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Happy zenin clan massacre Thursday to everyone who celebrates
Probably tank/darlin when they rekindled with the pack after years and was introduced to david and ashers human partners (they thought Asher and david were secret gay lovers) :
just some cutie pies.
The goodest boy 🐶
Rotting with the Moon Chapter 12: Grey
The forest was too quiet.
Jeff stumbled through it anyway, his boots dragging grooves into the mud. Dawn hadn’t fully come yet — just a thin grayness that blurred the trees and made the world look unfinished. Every breath he took burned, not from running, but from the cold that had sunk inside him and refused to leave.
Grey’s absence pressed into his ribs like a missing heartbeat.
He didn’t remember walking back to the house. His mind had folded in on itself after he buried them — just a blur of wet leaves, the scrape of stone, his shaking hands trying to make something that looked like a grave. By the time he reached the edge of the property, morning light was slanting over the house like nothing had happened at all.
He climbed through Grey’s window.
The air inside was stale and sweet with dust. A faint smell of candle wax lingered, the same one Grey used to light when they couldn’t sleep. The bed sat unmade — a hollow where their body should have been, the blanket still bunched from where they’d curled up nights ago. Jeff climbed into it without thinking. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, sighing.
For a long time, he just lay there. Silent tears pouring out of his eyes
The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating — the kind that fills your ears until your heartbeat sounds like thunder. His hands twitched against the sheets, clutching for warmth that wasn’t there.
When he finally opened his eyes again, the ceiling looked different. Faded stains. Spiderwebs in the corner. All of it exactly as it had been before, yet it felt like trespassing now, lying in a room that still remembered someone else’s laughter.
“Don’t care,” he whispered hoarsely.
It used to make them laugh.
Now the words just broke in his throat.
It was late morning by the time he moved.
He wandered the house like a ghost — slow, deliberate, untethered. Every room carried a trace of Grey: a chipped mug by the sink, a loose pencil stub on the table, a stack of books that had been used as a stool. The place had always been small and quiet, but without them, it was unbearable. Too many walls. Too much air.
He made it to their father’s room last.
The door creaked open like it didn’t want to. The air inside was heavy, stale with alcohol and smoke. He could almost see the man standing there, sneering — could almost hear the slap of his hand, the sharp inhale before yelling started. Jeff’s stomach twisted. For a moment, he thought about leaving.
Instead, he smiled. It wasn’t kind.
He tore the room apart.
The laptop hit the wall first, then the computer tower. A calendar fluttered off its nail when he yanked it down, pages scattering like brittle wings. The sound was sharp and violent — each crash a little louder, a little easier than the one before. He ripped the sheets from the bed, kicked the chair over, smashed a framed picture face-down into the floor. Glass cracked beneath his heel, glinting.
By the time he stopped, his breath came in short, raw bursts. His hands were trembling again — this time not from grief, but from something darker that lived just under his skin. He pressed them against his face until his breathing slowed.
That was when he saw the drawer.
It was half-open, tucked beneath a collapsed shelf. Inside, a stack of papers had spilled out — letters yellowed at the edges, photographs in faded color. Something about them looked different. They weren’t like the rest of this house’s lies.
He knelt, pulling one free.
The first photo showed the man — younger, cleaner — standing beside a woman with light hair. She was smiling softly, her eyes half-squinted like she’d been caught mid-laugh. There was something achingly familiar in her face: the slope of her nose, the freckles across her cheeks.
Grey’s freckles.
Jeff swallowed. “That’s you, isn’t it?” he murmured to the photo.
Beneath it lay the letters. The handwriting was delicate and looping, each stroke heavy with care.
To my little star,
If you ever read this, I hope the world is kind to you...
His thumb brushed over the words as if they might vanish. He read through all of them — one after another — until he found the one that told him everything.
Asterix Grey Callway.
Your name means “small star.” I wanted you to have something bright, something that could never be taken away.
Jeff blinked hard, his vision swimming. Asterix. The name didn’t sound strange. It sounded right, like something that had been waiting to be spoken.
He whispered it aloud.
“Asterix…”
It hurt.
But it also felt like holding them again, even just for a second.
He found more: a birth certificate, a hospital tag, an ultrasound photo with scribbled notes along the edges. Every piece built a story the house had tried to bury — a mother who had wanted them, a father who never did, and a child caught between both.
When he finally stood, he clutched the papers to his chest. The room was a wreck around him, but he didn’t care. The drawer lay open like a confession.
“I found you, Grey,” he whispered. “I found you.”
