on the back, too hard to be friendly. “Come on, you’ve bailed twice already.”

You stepped forward, folding your arms. “Don’t you have that same essay, Seungmin? It’s half the term grade.”

He turned, as if noticing you for the first time and smirked “Why bother? Snape’s going to fail me anyway.”

“Typical,” you muttered.

“I’ll let you know later,” Jisung said quickly, cutting between you before another jab could leave your mouth.

Seungmin’s gaze lingered on you, faintly mocking, before he turned away with a humorless laugh. “Sure thing, Park.”

The moment he was out of earshot you exhaled. “Since when are you and Seungmin… close?”

“We’re not,” Jisung said, scratching at the back of his neck. “He just hangs around sometimes.”

You searched his face. “You two have nothing in common.”

“It isn’t a big deal,” he insisted, but the laugh that followed sounded fake.

“It is if you’re sneaking off with someone like him,” you said, sharper than you meant to, but the worry was too much to hide.

Jisung’s gaze dropped to his shoes. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You just walked the rest of the way to class in silence with a sense of unease settling on your chest.

That was when the distance began to show.

First, he started seating two rows over in Charms, smiling apologetically whenever you glanced his way but never moving back. He stopped leaving crooked little jokes on the margins of your Transfiguration notes or looking at you and trying not to laugh whenever Professor Lockhart messed up a spell.

He still spoke to you, yet every conversation felt stitched together, as if he were acting out a script. One afternoon you finally asked, “Are we all right?” He nodded so quickly you had a hard time believing it.

The next time you saw him with Seungmin it was well past curfew.

You had just left the library after wrestling Arithmancy proofs and stopped short as soon as you rounded the corner near the dungeon stairs. There was Seungmin leaning against the wall and Jisung half‑turned away, both speaking in low murmurs. You caught only fragments of Seungmin’s lazy drawl and Jisung’s tight replies. Then Seungmin laughed sharply, and your best friend flinched as though struck.

Your loud footsteps made both of their heads snap up.

“Y/N,” Jisung blurted, striding toward you as if to block your view. “Why are you out so late?”

“I could ask you the same.” You said arching a brow.

Behind him, Seungmin offered a thin grin before slipping down the stairs into the darkness of the dungeons.

Jisung pressed a hand to his eyes. “I was heading back to the dorm.”

“What did he want?”

“He—” Jisung’s voice faltered and for a heartbeat you saw the words gather behind his lips but he swallowed them down. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Your voice cracked on the word. “Come on, Ji.”

“I’m just tired,” he whispered. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

Silence pooled between you, at last you forced a smile neither of you believed. “All right. Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow never arrived—at least, not the kind where he told you what was wrong.

Because the next day Jisung never came to class at all.

Two whole days slid by without a glimpse of him and you were so on edge you kept glancing over your shoulder, half‑expecting his soft voice behind you. Or hoping he might walk into the library with that shy lopsided smile, asking if you had spare parchment which he always ran out of because his handwriting was too big and messy.

But he wasn’t anywhere, and no one seemed willing to notice besides you.

By lunch on the second day you couldn’t keep silent. Renjun was halfway through a Honeydukes bar, mumbling that chocolate boosted cognitive function, when you leaned across the table and murmured, “Do you know what’s going on with Jisung?”

He froze mid‑bite. “What?”

“Renjun,” you said, low and tight, “you know he hasn’t been to class, or in the common room. He isn’t anywhere.”

“I thought he was sick,” Renjun offered with a shrug that felt rehearsed.

“He isn’t in the hospital wing, and he hasn’t answered any of my owls.”

A flicker of something, maybe guilt, crossed his face. “Maybe he just… needs space?”

Your gaze sharpened. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he blurted too fast. “No, not that I know of.”

“Renjun.”

“I swear, I don’t know.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. That was answer enough, but you let it drop for now.

That evening, heading back from a prefect meeting, you passed the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room and heard voices up the corridor.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—until one word snapped you still.

“Jisung.”

“Snape got to him before—”

“—thought he was going to die, mate—”

“—Seungmin won’t shut up, keeps saying it wasn’t meant to go that far—”

A rush of blood pounded in your ears as you picked up bits of the hushed conversation. You edged closer and caught sight of Jay and Niki—Seungmin’s friends—half hidden in the shadows, whispering behind cupped hands.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. Your thoughts finally being confirmed; Something happened to Jisung and Seungmin was at the heart of it.

You didn’t sleep a minute that night. Every time you shut your eyes, the conversation replayed in your head until dawn bled through the curtains and you were already out of bed, fury keeping you upright.

You found Seungmin loitering outside the Great Hall, laughing too loudly at something Jay and Niki had said. You crossed the marble floor without a second thought.

“Where is he?”

The smile slipped from Seungmin’s face. He cocked his head, all polite confusion. “Sorry, where’s who?”

“Drop the act,” you said, stepping close enough that he had to tilt his chin to keep eye contact. “I heard your lackeys talking last night. Where’s Jisung?”

Jay and Niki exchanged a look but said nothing..

Seungmin gave a thin, brittle laugh. “You’re hearing ghosts, sweetheart. Why would I bother with Park?”

“A better question,” you started, voice cold, “is why you’ve been so attached to him lately. You don’t exactly run in the same circles, so what did you talk him into?”

Something sharpened in Seungmin’s eyes and he leaned in by a fraction. “Careful with what you’re accusing me of.”

“Or what?” You didn’t move. “You’ll do to me what you did to him?”

For a heartbeat his mask slipped, just long enough to confirm you’d scored a direct hit.

“I didn’t touch him,” he said, almost gently. “Whatever mess Park’s in? He walked into it himself”

“Liar.”

He dipped his head, a mock‑sympathetic smile curling at his mouth. “You think you know him so well, huh? Ever think that maybe he finally got tired of you shadowing him like a needy bitc—”

Your wand was at his throat before the last word finished leaving his lips. The corridor went silent except for your breathing.

“You know nothing about us,” you said, voice shaking with contained fury. “If he’s hurt, I’ll make sure everyone here knows exactly whose fault it is.”

Seungmin’s gaze flicked to the tip of your wand, then back to your face. A slow, poisonous smile spread. “Ask too many questions, Y/N, and you might choke on the answers.”

He stepped back with his hands raised in surrender, and strolled away. Jay and Niki followed in uneasy silence. You lowered your wand, fingers trembling with adrenaline.

His parting smile told you everything about his involvement. But you still didn’t have clear answers.

So you went to seek the other person allegedly involved. Snape.

When you descended into the dungeons, the silence was immediate and unnatural. No one ever came this far during free periods; only Professor Snape’s office existed at the end of this corridor, buried deep in the coldest, most isolated part of the castle.

Faint green flames floated midair along the walls, suspended in enchanted sconces that made no sound and cast no warmth. They pulsed gently, like breathing, and their glow warped the stone around them, making the shadows twist in ways that defied logic.

You hated it down here. Even now, in your seventh year, walking this corridor alone made your heart thud against your ribs like it wanted you to turn back.

But you were desperate.

Snape looked up slowly when you stepped into his office without knocking, his quill pausing mid-sentence on the parchment. His expression went from mildly irritated to coldly displeased in an instant.

“Is knocking a forgotten concept these days?” he said dryly.

“Professor,” you began quickly, not even trying to hide the urgency in your voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Snape set down his quill, arching a single eyebrow. “Then I suggest you start talking, and make it quick.”

You swallowed. “It’s about Jisung… Park Jisung. He’s been missing for days, and no one seems to know anything. Or at least, they’re pretending they don’t.”

His gaze sharpened and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of caution behind his eyes before he quickly masked it.

“I fail to see why you’re bringing this to me,” he said coolly, leaning back in his chair. “Missing students are a matter for the headmaster.”

“Don’t,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but you pressed forward anyway. “I overheard some students talking. They mentioned your name…said you found Jisung somewhere. Something happened to him, didn’t it?”

Snape’s eyes flashed briefly. “And you believe the idle gossip of students because…?”

“Jisung wouldn’t just disappear on his own like that. I know something happened to him,” you shot back, voice shaking. “And I believe you know exactly what.”

He watched you silently for a moment. You could feel him weighing something behind his guarded stare. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“Miss Y/N,” he began slowly, voice heavy with thinly veiled warning, “there are things within these castle walls and beyond them that you are better off not knowing.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you said immediately.

“On the contrary,” he replied calmly. “It is precisely my choice. And you will do well to remember that.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, frustration prickling hot behind your eyes. “Professor, please. Jisung’s my best friend. If he’s hurt… if something’s happened… I need to know.”

Something shifted in Snape’s expression at your words, almost looked like regret. When he spoke, his voice was almost gentle, which frightened you more than his scorn.

“Sometimes the worst harm you can do to someone is to keep prying.”

He paused, holding your gaze steadily. “Park is alive. That is all you need to know. Now leave.”

You stood frozen for a second, his words sinking in painfully. Jisung was alive—yet somehow, that felt worse. It meant something had happened… Something terrible.

Your jaw tightened. “You can’t keep this hidden forever,” you whispered fiercely.

He leaned forward, eyes piercing yours in the darkness of the room.

“We’ll see.”

You turned away, storming from his office without looking back. Snape hadn’t denied anything which meant there’d definitely been an incident and it was serious enough that Jisung couldn’t be seen right now. He was alive, but he was hurt, and whatever happened to him was being deliberately hidden.

A few days later

The day started like any other.

You pushed cold eggs across your plate, half listening to Renjun’s gentle attempts at conversation while the Great Hall hummed as if a student hadn’t been missing for a week. But suddenly, a hush rolled through the room.

You felt Renjun touch your arm.

“Y/N.”

You looked up, and followed his gaze toward the doors. The breath caught in your throat.

Jisung was standing just inside the oak doors.

He was bent at the shoulders, eyes flicking over the Hall as if he didn’t remember ever being there before. His robes hung wrinkled and loose and there were red scratches carved along his neck and cheek. He was paler than before and the shadows beneath his eyes made him look years older than when you’d last seen him.

Without greeting anyone, he drifted to the far end of the Hufflepuff table nowhere near his usual seat beside you.

You were on your feet before the thought finished forming.

Renjun caught your wrist. “Y/N, maybe wait—”

You shook him off and crossed the hall, every step echoing in the sudden quiet.

“Jisung?”

He flinched but kept his gaze on the empty plate. “Not now, Y/N.”

“You’ve been gone a week,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I was so worried—”

“I said not now.” The snap in his voice was sharp enough to cut. He glanced up and the terror in his eyes chilled you to the bone.

You reached for him, but he stood so abruptly your balance faltered. Without another word he strode the length of the hall and disappeared through the doors, leaving a silence that seemed to bend the rafters.

You stood frozen, heat flushing your face as dozens of eyes slid away. Renjun appeared at your elbow and talked softly. “Let him breathe.”

You nodded, though the emptiness in your chest insisted otherwise.

Jisung returned to lessons, but only in body. He answered professors in one‑word murmurs and offered classmates strained smiles that meant please don’t talk to me. At meals he sat alone, two yards of empty bench marking the space where laughter used to live.

He moved faster when he saw you in the corridors. He no longer waited outside classrooms or drifted toward your chair in the library. His robes hung loose as if he’d lost weight along with sleep, and his hands shook whenever he raised his wand. Sometimes you caught him staring through stone walls at something only he could see.

You tried with soft hellos in the common room, and owls folded with careful questions but every attempt slid off the wall he’d built overnight. The harder you reached, the farther he retreated, until all that remained between you was silence and the memory of how easily you’d once shared the same breath.

2 days later

Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his shaking hands. His palms were marked with crescent-shaped indentations from how hard he was clenching his fists.

He kept hearing it.

The snap of branches in pitch-black darkness. The sickening crunch of claws sinking into damp earth. The guttural snarl vibrating through his bones moments before razor-sharp teeth pierced his shoulder. The thick warmth of blood soaking through his robes.

Sometimes it came to him in dreams. Other times, he’d be awake, in class, or walking down the corridor. A sound, or a smell and he was back in the forest.

Snape had said the wolfsbane would help and it had in a way. At least, it kept the full transformation at bay. But it didn’t stop the memories, it didn’t quiet the noise in his head.

His senses were too sharp now, every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of candlelight, every rustle of parchment felt louder. Sometimes he thought he could hear people’s heartbeats, smell their sweat before they entered a room. His insides constantly felt overwhelmed with unbearable energy. He felt trapped in his own skin, moments away from tearing free of himself. Sometimes he felt too much, and other times… he felt nothing at all.

Worst of all, though, was you.

He couldn't stand to be near you anymore. Not because he didn't want to, but because your scent now stirred something dangerous within him. It made his chest ache unbearably, tightened his throat with longing and thirst.

A part of him urged him to get far away from you. But another darker, more primal part whispered the opposite… to scent you, to sink into you, to lose control entirely. But he refused to drag you into his nightmare. He wouldn't allow it, no matter how much it tore at him.

He could remember most of what led him into the forest, up to a certain point.

He remembers Seungmin saying he wanted to hang out and they met near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where one of the slytherins handed out something called shadeleaf. It was an iridescent petal folded into itself like a capsule. Illegal, of course. Banned by the ministry for its hallucinogenic properties and its tendency to react differently based on magical affinity.

Jisung didn't even know why he was there. This wasn’t his scene at all. The guys were drinking something out of a flask that smelled like burnt sugar and smoke. Jay was lighting up a rolled spell-scroll with charmed embers. Niki already looked half out of it, eyes glazed.

When Seungmin started showing an interest in him a few weeks ago, Jisung had been flattered. He'd only ever made two close friends at Hogwarts, so someone new noticing him felt good. That was the only reason he went along with him. He wanted to be accepted.

“Is it safe?” Jisung asked nervously.

“Come on, park,” Niki chuckled, placing a shimmering petal on his tongue. “Don’t be a Squib.”

“What's the worst that could happen?” Seungmin grinned, handing one to him. “You trip a bit? See some weird shit? Wake up with a headache?”

Jisung hesitated, staring at the thing in his palm. It pulsed faintly with a color he didn’t have a name for.

He didn't want to do it, but they were all watching him. So he took it.

The effects hit almost instantly. His vision went fuzzy first; he could only see edges warping and light bending at impossible angles. Then his tongue tingled and throbbed, and his body felt too hot.

“Shit, this is strong,” Jay laughed.

“It’s not that bad,” Seungmin said, puffing from the smoldering scroll between his fingers.

None of them looked as affected as Jisung.

"Come on, Park," Seungmin said, draping an arm casually yet firmly around Jisung’s shoulders. "There’s a spot a little deeper in. We hang out there all the time."

Jisung couldn’t hear properly anymore, everything sounded underwater. He followed anyway.

He couldn’t say how long they walked. It felt like hours, though in reality it was probably mere minutes before his knees gave out, sending him sprawling onto the cold forest floor. His head spun violently, vision fractured.

He tried to speak, to call out but his voice didn't work, the forest blurring darker and darker until only silence and blackness swallowed him whole. He didn’t know when they left him. Just that at some point, he was alone.

The last thing he remembers was seeing bright, yellow eyes and feeling immense pain…

He woke up choking on his own blood.

His body jerked violently, lungs burning as he struggled to take in air. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders, pulling him upright with urgency. Through blurry, half-open eyes, he caught the outline of a wand glowing faintly in the dark. He barely recognized the familiar cadence of Professor Snape’s voice echoing through the haze.

“Park… Can you hear me?” Snape’s voice was clipped, edged with tension he’d never heard before.

Jisung managed only a strangled groan. He couldn’t speak, his throat was raw, filled with the metallic tang of blood. Breathing felt impossible, each gasp shallow and painful, as if his lungs were full of lead. He felt wetness soaking through his clothes and pooling beneath him. He didn't know if it was sweat or blood. Probably both, his clouded mind whispered darkly.

He was certain of only one thing—he was going to die here.

“You’ve been attacked,” Snape explained urgently, casting quick charms that rippled warmly across Jisung’s battered body. “I need you to remain as still as possible while I attempt to slow the bleeding.”

The word attacked echoed faintly in Jisung’s mind. Attacked by what? His thoughts swirled sluggishly. He couldn’t focus enough to piece anything together.

Snape pressed a small vial to his lips. The Hufflepuff hesitated, eyes flickering up weakly, his question dying soundlessly on cracked lips.

Snape seemed to understand instantly. “It’s Wolfsbane.”

The word crashed over Jisung with crushing weight, his mind snapping painfully back to clarity. Wolfsbane. A potion for…

His stomach twisted violently, nausea gripping him as realization cut sharply through the fog in his mind.

He’d been attacked by a werewolf.

It felt impossible. He wanted to deny it, wanted to believe it was just some twisted nightmare brought on by the drugs he’d foolishly taken. But the pain burning through his shoulder and the dark, grim expression on Snape’s face all made denial impossible.

