fickle_obsessed (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fickle_obsessed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly2016-04-01 08:07 pm
fickle_obsessed) wrote in fandomweekly2016-04-01 08:07 pm
Entry tags:
[#009] Full Moon (original)
Theme Prompt: The Night Before
Title: Full Moon
Fandom: Original
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, slight mention of gore
Bonus: No
Word Count: 530
Summary: The night before the full moon is never fun
She saw the moon as she went to close the curtains before she went to bed. It was huge and bright in the near black sky. even with the pollution of the street lights. It was just a sliver away from the full moon, she supposed there was a name for it but she’d never bothered to look it up. She vaguely remembered something that sounded kind of like the name of a monkey, but she had no idea which phase of the moon that was either. Of course she didn’t need to see it to know how close to a full moon it was. She didn’t even need the stupid little circle on her calender that was there for some reason, as if any one but werewolves needed to know when the full moon was. She didn’t need any of that because she could feel it. Already her body felt odd, almost as if it was vibrating on the inside. It didn’t feel like her body, it felt more like she was borrowing it, like it was too small for her, like wearing an ill fitting bra. She rolled her shoulders, stretched her body but still it felt the same, tight and wrong, and ominous. It was coming, just like it did every month and she had no idea why she was even bothering to try to go to bed.
She never slept the night before. It was always impossible unless she got spectacularly drunk, but that only made the next day about a hundred times worse. It was better to be tired than hungover, she reminded herself of that every month. So now here she was, knowing she’d get no sleep but getting into bed anyway. Everything was just overwhelming - the normally soft sheets she had now felt rough against her bare skin even as she just lay there, the scent of the fabric softener was sickly sweet and cloying at the back of her throat, not to mention the toiletries on her bedside table. Then there was the rustle of the pillowcase beneath her ear, almost deafening every time she shifted even slightly.
The physical differences this close to the full moon weren’t even the half of it though. Her mind buzzed with the fear of what was going to happen the next day. The howling, screaming pain that left her throat feeling like she’d eaten glass. The knowledge that her body would soon be tearing itself apart, bones cracking and breaking, organs shredding and muscles snapping from their tendons, before it all shifted, twisted, reformed into something unrecognisable, something monstrous, something lethal. She’d be all alone, locked in a cage, waiting for it to come, cold and naked and trying not to cry. And after all that there was the agonising aftermath when she’d shifted back to her normal shape but the process had left her unable to so much as lift a glass of water to her lips without feeling like she’d gone several rounds with some boxer or other. She’d be useless, weak, fragile for days afterwards, and that was what she truly hated. It wasn’t just one night. It never was.
Title: Full Moon
Fandom: Original
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, slight mention of gore
Bonus: No
Word Count: 530
Summary: The night before the full moon is never fun
She saw the moon as she went to close the curtains before she went to bed. It was huge and bright in the near black sky. even with the pollution of the street lights. It was just a sliver away from the full moon, she supposed there was a name for it but she’d never bothered to look it up. She vaguely remembered something that sounded kind of like the name of a monkey, but she had no idea which phase of the moon that was either. Of course she didn’t need to see it to know how close to a full moon it was. She didn’t even need the stupid little circle on her calender that was there for some reason, as if any one but werewolves needed to know when the full moon was. She didn’t need any of that because she could feel it. Already her body felt odd, almost as if it was vibrating on the inside. It didn’t feel like her body, it felt more like she was borrowing it, like it was too small for her, like wearing an ill fitting bra. She rolled her shoulders, stretched her body but still it felt the same, tight and wrong, and ominous. It was coming, just like it did every month and she had no idea why she was even bothering to try to go to bed.
She never slept the night before. It was always impossible unless she got spectacularly drunk, but that only made the next day about a hundred times worse. It was better to be tired than hungover, she reminded herself of that every month. So now here she was, knowing she’d get no sleep but getting into bed anyway. Everything was just overwhelming - the normally soft sheets she had now felt rough against her bare skin even as she just lay there, the scent of the fabric softener was sickly sweet and cloying at the back of her throat, not to mention the toiletries on her bedside table. Then there was the rustle of the pillowcase beneath her ear, almost deafening every time she shifted even slightly.
The physical differences this close to the full moon weren’t even the half of it though. Her mind buzzed with the fear of what was going to happen the next day. The howling, screaming pain that left her throat feeling like she’d eaten glass. The knowledge that her body would soon be tearing itself apart, bones cracking and breaking, organs shredding and muscles snapping from their tendons, before it all shifted, twisted, reformed into something unrecognisable, something monstrous, something lethal. She’d be all alone, locked in a cage, waiting for it to come, cold and naked and trying not to cry. And after all that there was the agonising aftermath when she’d shifted back to her normal shape but the process had left her unable to so much as lift a glass of water to her lips without feeling like she’d gone several rounds with some boxer or other. She’d be useless, weak, fragile for days afterwards, and that was what she truly hated. It wasn’t just one night. It never was.
no subject