By the time he reached the forest again, the sun was setting. The world glowed gold at the edges, but the air carried that chill that comes just before dusk — the kind that makes everything feel fragile, half-alive.
The clearing was exactly where he’d left it.
The pile of smooth stones.
The flowers, already starting to wilt.
And the small metal ring lying atop the dirt.
He crouched beside it, his knees sinking into the cold ground. The forest hummed faintly — wind through leaves, a distant stream, a bird calling once before falling silent. Jeff rested the letters in his lap and brushed his fingers over the stones.
“I know your name now,” he said softly. “Asterix Grey Callway. It means small star. You really were, weren’t you?”
His laugh came out as a breath, trembling and almost fond.
“I found your mom’s letters. She… she loved you so much. You would’ve liked her. She called you her light.”
He paused.
“She died giving you life. That’s cruel, huh? Seems like everything beautiful ends too early.”
The forest shifted — a breeze, maybe — but it felt like something listening.
He pulled his own ring from his finger, the metal cold against his skin. It wasn’t anything special, just something he’d worn since the accident. He rolled it between his fingers as he spoke.
“I don’t know what happens now,” he admitted. “Jack’ll probably say I’m losing it. Maybe I am. But—”
His throat closed. He forced the words out anyway.
“In another life… I’d want to marry you.”
The air seemed to be still after that. No birds. No wind. Just the quiet pulse of something bigger than silence.
Jeff didn’t hear him approach — just the soft crunch of boots on leaves.
“You talk to the dead now?”
The voice was low, familiar, calm.
He didn’t turn. “Guess so.”
Eyeless Jack stepped into the clearing, his blue mask catching a flash of pale light through the trees. He stood there for a while without speaking, just watching the way Jeff sat beside the grave like a man guarding something sacred.
“You look like hell,” Jack said finally.
“I’ve been worse.”
“...I don’t think anything is worse than this.”
Jeff exhaled. “They deserved more.”
Jack’s head tilted slightly. “You gave them everything and more.”
Neither spoke for a long time. When Jack finally knelt, he placed a small handful of forget-me-nots on the grave. “You loved them.”
“Still do.”
Jack nodded. “Then keep that. It’s the only piece worth carrying.”
Jeff smiled faintly. “You think love survives death?”
“I think it’s the only thing that does.”
They stood together in silence, the kind that wasn’t empty but full — a weight shared. When Jeff finally turned away, his eyes lingered on the grave one last time. He reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the ring atop the stones.
“I’ll see you soon, I love you,” he whispered.
Jack’s hand found his shoulder, steadying him as they started back toward the trees.
The wind changed.
Jeff froze. Behind him, the clearing shimmered — light threading through the branches, soft and pale. It brushed across the stones, the flowers, the ring.
A whisper carried through the air, barely a sound.
I love you too.
His breath caught. He turned, but the clearing was still empty — just the last rays of sunlight flickering over the grave. Yet somehow, it felt like they were there. Watching. Smiling.
He didn’t cry. He just let it ache.
The world on the other side was quiet in a different way.
Grey sat on the edge of their headstone, legs swinging through air that shimmered like dusk made solid. Everything here was light and memory — color that never faded, sound that echoed just enough to remind you it was real.
Beside them sat a little girl with long brown hair and a dress too pink for the woods. Sally, she said her name was. She hummed softly, tracing her finger through the air.
Grey’s gaze stayed fixed on the trees below, on the faint figure walking away through the forest.
“He said he’d marry me,” they whispered.
Sally smiled. “Would you have said yes?”
Grey’s eyes softened, light glinting in the green. “In every lifetime.”
The forest below rippled — Jeff pausing for a moment as if he’d heard.
Grey leaned forward, their form flickering slightly, and pressed a soft kiss against the air — against his cheek from far away.
Then they faded, the clearing going still once more.
The small star, burning quietly in the space between life and whatever came next. 1640 Words
Rotting with the Moon Chapter 11: You
The forest woke slowly.
Dawn had washed the forest in pale gold, but inside, the light came softer. Mist curled low along the ground, blurring the edges of the cabin where Jeff and Grey had taken shelter. Pale light filtered through the trees, muted and gold, catching on the glass of a cracked window. The smell of damp wood and ash still hung in the air, soft and lingering from the small fire they’d built the night before.
Grey stirred first. Their breath fogged faintly as they blinked toward the ceiling beams — the old wood groaning faintly in rhythm with the wind. Their body still ached from the fall, from the running, from everything. But for the first time in a long while, they felt… safe.
Or close enough to it.
