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[ CLOSED ] we're nocturnal creatures
Who: Waver & Diarmuid
When: night of the full moons
Where: their shared apartment
What: full moon fallout and bonding
Warnings: body horror, blood
It's nearly dawn by the time Waver makes it home, the first rays of the sun blood-red on the horizon and finally beginning to drown out the brilliance of the moons fading from the sky. Presumably, he's got a key-- but he doesn't use it. Instead, there's a raking, scratching noise on the outside of the door, the doorknob rattling. If Diarmuid doesn't open it immediately, he'll gouge right through the wood.
And when he does get in, he's nearly unrecognizable. If Diarmuid had been alarmed by Waver's small changes in the caves some weeks ago, the differences now are even more unnerving, and uncharacteristic. He stumbles in, lips peeled back from a mouthful of sharp, too-long fangs, claws out and hands splashed with drying blood. His clothes, in tatters, bear the stains of more dark red and it's not immediately clear if all of it is Waver's or somebody else's, drying on his skin and what's left of his once prim and proper outfit.
His ears have morphed from the slightly pointed but still human-like shape he'd been sporting before into something entirely different, black fur covering the animal ears now peeking through the mess of his tangled hair, closer to the top of his head than they should have been. Down the back of his neck and through the tatters of his shirt, more fur is visible, all down the line of his spine, and also matted with blood. The tail is new, too, black and curly and poking out from the rips in his trousers. It would have been cute if he hadn't been covered in dirt and blood and shaking, whimpering pitifully as he stumbles into their shared living room.
If he can still speak, he makes no sign of it just yet. He only growls and whines and gnashes his teeth at Lancer if he reaches for him, crouching low.
When: night of the full moons
Where: their shared apartment
What: full moon fallout and bonding
Warnings: body horror, blood
It's nearly dawn by the time Waver makes it home, the first rays of the sun blood-red on the horizon and finally beginning to drown out the brilliance of the moons fading from the sky. Presumably, he's got a key-- but he doesn't use it. Instead, there's a raking, scratching noise on the outside of the door, the doorknob rattling. If Diarmuid doesn't open it immediately, he'll gouge right through the wood.
And when he does get in, he's nearly unrecognizable. If Diarmuid had been alarmed by Waver's small changes in the caves some weeks ago, the differences now are even more unnerving, and uncharacteristic. He stumbles in, lips peeled back from a mouthful of sharp, too-long fangs, claws out and hands splashed with drying blood. His clothes, in tatters, bear the stains of more dark red and it's not immediately clear if all of it is Waver's or somebody else's, drying on his skin and what's left of his once prim and proper outfit.
His ears have morphed from the slightly pointed but still human-like shape he'd been sporting before into something entirely different, black fur covering the animal ears now peeking through the mess of his tangled hair, closer to the top of his head than they should have been. Down the back of his neck and through the tatters of his shirt, more fur is visible, all down the line of his spine, and also matted with blood. The tail is new, too, black and curly and poking out from the rips in his trousers. It would have been cute if he hadn't been covered in dirt and blood and shaking, whimpering pitifully as he stumbles into their shared living room.
If he can still speak, he makes no sign of it just yet. He only growls and whines and gnashes his teeth at Lancer if he reaches for him, crouching low.
no subject
It's embarrassing, knowing he should have prepared for the inevitable instead of hoping it didn't happen.
...and it's going to keep happening. It's only going to get worse, he fears, and the awful reality is finally sinking in now that his mind is clearing. The moons will wax every month. And there's nothing he can do on his own to defend against that loss of control-- not by himself.
Waver swallows hard, blinking back the threat of tears and ducking his head against Diarmuid's shoulder to hide them. His breathing has gone shallow again, anxious and scared.
"No. I can't-- I don't think I can fight it. I shouldn't have... And now..."
He knows what happens now. He knows he should ask. But to do that, officially, to ask Diarmuid to take that step--
It's harder than he might have guessed. The words stick in his throat.