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“So,” Korren starts. “I think we should make a documentary.”

“A documentary?” I ask. “Whatever for?”

“Werewolves, of course!”

I groan.

“Wait!” He exclaims, grasping onto my shoulders. “Just let me explain. First of all, who better to make a movie about werewolves than an actual werewolf? Second, I’ve always wanted to be a director! Third — and maybe most importantly — can you imagine all the money we’d bring in? And we don’t even need to spend anything on a cast because we’ve got one right in front of us! Oh!” His eyes widen. “Do you think your parents would be interested, too?”

I stare at him in disbelief, inwardly cursing myself for marrying this insane man.

“I’m not sure my dad would want to,” I tell him. I’m not sure I want to.

“But your mom would, right? She’s always watching those trashy bachelorette shows and complaining that they’d be more interesting if she was on them.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? My mom would absolutely be on board with Korren’s crazy idea. My dad on the other hand…

But looking into Korren’s eager and excited face is enough to make me wonder how exactly I’m going to convince my dad to go along with this plan. Perhaps with that new fishing rod he’s been raving about.

A documentary about werewolves, huh? Who would have thought.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

—

“Korren,” I say, shaking him awake gently. “Korren, look.”

“Erg…” he mumbles incoherently, sleep clear in his voice. “Wah iz it?”

“Look,” I say again, pointing out our bedroom window. He slowly follows my gaze only to gasp when he sees the glittering expanse of travelling stars and its collection of fast, shooting bodies painting against our visions. It’s beautiful almost chaotically, as if the world has finally erupted and all that’s left in its wake are its colours.

A mark against the sky. A trailing signature against the universe.

It makes me feel as if we’re the only two people alive.

“It’s beautiful,” Korren whispers.

“I know,” I whisper back.

He pulls me into his side then, and we sit like that, just watching the blinking of passerby celestial spheres. It’s quiet, but not discerning.

And in this moment — in the presence of the only man I’ve ever loved — I feel as if I finally know the universe’s secrets. As if they’ve been unveiled to me under the blanket of dark earth and soft light. As if, for the very first time, I’m made for this world. For its love.

That it’s made for mine, too.

It’s here, laying with Korren beneath the soft, hazy glow of Earth’s steady gaze, that I don’t think about the moon once.

Not a series per say, just a series of moments. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

—

“Hey, love?” Korren’s voice sounds from their ensuite bathroom

“Yeah?” I call back. It’s been a long day — too long of a day, if you ask me — and I want nothing more than to lay with my husband and forget about today’s unfortunate events.

But alas, Korren seems to have other plans.

“Is this… uhh…” he trails off, walking into their room and carrying something… furry?

Korren laughs nervously. “Is this your hair?”

“My hair?” I ask, bewildered.

“Yeah, from your… you know.” He gestures to himself widely before settling his fingers into claws.

Oh, right. That.

Even after a year of marriage, Korren still gets somewhat awkward around the idea of me being a werewolf. Surprisingly, he took the reveal well — though he did suggest they dress up as vampires next Halloween. Something about it being the complete opposite of what people expect. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’s the only person other than my parents to know I’m a werewolf.

Turning to my husband, I only sigh. “Korren, love, I don’t shed. And the last full moon was a couple weeks back, remember?”

He looks at me in contemplation, before his gaze turns to one of horrified realization.

“Oh my God, it’s your father’s, isn’t it?”

And — that. Well. Let’s just say it’s a good thing I love him.

—

The moon is bright.

Even at such a distance, it stares down at the world hungrily. Eagerly. As if it knew all the secrets of the universe, and I’m merely a byproduct of something thought impossible, something unveiled only in the darkness of the full, burning moon.

Perhaps in another life it could have been my God. But now — here — it’s only my damnation.

Sighing to myself, I turn around to watch my husband struggle with the campfire.

“You okay there?” I ask, raising a brow as Korren almost trips over a log. He catches himself at the last second though, and, laughing, waves dismissively at me.

“I’m okay,” he reassures me. “Seriously,” he says as I look at him unsurely.

He sighs in defeat. “Okay, so maybe I could use a little help.”

I grin, moving to take the wood from his hands when he stops me with a kiss, chaste and light against my lips, as his sturdy palms settle against my lower back and he brings me in closer, until my head is leaning against his chest.

“What’s this for?” I murmur into his shirt.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. “I just love you.”

I raise my eyebrows, but don’t push. Really, I know exactly what he’s doing. Korren may be ditzy in all the best ways, but he’s also strangely perceptive when he wants to be, and now that I’m thinking about it, maybe that fall wasn’t as real as I originally thought.

“I love you, too,” I say instead, because really, there’s nothing truer.

It’s strange, to know that for all you fear, there’s something equally as dear to hold onto on the other side. I suppose that’s what brought me to Korren in the first place — his inability to confront fear with anything less than strength.

“I don’t suppose you have powers too?” My husband finally asks, mostly teasing, though I release myself from his hold all the same and step into the darkness toward the firepit, where a pool of water has somehow collected against the stone bottom, the flicker of the rising moon held in its gaze.

“No,” I say, stepping against the puddle. “I’ve got something even better.”

I smile up at him softly, my hand reaching out to slip into his own, and I know even without words he understands.

He always does.

—

What's an example of a good prompt?

"But you know I'm allergic to silver, right?"

"You are?"

"Christ."

"I..."

This was the beginning of the end. It wasn't the minute risk of the silver causing me harm; there are myriad ways to seal silver, and short of ingesting it I'd be fine. It was more that we'd been in a relationship for years and my talk of a silver allergy had gone completely unregistered. There had been cracks appearing in the relationship for a while now, and despite the implication of this grand gesture, there was no silver bullet, or ring for that matter, which could fix that.

edit:

I thought I'd add this: here's a story not written in response to the prompt, but it is thematically consistent with the conceit.