Jeff sat cross-legged beside the small hearth, sharpening his knife not out of need but to quiet his thoughts. The sound — steel on stone — filled the silence, not in threat, but habit. He turned it over, letting the light slide across the blade. His hair hung in dark, unkempt strands that half-covered his face. When Grey sat up, he looked over immediately.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Jeff murmured, voice low, almost tender.
Grey shook their head, rubbing their eyes. You didn’t.
The silence between them felt different now. Not heavy, not empty — just… quiet. The kind that lets breath slow, the kind that means survival.
Jeff gestured toward the cracked mug beside him. “Water’s from the creek. Not great, but it’s clean enough.”
Grey smiled faintly, taking the mug and sipping. The cold slid down their throat, grounding them.
“You should rest more,” Jeff said. “You barely closed your eyes last night.”
Could say the same to you, Grey wrote, the motion small and slow, fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion.
He gave a ghost of a smile. “Guess I’m not much of a sleeper.”
They both laughed — quiet, careful, like the forest might listen.
Outside, birds began to stir, their calls faint but hopeful through the fog. The moment felt fragile, but real. Jeff found himself holding onto it — the soft light, the warmth of shared breath, the almost domestic peace of it all.
For a man who’d lived in the shadows, it was dangerously beautiful.
Every time he looked up, they were there: small and pale in the oversized hoodie he’d found for them, legs tucked beneath them, tracing letters in the dust beside their knee as they sat next to him by the hearth.
When they noticed his stare, Grey smiled — a tired, soft curve of their mouth that struck something deep in his chest.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Like I’m worth something.”
Grey tilted their head, unsure. They reached toward him, spelling something slowly against his sleeve with their fingertip.
Y O U A R E.
Jeff’s throat tightened. For once, he didn’t look away.
The morning passed quietly. They found a loaf of stale bread and split it, eating without words. Jeff didn’t need them. Everything Grey felt was written on their face — the calm, the fear, the flicker of something else when their fingers brushed his by accident. Every soft breath between them was threaded with a fragile warmth he didn’t understand but couldn’t turn away from.
He caught himself memorizing details — the way light pooled in their seafoam eyes, the faint freckles beneath their lashes. The way they watched him as if waiting for him to say something, he didn’t know how to say.
He looked down at his hands instead. “I used to think I couldn’t feel anything anymore,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Then you looked at me like I wasn’t a monster.”
Grey’s lips parted, but they didn’t move to spell anything. They just reached out, fingertips brushing the scar at his jaw. The touch was feather-light, reverent almost.
Jeff shivered. No one had ever touched him that gently.
No one except them.
The day stretched into quiet hours — the kind that made the air hum with things unspoken. Jeff showed them how to write more letters in their notebook, taking small notice of how full it was getting. They wrote slowly and unevenly, the lines trembling, but each letter came clearer than the last. When they finally finished, Jeff smiled. “Perfect.”
Grey beamed with pride before going back to the notebook, writing both their own and Jeff’s name. The letters look almost perfect.
Jeff leaned against the wall, eyes closed, soaking in the weak sunlight that slipped through the boards. He could almost pretend the world outside didn’t exist — no static in his mind, no figure in the woods, no echoes of things he’d done. Just this moment: the rustle of Grey’s movements, the crackle of fire, the faint hum of birds in the distance.
Grey, meanwhile, scribbled in the notebook — not words this time, but shapes. The cabin, the trees, the outline of a person with messy hair. When Jeff leaned over to look, they flushed faintly and tried to cover it, but he only grinned.
“That's me?”
They nodded sheepishly.
He laughed quietly. “You didn’t make me look half as bad as I do.”
Didn’t want to.
“Didn’t want to what?”
Grey looked up, meeting his eyes. Didn’t want to make you sad.
Jeff smiled as a chuckle left him for a second, and his gaze softened. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Good or bad? They wrote, teasing faintly.
He chuckled — really chuckled, the sound awkward and boyish and human. “Good. Definitely good.”
They smiled, a little brighter now, and the air between them lightened.
Outside, the forest seemed peaceful — the sunlight like melted honey through the branches. But somewhere deep within the calm, there was an echo. A pull. Something in the silence that didn’t quite belong.
As evening began to fall, the light in the cabin turned amber. Dust floated in the beams, glittering like drifting embers.
Jeff sat near the window, sharpening his knife — not out of need, but restlessness. Grey had fallen asleep curled against the wall, the notebook open beside them. Their breathing was soft, rhythmic, almost fragile.
He watched them for a long time, chest tightening.
There was something about seeing them like that — so peaceful, so alive — that terrified him. Because part of him already knew peace never lasted. Not for people like him.
