in the dark.

long fic (multiple parts) short fic (just a few parts, short story) one-shot (single part, tho can stretch in a couple ways) blob (small, single part for a single moment)

here are currently posted works:

wine tasters: strictly bits of the themes I write (blobs)

The Bear (862 words, #bl, #shifters, #fated mates, #school-work place)

The Magical Gifts #1 (1k+ word count, #bl, #shapeshifter, #escape, #magic)

Swimming in Grace (2.8k word count, #bl, #werewolves, #werebunny, #vampires, #mates)

yes it is a small category now, so much to come to this page

coming soon (in immed. future to 1 month):

-> teaser for new work in progress, a short fic this time, & the first couple parts. *smiley face*

-- main aes. and teaser #1 released to free/public. teaser #2 + ratings & warnings released on patreon for paid members, coming later to free/public members within a week.

*major works will be released to free members on patreon, ao3 and tumblr followers eventually, but don't expect any graphic mature or exclusive content.

requests can be made, and I can message to follow up but don't expect a lightning response (srsly, this isn't a microwave operation but not a snail trail either) and I DO reserve the right to say no. but i will always try to work with your request.

commissions will be accepted later on, and there's a few types of commissions I'll accept: *rates TBD

commission for the next part of a work already posted.

commission for a new work (request).

commission for an extended part (like an extra moment, additional epilogue) of a work.

again, commissions not accepted now or in the immediate future as I'm getting everything established across this page & my patreon.

my patreon will have all free & paid works, this page will only host the free content. sorry-notsorry.

-> patreon membership tiers are now released and ready for purchase.

links:

here's my patreon. now up and running.

my wattpad if you're looking for any recs - found in reading lists.

my ao3

yes, again short. for now.

miscellaneous:

-> side note: this guide is short for now, yes i know. you can never start with 100% anything except effort & passion.

this page/blog is open for questions/concerns/thoughts/whatevs as indicated in the Ask page titled open for q&a. again, not a microwave operation.

-> ending:

thx to all peeps just poppin' in, readers looking for something new, est. friends gathering here, or whoever you are for making it this far.

follow if u like. hop on the band wagon.

- ghoul

He's nearly panicking when his coworker and former sublettee, Moonie, notices him hurrying through the entrance and into the employee locker room. Beun turns the corners to the row of lockers where his is located and his knees crash against the cement floor. Gosh, it hurts.

The manager of The Hungry Café, a crabby old man who practically gets off at seeing and putting anything other than humans down, is a cheap human who barely pays minimum wage and ignores any need for employee workplace accommodation. So yes, cement floors in the employee locker room, bathroom, kitchen, counter, and register area “make no difference. They’re just floors, they don’t need to look pretty for you.” Except they’re extremely easy to bruise on and even with his accelerated Were healing, Beun still sports a couple bruises on his hips, elbows, and shoulders for a couple of days after a hard fall.

Now there’ll be some on his knees too.

Beun’s ears are pressed back completely against his messy mane of pale silver hair, as unhappy squeals force themselves through his chest. They’re pleas for safety, home, comfort, and care. From a mate.

But he knows he won’t get any of that today, tomorrow, on the weekend, or maybe ever. Being a Were-Bunny, a dwarf bunny no less, makes it hard for him to even feel safe outside of his normal routine. Even if the routine was work, work, class, work, class, sleep, and work.

Even if the routine itself made him break down in tears and exhaustion, his nose and appendages twitch and spasm from the excessive amounts of caffeine and little sleep, his instincts and body never turn off that ringing in his head pleading for rest. To find a mate. A mate. Safety, his brain keeps throwing around.

Someone to hold him so safely, whisper praises in his ears, tell him that he did good, usher him to sleep every night, hold him through the night, kiss him good morning – and so much. And maybe, just maybe, when life’s a little easier to endure, he has more time on his hands and a better financial standing, he’ll carry and raise his own kits.

But right now Beun has no room to even walk, how could he even think about finding a mate?

Besides, who would want to be with a bunny Were? I’m a needy, selfish pet with a lot of baggage.

Th-There’s nothing to gain from me.