With trembling lips, Jisung allowed Snape to tip the bitter potion into his mouth, grimacing weakly as he forced himself to swallow it down. It tasted vile but he had no energy left to protest.

He collapsed back against the cold forest floor, limbs heavy, vision fading once more as Snape continued muttering charms, trying to keep him tethered to consciousness.

“Stay with me, Park,” Snape’s voice commanded, sharp but oddly comforting. “You’re not going to die tonight.”

But Jisung wasn’t sure he believed him.

The darkness rushed back in, heavy and thick, pulling him under again as Snape’s frantic movements blurred and faded away.

His memory is fuzzy from then on.

One moment he was lying in the dirt, blood soaking the ground beneath him. The next, he was being levitated through narrow hallways, his body wrapped in magic and warding charms.

The room was dark, except for a wandlight hovering near the ceiling. He was placed on a dusty mattress on the floor. His skin felt stiff with blood, every muscle felt like it had been peeled apart and sewn back together with barbed wire.

He recognized the Shrieking Shack from an article he’d read once about the most haunted places on Earth. That’s where they were right now.

The shack was colder than he imagined. This was the place they used to tell ghost stories about in the common room. The place kids dared each other to peek into on Hogsmeade weekends. It smelled like old wood and dust. Snape moved through it like he’d been here before—like this was routine.

He cast a dozen silent spells before even speaking. Layers of enchantments wrapped around the rotting floorboards, the shattered furniture, the warped windows.

“You must take this Wolfsbane every day,” Snape said curtly, setting a tray on the floor beside the creaking mattress. “Or I’ll force it down your throat.”

Jisung didn’t answer. Snape paused, studying him with that unreadable stare.

“You’ll stay here until the full moon passes,” he said. “You’ll say nothing when you return.”

Jisung blinked slowly, the weight of it sinking into his bones. ‘When you return… or If’.

Then Snape turned to go but he stopped in the doorway.

“You are not the first,” he said, voice low. “It will be painful but you’ll survive.”

And with that, he was gone.

The silence was the most unbearable part of being in the Shack. Not even the pain or the way Jisung’s bones ached like they were preparing to snap apart. It was the silence that made him feel like he’d go crazy any minute.

He tried to sleep, but whenever he tried he’d blink awake to phantom sensations of fur brushing his skin, fangs pushing against his teeth, and a sweet scent of honey curling through the cracks in the floorboards.

It wasn’t the full moon yet but his body was already responding to it. The Wolfsbane kept him from changing completely, but it didn’t stop everything. His skin itched as if it was being stretched and he realized he’d grown a few inches taller overnight. His eyes were also becoming sensitive to even the faintest flickers of light, and they were a dark shade of yellow that glowed whenever the moonlight hit them.

It might’ve been on the second night or the third, he couldn’t remember well, but Snape came in and told him that the full moon would be at its peak and he would feel the effects more despite the potion.

Jisung lasted about two hours before the pain began. It wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly, like frostbite, numbing his fingers first. Then his wrists and his legs. He thought maybe this was it—maybe he’d just fade out before anything happened. Then it spread up his spine and into his skull, where it bloomed behind his eyes like fire.

The pain was so much bigger than his body. It burned and it shredded him, as if his bones were being broken and rebuilt at the same time, like his skin wasn’t big enough to hold him anymore. He scratched at his own arms until his nails cracked and bled. It got so unbearable he slammed his head against the wall hoping he would knock himself out but he couldn’t.

He clawed at the walls, tore at the floorboards and bit into the wood until his mouth filled with splinters and blood. He howled until his throat tore raw. And still, it didn’t stop

He lost count of how many times his limbs broke and reformed. His jaw cracked open so wide he thought it might dislocate, teeth pushing through bloody gums. He was sobbing or at least, he thought he was. It was hard to tell over the sound of his own growling.

The transformation stopped halfway and started again the next day. He never fully transformed but he felt the pain of his body trying to fight against it every single time.

He stopped counting days after that.

Hunger and exhaustion tangled with grief and fear until all that was left was the throb of his body and the steady hum of magic in his blood. He didn’t think about the pain anymore. Or the bite. Or Seungmin. Or the forest.

Mostly, he thought about you.

He tried not to, but you wouldn’t leave him. Your face, your laugh, your voice, it all circled him like the moonlight through the slats in the wall.

The way the thought of you made his body burn now.The way your honeyed scent used to be comforting but now made his lungs tighten and his mouth water. He didn’t understand why he was feeling this way.

On the seventh day he woke up soaked in sweat, shivering uncontrollably. The moon had passed. He could feel it in the way the ache in his bones was retreating and his mind was clearer.

Snape arrived at dawn.

He said nothing about the mess of blood and broken furniture in the room. He just studied Jisung who was sitting slumped against the wall. He pulled out his wand and started casting diagnostic spells over his body.

“You’ll return to class tomorrow,” he said. “If anyone asks, you were ill.”

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape continued impassively. “You are not to mention the Wolfsbane, the forest, or what you’ve become. Do you understand?”

Jisung finally looked at him, barely able to lift his head properly. “That’s it? Just… go back like nothing happened?” His voice came out hoarse.

Snape’s eyes narrowed faintly. “No. That is not it.”

He stepped closer.

“You will take your potion every cycle, no matter what. And you will not seek out the other boys involved, nor will you retaliate.”

Jisung’s jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to rip Seungmin’s throat apart, but he knew that was just the wolf thinking.

“And most importantly, you will stay away from her.” Snape said, his voice dropping at the last word.

Jisung sat up sharply, knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Why?”

The professor’s expression didn’t soften. “Because the wolf doesn’t care that she’s your friend. It doesn’t care about boundaries or guilt or decency. It responds to need.”

Jisung’s chest tightened, throat dry.

“The first few transformations are the worst,” Snape continued, pacing slowly now. “Your body hasn’t adjusted. Your instincts haven’t aligned with your mind. You will feel urges…violent, territorial, carnal urges that you can’t control. Those urges will turn into fixations... Especially for someone you already had feelings for”

“I don’t–” Jisung started.

“You don’t need to lie, Mr. Park.” Snape cut him off, “I am a very skilled Legilimens, you know? I can see your mind and I see how it’s filled with thoughts of her.”

Jisung looked away, jaw trembling slightly. Snape stopped in front of him.

“Her scent” he said quietly. “It already triggers you, doesn’t it?”

Jisung didn’t answer. That sweet scent of honey and parchment that he kept smelling through the rotting floors and the dried blood, he figured out it was you. It reminded him of that night at the Astronomy tower.The Shrieking Shack might be a few miles away from Hogwarts castle but he could still somehow smell you.

“You feel it in your chest, in your teeth, in your gut” Snape said, voice like a scalpel. “You want her.”

Jisung’s breathing picked up.

“That is the beginning of your rut.”

“Rut?” he repeated, barely above a whisper.

Snape nodded. “It’s a biological response. Wolves enter a heightened state after the full moon cycle. Some experience it more than others, especially younger ones who’ve recently turned”

Jisung’s heart was pounding now, nauseatingly fast.

“You may feel sudden impulses or worse you might want to act on those impulses.”

He felt sick. “I’m not— I would never hurt her.”

“I’m not concerned about your intentions,” Snape said coldly. “I’m concerned about your self control. A werewolf’s instincts are hard to resist and if you lose control, Mr. Park… She will pay the price.”

“So stay away from her,” Snape said with finality. “It’s the only way to keep you both safe.”

Jisung sat there shaking, the weight of what he’d become pressing down on his spine like a second body.

He couldn’t go back. Not like this.

“I’m not ready,” he said hoarsely.

Snape didn’t turn. He stood by the window, watching the last of the night dissolve into grey morning.

“You won’t ever be,” he said simply.

Jisung clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to see her. Or anyone. I—I can’t trust myself.”

“You must learn to live with your current situation.”

“Why can’t I just… stay here?”

Snape turned at that. His eyes were cold and calculating.

“Because people are already asking questions,” he said. “Students, staff. Your friend.”

Jisung’s heart stuttered at that.

“She’s worried,” Snape continued. “Rightfully so. You disappeared without warning. She’s been to my office several times. She’s even confronted the student who got you into this predicament, pulled out a wand at him. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her from endangering herself trying to find you.”

Jisung lowered his head, guilt flooding every nerve.

“Rumors are spreading, too.” Snape added. “A few students are saying they saw you with Mr. Lee that night. Some think you were injured, others that you’re in trouble. You’ve already been gone too long.”

Jisung swallowed hard. “So I just walk into the Great Hall acting like I’m normal?”

Snape didn’t blink. “Yes.”

His stomach turned. “And if someone sees the scars?”

“You’ll say you had an accident in the forest.”

“And you’ll back me up?” he asked bitterly.

“If I must.”

Jisung exhaled shakily. “And Y/N? We—we’re always together, she’ll find it weird if I suddenly cut her off”

“You’ll keep your distance regardless. If she asks questions, you deflect. If she pushes, you walk away. You’re not safe around her”

He bit his lip hard, so hard it almost bled. “She’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Then hope she’s smart enough not to get too close.”

The doors to the Great Hall had never felt so heavy. Jisung stood in front of them for nearly five minutes, staring at the carved wood. Behind them, he heard laughter, casual conversation, normalcy.

He wasn’t ready.

But Snape’s words echoed in his skull.

"You’ve already been gone too long."

He took a breath and pushed them open.

All the noise overcame him like a wave, the plates clinking, voices overlapping, owls fluttering through the rafters. It all felt loud in a way it hadn’t before, as if someone had turned the world’s volume up just to punish him.

He kept his head low and his pace steady. One foot in front of the other. Just like Snape said. Act like nothing happened.

He could feel all eyes on him almost instantly. First years stopping mid-bite and a few seventh-years whispering across the Gryffindor table. Someone, he thought maybe Jay, froze with a goblet halfway to his lips.

And then you. He didn’t have to loo, he felt the second your eyes landed on him, making something twist deep in his chest. That same unbearable tightness he’d felt in the shack whenever he let himself think about you. About your laugh echoing across the common room. About your fingers brushing his when you passed him a quill and how it used to mean nothing, and now it meant everything.

He knew you’d notice the hollow look in his eyes, the bruises blooming like violets on his neck and the bandage peeking out from beneath the collar of his robes. You’d find it weird that he didn’t sit near you, didn’t even glance your way. But he tried to ignore those thoughts and just focus on the plate in front of him even though his stomach turned at the smell of food.

You stared at him from your seat. It took you several long, painful seconds to process what you were seeing.

Jisung—your best friend, who’d been missing a week without a word—just walked into breakfast looking like he’d seen hell and barely made it back out.

His robes were loose like he’d lost weight and his eyes were ringed with dark circles, exhaustion written clearly in every line of his face. There were cuts visible, thin red marks down his jaw, a deeper scar stretching beneath his collar, fading bruises on the backs of his hands. His hair was tangled, his posture painfully tense.

You felt a sick sense of relief after seeing him, despite his appearance. But most of all you felt angry. You felt everything all at once, a hot rush of emotions almost too intense to handle.

Jisung avoided your gaze completely. He picked at the food in front of him, not really eating, just pushing it around his plate.

He felt you approaching before you spoke. Your scent hit him first, warm and familiar, yet unbearably intense. His jaw clenched tight, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He didn’t look up even when you stood near him. He simply couldn’t trust himself to see your face and not fall apart.

You called his name quietly and he almost cried at the sound of your voice. But he didn’t move, not even when you stepped closer.

Slowly, he raised his head, gaze finally meeting yours You went still, eyes widening just slightly. He knew instantly what you saw—the darkness in his stare, the shadowed bruises, the fresh scars. The way he looked wrong.

He couldn’t bear your pained eyes, so he snapped at you. Something he’d never do before, but Snape told him to deflect. So he yelled and walked away, trying to ignore how hurt you looked.

This was what Snape meant. You’re not safe around her.

You couldn’t eat after that. Not with the way he’d looked at you.

Jisung had always been soft-spoken, a little awkward, a little shy—but never cold. And you didn’t need a Healer to tell you that whatever he’d gone through wasn’t some stomach bug or routine cold. You weren’t stupid.

You saw the tremble in his fingers when he reached for his fork. You saw the way he flinched when someone behind him dropped their goblet. You saw the bruises just under his collar and the bandages.

Something happened to him.

You sat back down but your heart was still up at the other end of the table with him.

“I need to know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Renjun.

He sighed. “Y/N…”

“Don’t say it,” you snapped quietly. “Don’t say I should give him time. Don’t say he’ll come around. I know him, Renjun. He’s scared. You don’t just disappear for a week and come back with claw marks on you neck.”

Renjun went quiet.

That silence told you more than anything else.

“Okay, I’m tired of this… You know something, don’t you?”

He avoided your gaze. “It’s not my place to say.”

That hurt. “Is it mine to not know?”

You stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. “If no one’s going to tell me the truth, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Over the next few days, you tried to get close to Jisung in every way you could think of. You waited for him outside the greenhouses after Herbology, hoping to catch him alone. You switched seats in Charms just to be nearer, and sometimes you even loitered in the corridor after Potions, telling yourself you’d walk him back to the common room.

Despite your best efforts, he continually slipped away.

He offered awkward excuses about having somewhere to be, or sometimes said nothing at all and just walked past. Most of the time, he barely managed to look at you, as if doing so caused him physical pain. This wasn’t an icy kind of avoidance, nor was it tinged with anger. It felt worse than either of those possibilities—it was as though he found everything about you unbearable, but still couldn’t muster the energy to explain why.

Once, you nearly cornered him after lunch. He was leaning against the corridor wall outside the Great Hall, head tipped back, looking utterly exhausted. In that unguarded moment, your eyes met his, and you thought you glimpsed your old friend beneath the tension he carried. Summoning the nerve you’d been collecting all day, you stepped forward.

“Can we talk?” you asked softly.

For a split second, it seemed like he might say yes. His mouth opened as though he wanted to form the words but then Professor Snape’s voice echoed from behind you.

“Miss Y/N.”

You turned around to find Snape standing there, unruffled as always, robes hanging in sharp lines. He inclined his head in an almost polite manner yet still carried the weight of an order.

“I need you to come to the dungeons,” he said in a measured tone. “There are ingredients that require sorting. I trust your handwriting is still legible.”

You tried to protest, but as soon as you turned back, Jisung had vanished. From that moment on, it became a pattern: every time you got too close to him, Snape appeared with some new task for you—an extended office hour to discuss a mistake in an essay, a request to reorganize outdated potions, or a perfectly timed interruption just as you were about to speak with Jisung privately.

On a rational level, you knew it was ridiculous to think Snape was orchestrating this on purpose; however, it was impossible to ignore how consistently he managed to swoop in whenever you finally had a chance to approach Jisung alone. You didn’t know why your professor was so intent on calling you away, and truthfully it wasn’t the main issue gripping your mind.

All you could focus on was Jisung.

He looked so different—worn down, scared, ashamed, like he was carrying a secret that weighed on his shoulders every moment of the day. Every time you tried to reach him, he withdrew further. It broke your heart, because you weren’t trying to fix him or make him talk if he didn’t want to. You just wanted to be there, to stand by him instead of watching from a distance.

Yet no matter how hard you tried, the boy who used to seek you out for study breaks and late-night jokes now seemed determined to avoid you. And the more distance he forced, the more you wanted to find out what had really happened, because this Jisung—the one who flinched when you spoke and looked away when you caught his eye—felt like a stranger wearing your best friend’s face.

It was late, far too late for anyone else to be out of bed. So when you heard commotion up in the Astronomy Tower during one of your prefect rounds, you instinctively climbed the stairs to inspect, your wand held loosely in your fingertips.

The castle had felt too quiet lately. Ever since Jisung came back, everything had been off balance. You’d even taken extra patrols just to keep your mind busy. You weren’t expecting to find anything up there except maybe a few rowdy owls.

But when you pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Astronomy Tower, you froze at the sight.

Jisung was there, hunched against the railing, his robes half-open, hands gripping the stone balustrade so tightly you saw his knuckles pale even from across the room.

"Jisung?" you said softly, hesitant.

His head snapped up instantly, and your breath caught in your throat.

His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, irises shimmering unnaturally gold beneath the moonlight. Sweat gleamed across his pale forehead, his hair was messy and damp, sticking to his face. His breathing came harsh and fast, almost feral.

You took a cautious step forward. "Jisung, are you okay?"

"Stay back," he choked out, voice strained and rough. "Don't come closer."

But you saw the tremble in his arms, the feverish brightness in his eyes. He looked sick. He looked scared.

"What’s wrong? Let me help—"

"No." He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut as if fighting himself. "You can't—I'm not—"

He trailed off, stumbling forward as if pulled by some invisible force toward you. He was breathing heavily, lips parted as he seemed to taste the air between you.

