Doomed Old Man Yaoi 🔥🔥🔥

Sneak Peek:

It was a lovely clearing, located directly to the south of Toontown’s borders. Mottled with colorful wildflowers and cradled by large trees at all ends, it was the perfect blend of the untamed parts of Daffodil Gardens and Acorn Acres. Untouched by neither Toon or Suit, it was the most beautiful example of nature given the freedom to just express itself. So free and nonuniform, no Cog would be caught dead in a place like this. Yet, one still stood in the clearing, clutching another.

The Witch Hunter traveled here alone under the dim moonlight, although he’d personally wish to say he had company. One arm held the disturbingly light body of Winston Byrd, their head tucked between Prester’s head and right shoulder as they laid limp against him. Prester’s hand held their back firmly, but not crushingly so, as to keep them comfortable yet secured. His other hand wielded a large shovel, built perfectly for what he intended to do on this horrid night. It was sketchy at best, and downright illegal at worst… refusing to report a death to C.O.G.S. Inc. and burying the body yourself… but Prester never really was the biggest fan on common law, especially in comparison to his own personal set of beliefs. And, currently, he believed this was the best thing he could do for Winston. The Skelecog deserved a proper burial, and Prester knew that the company would deny them that final resting spot. Instead, they would most likely melt them down and use the material to build someone new or, worse, dump them out like yesterday’s garbage.

Sneak Peek:

He was being watched. He could feel it.

Prester opened his blurry eyes, still heavy with sleep. He stared up at the ceiling of his bed chambers, painted pitch black from the night’s darkness. It was quite late… or perhaps, way too early? Whichever it may be, it was not a normal time for an old man like him to be waking up.

He knew the routine by now. It was not every night, but it surely wasn’t rare. Sleep paralysis. He tried to lift a leg, and then an arm, finding them both to be insurmountably heavy. Indeed, his gut reaction was right, but he didn’t know whether to be silently proud or dreading of his correctness. Prester never liked the ‘not being able to move or speak’ part, he was a man of many words and actions after all. But, then again, he doubted many sufferers of this particular ailment liked that part.

Forcing his crimson-red pupils down towards the foot of his bed, he saw a glowing baby-blue pair gaze right back at him. Ah, so it truly was going to be one of those nights, wasn’t it? He mentally addressed the ‘man’ of the hour who, in turn, began to climb up onto the bed with him.

The Suit who always visited him on these types of nights.

The Skelecog who he hadn’t truly seen in years.