Outside, the forest grew quieter. Even the birds had gone still. The air felt heavier, thicker — as if something unseen was watching through the trees.
Jeff set his knife down. He looked at Grey again, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from their forehead. His hand lingered longer than he meant it to.
Don’t care.
The memory of their words flickered in his mind, uninvited but grounding. He smiled faintly at the thought — the echo of their stubborn courage.
“You say that a lot,” he whispered.
A laugh slipped from him — the first in a long, long time.
By the time the last of the light slipped beyond the treetops, the forest had gone utterly still.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Jeff stood outside the cabin, staring into the dark. The mist had returned — thin, white ribbons curling low around the trunks. Every sound came warped, muffled by distance. He could feel it again now: the static crawling along his skin, seeping into his veins like cold fire.
He didn’t need to look to know who was out there.
He could feel him.
Jeff felt it before he heard it: a faint ringing behind his ears, like the hum of static trying to wake. Static crawling at the base of his skull. His shoulders stiffened. He knew that sound.
Behind him, the cabin door creaked open.
Grey stood there, barefoot and pale in the dim candlelight. The hoodie Jeff had found for them was too big — sleeves swallowing their hands. Their eyes searched his face, reading what he didn’t say.
He’s here, isn’t he?
Jeff nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
For a moment, neither moved. The night pressed close, the smell of pine and rain thick between them.
Grey stepped closer, their hand brushing his arm. Their fingers spelled shakily against his sleeve: We can run.
He shook his head. “It won’t matter. The forest’s wrong. I’ve seen this before. Once he decides something’s his, he twists the world until you can’t leave it.”
Their throat worked as they swallowed. Then what do we do?
Jeff hesitated. His jaw clenched. Then quietly: “We run anyway.”
They tried. God, they tried.
Grey grabbed their notebook and Jeff’s hand — and together they pushed through the dark. The forest seemed endless, shadows folding over themselves, every path leading to another that looked the same.
They ran until their lungs burned, until the mist became a wall of silver. But no matter which way they turned — left, right, uphill — the same crooked tree appeared before them again and again.
Grey stopped first, chest heaving. Jeff, they wrote, trembling. We’re back…
He turned in a slow circle, eyes wide. The air buzzed faintly with static now — faint whispers threading through the trees. It sounded like radio noise, like voices beneath the world.
“He’s closing it off,” Jeff whispered. “He’s caging us in.”
Something inside him shifted then — fear tangled with fury. His hands curled into fists. “He can’t have you,” he growled, voice rising with something raw, something breaking loose inside. “I refuse.”
Grey reached for him, desperate. Their fingers traced frantic letters against his arm: What do we do?
He turned to Grey, hands trembling. “You need to run. Please. He’ll kill you if you stay.”
No! Their hands slammed against his chest. He’ll kill you!
He smiled then — soft, broken, but real. “You think I care about that now?”
Grey’s breath hitched. Jeff—
“I’m serious,” he said, voice cracking. “He can take everything else from me. Not this. Not you.”
The static deepened, curling through the air like smoke.
Jeff turned toward the fog, eyes dark and wild. “Run, Grey. Please.”
They shook their head violently, tears catching the faint moonlight. No.
He touched their face, thumb trembling against their cheek. “Don’t make this harder.”
Don’t care.
The words stopped him cold. He almost laughed — the same laugh that had surprised him hours before. “You say that a lot.”
Grey smiled faintly, even through tears.
He leaned forward and kissed their forehead — soft, lingering. “I promised that I would always protect you, and I don’t plan on breaking that now. Please run, and I will come find you…”
They nodded once, slow and sure. He wanted to say it — the word clawing at his throat — but it felt too fragile to speak aloud. So he kissed them instead, slow and shaking, their tears tasting like salt and smoke.
When they pulled back, their eyes were wet, and their fingers spelled the word one more time: Stay.
Jeff’s voice broke as he whispered back, “If you stay, he’ll hurt you.”
The letters wavered but held. Don’t care.
For a moment, the world felt impossibly still — the kind of stillness before lightning strikes.
Then the static screamed.
Jeff shoved Grey back, just far enough that they stumbled into the brush, and turned to face the mist. Grey hesitated for a moment before they turned and ran into the dark.
Jeff waited until their footsteps disappeared, then turned toward the shifting silhouette in the forest.
Grey ran until their lungs burned, until their legs gave out beneath them. But the forest wouldn’t let them go — every path curved back toward the same clearing, the same cabin. Panic bloomed in their chest. The trees whispered his name like static.