"Jisung—"

Your voice cut off as his gaze snapped sharply to yours again, something raw and dangerous flaring in his eyes. It sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you instinctively backed away half a step.

"Leave," he hissed, the word barely recognizable through his clenched teeth. His whole body seemed rigid with tension. "Please, leave before—"

He broke off with a gasp, doubling over as though a wave of pain had just wracked through him.

You rushed forward instinctively, panic clouding your caution. "Jisung!"

He moved faster than your eyes could track. One moment he was curled into himself and the next he had you pinned against the cold stone floor, wrists pressed tightly beside your head, his face inches from yours, breath hot and erratic against your neck.

"Ji—" Your voice cracked. "What are you—"

He inhaled deeply against your throat, his body trembling against yours. "God, you smell so—" His voice was ragged and broken, almost a sob. "I can't—I can't stop it, I—"

He pressed closer instinctively, hips pinning you hard against the floor. His lips grazed roughly against your neck, sharp teeth skimming dangerously along your pulse point. Your heart slammed against your ribs, fear tangled confusingly with something hot in your lower belly.

"Jisung, please," you whispered, half plea, half gasp. "You're scaring me."

Those words seemed to pierce through whatever haze had overtaken him. He jerked back, eyes wide, suddenly horrified at himself. His gaze flicked down to your wrists, already bruising beneath his grip, and he stumbled away as if burned.

"No," he whispered, horror and guilt bleeding openly into his expression. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"

You stayed frozen on the floor, chest heaving as you watched the agony twist across his face.

"What’s happening to you?" you breathed, sitting up slowly.

He stared at you, anguished, hands still trembling at his sides.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I—I'm so sorry."

Before you could say another word, he turned sharply and bolted down the stairs, leaving you alone, shaking, and terrified.

The Hufflepuff common room was quiet when you walked in. Most students had gone to bed, but Renjun sat alone on the couch.

You didn’t give him a chance to pretend he didn’t see you coming.

“You’re going to tell me what happened.”

Renjun sighed, not looking away from the fire. “Y/N…”

“No,” you said, standing in front of him. “No more deflecting. You’ve known something since the day he came back.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know the whole story.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

Silence.

You crossed your arms. “Do you really think I’m going to stop asking? You’ve seen him. You know he’s not okay. And no one’s saying anything, and I’m losing my mind because—” your voice cracked, just slightly— “because that’s my best friend.”

Renjun’s shoulders slumped. He looked like he aged ten years in a second.

“Seungmin and his friends... they planned something,” he said quietly.

Your chest went still.

“I only heard a conversation between Professor Sprout and Professor Snape,” he continued. “But apparently they were hanging out near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Seungmin gave Jisung something. A potion or… some kind of enchanted hallucinogen.”

Renjun looked up at you, guilt heavy in his eyes even though he hadn’t been there. “They led him into the forest, Y/N… And something attacked him.”

You stared at him, voice thick with dread. “Something?”

Renjun hesitated. “Snape... Snape was the one who found him.”

You felt cold all over. “What was it?”

He looked away.

“Renjun. What was it.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“A werewolf.”

A gasp got stuck in your throat.

“I don’t know how bad it was,” Renjun said softly. “But apparently Professor Snape had to lock him up for a week while he went through the transformation.”

Tears stung behind your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to believe it myself….”

You sank into the chair across from him, everything too heavy to stand.

“A werewolf,” you whispered.

He nodded and suddenly, so many things clicked at once. Suddenly it all made sense.

After Renjun told you, you couldn’t sleep.

You sat in your bed staring at the ceiling until the sun started bleeding through the windows, and then you slipped out of the dorms without a word. You went straight to the library and stayed there all morning.

Madam Pince gave you a curious glance when you asked to go into the Restricted Section after looking through every other possible book in the regular shelves and finding nothing of value. You dropped Professor Babbling’s name as your excuse—said you were doing independent research for an Arithmancy paper. She didn’t ask further, just handed you a list of approved titles and waved you through.

You didn’t touch a single one of them. Instead, you searched for everything you could find on werewolves.

They were mostly old, dusty books with creaking spines and brittle pages. Most seemed to be more folklore than facts but you found a text buried near the bottom of a shelf, half its title burned off the spine.

Lycanthropy and Lunar Madness: A Clinical Compendium.

The chapters were brutal. You read about the first changes, the muscle pain, the sensory overload. The way magic in the blood would flare, fight back, burn from the inside out. You read about the violence, how the mind slips away when the full moon peaks, how instincts override everything else.

But what caught your atention the most was this:

“In cases of recent infection, the afflicted may experience an attraction fixation, often triggered by proximity to a familiar person. This response is especially common in individuals whose first transformation occurs during adolescence or early adulthood.

The instinct is not always sexual, but it is always possessive. The werewolf’s senses recognize the person as a source of comfort or danger. When comfort, the fixation can lead to obsessive behavior, rut-like symptoms, and irrational aggression if the person is perceived as threatened or unattainable. When danger, it can lead to avoidance or attack. Scent is the most common anchor. Once imprinted, it is nearly impossible for the werewolf to ignore.”

Your throat tightened. You re-read the paragraph five times.

It made sense, too much sense. His distance, his flinching, the way he couldn’t look at you anymore.

Your scent.

You remembered how he looked at you that morning in the Great Hall. How he barely breathed when you stood too close and how he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you asked what happened. And last night in the Atronomy Tower, he said you smelled good and it looked like he wanted to eat you alive.

You closed the book with shaky hands and then checked out four more. You didn’t stop reading until your eyes blurred. You didn’t eat or go to class.

By the time the sky outside the window started darkening, you were sitting at a corner table, surrounded by open tomes and loose parchment covered in frantic notes—everything you could find about Wolfsbane, Snape’s potion-making reputation, the legal status of werewolves in magical Britain, and every known case of student infection in the last fifty years.

You turned the page again.

Magical Intervention

“Wolfsbane Potion, taken daily during the week of the full moon, prevents transformation but does not erase the instinctual response. It is crucial that young werewolves are supervised during their first year of turning, especially if they experience early signs of rut.

If left unmonitored, the werewolf may become a threat not only to others—but to themselves.”

You found another book next. Not on lycanthropy, but on magical trauma. It mentioned Professor Snape by name.

“A known expert in dark creatures and cursed bloodlines, Professor Severus Snape has played a role in the treatment and monitoring of several underage werewolf cases, particularly after the war.”

You sat there for a long time, staring at the page, your mind buzzing. Snape knew, he was involved and he wasn’t just keeping the secret, he was managing it.

Which meant whatever happened to Jisung—Snape had seen it before. And he’d chosen not to tell you a thing.

You sat there in silence, your hands numb on the table. Snape had told him to stay away from you, that much was obvious now. But no one had told you what being near him could do.

You weren’t afraid of him. But for the first time, you understood why he was of you.

You left the library as the sky was starting to pale with early morning light, the forbidden books still echoing in your thoughts. You didn’t bother going to class again. You went directly to Snape’s office instead and waited there. When he finally arrived, he paused mid-step at the sight of you.

“Miss Y/N,” he said flatly. “You are not scheduled to meet with me.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward. “But I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. “I beg your par—”

“Did you know?” you cut in, voice trembling with restrained rage. “Did you know what would happen to him?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“I know that Jisung got attacked by a werewolf.”

Snape stilled.

“I went to the restricted section,” you continued. “I know what werewolves go through. I know about the rut cycle. The way someone can trigger it just by being close… Did you know it would be me?”

He didn’t speak, and that silence was an answer.

You took another step toward him. “You told him to stay away, didn’t you?”

Still silent.

You laughed bitterly. “What, were you going to wait until I ended up on the courtyard floor with his teeth in my neck before you decided to warn me?”

“Lower your voice,” Snape said sharply, eyes flicking toward the empty corridor.

“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to tell me what to do now when you left me in the dark about everything.”

“He is alive and you’re safe because of me,” he said sharply. “Do not mistake silence for neglect.”

“He’s barely alive,” you fired back. “He’s walking around like a ghost and you expect me to believe that’s your idea of help?”

“You think you want the truth but the truth is messy and dangerous. And the truth, Miss Y/N…” he stalked closer to you, almost menacingly “… is that your friend is not who he was anymore.”

“I know that!” you shouted, voice cracking. “But you made him think he was dangerous.”

“He is.”

“No,” you said fiercely. “He’s just scared and you’re feeding it.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what a werewolf in rut is capable of.”

“I do now.” You stepped closer again, voice trembling. “I’m not stupid or fragile. And I’m not going to stay away just because you think it’s better that way.”

“Miss Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped. “You can’t “protect me” by locking him away like some creature. He’s not a danger to me. What’s dangerous is isolating him, making him ashamed of something he didn’t choose.”

Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“And what will you do, then?” he asked. “If he loses control?”

“I’ll help him.” You exhaled, hands trembling. “I’m not afraid of him and he needs someone who isn’t.”

There was a long pause. Snape looked at you with something like pitty. Then he spoke, carefully.

“Then you’d better learn how to handle what’s coming.”

Knowing about Jisung’s condition didn’t bring the relief you thought it would. If anything, it made everything worse. Because now you understood that there was almost nothing you could do to save him from himself. And, like Professor Snape said, the safest option was to stay far away.

And you tried, but it was so hard.

You'd find yourself turning to complain about Professor Binns's endless lectures, only to realize it wasn't Jisung beside you, but Renjun—quiet, studious Renjun who never dared utter a complaint in class.

Or when you walked toward the kitchens out of habit, thinking maybe you'd sweet-talk the elves into some pumpkin tarts, only to remember it was Jisung who always did the charming.

Or when the night sky looked especially clear and you found yourself wanting to stargaze but realizing no one else knew how to trace constellations on your palm with their fingertip. And you couldn’t even remember their names without Jisung pointing them out to you.

Renjun tried. He filled the empty seat at meals, nodded at the right moments when you rambled, even agreed to sneak out once or twice. But he wasn’t Jisung. He didn’t know your weird inside jokes, didn’t lean his head on your shoulder when he got sleepy, didn’t touch your wrist when you got nervous.

You missed him so deeply it ached.

So, when you saw him slipping out of the common room one night you followed him without a second thought.

He moved quickly across the grounds, his hooded shape skimming the moonlit grass. You jogged to keep up, keeping low behind hedges and statues until he stopped beside the Whomping Willow. Your breath caught as he pressed a knot at the roots and the tree froze mid‑sway, its branches locking in eerie stillness. Then, an entrance yawned open.

You hesitated. Every instinct screamed that going after him was a terrible idea. But the thought of him hurting or worse, hurting alone was too much to bear.

So you followed.

The tunnel led you into the Shrieking Shack. A chill raced down your spine the moment you stepped inside. Rot and mildew clung to the walls, the floorboards seemed like they would give way with each step, and it smelled like old nightmares in there. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from gagging but you kept going, following the sounds of his ragged breathing upstairs into a dusty room.

You opened the door cautiously, barely an inch—but before you could fully register what was happening, Jisung lunged. He grabbed your arm, yanking you roughly inside and pinning you to the sagging mattress with a strength that startled you.

"Jisung—!" you gasped.

He loomed over you, eyes wild, glowing gold in the darkness. His expression was pained, almost feral.

"What—are you doing here?" he growled through gritted teeth. His voice was deep and barely recognizable.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I—I was worried. You missed all your classes…”

Something dark flared in his gaze, and he dropped his head, panting harshly against your throat. He inhaled deeply, shuddering as he pressed closer instinctively. Your breath hitched sharply, your body reacting involuntarily to his closeness.

"You shouldn't have come," he whispered brokenly, hands trembling where they gripped your wrists.

You swallowed, feeling his hips press involuntarily against yours and realizing exactly what was happening.

"Your rut," you whispered breathlessly, realization flooding you. "It's started, hasn't it?"

A helpless whimper slid from his throat as his hips rocked against you once more, his erection pressing unmistakably through his trousers. The desperate sound he made sent heat pooling in your stomach, despite the fear and confusion swirling inside you.

“You smell so fucking… good” He let out another ragged noise, and you reached out instinctively, resting a trembling hand against his cheek. His skin burned under your palm. He looked almost delirious, golden eyes flickering between human fear and something more feral.

You’d spent the past week reading about werewolves and their ruts, absorbing every detail you could from hidden texts and restricted tomes. You knew that once the rut hit, the urge for physical intimacy would become nearly unbearable. You also knew it was dangerous for you to be near him like this.

But as you stared at your best friend, trembling and half-broken with need, your heart clenched. You couldn’t just walk away.

“Jisung,” you said carefully, your voice shaking. “Did you take the Wolfsbane?”

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know… I think I didn’t—” He broke off, a pained groan tearing from his throat as he rocked forward, hips searching for contact.

Swallowing hard, you remembered the passage in the book. How an afflicted werewolf needed a trusted partner to help ease the rut’s consuming effects.

It felt like your heart was in your mouth.

“You—” he gasped, voice faint. “You can’t stay. I—if I hurt you—”

You cupped his other cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “You won’t,” you promised, though a part of you wasn’t entirely sure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, hips rutting forward again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now, I swear—”

“I want to help you,” you said softly. “Please let me.”

His pupils dilated immediately and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming but despite your own hammering pulse, you didn’t draw away.

Because somewhere deep inside, you knew this was the only way to help him.

His grip on your waist was bruising, claws just barely retracted. His body was sweat-slicked and trembling, panting through gritted teeth as he pressed himself flush against you.

“I warned you,” he growled, voice shaky with restraint. “I told you to leave.”

You pulled him closer up and felt how he shook under your touch. “You can have me”

He didn’t wait another second. Your clothes were suddenly nothing, the fabric ripped under his desperate hands. Your skin was bare before you had time to register the sound of seams tearing. His mouth found your throat instinctively, tongue tasting your pulse before he bit.

You winced at the pain and his hips rutted against your thigh, hard and frantic, his cock felt thick and straining through his trousers. He was whining soft, broken sounds between gritted teeth, like each second without you wrapped around him was tearing him open from the inside.

“You smell—fuck, you smell so good,” he gasped into your skin, humping against you harder. “I need—i need to be inside, I need—”

You spread your legs, breathless, head spinning from the force of it all. “I’m here, Sungie.”

He didn’t prep you, didn’t pause for a second—just spit on his fingers and shoved them inside you hard and fast. Stretching you wide while whispering obscenities you couldn’t even make sense of.

“So fucking tight—fuck—gonna ruin you—fill you up, knot you, make sure no one else ever gets to—”

You didn’t even realize he’d taken his cock out until you felt him line himself up with shaking hands, barely getting the tip in before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out and Jisung growled, slamming his hand beside your head, forehead pressed to yours, golden eyes glazed over.

“Mine,” he gasped. “Fuck… Mine. Mine. Mine—”

Suddenly, he shoved your knees up, pressing them tightly to your chest as his hips snapped forward, rough and desperate. You cried out sharply, feeling stretched too wide, overwhelmed by the rawness of him filling you again and again. His teeth dragged harshly against your throat, marking you repeatedly, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anyone mistaking you for anything but his.

You sobbed beneath him, your body caught between pain and a pleasure that blurred into something unbearable. Part of you wondered numbly if it would have changed anything if you'd told Jisung it was your first time—if it would've made him pause, slow down, be gentler. But you knew it wouldn't have mattered. He wasn't fully himself, and even if some part of him wanted to stop, he couldn't.

You felt it then, the swelling at his base. His knot beginning to expand, stretching your entrance wider with every punishing thrust. Panic mixed with need, your mind spinning as your walls spasmed around him.

“Gonna knot you,” he panted desperately, voice breaking as he slammed into you harder. “Can’t stop—fuck, you feel so perfect—gonna keep you like this forever—”

He thrust deeply one last time and locked himself inside, his knot catching and sealing him within you. You screamed, body jolting at the sudden fullness, the pressure almost too much. He shuddered violently above you, his cum flooding hot and deep, twitching through aftershocks that made your thighs quake and your vision blur.

You barely had time to gasp a breath before his knot began to soften, still pulsing faintly inside you. But Jisung didn’t stop, not even for a moment.

Before you could recover, he flipped you roughly onto your stomach, the mattress creaking sharply beneath you. He pressed into you again slowly, his breathing ragged and hot against your sweat-damp back. You trembled uncontrollably beneath him, arms shaking, barely able to keep yourself upright.

“Jisung, wait—” your voice broke, a thin plea lost beneath the rasp of his breath.

But he didn’t acknowledge your begging. One hand pinned your hip firmly, the other flattened between your shoulders, forcing you down into the sheets until you couldn’t move. You felt the ache building again as he pushed inside you once more, pushing mercilessly against your walls. Your thighs burned, your body instinctively arching to escape the overstimulation, but he wouldn’t allow you to shift away.