His self-deprecating thoughts are interrupted by the squeaky hinges of the door rushing open to the locker room. A couple seconds later, there’s a rush of a familiar pine and berry bush scent over him and Beun slowly peels his head from the pressure of his arms pressing together, where his hands and claws squeezed and scratched at his ears. The skin under his thinning fur is so raw, irritated with the harsh treatment. His eyes catch Moonie’s pale golden pair so full of worry and concerns that those thoughts come back and this time with tears.

Why am I such a bother? Why am I so sensitive?!

“Stop, Beunie hyung,” his friend whispers, it’s enough for both of their high hearing frequency. Moonie is sitting crisscrossed across from him against the next row of lockers, close but distanced enough to not make the bunny react harshly. He’s a wolf after all, a natural predator to bunnies.

Moonie used to rent the guest bedroom in Beun’s apartment, they met at this café almost two years ago when Moonie had found Beun’s post for subleasing and called the temporary number provided. Beun had a late shift that day, so he set the meeting for early that same day, in between his classes. Moonie was looking for an apartment in the big city, but none fit his few savings. So when he saw that post and the god-sent price, he called immediately, begging for the space.

Beun was looking for someone to help with the rent since he was fired from his third job because the owner, a peacock hybrid with vibrant tail feathers and hair who had a terrible penchant for rich patrons at her store, decided that the bear shifter with the shiny watch was absolutely right for coping a feel on Beun’s ass and that Beun was wrong for rejecting him. “It’s just a little extra service, Beun, get a grip.” Yeah, Beun hated Ms. Sanna. And if he wrote an anonymous review online about the detestable manager of the Deluxe Fits & More clothing store, then no one had to know. But those paychecks paid most of his utilities and it hurt to have to start cutting food expenses again, so Beun needed help. He met Moonie, though the first eleven minutes of that were spent with Beun struggling to just not run from the idea of sharing a living space with a predator and trying to greet him.

Thankfully, the werewolf saw his struggle and did the talking for him, keeping himself from making any wild gestures or sudden loud noises to help the bunny. And when Beun recognized his efforts and started to cry because when had someone last made space for his nature (?), Moonie had panicked.

“A-Are you okay, Mr. Beun-ssi? Did I-I do something wrong? I’m really sorry, but I need this,” the wolf’s hands were shaking and his eyes were frantic as he looked around the café, hoping no one would think that the wolf was bullying or tormenting the poor little bunny. “D-Don’t cry, please.” He was absolutely weak for adorable, small things and this bunny was just that. With his droopy, long ears that he wants to touch so badly to see if they’re as soft as the clouds they resemble.

When Beun had gotten over that rush of emotions, he giggled and shook his head. “N-No, it’s okay, Moonie-ssi.” He smiled while dabbing his eyes with the brown napkins from the dispenser on the table. “I can’t remember the last time someone was ever so kind, even for a conversation.” He shyly smiled at the wolf, his bunny teeth on display for the wolf to blush at. “You can have the space. Do you have a job?” Moonie was shocked that the cute little bunny who couldn’t be no more than 5’2” and 90 pounds that he’d just made cry over something so simple as a little kindness - had agreed to renting his spare bedroom out to a predator.

“A-Ah, n-no. No, I don’t.” He had struggled getting that out, fearful the offer really was gonna disappear from in front of him now, and the bunny nodded. And those adorable ears flopped with the movement. He’s gonna burst from this overload of cuteness, even if it leaves him homeless.

“A new position had just opened up after Diana had moved back to her hometown to be with her family more. I can t-try to put in a good word for you with Perry-hyung,” the bunny supplied. “He looks over the hires and is pretty fair.”

And if Moonie wasn’t fond of the bunny even more, he was then. So cute, so smoll, so kind! My heart’s gonna explode. His head did the answering where his voice had failed, nearly shaking his noggin off in agreement. The bunny had giggled then again, flashing those bunny teeth again. Moonie and Beun had been best of friends since. Binging trashy dramas with predictable plots, laughing together at the offbeat computer graphics coming a second after the punch already landed, watching the life-sized doll dressed in the villain’s spandex suit get dragged backwards into a wall. Sharing blankets and leftovers from 3 nights ago, crying over bills and loneliness together. Cuddling in the same bed.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, hyung,” Moonie frowns as his eyes sadden. He felt guilty for leaving his Beun-ie hyung like this.