They fell to their knees, gasping, tears stinging their eyes. ‘Jeff,’ they thought, breathless. ‘Please...stay alive…I still need to tell you how much I love you.’
They looked around the forest and ran for a while before turning back towards the clearing.
‘You never left me. So I’m not leaving you. I won’t ever leave your side until death rips me from you!’
And then — through the fog — came the sound of fighting.
Shapes flickered in the dark — long, shifting limbs that moved wrong, like smoke made flesh. The air split with the sound of splitting static, white noise that made Jeff’s head throb.
“Come on!” he shouted hoarsely. “You wanted me? I’m right here!”
The mist folded inward — and then, for just a heartbeat, Jeff saw him.
The tall figure between the trees. No face, no eyes, but Jeff felt him staring. His body went rigid, his breath hitching in his throat as invisible strings coiled around him — Slenderman’s control tightening like barbed wire through his veins.
His limbs jerked once, against his will.
“Stop it,” he gasped. “Stop!”
The static responded with a cold voice that wasn’t sound but thought — a pulse in the air.
You were mine first.
Jeff grit his teeth, shaking, forcing his arm back down. “Not anymore.”
You disobeyed me.
“I protected them.”
You ruined everything.
“I saved something!” he screamed, his voice tearing. “For once in my life, I—”
The static surged. His body convulsed, one knee hitting the dirt. Blood pounded in his ears, his vision swimming in black and white noise. The voice hissed through the trees. I made you.
“Then you should’ve made me stronger,” Jeff spat. His grip tightened on the knife.
Jeff lunged forward, swinging at the dark shape flickering between the trees. The blade sliced through air that felt too thick, too alive, and something shrieked in response — a sound that wasn’t human.
He caught glimpses of him between the trunks — tall, pale, moving faster than light should allow. Each time he struck, the fog rippled and reformed.
Jeff’s knife flashed in and out of the mist. Slenderman’s form rippled between the trees, impossibly tall, each movement bending the air. Jeff’s strikes were fast but desperate — every swing met with a force that sent pain lancing through his arms.
You could have ruled beside me.
Jeff spat blood onto the dirt. “I’d rather burn.”
She was never yours.
“They’re not a target!” Jeff shouted, voice cracking. “They’re—”
He stopped himself. The word pressed like fire against his teeth.
Say it, the whisper hissed. Say what you’ve become.
Jeff’s knife wavered. “I love them,” he whispered, trembling. “Do you hear me? I love them.”
The forest erupted — branches snapping, air shattering into a thousand threads of sound. Slenderman lunged, but Jeff was faster — barely. The knife tore through shadow and smoke, meeting nothing solid.
But pain ripped across his side anyway, unseen claws tearing through flesh. He dropped to one knee, breath ragged. “You’ll never touch them again!”
A flicker of movement — Grey’s figure breaking through the mist. “No!” Jeff’s scream tore through the clearing as they stumbled toward him. “Run—!”
Slenderman’s control clawed at him again, snapping through his nerves, forcing his arm to jerk sideways. His knife slashed wild — a shallow cut across Grey’s shoulder as they ran toward him, crying out.
Jeff froze, horror flickering through him. “No—!”
Grey’s hand pressed to the wound, small fingers trembling but alive. They were okay. They were okay.
He didn’t have time to breathe before a new shadow loomed behind them.
“Grey—!” he shouted.
The air cracked open.
The figure’s limbs lashed through the mist, fast, silent. Jeff tried to reach them, but the static hit him like lightning, knocking him to his knees. His head screamed with white noise. His vision shattered into fragments — flashes of trees, blood, Grey’s eyes wide and wet, a voice that wasn’t his saying end it.
And then—
Silence.
The static cut out. The forest was deathly still.
When Jeff’s senses returned, Grey was collapsing into his arms.
He caught them before they hit the ground. The world tilted sideways, the night’s edges blurring into dark and gold. He held them close, his breath shaking, their weight too light in his arms.
Their hands shook as they pressed against his wound. Their tears mixed with the blood on his shirt. “You shouldn’t have come back,” he rasped.
Grey’s head shook — defiant, trembling. Their hands rose to his face, spelling against his cheek with shaking fingers:
T O G E T H E R.
Their fingers trembled against his cheek, smearing his blood across their skin. For a long moment, they just looked at him, as if memorizing his face. There was no accusation in their eyes — only peace. They looked at him the way they always had, like they already knew how this was how it would end.
“No—no—no—” His voice splintered. “Please—stay with me—please—”
“You were never supposed to matter,” Jeff whispered, choking on the words.