The moment he felt how wet and open you still were, the last shred of his restraint shattered. His rhythm turned frantic, his hips slamming into yours so fiercely the air was knocked from your lungs with every brutal stroke.

You moaned helplessly into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress as your body surrendered. He wasn’t speaking now, wasn’t asking if you were okay—all you heard were harsh, ragged sounds torn from his throat, desperate noises so primal and raw they made your skin burn hot with shameful need.

His movements grew rougher, your bodies locked in a rhythm that erased any remaining thought from your mind. Your senses narrowed until all you knew was the brutal heat between your thighs and the ache of him stretching you. You took every thrust, helpless to stop, unable to do anything but accept the ruthless force of his body on yours.

His teeth bit sharply into the back of your shoulder, fangs scraping against your skin until you gasped in pain. His grip tightened, fingers bruising your hips as he pounded into you without mercy, branding you with every brutal snap of his hips.

With one final thrust, he buried himself impossibly deep, and you felt the knot swell again—filling you, stretching you beyond limits as he locked himself inside with a guttural growl.

His whole body jerked, cock throbbing violently as he spilled into you again. It was so much cum it leaked around the thick swell of his knot, your walls clenching tight, helpless to hold it all in. He held still, panting, hands trembling as he stayed buried in you, locked and pulsing.

He stayed inside you for what felt like forever, body trembling from release, your muscles fluttering weakly around him. His breath came in uneven bursts against your skin.

But even then, you could feel that he wasn’t finished.

He rutted again and let out a feral sound low in his throat, one that sounded more like a growl than a moan. And then he was moving just enough to slip free with a wet sound that made both of you shiver.

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you. He dragged you onto your back again, spread your thighs wide, and settled between them with a single-minded hunger that made your whole body pulse with anticipation.

His gaze dropped the moment he pushed back in and he groaned, eyes locked between your legs with an obsessive intensity. Your walls clenched around him as his cock slid in with zero resistance. His breath hitched, and he stopped for just a second.

His mouth parted when he saw the shape of him pushing inside you, deep enough to press against your belly, the bulge rising with every brutal thrust. He pressed his palm against it and let out a wrecked moan. The sight of his cock inside your belly driving him halfway mad.

“Fuck,” he choked. “That's me? inside you?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a gasp as he rocked into you harder.

He watched your stomach move with every stroke, how your cunt took all of him, again and again, walls fluttering around his cock like your body was desperate to keep him.

He was mesmerized. Staring with wide, hungry eyes as hips snapped forward with more force. One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other pressing to your lower belly as he kept thrusting, rougher this time, watching the bulge disappear and return with every movement.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “you’re made for this—fuck—you’re made to take me like this—”

You could feel the knot swelling again, dragging harder against your soaked, overstretched entrance, until your legs started to shake. He braced both hands on either side of your hips, growled deep in his chest, and slammed forward. The knot forced its way in with a brutal stretch that made your eyes roll back.

His whole body jerked, head falling forward as a strangled moan left his lips. His cock twitched violently, knot fully buried, and you felt the rush of his cum flooding you again, deeper this time, deeper than anything had ever been.

His eyes were still locked on your lower stomach, wide and blown out with awe. The bulge in your belly pulsed with each twitch of his knot, round and taut with the sheer amount he’d pumped into you

“Look at that,” he whispered, almost dazed. “Look what I did to you.”

He reached out again, fingertips brushing against your stomach and the possessiveness in his voice made your body clench all over again.

“I'm inside you.”

He blinked, his eyes flickering to your face as he really looked at you for the first time.

You were trembling, bruised, and barely able to keep your legs from shaking. Your eyes were glassy, your body completely spent beneath him. And something in him seemed to return.

His hands gentled against your skin as he eased out of you slowly, knot slipping free with an aching stretch that made you whimper. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, but he didn’t leave you long. He kissed your thigh once, softly, as if in apology, and then lowered himself between your legs.

You barely had the strength to lift your head. “Ji—what are you doing…”

But he didn’t answer. Just held your thighs gently in his hands, spreading them open again but this time with reverence, not greed.

Then he licked a single, languid drag of his tongue that made your hips twitch weakly. He groaned low in his throat at the taste of you.

You whimpered, the oversensitivity almost unbearable but his hands kept you grounded. Thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, mouth moving with an aching kind of care. He sucked gently at your clit, tongue flicking in slow passes, easing the pain into something warmer.

You threaded trembling fingers through his hair, tugging gently.

His mouth grew more desperate by the second, tongue dipping lower and teasing at your entrance where his cum was still leaking out. He groaned at the taste, sucking softly, messy and slow, like he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you.

He buried himself there with his nose pressed into your skin, mouth drinking you. You let out a soft cry, hips twitching against his face, and his grip tightened just enough to hold you still as he circled your clit again, tender but insistent.

“I need to make it better,” he murmured into your skin, voice hoarse and reverent. “Let me—please…”

You didn’t answer but the way your legs shook around his head told him everything. So he stayed there—worshipping the mess he made, tongue moving slow and devoted, lips soft and endless. He lost himself in you.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pain.

It was deep and dull at first, but the moment you shifted, it sharpened—radiating through your thighs, your lower back, your hips. Your skin felt hot, stretched too thin in some places, sore in others. You winced as you tried to sit up, limbs trembling slightly from the effort.

Jisung was already awake. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from you, his robes wrapped tightly around him. His shoulders were stiff.

You swallowed through the dryness in your throat. “Ji?”

He stood up without looking at you.

You watched him move across the room, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He picked up your clothes from the floor—torn in multiple places, seams ripped from how desperately he’d removed them the night before—and with a flick of his wand, the fabric mended itself slowly in the air.

“Get dressed,” he said flatly. “I’ll help you get back to the hospital wing.”

You blinked. “Back to the—what?”

He turned then, just slightly, just enough to look at you briefly. His eyes were guilt-ridden.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “I can see it.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

“And I’m going to Snape later,” he continued. “I’m going to ask him to relocate me during the next cycle. Somewhere far from here.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Jisung, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he snapped. “Because this—” He gestured toward you, his voice colder now. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

Your heart twisted.

“I told you to stay away,” he said. “And I didn’t mean that to sound cruel. I meant it because I knew I’d lose control. And I did… and now look at you.”

He walked toward the cracked mirror, stopped a few feet in front of it, and gestured for you to come closer.

You hesitated.

“Please,” he said, quieter now. “Just… come here.”

You stood slowly, legs shaking slightly under your weight. You wrapped yourself in the blanket and stepped toward the mirror.

Your reflection made your breath hitch.

There were bruises on your neck, angry bite marks along your collarbone and shoulder. Finger-shaped welts on your hips and thighs. Your lips were still swollen from where he’d kissed you too hard. Some of the marks looked deep. Others looked like they might last days, if not longer.

“I didn’t know I was capable of this,” Jisung said behind you, voice cracking.

You looked at him through the mirror. His face was pale, jaw tight.

“I’d rather suffer the worst pain a rut could ever give me than ever touch you like that again.”

“Jisung—”

“No,” he cut you off. “You don’t understand. I didn’t even care if I was hurting you. I couldn’t think. You could’ve cried, begged, screamed, and I still would’ve—”

He stopped himself, breathing hard.

“I’m not going to let this happen again. I’ll talk to Snape. I’ll take whatever dose he gives me. I’ll lock myself somewhere no one can find me.”

You stepped forward, reaching for him, but he flinched when your fingers brushed his sleeve.

He turned his face away. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “Please.”

There was nothing else to say.

He handed you your clothes without looking at you again. When you were dressed, he silently moved to support your weight down the stairs and back toward the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.

Your legs ached with every step. Jisung’s arm was around your waist, holding you upright as you moved slowly down the path back to the castle, your freshly repaired clothes felt stiff and uncomfortable against your bruised skin.

You hadn’t said a word since leaving the Shrieking Shack. Neither had he.

His touch wasn’t warm, or comforting. It was careful and detached. Like he was holding you not out of care, but out of obligation.

Your heart hurt more than your body. You two had been close for so long. Even after he’d changed, after he came back cold, distant, guarded you still felt more warmth than right now. Like he was reaching for you even when he didn’t realize it. So seeing him acting like this was almost unbearable.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t rejection or shame. That he was just protecting you, trying to keep you safe. But it still felt like being left behind.

You didn’t even realize how close you were to the castle until the path curved and the first archway of the courtyard came into view.

“Park.”

Professor Snape stood just beyond the arch, his arms crossed over his chest, black robes billowing faintly in the wind. His gaze flicked over the two of you quickly. His eyes dropped to the way you leaned into Jisung, to your limp. And then he saw the bruises. Even with your collar pulled tight, they peeked out, the edges of bite marks and the faint discoloration just beneath the skin.

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Come here,” he said, voice cold.

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape stepped forward. “Now.”

You felt the panic rise in your chest immediately.

“Professor, wait. It’s not—he didn’t—” You reached for his sleeve. “He didn’t force me.”

Snape’s eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you almost stepped back. His expression didn’t change, but something in it darkened like your words had confirmed what he already suspected.

“I didn’t ask what he did,” he said sharply. “I asked him to come with me.”

Jisung’s jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. He didn’t say a word, just let go of you carefully.

You nearly stumbled from the sudden absence of support.

“I can explain—” you tried again, but Snape raised a hand.

“This is not your responsibility,” he said, more quietly this time. “And you are in no condition to be standing here arguing.”

He turned to Jisung once more.

“Park. Now.”

And without looking back at you, Jisung walked toward him.

You stood there trembling, arms wrapped around yourself, the chill settling deeper into your bones now that he was gone.

Jisung stood in the doorway of Snape’s office with his head hung low. The potions master had stepped away to ensure you made it safely to the hospital wing and to explain the delicate situation to the healers. Minutes stretched on endlessly until finally, he heard the sharp clack of Snape's shoes approaching.

“Go in,” Snape ordered coldly, gesturing toward the open door. The Hufflepuff obeyed silently.

Snape shut the office door behind them with a flick of his wand. The room smelled of ash and damp parchment, but Jisung could still smell your scent stronger than anything else; it clung to him, saturated his senses.

“Sit,” Snape instructed curtly.

Jisung lowered himself into the hard chair opposite the desk, shoulders slumped. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes.

“How is she?” he asked softly, voice raw.

“She’ll live,” Snape replied coolly, summoning a few vials and herbs onto his desk. “Madam Pomfrey is treating the bruising you saw fit to decorate her with.”

Jisung’s head snapped up, panic clear in his gaze. “I—I bit her. More than once.” The admission spilled out before he could stop himself, heavy with guilt and shame. “Does that mean—”

“No,” Snape interjected sharply. “The curse passes only when the biter is fully transformed under the full moon. You were saturated with Wolfsbane, half-shifted but not contagious.”

Jisung exhaled sharply, gripping the chair arms until his knuckles whitened. Relief flooded him, but Snape wasn't done.

“However,” Snape continued, voice lowering dangerously, “do not delude yourself into believing she was truly safe. Had you missed even one additional dose, or had the moon been at its peak, she would already share your curse, and that responsibility would lie entirely with you.”

Jisung flinched. “I know. I—I keep hurting her. I keep losing control, and no matter how much I try to stay away, something just…pulls me back. I don’t know how to stop it.”

Snape regarded him for a moment in silence before speaking, voice softer but still edged with steel. “That’s because it is no longer a matter of mere control. You've complicated things significantly, Park.”

Jisung looked up slowly, eyes wide with apprehension. “What do you mean?”

Snape folded his hands on the desk, expression severe yet composed. “By marking her during your rut, you've effectively chosen Miss Y/N as your mate.”

Jisung’s breath caught, his throat tightening painfully. "Mate? I—what does that mean?”

“It means,” Snape explained, calm and clinical, “that your wolf has identified her specifically as an anchor. Such mate-bonds occur most commonly during adolescence, particularly around a first transformation. It's why you find yourself physically unable to stay away for long.”

Jisung swallowed, panic bubbling up again. “Is it dangerous? Will I hurt her more?”

“Not inherently,” Snape said evenly. “But the bond is permanent, Park. Your wolf will always crave her presence—most intensely near the full moon or during rut. Ignoring it will only worsen your aggression.”

“Then…what can I do?” Jisung asked desperately. “How do I keep her safe?”

“You must never skip your Wolfsbane. Take it every evening at sundown and report to me regularly so we can adjust dosage accordingly. Furthermore, and pay attention to this, you must manage your bond carefully. You cannot fight it entirely so stay close to her but with awareness, not indulgence. ”

Jisung flushed deeply. “But… after everything I've done, how can I risk being close to her again?”

Snape leaned forward slightly. “The greater risk lies in distance, your instincts will spiral. Proximity is crucial but do not confuse instinct for entitlement.”

Jisung nodded slowly, the weight of responsibility settling heavily onto his shoulders. “Does she…know?”

“She soon will,” Snape replied quietly. “But it is essential she hears it clearly from you. Be honest and thorough. Do you understand me, Park?”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung whispered. “I won't fail her again.”

Snape regarded him a moment longer, then produced a fresh vial of Wolfsbane, setting it decisively on the desk. “Good. Now leave before I decide silence is insufficient punishment.”

Jisung rose unsteadily, clutching the vial to his chest. He walked slowly to the threshold, feeling every step heavy with responsibility. Just as he reached the door, Snape spoke once more.

“Park, if you truly care for the girl, learn how to live with the wolf without letting it consume her.”

The door sealed shut behind him, and Jisung stood for a long moment in the corridor, the potion trembling slightly in his grip.

You lay on one of the hospital wing beds, half-covered by a sterile white blanket, the curtains drawn tightly around you. The air was too quiet, every sound outside muted by the silencing charm Madam Pomfrey had casted when she left you there.

You picked at your cuticles absently, barely noticing the sting where skin peeled back. Your hospital gown gaped at the shoulders, revealing the bruises along your arms in the shape of fingers. Jisung’s fingers. You should’ve been horrified and maybe you were a little bit but there was something strangely comforting about them. His hands had held you through something painful, but they had held you. It made you feel... needed. Like you mattered to him again.

Your thoughts scattered when the curtain parted and Madam Pomfrey stepped through, her face tight with concern. Behind her came Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house. And just before the curtain fell shut again, you caught the edge of black robes retreating down the ward—Snape. He’d definitely told them everything.

You bit your lip and dropped your gaze.

“Hello, dear,” Pomfrey said gently. When you didn’t answer, she cleared her throat. “To begin with, I’d like to offer you a calming draught for the pain.”

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, though your whole body ached. You didn’t want to take anything that would fog your thoughts. You needed to stay alert to explain the situation.

“Well…” she murmured, unconvinced. “Then I’ll start with the surface wounds.”

She gestured toward the scratches and crescent-shaped bites along your shoulders and collarbone. You stayed still while she worked.

Professor Sprout stepped closer, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Miss Y/LN,” she began carefully. “There’s no need to be guarded with us. We’re not here to punish you… but there are a few matters that need to be addressed.”

You nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the bedsheet.

“Madam Pomfrey will heal what she can,” she continued. “But the bite marks will take several days to fade. Magical injuries of this nature are… stubborn.”

“I understand,” you murmured. The marks didn’t bother you.

Professor Sprout hesitated, color rising faintly in her cheeks. “We also understand that Mr. Park was… in a heightened state when you were intimate.”

You saw her flinch slightly at her own words and you almost pitied her. There was no elegant way to discuss something like this. You nodded once.

“Am I correct to assume no contraceptive charms were cast beforehand?”

Your brows pulled together. You’d never studied contraceptive spells properly. You knew they were meant to be used before any intimacy though and given how everything had happened there hadn’t been time for anything like that. You shook your head slowly.

Professor Sprout exchanged a brief look with Pomfrey before exhaling slowly. “Very well. Madam Pomfrey will now perform a diagnostic charm to ensure no unintended consequences arise from your… encounter.”

You nodded again, tending slight when Madam Pomfrey raised her wand and murmured a spell. A pale lavender glow swept across your lower abdomen then faded without a flicker.

“No conception,” she announced softly. “Everything is normal.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out and you noticed Professor Sprout’s shoulders ease a fraction.

Pomfrey lowered her wand, relief softening the stern set of her mouth. Then she hesitated, studying you over the rims of her spectacles.

“Dear, may I give you some practical advice?”

You nodded, cheeks still furiously warm.

She lifted her wand again. “There are several reliable contraceptive charms you can use. The simplest is Praeventa Conceptum. It’s quick, painless, and lasts a whole day.”

Professor Sprout cleared her throat delicately but said nothing.

Pomfrey demonstrated. She pointed her wand at her own midsection. “Circle once, clockwise, like so.” A pale halo of light traced the motion. “Then speak Prae‑ven‑ta Con‑cep‑tum. Stress on the second syllable of each word. The charm settles just beneath the skin and it’s a mild warming sensation, nothing more.”