He’d moved out the apartment three months ago on the 2nd month anniversary of mating with his all-time crushes and intended, a clan of six werewolves he’d literally bumped and fallen into the arms of five months before. Beun remembers him coming home that day with his face burning red like a fever and one of the most wolfish grins he’d ever seen on Moonie. They’d asked to meet a few days later on that Saturday after exchanging numbers, then again, again, and again until they officially started courting a month in. Then, Moonie was coming home less and less, rushing into class with hickeys and temporary claiming bites on his neck and collarbones until Rin, the kindest and sternest wolf and the Clan Alpha, had proposed he move into their home (cough, mansion) two months after they started courting Moonie.

Of course, his loyal best friend had denied out of worry of leaving Beun alone, and having to handle the rent and bills by himself.

But when Moonie had come back a week later to his quieter, lonelier than ever apartment with six prominent and very permanent mating marks spread across his neck, sides, and inner thighs that he could not only sense but smell, Beunie knew it was time to let him go.

His head kept that ugly cycle of self-hatred running, supplying those thoughts of being too much, being too dramatic, being so sensitive, making his only friend and best friend worry about him after moving on with his own life and mates.

“I-I’ll be fine, Moonie,” Beun shakes his head, his extended claws still scratching at the end of his ears. “G-Go back out there, I’ll b-be out there s-soon.” Moonie doesn’t say anything, he can’t even if he wanted to. Because he knew if he offered to help him pay anything, Beun would only feel even more of a burden to others and pick up more shifts at the café and his second job, only to burn out and end up bedridden with a fever.

A fever.

Rare for any species of Weres and hybrids.

He’d did that the first time he offered and again when he offered the second time after he moved out. Stop, hyung. Just stop.

But Moonie still doesn’t say anything, knowing the bunny will push him away and anyone who tries to help. He only sits up on his hunches, shimmies up to him, and slowly wraps the still trembling bunny in his arms the way he knew he secretly loves and denies himself.

And Beun has to force himself not to melt in his best friend’s arms, not rub his chin into his neck the way bunnies scent because Moonie has his own kind and loving mates to scent him. To not enjoy this embrace because he’d only want to sink into it and never leave.

And there’s too much to do before he can think to relax. Bills to pay, homework to start, studying to finish, debts to pay.

Sleep to never get, food to never eat.

Beun doesn’t return the hug knowing it’ll only make the separation harder, so he lets himself be held for a few seconds before he pulls away from his best friend who has always made space for him. With a weak hand on his knee, and the other using the lockers behind him, he forces his trembling legs with a weak burst of energy to stand. Moonie comes up with him, arms out, ready to catch him in case his body loses in the battle against the dizziness and gravity. Beun forces a small smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his round eyes or let those bunny teeth peek as the real one does. And walks around Moonie to the old, squeaky door to the bustling diner.

Breathe, Beun.

And he inhales, pushes that door open on trembling legs, and puts on the brightest yet fakest smile he could muster. Exhale.

3 hours into his 10-hour shift, and Beun’s body is ready to fall to its knees again. Bruise them some more, maybe bleed this time.

The bell rings again, another patron to serve that’ll hopefully be taking his to go. Beun wipes the beads of sweat that seem to race each other to the finish line – his jaw – “I’ll be with you in a second!” He musters the courage to actually raise his voice this time, only for the screaming kit upset over his iPad getting taken by his mother at another table, to get another one out.

This time it’s louder and high-pitched. Mimicking the high-pitched cry of the predator he’ll one day grow up to be, and Beun’s ears go pin-straight up as his body freezes. The group at the table he was taking the order of just now noticed immediately. They’re predators; it’s in their biology to sense scared prey. The mother is hissing at her kit to quiet down now, but the damage is done even if the boy only wanted his Roblox game back – not to make the only prey Were on the floor panic and run to escape because his instincts tell him to upon hearing the cry of a natural predator.