Thought ya'll might enjoy a long read given the subject matter of the prompt.

You might enjoy this then https://youtube.com/shorts/16CKjELxHhg?feature=share

"I...Yes! Of course I do!" And with that, Tomas took the sparkling ring from its tiny, monumental box, and reached up to place it on my finger. I had some serious fears suddenly, but not about him, no. It was me, but in the moment, with him? I couldn't say no, the consequences be damned. The ring was beautiful, modest, but beautiful just like Tomas. I was embarrassed to realize I trembled a bit as he was about to put it on. Trembled! Oh for God's sake.

But then, just as he was slipping it on I caught a smell. Like metallic water, and a biting tinge in my nose, like inhaling deeply on an incredibly cold day. I caught myself as I instinctively jerked my hand back. Tomas looked at me, naked concern on his face. "Are...are you ok, my love?"

Those misgivings I had momentarily earlier. I'm what you'd probably describe as a werewolf. Not the "cursed to change when the full moons bright" type, more like I can do it when I'd like and remain sentient. And yes, things can get out of hand. It's like being wonderfully drunk; lowered inhibitions, terrible judgement. But it feels great while its happening.

Also, unlike the movie werewolves, silver doesn't hurt to touch. I'm pretty much invulnerable to most things, but silver seems to negate that. Touching it is like touching a bullet. Unless it's puncturing you at the time, it's not going to do any damage. And, even better, it has to be pure silver. Whatever that means. All I know is due to some deal with all the nuclear testing back in the 50s and 60s, any silver forged or melted or cast or whatever isn't pure anymore. So silver that can hurt me is pretty rare. But Jesus does it stink. Smell it long enough, you'll get a hell of a migrane.

But it's not the ability to change into a seven foot tall wolf monster that had set off those earlier worries. I'm also very long lived. I'm not sure how long, actually. I dont have a wealth of memories, my memory works like yours does. A lot of stuff just fades over time. But you remember some things that stand out for whatever reason. For example, I remember getting into an argument with a red priest who shook a dagger at me in Madrid, sometime around like 1680 or so. I also remember being in my bipedal lupine form this one time, about when Victoria was queen, and ended up hanging out with a really drunk farmer, like out of his mind, somewhere in a field outside London, who informed me more than once that I was a terrifying yet unexpectedly delightful hallucination. But I dont remember a childhood or parents or any of that. Not even snippets. Weird.

The point is, I don't know how this is going to go twenty years from now. Or ten, for that matter. But for the moment, I just want to be happy and Tomas makes me happy. For right now, tonight, there's no other answer than "yes."

"Yes, I'm great! Thank you! Why am I thanking you??" Tomas laughed and placed the ring on my finger. After that I was delirious for awhile. I'd just learn to keep the ring away from my face.

Later that night, in bed, I woke up to see Tomas standing over me.

"Tomas? What's up?"

"Beast. And now that I have confirmed what you are, I shall send you back to hell where you belong, in the name of the spanish inquisition." Tomas was expressionless as he pulled a long silver knife from behind his back.

"Its too late for any Monty Python shit, get back in here." I mumbled.

"I renounce you." He snarled, pointing the gleaming, stinking knife at me.

It took me a moment to even realize he had a weapon, much less that it was silver. I was mentally tumbling around. How could he have done this? Perpetrated this lie for so many months? I'm not going to get into the whole "who's the real monster" thing, but honestly, what kind of soulless, horrific person could do this to someone? I got really angry, but only for a moment before I realized what would have to happen. The anger melted as quickly as it had come. As he raised the knife, I smiled at him sadly. "That won't work, Tomas. Please trust me. Before you get hurt."

"We're aware of that, hellbeast. The atom splitting weapons of Satan have poisoned even the purest metal. But the Inquisition has a long memory and," he glanced at the knife and shrugged, "something of a hording problem apparently."

There was that sense of humor with absurd timing I'd so loved.

I focused on the knife as well as I could. It couldn't be... with a snarl that dropped several registers in a second, I spun to a crouch and lept at him in a single fluid action, changing, claws outstretched, as he raised the pure silver dagger from Madrid.

Maybe Tomas and I would be together forever after all...

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I didn't know I needed this

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then make some damn prompts. Saying "oh but I dont have time to" or "I dont have the creativity to" isnt a fucking excuse and all it proves is that you're whining just to whine.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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What's a broken pelvis between friends? He got this.

death by snu snu?

I want a series of this love story, very wholesome.

I really do appreciate all the advice I get. I’m not a professional writer by any means and just do this for fun, so I’m happy to read any feedback I receive!

Though, for what it’s worth, you should definitely try your hand at writing for a prompt if you want to! It’s a lot of fun and good for practice.

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That's too NSFW for me, censor your goddamned hand holdings!

"Huge surprise, Mr. Goes for a walk at 3am, during a full moon, in. A. Tracksuit!"

This sub has really gone downhill. These prompts have been so disappointing for the last few years.

If she knows he’s allergic then there’s not real reason to get around it? They can figure out a solution between both of them, like resin coating the ring or even replacing it

To be honest, I thought about not even giving you advice since everything else I saw I loved, and having looked through more of your work I can see you clearly didn't need it.

Part of what I like about your writing is that it is similar to my own style, but with much more practice behind it. It has an elegance and an eye for the details that really help the reader connect to the story, and you are able to make compelling characters in just a short story.

Alas, I always tell myself that I should write for these prompts, but I never end up doing it.

I would love to see a story where the werewolf tries to make the silver ring "accidentally disappear", just to fail at each attempt.