You mimicked the motion in the air, whispering the incantation under your breath. A faint peach‑colored glow sparked at your wand tip and faded.

“Good,” Madam Pomfrey said, satisfied. “Remember, the charm must be renewed daily, and it is far more reliable when cast prior to any sexual activity.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, both grateful and faintly embarrassed.

Professor Sprout offered a small, reassuring nod. “Better to learn here than under far less ideal circumstances.”

Pomfrey tucked her wand away. “Knowledge is its own protection.”

“Again, you are not at fault for any of this,” Sprout added, voice firm. “Last night’s events were influenced by circumstances far beyond your control.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly.

A shadow crossed the professor’s eyes. “Mr. Park is with Professor Snape now, discussing the seriousness of missing future doses of Wolfsbane.” Her tone suggested ‘discussion’ meant something closer to a dressing‑down. “He’ll be monitored closely.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, fingers worrying the edge of the sheet. “I followed him there, fully aware of the consequences. I just wanted to help… and I don’t regret it.”

Madam Pomfrey’s brows knit, but it was Professor Sprout who spoke first. “Miss Y/L/N, no one here is assigning blame. What matters now is that both of you are safe, and that Mr. Park remains diligent with his potion.” Her gaze softened. “Your loyalty is commendable, but your well‑being is equally important.”

You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “I know.”

Pomfrey dabbed a final line of salve across the deepest bite mark. “You’ll be sore,” she said gently, “but you’ll heal. Rest here tonight, at least until breakfast.”

The curtain swayed gently as they left you alone, and you stared ahead thinking only of the warmth of his breath, the panic in his voice, and the way he’d whispered “you shouldn’t have come” like it had broken him to see you there.

But you would do it all again.

Madam Pomfrey cleared you for release just after sunrise. You dressed in silence, fingers brushing over the gauze she’d left on the deepest bite. She offered one last vial of bruise balm and a faint smile before sending you off.

It was Saturday, thank Merlin. There were no classes so most students were still sleeping. You were relieved as you stepped out of the hospital wing, and saw nothing but an empty corridor.

Though still a strange, hollow pressure settled in your chest. You missed Jisung.

You weren’t sure if it was the residual ache in your muscles, or the fading imprints he’d left on your body, but you felt the absence of him like it was stitched into your skin. You needed to see him.

And then, as if your thoughts conjured him, he appeared.

Jisung was standing at the other end of the hallway, just beyond the shaft of sunlight spilling in from the tall windows. He looked stunned to see you, like he hadn’t meant to be here, like his feet had brought him without his permission.

You hesitated.

Snape had surely warned him again—more strictly this time—to stay away from you. But still, Jisung took a step forward and you followed.

You met in the middle of the hallway, stopping close enough that your chests nearly touched. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of him that you realized how much he’d changed. He was taller now, just slightly, but it was enough to notice. His shoulders were broader, his presence heavier, like the wolf was still there beneath the surface.

He stared at the bruises along your collarbone, what little was visible through the open neck of your shirt. You saw the way his throat bobbed, how his eyes flickered with guilt.

“Are you—?”

“I’m okay, Ji,” you cut in gently, offering him a small smile. “Perfectly fine.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He exhaled shakily, and his hand reached for yours tentatively. You almost gasped at the contact. It had been so long since he touched you first. His fingers threaded through yours like they were remembering how easily he did this all the time before.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your other hand rose instinctively, brushing against his cheek. He leaned into the touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed.

“Did Snape scold you too badly?” you asked, voice soft and teasing.

Jisung cracked a smile. “Yeah, I have to clean the Quidditch stands every day this winter without magic.”

Your eyes widened. “Seriously?”

He laughed. “I’m joking.” He paused, eyes searching yours. “Though honestly… I think I deserved one.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’ve been punished enough.”

He didn’t respond, just looked at you like he was still trying to figure out if this moment was real.

The corridor felt suddenly too small, so without speaking, you guided Jisung toward the nearest side door that opened onto the courtyard. The November air was sharp, but sunlight spilled across damp flagstones and carried the faint scent of wet leaves.

You walked side by side, your shoulders brushing now and then. After a long stretch of silence, Jisung spoke in a quiet voice. “Do you remember fifth year… when we hid in Greenhouse Three during that thunderstorm?”

You smiled. “And you spent the whole time pretending not to be scared of lightning.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I kept thinking about that last night. How you held my hand and told me storms always pass.” He glanced at you, guilt and wonder warring in his eyes. “I wanted to go there initially. But then I smelled you, and I went to the Shack instead, thinking you wouldn’t follow me into a place like that.” He laughed bitterly. “I should’ve known better.”

The admission loosened something tight inside you. “Storms pass, Ji,” you said. “Even the ones inside us.”

He stopped, turning to face you fully. “Does this one? Because I can still feel it.” His gaze flicked to your neck where a bruise peeked above your collar. “I feel every mark I left on you like they’re on my body, too.”

You lifted a hand to his chest, just over his heartbeat. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He looked at you, like he almost believed it, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise. “Snape told me… the biting… it wasn’t random.” he dropped his gaze and bit his lip nervously “I… marked you.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt.

“He said you’re my mate now,” he said quietly. “That the wolf chose you. That’s why I can’t stay away. Why I can’t stop smelling you, hearing you even when you’re not around. Why it feels like something’s ripping open in my chest when I try to stay away.”

You stood still, eyes locked on his.

“He said I shouldn’t fight it. That if I try to pretend the bond doesn’t exist, it’ll make it worse. That I just have to be… careful and gentle with it. With you.” He exhaled, voice tight. “He said if I really want to protect you, I have to learn how to live with the wolf, not push it down.”

“What did you say?” you finally asked.

“I told him I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Jisung said. “And I meant it.”

You reached for his hand and he let you take it, though his fingers twitched.

“The bond… is that why you came to the Hospital Wing corridor?”

He nodded, shame creasing his brow. “I woke up and… I was already walking there. I didn’t think.”

“Then next time, think and tell me,” you said. “We’ll handle the need together. On our terms.”

He swallowed. “Snape says if I miss a potion… you’ll be in danger first.”

“Then you won’t miss it.” Your tone brooked no argument. “Even if I have to brew it myself.”

A faint smile ghosted his lips. “You’d sit through that smell?”

“I’d sit through worse.” Your thumb stroked over his knuckles.

He exhaled shakily, some of the tension easing, though the gold still flickered behind his eyes like embers. “I’m not safe yet,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” you answered, stepping close until your foreheads touched. “I’m not scared.”

For a while you simply stood in the sunlight, listening to the distant chatter of students who knew nothing about storms or wolves or the way a heartbeat could echo in someone else’s chest. His hand tightened around yours, and instinctively you looked up, meeting his gaze.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation clear in the tense line of his jaw. Before he could withdraw, before he could overthink it, you stepped on your tippy toes and pressed your mouth gently to his.

It began softly, a cautious brush of lips but it escalated quickly. His mouth opened hungrily, tongue sliding against your teeth, and you gave in with a low sigh. His hand found your waist first, pulling you closer, then slid up to cup the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangled through his messy hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing forward instinctively until you were pinned softly against the rough stone wall.

“I can’t lose control again,” he murmured urgently against your lips but still he kissed you harder, as if he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.

“You won’t,” you promised breathlessly. “This is fine.”

His hips snapped forward again, pressing you tighter to the stone behind you. You knew you were out in the open—anyone could pass by and see—but caution melted beneath the heat of his mouth trailing down your neck. The dull soreness from the previous night faded to a faint pulse, replaced by something hungrier, as he sucked gently at your throat.

“Ji—” your voice shook softly, hands gripping his robes tighter. “You’re… you’re not still in rut, right?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “No. No, I don’t think so,” he panted roughly, almost like he was convincing himself too. “It doesn’t feel the same as last night, but—” He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours “I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad—I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you.”

A helpless moan escaped you at the raw admission, your pulse quickening under his mouth when he kissed you again—softer now, more controlled, as if he was proving to himself he could do this without falling apart.

“I won’t let myself hurt you again,” he breathed, lips brushing your skin between each whispered word. “But you need to tell me if it’s too much”

You shook your head slightly, pulling him closer still, holding him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “Ji, nothing’s ever too much with you. Just stay here… stay with me.”

He shivered, his breath hitching as he kissed you again, trying to ground himself in the feeling of you rather than the wild instinct still whispering beneath his skin.

Someone laughed nearby, close enough to remind you exactly where you were.

Jisung froze against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a soft groan. “We need to move,” he muttered “If anyone sees—”

“Then come on,” you said grabbing his hand.

He followed without another word.

You tugged him along a narrow side-corridor, the secret path behind the Herbology wing that only upper years and rule-breakers bothered with. Past the old broom cupboard, beyond the faded tapestry of a witch laughing drunkenly into her wine goblet, your footsteps were quiet, your pulse anything but. It hammered through your veins, in your fingertips, your throat—everywhere Jisung’s hand stayed locked in yours.

Soon you stood outside Greenhouse Three, abandoned since the storm in your fifth year shattered half its glass panes. Now, ivy and moss crawled along the cracked glass walls, and no one had bothered to repair it, leaving the space forgotten and overgrown.

You slipped through the splintered wooden door, pulling him gently behind you.

Inside, sunlight spilled across broken tables and tangled greenery. Plants had grown wild, illing the air with the scent of damp earth, crushed leaves, and something faintly sweet. You felt your chest tighten from the memory of your younger selves hiding here together.

Jisung remembered it too, you could see it in the softening of his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. He caught your lips again, slow at first, but deepening fast, pulling a moan from your throat. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in until you tasted him fully.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered against his mouth, fingers trembling as you tugged at his clothes again.

He groaned softly, forehead pressing to yours. “Say it again.”

Your breath shuddered. “I want you to fuck me, Ji. Right now.”

He kissed you once more, messy and desperate, before stepping back just enough to undo his belt. His hands shook slightly, desire evident as he freed his cock—already hard and flushed, leaking at the tip as he positioned himself between your thighs. You lay back on one of the old greenhouse tables, cool beneath your skin but sturdy enough for this.

Jisung dragged the head of his cock through your folds, groaning openly at how wet you were, coating him perfectly. He pressed gently against your entrance, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, thumb stroking tenderly.

He met your gaze, eyes filled with heated care. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, voice thick with want but edged with concern.

You cupped his cheek softly, eyes locked on his. “It’s perfect. It’s always perfect with you…Just fuck me, Ji.”

And he did.

The first thrust was slow, a deep stretch that pulled a gasp straight from your lungs. His cock slid in inch by inch until he bottomed out, and then he just held there, buried inside, groaning like he’d finally found home.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re so tight, you feel so—shit—you feel like you were made for me.”

You clenched around him involuntarily and he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder as he fought the urge to move too fast.

But control didn’t last long. His hips started to roll into yours, picking up a rhythm that got harder with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping echoed off the glass, mixed with your breathy moans and the desperate groans breaking in his throat.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, dragging him deeper.

“Yes, yes—right there—don’t stop,” you gasped.

“I won’t,” he growled. “I can’t.”

He drove into you harder, the table creaking beneath you as he pounded into your soaked cunt like he was trying to carve the shape of himself into your body. You arched under him, nails raking down his back through his shirt, gasping every time he bottomed out and hit that spot that made your toes curl.

He pulled out just enough to watch his cock slide back in.

“Look at this,” he breathed, one hand dragging down to your stomach, pressing just above your pubic bone. “Can feel myself right here.”

You could tell Jisung was obsessed with seeing himself inside you, it made his thrusts hit deeper just so he could feel himself in your lower belly. You moaned brokenly, the pressure making it worse, the angle driving you insane. 

“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna come,” you choked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t—”

“I want to feel it,” he growled. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Your body clamped down around him, walls spasming hard enough to make Jisung curse violently. He fucked you through it, rough thrusts stuttering until his own orgasm took him.

With a strangled groan, he slammed into you one last time and came hard, cock twitching deep inside you as he filled you again with thick spurts that made your pussy slicker than before.

He collapsed over you, forehead buried in your neck, both of you panting like you’d run for miles. His cock was still buried inside you, twitching with aftershocks.

You dragged your fingers through his hair gently, voice hoarse. “That didn’t feel like your rut.”

He laughed, breathless. “No. That was just me.”

“Are you okay?” he whispered into your neck, voice raw and reverent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head slowly. “You didn’t. You were perfect.”

He sighed against your skin, relief loosening his shoulders. Then, gently—so, so gently—he pulled out, groaning as his cock slipped free from your cunt. The mess between your legs was immediate, warmth spilling down your thighs, and you whimpered at the sensitivity.

“I got you,” he murmured, already reaching for his wand.

He muttered a quiet cleaning charm, careful not to touch you until you nodded. His hand brushed your knee, then your thigh, his fingers trembling as he whispered the incantation again and wiped away the rest with his robe sleeve. 

When he was finished, he kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your stomach like it was part of some silent apology only your skin could understand.

“I’m gonna help you down,” he said, voice soft.

You nodded, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you slowly from the table and holding you close while your legs adjusted. You swayed once, but he caught you instantly.

“You’re shaky,” he murmured.

“You fucked my legs numb, Park,” you whispered, trying to smile, and he let out a breathy laugh, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he mumbled. “Not even if Snape drags me out of your bed himself.”

You held onto him tighter, forehead pressed to his collarbone. “You better keep that promise.”

He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I will,” he said. “Forever.”

He helped you sit on the edge of the table while he redressed—pulling his trousers back up, refastening his belt with one hand while the other stayed on your knee like he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you. When he was done, he reached for your discarded panties, blushing faintly as he held them out to you.

“I should’ve asked first,” he said quietly. “Back then. In the shack.”

You looked up at him, heart aching. “You couldn’t. And I already told you… I don’t regret it.”

He nodded, but the guilt lingered behind his eyes. So you took his hand and laced your fingers through his again.

“We’ll be okay,” you said. “You and me.”

“We will,” he whispered.

You dressed in silence together, stealing soft glances and touches, letting the heat cool but not disappear. And when you finally stepped out of the greenhouse, blinking into the pale afternoon light, Jisung’s arm was already around your shoulders holding you close and as steady as the heartbeat you’d heard pounding through his chest not long ago.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was quiet and certain.

Like a promise kept.

eeeeek feedback is greatly appreciated! i love reading ur comments and anons <3

[ravenandmoon]

Worshiping lesser known/lesser worshiped deities

After reading some reaction under one of my last post, I figured I will do some post about some deities I worship. I will follow the division I have made in this post, finishing with the lesser known/worshiped deities I worship (even in a slightly/casual way).

The tricky part of this one is to define what is lesser known or worshiped deities because nowadays with all the informations we have access to, there is not so much deities considered "lesser known" but, i figured out I will put here the one I thought of.

Hephaïstos

He's the Theoi of blacksmith and craftmen, technique, fire and hearth, and also disability because He's a disable deity. I know He's not unknown but I also know He's one, if not the only one, Olympian gods who's not as much worshiped as others and I wanted to acknowledge Him for all He did (and do) for me. I pray sometimes, I acknowledge Him, I feel His fire through me. I have many UPG and hot take about Him and some part of His myths...but anyway. I just wanted to talk about Him.

If you want to include Him in your worship :

Try a new craft

Try to do something difficult for you (without hurting yourself tho, keep it safe)

Try to take some rest

Melinoë

I have a fluctuating relationship with horror stories which leads me to love praying to Melinoë because I also had issues with uncomfortable dreams and nigthmares (and nocturnal anxiety). Melinoë is the goddess of ghosts and nightmare. Now She has some pop culture reps because She's in the Hades' game but I'm not sure She is that much known.

If you want to include Her in your worship :

Read horror stories or watch a horror movie

Learn about your local history (you can be extremely local, if you live in a old building you can learn about it, places have spirits and memories too)

Honor a spirit (local, plants, ancestors...)

Kalliopê

I worship Her along with Apollon, Hermes and Dionysos. As a huge fan of fantasy novels (I read and write them), I consider Her as something close to an inspiration because She is the goddess of epic poetry and, often, there are many influences of the epic poetry into fantasy. Honestly, I don't actively worship Her but I read books for Her as a devotional act.

Asclepius and Hygeia

God of Health and Goddess of Hygiene, in myth they are describe as Father and Daughter. I really struggle with my health and my hygiene, it's really hard for me to take care of myself honestly. So when I manage to pray to them and do a little bit of stuff for my hygiene and health I often think about them (along with Aphrodite Aprhogeneia and Aphrodite Philommeides). I associate them with water and the cleansing aspect of it.

If you want to include Them (together or not) you can :

Dedicate your medecine to Them

Pray to them as motivation to make you appointement to the doctors

Ask them to bless your food or bath/shower

Hypnos and Thanatos

I wanted to mention them because it's important but sadly for now I don't actively worship Them. I tried many thing with Hypnos and it didn't really worked but just to say, they are, I think, very important to learn about as they're God of Sleep and God of Death.