But he never makes it to the door, the bunny had turned into that patron he hadn’t gotten to yet.

Beun’s ready to fall except he doesn’t. Whoever he ran into had cared enough to not let him fall or just wanted to throw him against the floor themselves for being careless.

His heart’s gearing up to explode, his nerves on fire with tension and fear. He can’t muster a sound as those arms that caught him, arms so strong pull him forward into a really warm embrace.

There’s humming that vibrates from whoever’s hugging him so nice and there’s a flurry of movement he can only hear, but Beun’s eyes water again for the nth time today.

And the tears fall over the edge again, his mind comes to a screeching halt as his emotions finally boil over the edge. And he sobs.

Whoever’s hugging him hugs him tighter, and Beun wants to never let go.

When has a hug ever felt this good? Ever felt so assuring, safe, and relieving?

Beun’s throat is hurting and he realizes he’s been wailing into this nice person’s chest. Uninhibited, pitiful sobs.

This person who feels so safe, feels like home, feels like freedom.

“D-Don’t let m-me go, p-please,” Beun cries in what he hopes is just a whisper. But it’s clear enough to the stranger. It’s a cry for help, for safety, for someone to hold him so tightly and whisper praises and pretty nothings, someone to hold him as he falls asleep and wake him up with the sweetest lingering kisses. Just someone to understand and promise it’ll get better. Even if they don’t keep their promise, I think I could live on, keep surviving if I could only be held like this when it hurts.

“Don’t worry, sweet little prince. Everything will be alright,” a deep, hazy voice soothes Beun whose ears twitch from how close the whisper is breathed to him.

And Beun lets himself believe; he lets himself trust

that everything really will be alright.

His eyes stay closed like they have when he first bumped into this stranger, but his body releases the tension and his mind releases the pressure. And Beun falls asleep immediately.

Within this stranger’s strong arms, his head he nestled into the crook of this stranger’s shoulder and neck, his lungs full of this stranger’s scent.

This stranger who pets him from his hairline to the tips of his ears, hums an unknown melody that lures him into deeper sleep, and coos when Beun softly squeaks in content and begins to nibble at the skin of his neck in his delicious, long-overdue sleep.

Strawberries.

A long time ago, this town wasn’t as ugly as it is now. It was a town once full of life and color but it was abandoned after the disaster struck. A small flood in the rainy month of April ruined the prospects of any development for little Emery Green almost 60 years ago. A town once pretty with greenery and blossoms, Emery Green is now littered with thugs and street gangs, no longer the same after the majority of the population had fled. Crumbling buildings, trashed alleys, stripped cars, overgrown weeds, and old electrical wires.

He ducks his head as he rounds a corner once he reaches the other side of the basketball court and hurries down the remains of the old sidewalk, only slowing when he disappears into a smelly alley. Quickly shrugging off his backpack and coat, Erin tugs off the white shirt and brown pants that hugged his body with all of its stains and holes as fast as he can without tearing himself or the clothing. Standing bare in nothing, immersed in the winter cold, Erin pulls open the drawstrings of the pouch, sets it down, and wills his weak, fragile body to transform.

His bones break to re-size and re-shape, flesh molds back into a different formation. His body curls in on itself as he sinks onto his fours. There’s pain rocketing from the marrow of his bones to his skin, and he fights down a groan in his throat that’ll draw attention to the alley while he’s in this vulnerable state. Brown fur grows everywhere, pads and an almost dry snout form, while white fur concentrates from his lower noggin to his underbelly. He’s no longer on two but four short legs and pinkish paws, a gray short muzzle, small ears atop his head, and thousands of quills covering the small of his back.

Skin-changers, magicked beasts to some, are believed to be extinct in the hidden supernatural world. Once seriously hunted down for their blood, the only substance in the world containing such magic since the werewolves died off. No one knows Erin is a skin-changer, not even his parents. If they’d known, who knows if Erin would still be alive, locked up, or sold to anyone paying enough stacks. His species were once all over, in small pockets of the world free of bounty hunters, collectors, and other creatures with ill intentions. How Erin came to discover he was a skin-changer was a story he wished to forget but was forever thankful for.