Grey smiled faintly, lips trembling. “Then why…”
Their voice was soft, raw, almost broken from disuse.
Jeff’s breath caught in his chest.
“Then why do you matter so much to me?” they finished, their tone a whisper more felt than heard.
Jeff froze. “You—you spoke…”
Grey’s hand trembled against his face, tears cutting through the dirt on their skin. “Practiced,” they rasped, their voice a whisper of wind. “Wanted to… surprise you.”
A sob broke from him, sharp and raw. He pressed his forehead to theirs. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve protected you better. I should’ve—”
They shook their head faintly. “Don’t. I couldn’t… leave you.”
His breath hitched. “You idiot,” he whispered. “You beautiful, stubborn idiot.”
They smiled, small and real. “I love you, Jeff.”
He broke then — the sound that left him wasn’t human, wasn’t sane, just pain made into air. “I love you too,” he whispered, and then louder, desperate: “I love you!”
They leaned up — just barely — and their lips met his. It was trembling, soft, filled with everything they didn’t have words for.
When they pulled back, their breath shuddered once more. “You… found me, then,” they whispered.
Jeff’s tears fell onto their skin. “I will always find you.”
Their eyes fluttered closed, breath fading against his lips. The last sound between them was a quiet, broken laugh as their eyes closed. Their hand slipped from his cheek, falling gently against his chest.
The forest around them seemed to exhale — the static fading, the wind sighing low through the trees.
For a moment, everything was quiet. Peaceful.
Then the world came apart in a scream — Jeff’s scream — echoing through the warped forest, tearing through Slenderman’s realm like thunder. Splitting the static and shaking the world apart. The distorted air burned white with grief around him.
By the time the sound faded, the mist had thinned. The air hung heavy with silence.
Grey lay still in Jeff’s arms, their hair brushing his wrist, their blood cooling against his sleeve.
He pressed his face to their shoulder, whispering things only they would ever hear — half apologies, half declarations of love.
Somewhere behind him, a camera clicked — faint, distant — and Jeff’s head lifted sharply.
In the fog stood Grey’s father, recording, eyes wide with something between horror and greed.
Jeff rose slowly, the air around him trembling. His voice was low, hoarse, trembling with the last of his humanity.
“You wanted proof?”
The man took a step back.
“You’ll get it,” Jeff whispered.
Behind him, the forest darkened again — Slenderman’s shadow looming, stretching tall behind the human shape.
Jeff turned toward it, knife in hand, his body a ruin of grief and fury. “They were never yours,” he hissed.
The candle in the cabin flickered once, then went out.
Only the static remained. 3253 Words
Rotting with the Moon
Chapter 10: Us
Rotting with the Moon
Chapter 9: Run
Rotting with the Moon Chapter 8: Matter
The forest still hummed behind him as Jeff walked back to the house. The static in his head hadn’t stopped—it never did after a summons—but tonight it clung tighter, vibrating beneath his skin. Each step through the dark felt heavier, as if the air wanted to pull him back.
He told himself he was only going to make sure Grey was okay. That Slenderman’s threat hadn’t changed anything. But deep down, he knew that was a lie. The truth was simpler and far more dangerous: he couldn’t stay away.
When he reached the window, a stubborn light glowed in the dark. He paused, watching Grey’s slow breaths as they half slept, one arm curled around the battered notebook he’d given them. The sight hit him harder than expected.
He slips through the window soundlessly and crouched beside them. They stirred at the draft, blinking awake, eyes brightening the moment they saw him. No fear. Just quiet relief.
Jeff exhaled, tension easing a little. “Hey,” he said softly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
You’re late.
Jeff gave a quiet snort. “Yeah, well. Had company.”
Grey tilted their head. The faintest wrinkle of worry crossed their brow, and for a second, Jeff wanted to tell them the truth. About the forest, the summons, the way Slenderman’s voice had clawed through his skull until his nose bled. But he didn’t. The last thing he wanted was for them to see how close he’d come to breaking.
Instead, he gestured to the notebook. “What’ve you got there?”
They handed it over shyly. The first few pages were full of shaky, uneven letters—his handwriting mixed with theirs. Simple words: stay, light, friend, safe.
Jeff’s throat tightened. “You’ve been practicing.”
They nodded, smiling again. They pointed to one new page. On it, they had written: Jeff. Come back.
He stared at it longer than he meant to. “You’re getting good at guilt-tripping.”
Grey laughed without sound, their shoulders shaking. Then they started tracing something new: Why do you come?