Eris

Eris is a daimona, personified spirit of Discord and I don't really know if you can worship Her per se but I have to admit She is great to honor or call upon along with Ares. In time of despair, I'd always call upon Her. I love to cry and scream my rage to Her.

Zelos, Kratos, Nike and Bia

I worship them as a team, as Zeal, Strength, Victory and Force, I feel like they match with my relationship between me and how I work. I just want to be clear that no, I don't condone rivalry (also personified by Zelos) or power (also personified by Kratos and Bia) in work places, but since it already exist we sometimes have to work with that (I think it's awful). They often come in my mind when I work, I would think about how Hephaïstos help me and give me strength to make efforts and stuff but this team of daimones really personified how I understand my relationship with work. I worship them by doing my job, honestly.

[leggerefiore]

OK, you're actually getting me into Tom Nook now, especially after that one fic that mentions him wanting a "new member". If it's okay, I'd love to read a fic with him and a pregnant reader. I just think it would be cute.

cw: pregnancy, fluff

pairing: Tom Nook/Reader

Tom Nook was a man of many talents – Many of them fiscally related, but he was also capable of helping with home remodels and managing various businesses. He was no stranger to hard work. His entire life had not been anything easy.

Yet, somehow, be managed to find himself in situation he had only previously dreamed of.

Happily married and settled down.

Though he found the hardest task of his life, he had not been rebuilding his life from the ground up nor had it been managing two young tanuki while working a full-time job seven days a week.

No, it was a pregnancy.

He felt far above most of his most animalistic instincts until he first got a scent that made him panic. You were expecting — And, of course, it was his. At this point in life, you were working with him at his real estate company. The two of you were married, so it was not hard for him to leave you to head the office while he tended to pressing matters. (That could mean actual work or him disappearing off to enjoy a game of golf.) A situation would naturally arise. In the wild, tanuki often kept the gestating female in the den while the male handled hunting and whatever else.

Now, you were not a female tanuki, but his brain unfortunately could not shift the situation in his mind. His stress was unfortunately high despite knowing the relative safety of his office. No one there would dare hurt you, nor would any of your clients be so inclined. Yet, he was on edge. It was so noticeable that even the twins were being oddly reclusive, trying not to give him anything else to worry about. Everything reached a breaking point, and finally, he asked if you would take an early leave and let him have peace of mind.

It was difficult to deny him when he looked ready to beg. So, you ended up having quite a while off. Nook felt at ease, knowing you were at home and away from any unknown factors. Though, you found yourself bored easily. There was only so much you could do in the house, especially as the pregnancy progressed and limited your movement more and more.

Sitting with him one evening, you felt him gently feel the beginning swell of your stomach. His lidded eyes watched closely as you leaned against him, enjoying the softness of his fur and warmth that naturally exuded from him. Timmy and Tommy were away playing in their room. They had both been enthusiastic at the news of a new addition, despite the worries Nook had that they might take it badly. Non-stop had they been speaking about being good mini-mentors to Mr. Nook's child. You, of course, could tell it was more the aspect of being big brothers.

Though, Tom still had not warmed up to admitting that he was basically their father, and they simply were okay with saying nothing more than he was their mentor, you felt is if their relationship was more than clear from your perspective. The real estate mogul had even lacked any remarks about him being a first-time dad and instead focused on his unfamiliarity with pregnancy. It had been confirmed already that you were carrying another addition to the tanuki population.

“… You've been eating well, hm? I've been trying my best to meet your nutritional needs as best I can…” Tom's voice was a bit low and soft. Your body had been going through quite a bit… Meat consumption was a must to meet the nutritional requirements of your child. You had unconsciously begun to adapt a more nocturnal schedule due to the sleeping habits of tanuki. It was astounding that the twins and Tom both had seemingly overcome such a thing. You nodded at his words. He had taken over cooking, seemingly determined to keep you from exerting yourself in even the most miniscule of ways. Of course, you still were allowed whatever, but he certainly preferred being able to tend to meals.

“I'm glad,” he let his face shift into a gentle expression as he closed his eyes, “To think that impulsive human who moved into my town with absolutely no plans would become my spouse…” You lightly tapped his arm due to his phrasing. He certainly had mocked you for the admittedly foolish decision that you had made. There was no need to complain, though, since it was what allowed you two to meet. Granted, the twins did the heavy lifting in getting you two together. He chuckled and closed his eyes. “This is an important next step, yes, yes,” he nodded, “… Or perhaps not. I suppose you must already feel like a parent.” It seemed it was time to reassure him that you did not mind tending to the twins, nor did it bother you that they had definitely begun to see you as another parent.

His cheek came to rub against yours as you sighed. Scenting again. He had become more like this since the start of your pregnancy. You do not think you could ever recall a time previously that he had been so clingy. Your hand came to rest on top of his own. A question of what they will be like left you. “I wonder…” was his reply at first, “Hopefully, they will be grounded…” You wanted to roll your eyes. He probably had it in his mind about them inheriting a part of his businesses. You mumbled that you hope that they will be as fluffy as him, making him snort. “More than likely,” he nodded. You laughed to yourself.

At least one thing was for certain…

They would be loved.

Bonus:

@kuriarty doodled hypothetical child

[sweet-like-cinnamon-5]

It is unbelievable how well The Sandman lends itself to re-reading.

Stories I didn't like that much the first time? I find more and more to appreciate.

Stories I loved the first time? I find more and more and more to appreciate and it's literally SO SO SO wonderful.

Ahem. And then I confess. There is also. Story I thought I liked the first time and then had a lot of complicated feelings about and then read it over and over and over and finally decided that I kind of hate it? There is one of those. Then there are also- certain stories, or certain aspects of certain stories, that I kind of hate and that kind of get worse for me with every re-read and every time I think of them I give myself psychic damage and I try so hard to not hate them but I just kind of hate them? Or at least... struggle with them, a lot? I will write more about this one day.

But this post is mostly about Preludes & Nocturnes.

First Read: Yeah, it's pretty good, I can see why people say that they were still finding their footing and it wasn't really "SANDMAN Sandman" yet Re-Reads: there is SO MUCH to appreciate here oh my god

Sleep of the Just

First Read: Good opener! Why did Ethel Cripps, one of the most interesting tv characters in 1x01, have no lines though? Re-Reads: This was the first issue??? How???? This is such a masterpiece already

Imperfect Hosts

First Read: What the fuck is a letter of commission and why didn't they have it in the tv show and whyyyyyyy Gregory whyyyyyyy 😭 Re-Reads: this is an intense Morpheus pov, wow. For a being who often hides fully from everyone, including himself, he is really sharing a lot (directly, openly, I think honestly?) in his narration here

Dream a Little Dream of Me

First Read: A... wall made of flesh? A man turned into a wall? I, uh. No thank you. Re-Reads: Wow, this is good. The dynamic between Dream and Constantine is amazing.

A Hope In Hell

First Read: This is a masterpiece. Re-Reads: I'm sorry is that a super hot demon and is that other demon licking her boot?*

Passengers

First Read: Arkham Asylum??? The Scarecrow??? I'm just not really interested in this stuff Re-Read: ok this is actually really good and the "Through your dreams, my sleeping children. You had a passenger, and you never knew." page is actually one of my favorites

24 Hours

First Read: Well, this is gross! Re-Reads: There is a lot of interesting stuff here about storytelling!

Sound and Fury

First Read: huh, pretty good Re-Reads: • The "Listen. You can hear the screaming. / Silence washes like a river over Arkham. No sounds of screaming, no sobbing, no noises of pain or madness. Just peace. Listen. You can hear it." bookends are SO good • Such an interesting look into how Dream does (and doesn't) fight and the details of his power • ....Ok maybe I do kind of care about Arkham Asylum??

The Sound of Her Wings

First Read: This is a masterpiece Re-Reads: This is a masterpiece

*Yes, I'm pretty sure yes, that's exactly what's going on here. I said I notice more on each re-reading. I didn't say everything I notice is profound.

[starswhispere]

@any-n-everything Here's why i think Sam and Tucker needed some more thorough development. I mean it's not that they were terrible, and I think the majority of my problems with them suffer from the writing and it being a kids show who's primary goal was to teach kids moral lessons. But Sam had several moments where she disregard what Danny wanted and pushed her own agendas no matter how that affected him and Tucker. Such as the gorilla project (yes it was for Danny's grade but the poor kid got no sleep that night and clearly didn't want to be there), or the one that gets me the most is season 2 episode 1 when she wished Danny and her had never met and then instead of trying to solve the problem in any other way (she already knew at this point that it was the wishing ghost attacking) Like going to get help from any of the other ghost hunter or dealing with the ghost herself which she was shown very capable of doing (and we needed more of because honestly that was a cool aspect of her character) she decided to put her friend, who she supposedly cares about, through the most traumatic experience of his life a second time. She killed him, twice. Because she was the one who egged him on to go in the portal the first time despite him warning her about safety issues, and then she just shoved him in the second time. But then the show wants to convince me she likes him romantically. That's crazy. Not to mention the one time with the trucks that Danny and Tucker liked and she wanted him to use his ghost powers to her advantage despite having in several other episodes berated him for doing the same thing. And (last example I promise) in the show finale when he gave up his ghost powers to protect his family and go back to a normal life because he's been struggling with this for so long, she gets upset! (They all do, I'm not excluding Jazz and Tucker from this, this is just my Sam paragraph). She tells him that she feels she lost a friend and that he's wrong to give up superpowers because now he's not unique or special and she wants friends who are unique and special. Like damn, Sam. Low blow. It's like when a friend only wants to hang out with you to play on your x box and when you don't have the x box they disappear and hate you.

As for Tucker, he's not quite as bad and again I think his character just suffers from the Tv-Y7 rating, but there are a few times where he just straight up disrespects Danny. The only two times we're shown that they get in a fight, Tucker completely does a 180 and makes Danny out to be the bad guy. In the episode where he wishes he has ghost powers he just blames Danny for taking the spotlight and showing off how much better he is, when Danny never did any of that (at that point in the show). Even if Tucker felt that way because of jealousy, he was still really rude with how he spoke to Danny and quite literally put a citizen's life in danger just to upstage Danny. He does it again in the one for where he runs against Dash for class president. (I know that in both of these he was under a ghost influence, but all of the problems started before the ghosts got involved, they just enhanced what he was already feeling.) (And I know Danny and Sam weren't listening to him but that's wildly out of character for Danny and I feel the writers just conformed his personality to the plot to teach the listen to your friends narrative) but he also took that scepter willingly from the mummy ghost. He has like a weird superiority complex that he takes out on people at the most random times. Then in the episode with Nocturne, his best dream is him being all rich and making Danny his janitor! That's not how you think of your best friend! That shows just how much better he thinks he is compared to Danny. Then in the episode where the G.I.W. buys Danny's house and Danny is freaking out, Tucker is like hey man, you have a lot of money now, act like it and enjoy it and calm down. Then gets mad at him when he acts like it and enjoys it! And also he did the same thing as Sam in the finale.

Sorry for the chaotic jumbled mess of thoughts, I have more to say I just can't remember any more specific examples off the top of my head at the moment. But again, he could have worse, I just think they also deserve their own growing and learning moments.

[thelordofhats]

Upcoming Sweeper Event Blind Guesswork

“But Hats, it hasn’t even been a week since Regular Checkup came out, isn’t it a lot more fruitful to analyze fresh material we actually have than to write a bunch of wild speculation?”

1. Yes

2. Shut Up.

3. What Regular Checkup possesses in “being available content” it lacks in “having Sweepers”. As such, I go where my heart takes me.

Cut for courtesy.

The Story

Spoiler alert: Sweepers will be involved.

The immediately obvious way for things to start is that the bus gets stuck in Night in the Backstreets. I mean, the title isn’t literally “Night in the Backstreets”, but “Nocturnal Sweeping” is pretty much the next-closest thing.

That would be enough story for a Walpurgisnacht in the vein of Full Stop, where the gameplay is a “kill enough enemies in the time limit” sort of setup, but it isn’t remotely enough material for an intervallo—especially not the intervallo right before a canto. Magic SEA Bus gave us Ishmael’s breakdown, To Claim Their Bones was admittedly less about Heathcliff than about easing us into T Corp, MOTWE had the big Don reveal. So we’re going to get *something* for Hong Lu here. Which makes things tricky for me, because a Hong Lu Scholar I am not. There are people in this fanbase who have read and Understood Dreams of the Red Chamber, I am not one of them. I do not have the Deep Knowledge.

What I *can* say is that I’m pretty sure Hong Lu is in an extraordinarily bad mood in Regular Checkup. There’s him being sorted into Wrath and his interaction with Hong Lu there, but also his early callout of Don feels really… well, bitchy, to put it bluntly. Hong Lu doesn’t tend to shy away from saying what’s on his mind, but he tends to do it a lot more indirectly than he did here. So in NS, I expect to see that trend continue. He’ll be masking it, but I expect that nasty bitter streak to continue.

The Thing for Sweepers is Family. Once you actually understand what they’re saying, you discover that they’re a tightly-knit family unit who care for each other a lot. They’re just also, y’know, the scourge of the Backstreets that eat corpses and soon-to-be corpses, and seem to maybe abduct children they find out at Night to be turned into Sweepers. Now, being liquified and turned into a posthuman cannibal is probably one of the better fates a Backstreets orphan can hope for, but that is damning with pretty faint praise.

I think that what Hong Lu really, *really* hates is seeing people forced into a mold that doesn’t fit them. It’s what he’s seen in all of his siblings—whoever they are by nature, they get forced into the hell of cutthroat murderous competition by their family (it’s a synecdoche of the City as a whole!). There isn’t a reason that any of them should have to be that, except that they are getting forced into that shape by their elders.

And with Sweepers, that’s, well, pretty damn literal. So I would guess that we’re going to be trying to retrieve a child from the Sweepers here. Not Charon, because we wouldn’t have anything to fight in that case because Vergilius would murder the hell out of every last one of them, but some other kid the LCB ends up interacting with for some reason. Don would naturally push to go with the rescue attempt, it’s a good opportunity to show that aspect of her post-Canto, and I think that regardless of it being outside their company mission, Vergilius isn’t going to put up a lot of resistance to the idea. So into the Wherever It Is That Sweepers Live we go.

Somebody is going to have to be able to Speak Sweeper. I just don’t see a way to completely avoid it. Maybe if we hadn’t already gotten that glimpse in Ruina, they could try to tell it entirely through action, but as it is, I don’t think so. Obviously, this falls to Dante, another bit of the Weirdness around them. I don’t know that sweepers will be able to understand the ticking, but Dante understanding the random numbers—or rather, not hearing the numbers and just hearing the meaning—seems likely.

Ultimately, I think the kid probably gets Sweepered, and Hong Lu is going to get angry in a way that is frankly concerning—the kind of stuff we saw with Fanghunt Hong Lu. Those waters only look tranquil because they run so much deeper than you imagine. And so we’re are set up for Canto 8.

Who Gets the IDs Though?

Let’s rank the likelihood!

Ryoshu - Come on, this isn’t a surprise. It’s about Family, and that is clearly so much of the theme they are hammering on with her. She is going to have Opinions about Sweepers. But also, her last ID was from last Walpurgisnacht—she hasn’t gotten one this season proper. She’s a shoe-in here. Yes, she just got Thoracalgia, but EGO don’t count in the same way. Assuming we get a 000 and a 00, I think she’s a lock for 000.

Meursault - This is a bit more mechanical—they like big slow tanky Meursault IDs, we’ve seen big slow tanky Sweepers. He’s a natural for the Hauler passives. He does fit in terms of temperament too, though. Not so much the family bit, but the strict rules that they abide by are a very Meursault thing. He did get an ID earlier this season in Cinq West, but it’s been a bit.

Sinclair - He’s young, and is in some ways a bit of a package deal with Ryoshu. I have trouble making it more detailed than that, but if anyone is a lost child that gets adopted, it’s Sinclair. He has, however, had an ID relatively recently. Not a story ID, and not *super* recently, so there’s certainly a chance.

Rodion - There’s a real power gap from 3 to 4, and I’m not taking the detailed list further than this because it’s all degrees of Not Happening, which I’ll get into. If anyone who got a Bloodfiend ID this canto has a shot at Sweeperdom, it’s Ryoshu, our main Backstreets representative. It’s been long enough since Princess that it’s possible, but… I wouldn’t bet on it.

And now, speedrun of the rest:

Yi Sang - Just got a 00. Now, he hs gone as long without a 000 as Ryoshu, but I just don’t feel like he has a strong thematic tie here.

Faust - Just got a story 000, doesn’t match vibes.

Don Quixote - She is not getting another ID in here own canto period, especially not when it’s as thematically close to her canto as this would be.