Opening the mysterious pouch with his canines and claws, Erin nudged his clothes into the small bag. To the human eye, it’s a change purse, but to certain species, it’s a rare magical object designed to carry everything, weigh nothing, and appear empty. Great for travel, a clothed void can house anything without growing in size or weight, and never runs out of space. Erin chanced upon this with all the luck in the stars a few years ago. The lost, traveling human merchant didn’t know the rarity or the value of such a magical item and called it a “miniature purse for coins or marbles.” Erin had felt the magic wafting off the small pouch and knew this was pure luck, so he scraped the silver from the bottom of his sock drawer and rushed back out to buy it, thanking his stars for the chance. The merchant would come to know a few years after he left Emery Green, that what he held in his possession and sold meagerly was magnificent beyond his years, and forever regret it until he breathed his last on his deathbed. Erin had never felt so lucky or blessed that he never let the enchanted pouch out of his sight. Always kept tied within his clothing, away from any and all eyes.

Now he works the drawstrings of the purse around his front right paw and up his leg with so much struggle and wiggling, it’s never easy handling anything without opposable thumbs or actual fingers, or with a snout alone. Once it's secured high up his leg, he starts away from Emery Green and walks along the only road to and from Emery, in the tall dry grass.

"Mate," the same voice from minutes ago growls. No longer a low murmur, this voice has grown to depths lower than any recorded sound. And does it make me weak? Yes. It's a growl for others, but a croon for my ears and I mewl before I can stop myself. The escaped noise is returned with another croon from the, most definitely, predator. Then I feel a hand cradle the back of my neck as the door behind me is closed and locked with a click disregarded. The clenched muscles in my neck, the exploding nerves, lose their tension. I didn't even notice whoever this predator approach me, that's new.

The rough fingertips of the hand on my neck scarcely circle my scent gland - the curvature of my neck into my shoulders where my destined's bite mark is to be. The featherlight touch makes me shudder and lean forward into another arm that pulls me closer to the bod of my mate. My mate. My destined. I'm sinking. I'm drawn towards the scent gland of my mate, who I haven't gotten a single look at. I don't think I'll be able to open my eyes under this strong fog of warmth, and the heavy air of my mate's scent drowning my lungs, that has me in my most relaxed state. Nevertheless from what I can sense, he's tall. Possibly a whole foot and a head taller. And he's heavy if the arm around the waist and the hand on my neck is any reference to go by.

There's movement before I hear directly in my ear, a whisper so quiet, yet demanding, I tremble some more. "Open your eyes. Grace me with your eyes, beautiful."

But I can't. There's so much, too much, happening at the moment. The electricity crawling from my lower back and up my spine. The tremors wriggling my arms and legs will leave me supportless. The rush of blood in my ears coming from the rushing heart in my chest that hammers so hard, it hurts. My lungs melting in the scent of my mate and at the same time, stuttering to breathe correctly.

Too many feelings. Too many sensations. Too many touches. My head hurts.

Too much. Too much.

Overload.

My legs give out just as my mate is whispering his command in my ear again. I hear his deep rise of volume in his voice as I start to fall, but I'm caught in the strong, unwavering arms of my mate. I don't open my eyes. I can't.

There's too much. Sensory overload. Scent overload.

I can't produce a single thought, but my head's racing. Everything is stopped abruptly at the vibrations starting from my mate's chest that I'm hugged against. The vibrations reverberate in my ribcage, my lungs almost jolting in sync, that spreads to my heart. My neck. Head. Arms. Abdomen. Feet. Fingers. Then I realize he's humming. A smooth, rich hum like the bellows of a brass bass. And it slowly eases the electricity in my spine, the tremors in my limbs, the stutter in my lungs, and hammer in my heart. My weakened being practically dissolves in his arms. Utter relaxation. Everything quiets as I focus on the deep, guttural humming that slowly clears the fog.

I don't know how long it takes, but I'm back on planet Earth.

I've left the earth, but I was still in my mate's strong arms. How cliche.

"My mate," that voice begins to speak again, this time so much softer in comparison to before, as if so afraid of my being shattering in his arms.