He hesitated. The answer was simple—he didn’t know. Every reason he’d had for coming here had burned away, leaving only habit and need. “Could ask you the same thing,” he said quietly. “Why do you let me in?”
They thought about it, then wrote, You don’t scare me.
“Maybe you should be scared.”
I think you forgot how to be scary, they wrote next, and that made him laugh, a rough and quiet sound.
He sits beside them, close enough that their knees brushed. They didn’t pull away, and he didn’t, either.
You look tired.
“Don’t start sounding like a parent,” he said, half-teasing. “You’ll ruin the mystique.”
They rolled their eyes and nudged the corner of the blanket toward him. He hesitated only a moment before sitting beside them, letting the quiet fill the space. It was strange—how natural it felt, this silence between them.
Grey tapped the notebook again. You’re shaking.
He froze, glancing down. His hands were trembling, faintly at first, then worse. The static in his head had grown sharper, needling behind his eyes.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just cold.”
They frowned, unconvinced, but didn’t push. Instead, they reached for his hand—slow, careful, like touching something wild. Their fingers brushed his knuckles, small and soft and impossibly human. For a while, there was peace. They practiced more letters. Jeff corrected them, drawing lines through dust on the floor, spelling words slowly until they copied them with growing confidence. The stillness was easy, soft—the kind that made the rest of the world fade to static.
And just like that, the noise surged.
It wasn’t sound so much as pressure—white-hot and pulsing, bursting through his skull until he could hardly breathe. His muscles locked, vision splitting in two. The static whispered, and beneath it, a voice.
You defy me. Again.
Jeff’s breath hitched. “No—”
Grey looked at him in alarm, notebook forgotten. They touched his arm—just a light, grounding touch—but the static inside him flared violently, as if the gesture itself were rebellion.
You were made for obedience; you disobey, the voice said. You forget your place. You forget what you are.
His hand lifted. He saw it as though it belonged to someone else, trembling and wrong. Grey stumbled back, but didn’t run. They were scared—he could see it in the tight set of their jaw—but they didn’t leave him.
Do what you were sent to do.
Grey’s face blurred in front of him, mouth moving soundlessly as they tried to pull him back. But Slenderman’s voice drowned everything. His body wasn’t his anymore. His hand moved before he could stop it—jerking upward, grabbing Grey’s wrist too tightly.
They gasped—soft, startled.
End it.
“Stop—” Jeff choked, fighting against the invisible pull. His vision warped, flickering like static between frames. His hand trembled harder, the grip tightening. He could feel his nails pressing into their skin. “Stop it — Stop it — Let go.”
Grey didn’t scream. They didn’t even pull away. They just looked at him—eyes wide, scared, but still steady, still trusting. And somehow, that made it worse.
End it.
The voice hissed inside him, cold and endless.
He tried to resist, but the command was burning through every nerve. His arm lifted again, shaking their arm violently. Grey stumbled back against the wall, their breath catching as they raised their hands—not in defense, but in plea.
Jeff’s knees buckled. He dropped to the floor, letting go of Grey in the process, gripping his head with both hands, shaking it hard enough to blur his sight as he moved away from them. “No! They’re not—They didn’t—”
They saw.
“I don’t care!” he screamed.
The air went still. Then came a burst of pain—searing and electric, ripping through his skull. The shadows in the corners of the room deepened, twisting like smoke.
Grey moved toward him instead of away, dropping to their knees and grabbing his face gently between their hands.
The warmth broke through the cold like sunlight through storm clouds.
Jeff’s breath stuttered. For one fragile moment, the noise faltered.
“Grey…” he rasped. His voice is barely human. “Move away. Please.”
They shook their head, eyes bright with tears. Their hand stayed firm against his jaw, trembling but sure.
“Stop,” he rasped. “You have to—go—”
But they didn’t. They stayed, eyes wide and wet, lips parted as if trying to say something they didn’t have words for.
The voice inside him snarled—louder, furious. The static became unbearable. His own scream tore through the air, guttural and desperate.
Suddenly, something in him cracked. The pressure that had filled his head wavered, splintered, and then—just like that—shattered.
The room snapped back into focus. The static cut off so abruptly that it left a ringing silence in its wake. Jeff collapsed forward onto Grey, catching himself on one hand and holding Grey against him with the other, chest heaving.
Grey was shaking, but alive. Their wrist had a faint red mark where his hand had seized it—a ghost of a bruise, no more. He stared at it, sick to his stomach.
“Grey—” His voice came out rough, almost broken. “I didn’t—”
They shook their head hard, wiping at their face. They scribbled fast, words unsteady: It wasn’t you.