Hong Lu - Just got a 000, and is kind of the opposite of Don—this is too close to when he’s going to be telling his story to hit those themes in ID form.

Heathcliff - Is getting *two* 000s in quick succession. He does not get a hat trick here. On the eventual rerun I think he does, though.

Ishmael - Getting a 000 in the Yield My Flesh rerun, doesn’t need an immediate reprise. Also I just don’t feel like it fits her.

Outis - This would fit, but it’s the exact same thing they did with Barber Outis. They aren’t going to do it right away again.

Gregor - Had a Bloodfiend ID, isn’t allowed the kind of happiness he would get from having a close caring family. Mmmmaube on the rerun, I could see it.

So there you go, wild speculation! Watch as I’m totally wrong again!

[goodfish-bowl]

It Came to Me in a Dream

Part 1

DP Side Hoes Week 2024 Master Post

Day 6: Nocturn - creation

Summary: Dreams are said to be the organization of the mind while one sleeps, and often reveal something the individual already knew in a new light. Nocturn might not be the ghost with the ability to see the future, but dreams are often one of the easiest ways to nudge the Realms of the Living in a particular direction. 

Word Count: 512

AO3 Link

Nocturn was familiar with these kinds of favors for the Master of Time. They were simple enough for him to do, though rather lacking in the creativity he preferred to express when interfering with the dreams of the living. Dreams were perceived to be the organization of the mind, and the window into the subconscious, and by providing the correct nudge, it was easy to push the minds of the living in a desired direction. Nocturn often found an idle curiosity as to what became of these dreamers, the resulting revelations and thoughts, and most importantly, the creations from them. Dreams made reality, it was the ultimate actualization of his own work. 

But to influence, even fully direct these dreams was something close to sacrilege to Nocturn. He understood their purpose well enough, dreams were important to the progression of time after all, small nudges, ambitions, and so on. It was a simple, and easy way to put an idea into the mind and have that individual think it was their own. It was unintrusive enough that Clockwork could fully exploit that method of influence without angering the Observants. Nocturn thought it was rather coy of the old Time Master, so despite his dislike of it, he played along.

It had taken some exhaustingly long meetings with the old ghost to work out a proper agreement for his services, but there was one reached. For so little effort, he usually either received a good, extended rest for himself within a slowed/paused pocket of time, and knowledge of future and past events through the lenses of dreams. He rarely took interest in the mortal or the visions he was sending them. Nocturn occasionally took some creative liberties within the presentation of these crafted dreams, since they were his own, handmade creations after all, and he allowed himself the satisfaction of knowing he had an impact on the fates of a Realm. He had only earned the ire of the Master of Time just once for his creativity. It was not good to drive Clockwork’s chosen prophets and visionaries mad, after all. Nocturn couldn’t do anything about it, though, when they were already that way. 

This particular instance, the Clock Master had requested Nocturn to send a very peculiar dream to an equally peculiar mortal man. He asked for the reason, and upon hearing that this series of events would influence the very existence of the Realms, paid particular attention. It was rare for a singular mortal to influence so much, let alone something that could potentially affect him. Nocturn was to send this human future knowledge of artificial portals to the Realms, and images of the realms themselves, though the latter aspect wasn’t as unique. Just the concept was so unfathomable, but if that’s what the Ancient of Time had requested, then so be it. These portals would exist, in time. These dreams were simply to make sure of that. Most peculiar indeed. 

In this case, Nocturn was going to pay particular attention to the creations of the mortal known as Jack Fenton.

[meezer]

listen to me complain about a game I like

this is, in part, primacy bias talking, and in part, frustration with there just being so many fucking elements. but the new elements added in bookofhours seem so lame and unimpactful to me in comparison to the original ones in cultsim... cultsim ones are all a lot more pertinent and understandable to me, more concrete concepts. grail forge edge heart knock lantern winter moth. yes god. I can visualize the icons for each of these clearly, their color, the IMPORTANT aspects of life and of occultism and of the game's cosmology that they represent. take a look, from the first paragraph on the wiki for each of them:

"life, preservation, protection, union, and the drumbeat and dance that must never cease. It is unstoppable in the face of adversity, and its followers are often characterized by relentless cheerfulness and obsessive determination." (heart)

"openings. It is associated with wounds, locksmiths, burglars, and oracles. Its followers are characterized by intense dreams, visions of other places, perceptiveness, manual dexterity, and a disconnect with reality." (knock)

"transformation, artifice, fire, and destruction. Its followers are characterized by ingenuity, mechanical thinking, and superhuman strength." (forge)

"unkindness, knowledge, the Mansus, and the Glory. Its followers are characterized by mystically powerful dreams and a devotion to the Sun." (lantern)

"change, whimsy, unreason, secrecy, nature, and the Wood. It is associated with barbers and the shedding of unnecessary things. Its followers are characterized by stealth, erratic behavior, and agendas known only to themselves." (moth)

"desire, birth, seduction, and thirst. Its followers are characterized by inhuman desirability and an irresistible charisma." (grail)

"violence, betrayal, cunning, and pain. Its followers are characterized by cunning, bloodlust, and often a sense of artfulness in their violence." (edge)

"death, remembrance, unlife, debilitation, and beauty. Its followers are sometimes characterized by remorseless misanthropy and sometimes by kindness through euthanasia, but are always characterized by silence." (winter)

there was also secret histories, but they got rid of it for bookofhours.

"History is the scar on the world's skin. [Secret Histories describe the unknown complexities of the world, and its many pasts.]"

getting rid of it is a little disappointing, especially after I read a book in bookofhours and see that it mentions alternate versions of histories. like, hmm... seems like you could've used this here? but I guess it makes sense to get rid of it, it was always kind of the runt of the principles even in cultsim. if the new principle of rose is an attempt to replace secret histories, it's a bad one. this isn't telegraphed in any way, though, from what I can see, so I don't think it is. I'm just basing it on the color for secret histories vs the color for rose being very similar.

the new ones, to me, are just like... lame. they're nothing. they feel like represent nebulous things, which might sound ridiculous to complain about in a game where everything seems purposefully ambiguous and strange. but I think you need a solid foundation to base everything on, still. words have to mean things. I can picture distinct things in my head when I think of each of the old principles. I can't say the same for the new ones. sometimes I'll click on an item of decor or a tool or whatever and see that it has one of the new principles and I'm like... "yeah I guess this chaise longue has the vibes of the moon... not what I would've described it as, but..." like I'm some kind of esoteric third property brother.

moon: Secrets are soft; night is softer still; the sea speaks. It is not always wise to listen. [The nocturnal, the forgotten.]

nectar: The green wealth in the world's veins; the pulse of the seasons. [Long ago, some called this principle Blood.]

rose: 'The rose which encompasseth all'. Nine directions to new horizons. [Exploration? Enlightenment? Hope?]

scale: Hard without, hard within, hard to rouse, harder to subdue. [What is left of the crude powers of the deep earth.]

sky: Wind, storm, echo, song; the intricacies of mathematics and the principles of flight. Law's touch is lighter than we sometimes think. [Matters of balance, harmony and necessity.]

okay... if you say so...

I think rose is my least favorite. while I like the choice to use "rose" to mean compass rose instead of rose flower, I think it's very creative and smart, looking at the description, I'm still like...??? what is this? we already had something for this. it was called lantern (enlightenment), heart (hope), moth or knock maybe (exploration).

moon I GUESS I understand the point of. fine. its description is pulling a lot of weight, especially since there is already the association the cosmology already had with the sea and the moon via the witch-and-sister and the sister-and-witch. alright.

sky and nectar I do not. how are these part of the human soul? it just feels like they could be included in what other principles encompassed already. also I think nectar's description is kind of bad.

I've been writing this post for about half an hour and I straight up forgot about scale until now, with 90% of it already written. I think that says a lot. the same criticism goes as what I said for sky and nectar.

don't even get me started on how some of the color schemes of the principles are so similar.

why are rose and knock so similar?

why is moon a slightly more blue-ish tinted, desaturated moth?

I may be stupid, I may not have the best eyesight. but this is just... annoying. I don't see the point.

I guess I wouldn't have an issue with these new principles if they weren't tied to the new elements of the soul. again, my criticism of half of them is: how is this part of the human soul? maybe I'd be less pissed off by them if they were just attached to random objects, and books, but then if they were attached to books they'd have to also be part of the soul so you could have the challenge of deciphering them by meeting the requirement.

I love cultsim, I love bookofhours, but this is a part of it that gets on my nerves. for the most part, I like these ideas, in theory. they're fine. I like nectar and scale a lot, actually, as principles for different parts of nature, nectar being alive and vibrant and breathing and yielding and an unending cycle and scale being bone-hard and primal and rough and old and standing for what remains after decomposition of a being (I say this both because of the description and because many of the fossils and animal bones and such that you find in game have this aspect), those dry remnants a reminder of an end that contrast with nectar's neverending cycle. I just feel frustrated, I guess, with the way these things are implemented and the way they feel tacked-on to a system that already worked fine for cultsim. I understand the need for more principles, I guess, even if I don't agree with it. maybe they tested it and it would've been too boring and/or easy if there were only 8 principles. still, I feel like my criticisms aren't entirely without merit.

[fulgrimsrefuse]

On Marazhai's brand

I'm new-ish to 40k (my family was into it, so it was the background radiation for my entire life) so imagine my surprise when I learned that it's been around for this long and there is no functional eldar alphabet because the direction of the worldbuilding just hasn't gone in much on linguistics.

A couple of admirable supernerds have compiled various resources on what we DO have. This for grammar, terminology, and just how context heavy the language is:

This for runes. Some people who got a specific Nocturne of Oblivion ending slide might see something familiar:

Something interesting in the comments:

"I emailed Gav Thorpe 10 years about the eldar runes, and he forwarded my email to Jes Goodwin - here's the reply I got from him: There are three systems of Runic Markings

The Runes used for the aspects and other troop types/concepts. These are the geometric runes that are generally based around the triangle. They are simplified versions of the actual runes that a Warlock/farseer uses to divine the potential futures in a given situation. The are based on the use of the Norse Futhark for divination, although their forms are not nordic.

Eldar script. This is the stuff behind the eldar headers. These have no ascribed meanings, I.e there is no 'alphabet' of them. These are generally cursive and we use them in various places to give flavour, they sometimes include elements from the runes [Which would give them a kanji-like relationship to the runes] and are sometimes more blocky/simplified as on the warning markings on vehicles.

Eldar Seals. These are the complex symbols found on Titan Banners and on the back of the Wraithlord. They are used to represent the seals of Noble Houses or the Bonesinger schools of design. They are based on the idea of the Turkish 'Tugrah' , complex signature seals associated with the Ottoman Empire, meant to stop forgeries. To summarise, the forms of all the symbols don't have a single real world source, but their functions are influenced by real world sources"

I was just curious and wanted to know if we could build Marazhai's name out of what we do have from these sources. A lot of words beginning in "Mar-" seem to refer to death or death related ideas, and "Zai" is a known name meaning "morning". But there's nothing that I found in a written form for those sounds.

They do have a rune for Ynnead, their god of the dead, which looks like this:

Eldar runes can stand for an idea and not just one letter per sound. If this is their rune for a god of death, I'm making the wild assumption that somewhere in that rune is something that could be read as "Mar-". Since we have no idea how to properly "read" that rune, I just tried looking at their lettering runes for shapes in common with this, ssssort of like how kanji multiradicals work since that was the given example.

(Sort of. Kind of. If you squint at it and look at it sideways, maybe.)

It's a doomed prospect, because once you go looking at the runes, it becomes increasingly clear none of this follows any logic, or maybe it's just logic my simple mon-keigh brain lacks.

So, possibilities for "Mar-":

(Not quite, but close. Chalk up the difference to calligraphy styles, maybe)

(again, only close, but radicals in kanji can look subtly different depending on where in a given character they appear, so I just shrugged and said fine, elf logic.)

(Also only close, also operating off of elf logic.)

As for "Zai", the sun does appear as a pretty recognizable shape in some runes, like these:

(Craftworld Lugganath)

Without a linguistics person at GW telling us how to read this stuff, I say we have pretty free rein to figure out what the heck Marazhai burns into our necks. Like, we don't even know if it's read left to right, up or down. So I just made something up as an example, using what I posted above:

Trying for a balance of "relatively easy to burn into a person before they pass out from shock" and "cute", though it is missing the jaggy quality of Drukhari lettering. This is just an idea though, y'all go wild and have fun!

If you are a 40k lorehound and you think I'm W R O N G that's fine, I only got into this hobby a couple months ago. I'm curious if you know more about eldar writing, actually!

Edit: lmao how did I miss the literal “zhai” entry. I’ll try that later.

Edit 2: I tried it later. https://www.tumblr.com/fulgrimsrefuse/741450381287096320/on-marazhais-brand-2?source=share

[aestheticcore]

For the Love of Adventurecore

My love for Adventurecore runs deep, capturing the very essence of my soul’s longing for untamed wilderness and the thrill of exploration. I am captivated by the rustic-ness that permeates every aspect of it—the rough textures of leather and wool, the earthy tones of clothing and gear, and the raw, natural beauty of the landscapes that beckon me to wander. The clothing I imagine is functional yet rugged, ideal for braving the elements, while the tools I envision are simple yet essential—knives, compasses, perhaps a handmade satchel—all crafted with care, embodying a connection to tradition and craft. Each piece feels like a portal to a different time, a different world where I could truly immerse myself in the wild, feeling alive in every fiber of my being. It’s a lifestyle that celebrates self-sufficiency, adventure, and a harmonious relationship with nature, and I find myself endlessly fascinated by the arts that support it—be it woodworking, leatherworking, or crafting primitive gear that would serve me well on a trek through the untamed.

The idea of wandering an unspoiled world excites me—the sense of freedom that comes with leaving behind the familiar and venturing into the unknown. I daydream about camping beneath a blanket of stars, the crackling of a campfire mixing with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. I imagine exploring remote villages, discovering their stories and secrets, and stopping at lively taverns where the air is thick with hearty foods, laughter, and tales of heroism. To hunt game ethically, to forage for wild herbs, to cook over an open flame—these are the experiences that make my heart race and my spirit soar. The act of traveling with companions, sharing stories around a fire, and feeling the wind in my cloak as I navigate through forests and mountains fills me with a profound sense of connection to something greater than myself.

There’s an unmatched thrill in holding a sword or quiver, feeling the weight and balance in my hand, as if I’m part of a storybook fantasy come alive. The tactile sensation of leather straps against my skin, the coolness of metal, and the rhythmic swish of a cloak in the wind all combine to create a visceral experience that fuels my imagination. I love the earthy smells—the damp soil after rain, the scent of pine and cedar, the scent of worn leather and wool that has been weathered by time and adventure. These sensory details are what make Adventurecore so vivid in my mind; they transport me to a place where I can almost feel the sun on my face and the chill of mountain air in my lungs.

I derive immense satisfaction from crafting my gear and clothing—making things by hand, choosing materials, and designing items that would stand up to the rigors of exploration. It’s a form of expression and a way to connect with the core ideals of self-reliance and craftsmanship that define Adventurecore. I could fill an encyclopedia with descriptions of the different types of gear, the techniques used to create them, and the stories behind each piece. This creative process feeds my soul, giving me a sense of purpose and fulfillment, knowing that I am actively participating in the lifestyle I love, even if only in my mind.

Unfortunately, I am unable to explore this world physically anymore due to health issues, and this has left a shadow of sadness in my heart. The core of Adventurecore is not just about the physical act of wandering; it’s about the feeling it evokes—the sense of freedom, discovery, and connection. Not being able to feed that part of myself makes me depressed because it’s a vital part of who I am. I miss the sensation of wind in my cloak, the weight of my gear, and the thrill of the unknown. Yet, despite this longing, I hold onto the dreams and memories, knowing that someday I might once again embrace the untamed, wild spirit of Adventurecore, even if just through my imagination and the stories I cherish.

[mystical-sleepy-musings]

Poetry as a Practicing Pagan

|Deities|

As everyone knows who met me, I am an avid devotee to the lovely Greek god of Dreams Morpheus. He is my patron and like a father to me. My offerings other than food and drink tend to be more on the creative side of things. But in my upg, he seems to be one of inspiration due to the oneiroic visions he creates for our nocturnal enjoyment and reparations. Dreams have inspired many great artists and writers. We can not think of modern surrealism without seeing the imaginary wonderlands of Salvador Dali. Nor the logical tale of whimsy that is Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. Morpheus is inspiration. He is imagination weaving tapestries of desires and fears within the subconcious. The softly spoken Prince of Stories shows us effortlessly how words flow out of our minds and into reality. Like waterfalls, they can cause one to crash and perish, or they can be ones of power and sheer will to climb upstream. A Chthonic deity he is holding gently our slumbering forms , whispering softly tales of lavish kingdoms , Romantic escapades, Lands unseen but visited only in slumber Morpheus, to me, is inspiration, imagination, stories, and dreams. All you have to do is close your eyes and go to sleep.

|Song/Lyrics|

I do not write songs(but when I do write my poetry I do set it mentally to a tune to keep word flow), but when it comes to lyrics and songs that Morpheus likes, he tends to like the ones with substance and more odd psychedelic weird lyrics. The older music of the 60s and 70s. Shine on You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd is Morpheus and I's favorite song of all time. It feels like an ode to all the ones who seem eccentric and odd even mad, but they always find a way to shine through their raw creativity. Morpheus, to me, is a bit... well, quiet. Pink Floyd's album Dark Side of The Moon is my favorite album of all time. And apparently, Morpheus, in my experience, likes it as well. Its more calming and even makes me emotional with some songs (Great Gig in The Sky or Us And Them are real tearjerkers for me). I have a feeling Morpheus likes me listening to those songs due to me not showing emotions or trying to hold it all in. He just wants me to "feel" more and to accept that, yes, I have emotions. Because it is hard as a person on the Autism spectrum to understand emotions of myself and others at times. I flat out try to deny I am feeling anything like sadness or happiness because I tend to see them as "bothersome" so I make myself emotionally guarded unless it is someone I deeply trust who will not take advantage of my vulnerable state. My Capricorn moon could also have a big influence on that.

Piper at the Gates of Dawn is an album that is a major Morpheus favorite as well in my experience due to the whimsical lyrics and dreams like states it brings to the table. It was Pink Floyd's debut album with the Mad Hatter himself Syd Barrett(I can go on forever on how much Syd Barrett is an inspiration and one of the most influential people to me). It was different, and critics despised it at the time due to how wild the album was. So before this goes on into how much Morpheus and I love Pink Floyd lets say Pink Floyd's songs and lyrics are a huge inspiration for me when it comes to writing and such due to how much it seems Morpheus influenced their creation. I can not tell you merely with words on how great this album is. Just listen and form your own opinions... Ladies, Gentlemen, and Nonbinary peeps, we are about to go into Intersteller Overdrive. Hold on tight.

|Animism|

To answer the question about if I write anything about personifiying aspects of nature. I do indeed so. The universe and the cosmos are a huge inspiration for me as a writer. The Progenitor is what I see the universe as. We are borne of stardust...the elements that make us up go back beyond the earth....beyond the milky way all past to the beginning of time. The point in spacetime where all physics becomes decrepit is known as the singularity. I see the singularity as Khaos, ,The source, The creator, the primoridal function before all was conceived. The entangled mass of nothing yet becomes something.... our consciousness sees it as a null zone indescribable to science. But as a pagan I see it as something that was and still is within us. Khaos became the Progenitor. I sense how nature is seen as the masculine uninhibited horned essence such as the Green Man, Cernunnos , Pan, etc. That energy is them to me. It goes by different names, but a name is just a name for a force that is unpredictable and powerful but at the same time is quite discreetly hidden to most.

|Outro|

I hope you enjoyed this little peek into my practice. It was enjoyable to write and got my creative juices flowing . My motivation has sadly been waning a bit due to writers block, but I feel like this has stirred the poetic pot enough to get it bubbling again.

[thenightling]

Stating the Obvious: Morpheus has issues

I know I'm probably stating the obvious but I think Morpheus's one-hundred-and-six-years of captivity in The Sandman Netflix series (seventy-two-years in the comics and The Sandman audio drama) effected him heavily, psychologically speaking.

Now before you reply with the "You don't say" meme, I'll elaborate. We know the captivity changed Morpheus. We know it enabled him to reflect on his past and to grow. And it enabled him to feel sympathy for Calliope and act as avenging angel to rescue her from Richard Madoc but the experience also scarred him deeply and caused him to want to die. When they summoned and trapped Morpheus he was stripped of his clothes, his tools, his power, his dignity and his freedom.

"Time moves no faster for my kind than it does humanity and in prison it crawled at a snail's pace." - Morpheus in The Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes graphic novel, issue 1 of The Sandman comics, Sleep of the Just, and Chapter 1 of The Sandman audio drama.

Unfortunately the line in the Netflix series doesn't quite make it clear that time doesn't move differently for him than it does for humanity and this probably should have been left in because a lot of people have this misguided idea that for immortals time moves differently and a century is nothing. And it is important to know that for Morpheus this was not nothing. He suffered. And unlike mortals he didn't even have the escape of sleep and dreams because he IS the embodiment of dreams. I feel that there were probably additional psychological side effects to Morpheus's captivity besides the obvious depression, self-reflection, and weakness. For example the trauma of his captivity may have left him claustrophobic. Notice how rare it is that we see Morpheus in any confined spaces for any length of time and when he is in a small space (i.e. rescuing Cluracan during that one story in The Sandman: Worlds' End) he seems more irritable and tense, like he wants to get whatever needs to be done over with as quickly as possible. This could also account for his behavior in Rachel's bedroom when he retrieved his pouch of sand besides casual assholary before Constantine made him realize how wrong his behavior was. Other impacts Morpheus's captivity may have had on him is effecting his ability to trust. He was always, at least a little cynical, but he believed Alexander Burgess when Alex said that if not for his father he would free him. Morpheus believed him and thought Alex would let him go but when Roderick died Alex just left him in there and that broke some aspect of Morpheus that was quick to trust.

Morpheus genuinely expected Alex to let him go. He looked forward to it and anticipated it, thinking it was just a matter of time to wait for Roderick to eventually die but then Alex dashed Morpheus's hope of over ten years because he was scared. Morpheus truly thought Alex would free him and then Alex failed him. Neil Gaiman has been asked, at least twice, on Tumblr if Alex had let Morpheus go, would Morpheus have still cursed him to Eternal Waking (An Endless series of nightmares where you think you're waking up but just enter another nightmare) / eternal sleep or shown mercy. And Neil Gaiman has answered that he would have shown mercy. Also earlier when Alex killed Jessamy for trying to rescue Morpheus- and Alex wanting to prove himself to his father, I think that wounded Morpheus. It made him see a sadism he didn't originally seem to acknowledge in humanity, or had forgotten about, likely because of his friendship with Hob Gadling making him see the better side of human beings. Morpheus seemed to think being captured was one thing, but the murder of his familiar- his raven, his friend (though he wasn't likely to realize it) was crossing some line for him. In short, Morpheus needed therapy. It's too bad he couldn't have met Linda from the Lucifer TV series. Morpheus probably had some form of Post Traumatic Stress. Morpheus needed therapy... Preferably not from Cain...

[pr3ttym3l]

Midnight blossom <3 (a nightowl fanfic)

In the lively world of a Discord server dedicated to the visual novel "Blooming Panic," two distinct personalities intertwined in an unexpected way. Nightowl, a name that reflected his nocturnal habits, was known for his energetic personality and his habit of staying up late. His presence on the server was like a whirlwind of enthusiasm and chatter, always up for discussing the latest trends or sharing interesting facts. On the other side of the digital space was Y/N, a calm and introspective soul who loved reading, baking, and finding solace in the quiet moments of life. Her messages were thoughtful and reflective, bringing a sense of tranquility to the server’s vibrant discussions. One September evening, as the server buzzed with excitement over new content, Nightowl’s lively messages caught Y/N’s attention. He was talking about the impact of visual novels on storytelling, a topic that intrigued Y/N despite her initial hesitations about the game. Curious about his passionate perspective, Y/N decided to join the conversation. “You make a good point about the narrative depth in visual novels. Have you ever thought about how different mediums can influence storytelling?” Nightowl was delighted to find someone who shared his interest in storytelling. “Absolutely! It’s fascinating how different forms can bring out various aspects of a story. I’d love to hear more of your thoughts on this!” What began as a casual chat about visual novels soon blossomed into deeper discussions about their favorite books, hobbies, and life philosophies. Y/N was intrigued by Nightowl’s boundless energy and his knack for finding joy in the little things. Nightowl, in turn, was captivated by Y/N’s serene outlook and her passion for baking and reading.Their late-night conversations became a cherished ritual. Nightowl would often pop into the chat with stories about his latest adventures or interesting trivia, while Y/N shared anecdotes from her day and recipes for her latest baking creations. One evening, as autumn leaves began to fall outside Y/N’s window, their chat took a more personal turn. Nightowl, who had been sharing tales of his recent late-night explorations, noticed Y/N’s subtle hints about her own dreams. “You talk a lot about baking and reading. Do you have any big dreams related to that?” Y/N’s eyes lit up as she responded. “I’ve always dreamed of opening a cozy bookstore-café where I could share my love for both. It’s something I’m working towards, though it’s still a bit of a dream.” Nightowl’s enthusiasm was palpable. “That sounds incredible! I’d love to help in any way I can. Maybe I could brainstorm some ideas for the café or help with promotion when the time comes.” Their conversation continued late into the night, filled with dreams and plans. As winter approached, Nightowl’s thoughtful message brought warmth to Y/N’s heart. “I’ve been thinking about your bookstore-café. I’d love to visit when it opens. We could celebrate with some late-night chats and, of course, your amazing baked goods.” Y/N felt a rush of warmth at his words. She replied, “I’d love that. And maybe, just maybe, we can create a special corner in the café inspired by our late-night conversations.” Their connection, which began in the realm of a Discord server, grew into a meaningful relationship. Nightowl and Y/N continued to inspire and support each other, turning their shared dreams into a beautiful reality. Through their midnight chats and shared passions, they discovered that sometimes, the most unexpected encounters could lead to the most fulfilling journeys.

[blossommoonwrites]

NOCTURNAL CANDLES: Mayblade 2024, day 3 - Candles

Series: Sweet Dreams Fandom: Bakuten Shoot Beyblade Genre: General/Romance Setting: Delhi, India, and Kai's dream. Characters: Kai Hiwatari, Julia Fernandez Pairings: Kai/Julia Rating: T Summary: The candle's flame may go off, but the radiance and glow remain.

FFN | AO3

The Bladebreakers were on a trip to India. All except Kai were in their rooms, sleeping peacefully. The dual-haired wandered in the streets of the subcontinent's capital. It was Winter in Delhi. The chill air flirted with his scarf, which fluttered wildly against the breeze. He bought some coffee and sipped on it slowly. His glances showered the vast sky that was infinite and beautiful. The mist blinded some parts of the city, but Kai was able to manage and walk past them. The culture was rich, yet some states had a poor economy. He stood in front of the Indian gate and saw the surroundings. Long walks were a hassle for Takao, but not for Kai. He felt relaxed and content after a couple of months.

"Hmm." Kai closed his eyes and enjoyed the peace coming from inside. He braced his scarf further to protect himself from the cold.

He turned and saw someone familiar. He knew her but never talked to her for once. She is none other than Julia, the captain of F-sangre. She was wearing a trenchcoat with her messy hair fluttering in the wind. Kai was never into girls, yet he found her pretty. Of course, he doesn't have anything romantic for her. Julie gave a side-eye and her jaw dropped. Kai quickly turned back, pretending not to see her.

"I know it was you, Kai. I never expected to see you here," she remarked and walked to him.

"I clarified if it was you, nothing more," Kai walked away from her. Julia was stunned by his attitude. She seethed and said, "You have no manners for sure."

Kai stopped along his trance and turned back. He gave a 'hnn' before he started again. "You do know about me, after all. But, there is so much you still aren't aware of," he smirked and walked off. She can never understand guys like Kai, or even guys in general.

Julia walked back to the hotel she was staying in. Coincidentally, it was the same place where the Bladebreakers were staying. She saw Kai reporting to the reception before he walked to the room. His room was somewhere on the second floor. Hers was on the fourth floor.

Kai knocked on the door several times, but Takao was fast asleep. Kai facepalmed. He informed Takao that he would be out. It was his fault too, he should've thought twice before roaming out. He gave up. He decided to sleep on the corridors until Takao would show up.

"Your roomie is not opening the door, pathetic," Julia mocked. She smirked and leaned against the wall.

"I can sleep here, I don't need your help."

Julia sighed and walked to him, "I knew you wanted to sleep on a cozy blanket this winter. Don't lie. I can give you room. Come with me."

Kai blushed at the thought of sleeping next to a girl. He couldn't help but accept her offer. She chuckled. Kai felt dreamy. She was beautiful. He smirked and followed her to the room.

It was the same as his's, except the aspect was different. They removed their coats and scarves and hung them. Julia grabbed her nightgown and went inside the restroom. She returned a few minutes later.

"Make yourself comfortable," Julia assured him. He sat on the sofa.

"Come to the bed!" she exclaimed. Kai blushed.

Julia's cheeks turned beet. She gasped, 'Wait, did he assume that I…'

"No, I didn't think like that. I-uhh… just… um… don't sleep beside girls… you know. I hate sleeping with Takao too, he is a loud, snorty kid. I hate his snoring, ugh."

Julia burst out laughing at Kai's remarks.

"Alright, I'm going to turn the lights off. Have a good night's sleep."

Julia shared the blanket with him.

"Am I troubling you, girl?" he asked.

"I've been feeling lonely since my brother is not here. He's on a date with his new girlfriend. It's nice to have you as my companion. Just get some sleep."

"Well, promise me one thing. Don't tell Takao or anyone that I stayed with you this night. He'll never get enough of me once he learns about that. I will have a tough time dealing with that doofus," Kai mumbled.

"Sure, I'll take care of it, but by the time I wake up, you will not be there," Julia mocked. Kai sighed and was frustrated with her remarks.

She turned the lights off and lit a candle. Kai felt the illuminating presence and turned to see her. She kept that on the thick yet flat headboard of the bed.

"Do you love candles?" Kai asked her.

"I do, they are beautiful. I'm going to purchase some of them tomorrow in the market. The Indian candles seem to be lovely. I'd love to have some."

"Nice," he gently smiled.

In a few minutes, Julia was fast asleep. Kai struggled since he was with a girl, all alone. He brought the candle towards her to see the breathtaking face. He laid the strands of her hair on her ear. "You are beautiful, of course. I hope you get more candles like these. They'll make your face glow."

Kai placed the candle aside and drifted off. He dreamed of Julia in a beautiful Indian outfit and makeover, with the room decorated with beautiful curtains, rose petals, and cushions. Red shawls were hung along the corners covering the bed. She held a big candle, waiting for Kai to lie by her side. The dark room was illuminated with beautiful candles around the confines of the room. Her smile was radiant the moment Kai came to her.

"Come close, Kai. I need you by my side this night."

Kai climbed on the bed and faced the beautiful girl. His fingers crawled on her cheek and drew her closer.

"I will never leave this radiant beauty," his amethyst eyes were interlocked with her emerald ones. His hands slowly crawled down to grab her by the waist.

"I will make this night memorable for you," he whispered into her ears.

...

The next morning, Julia woke up to see Kai still fast asleep. She didn't expect to see him by her side. He was cute. The candle was gone, but the glow and radiance were still on his face.

[insidethekaleidoscope]

7, 23, 35, 45, 49

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

Hmm... I don't really know that I've done that much to expand on the mechanics of the existing universe, but one detail that I think I've stuck in a few places is the existence of bureaucratic self-help pamphlets distributed to agents by DEPRAC. I just kind of found it darkly humorous to imagine a bunch of adult recommending things like long baths and sleep hygiene to kids who are nocturnal and fighting for their lives every night.

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

I love a good time-loop. I can't say I've got any plans for it, but it is one of my favorites tropes. I do also like amnesia/lost memories. Again, no plans, but seems like it could be fun.

35. What aspects of your writing are completely unlike your real life?

Oooh, well I've thankfully not experienced the type of catastrophic loss that Lockwood and Lucy have. It's more so just brushed up against my life. Also, being culturally Jewish, I think an obsession with grief is somewhat baked in.

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?

I truly have such a hard time judging my own writing, but I think I've gotten better at cutting out pieces that I'm attached to but just don't quite fit where I've put them - so, like, pacing maybe. That and convincing myself to finish things. That's a not insignificant part of the reason I started writing fan fiction in the first place (aside from the brainworms...). I'm a chronic hoarder of snippets, but I could never convince myself to fill in the in between parts without a plan for what I would do with the finished piece.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

More of Give the Flowers to the Living :)

This is still a ways out from where we're at, but I just never do write things in order 🤷🏻‍♀️

After that he must have fallen asleep for a bit because when he opened his eyes next, Lucy was leaning over him. His mind still felt foggy and slow, so for a long moment he just assumed he was dreaming, and he let himself stare baldly up at her. The early morning sunlight that brightened the room filtered in through the leaves of the apple tree outside his window, and he watched in fascination as the dappled light flickered over the curve of her cheek and caught in her eyelashes and a few little wisps of curls that had fallen out of place.