“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “I’m still the one who—”
They pressed a hand over his mouth, firm but gentle. Then, with the other, wrote: You fought him. You won.
He stared at the words, moving their hand from his mouth. “You call this winning?”
Grey nodded. You stopped.
“You should be afraid of me,” he said, voice cracking.
They hesitated before pulling away, grabbing their notebook, writing something slowly, carefully, like it cost effort just to think it: I was afraid. But not of you. Never of you.
He stared at the words, unable to look away.
They added another line. You stopped him. You could have hurt me—but you didn’t.
“That’s not enough,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t forgive me that easily.”
They hesitated, then wrote something slower, careful: I forgive you because I know you’re kind.
Jeff laughed softly, the sound rough and aching. “Kind. That’s a first.”
Grey set the notebook aside, reaching for him again. This time, they didn’t use words. Their hand brushed the side of his face, thumb tracing the faint line of a scar that kept his face in a permanent smile. The touch was small, almost weightless—but it undid him completely.
He leaned into it before he could stop himself. The warmth of their palm, the faint smell of soap and dust—it was too much. Too human.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
They wrote: Because you look lonely.
He had no answer for that.
The silence stretched, heavy but not cold. He lifted a hand, hesitating before brushing away a tear that still clung to their cheek. They leaned into the touch without flinching, and something inside him gave way completely.
“I don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he said quietly. “But it’s working.”
Grey smiled, eyes glassy. They wrote one last word in the notebook and turned it toward him. Stay.
He let out a shaky breath. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
Then teach me, they wrote.
He laughed under his breath, the sound soft and hollow. “You’re impossible.”
They tilted their head, waiting.
“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered.
They tilted their head. Then earn it.
He huffed a quiet, broken laugh. “You make it sound simple.”
It is. Stay.
The word hit him like a blow. Stay.
He looked at them then—really looked. Their hair was mussed from sleep, their eyes glassy with exhaustion, but they were smiling faintly, the corner of their mouth lifting like they were daring him to argue.
“Every time I do,” he said, voice rough, “something bad happens.”
Then we’ll stop it together.
He wanted to tell them it didn’t work that way. That monsters don’t get redemption arcs, that people like him weren’t meant for softness. But the words wouldn’t come. Because in that moment, all he could think about was how their hand fit against his face.
And how, for the first time since the forest, the static had gone completely silent.
Jeff let out a long breath and pressed his forehead to theirs. “You’re gonna get me killed,” he said quietly.
Grey wrote one last word in the notebook and showed it to him. Alive.
He almost smiled. “Yeah. Guess that’s close enough.”
And for the first time in a long time, Jeff didn’t leave immediately. He stayed. He let the quiet wrap around them like a fragile truce.
They stayed like that until the night thinned and dawn began to creep along the windowpane. The world outside still felt wrong—too still, too quiet—but inside, there was warmth. For a little while, that was enough.
Grey leaned their head against his shoulder, still trembling faintly, and Jeff rested a hand over theirs. The world outside was still wrong—he could feel Slenderman’s rage brewing like a storm at the edge of the woods—but for now, here, there was stillness.
He didn’t deserve it. But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. 1854 Words
Rotting with the Moon
Chapter 7: Them
Rotting with the Moon
Chapter 6: Him
Rotting with the Moon
Chapter 5: Forced
I haven’t seen any homophobic redacted fans but I’ve heard of them quite a bit and because apparently “M4A” isn’t enough of a hint so I’m just gonna say this;
Huxley has two moms
Huxley and Damien have been a couple since 2022
The first time we meet Gavin he’s getting head from some married man with internalized homophobia
Gavin and Lasko hooked up (twice in one day)
Geordie had a boyfriend before he got with cutie
Adam said that he was attracted to Vincent
David and Asher were mates in the imperium au
Adam and Vincent were also together in the imperium au
Erik himself is queer
In the background of some of his videos the cassette tapes say “sexuality is a spectrum” and “Trans rights are human rights” (if I remember correctly)
Erik confirmed in a Q&A that all of his speaker characters are attracted to all genders
These are just the things I can list off the top of my head. There is no space for anyone’s bigoted bullshit in this fandom. They are ALL queer, get with it or get the fuck out
Why isn't Asher as popular as the other wolf bois? Is it because he doesn't have parental angst like David and Milo do?
Is it because he's the happy-go-lucky wolf with an unempowered partner?
Is it because he's a fairly well-adjusted adult or that he has hidden his insecurities with humor and joy?
yeah okay ill reblog that