Ill Met By Moonlight - [South Park x Male Reader]

01 - Sheriff, Arriving On Scene

Fuck, you really dropped the ball on this one,[M/N].

First you drink on the job, get in a fist fight with a drunk civilian, then you get the shit kicked out of you by the beast that's been killing your friends.

You really are a let, aren't you?

No matter, you've been claimed by the Black Goat of the Woods. You're his beast now.

But you're no hunter, so you run through the dark woods. You're being chased by something. Was it your fears? Your failures? Something more, maybe...

You're weak. You had the taste of blood in your mouth, but your frail, pitiful and limited body wasn't made for the Hunt.

Slow. No claws. Dull, mashing teeth meant for chewing cud, like the rest of the Prey.

Rain sputters down on you, though it's red, and sticks to your skin and fur like napalm.

The wind crashes against you, slowing you down for the kill.

But as always, Lady Luck finds you, and you manage to get out of the woods, and into a grassy clearing.

You can see it now. The Blood Moon. The Siring of The Great Hunt is upon you. Men that shift to animals under the Lunar phases descend upon South Park like flies on shit.

A man on a rock bellows to you, calling you into joining the glorious Hunt.

You wanted to go, the Beast inside you raged, wanting to claim what was rightfully his, now. But many hands held you back. They were comforting, wishing to guide you away and into a light.

You could not see their faces, though their smells were familiar. You wanted to be surrounded by them at all times.

Before they could take you to safety, a dark mist was cloaked around you, and great wolf, as big as a school bus descended upon you...

You should probably wake now. Lots of work ahead of you, [M/N]...

Tuesday, January 12, 2007

Gasping awake, you clutched your chest in shock. Staring at a white ceiling, you quickly dart your head up from the pillow, eyes looking around the strange room you've been placed in. Looking down, you appear to be wearing some kind of hospital robe. A sudden throbbing in your head makes you groan, feeling the worst migraine that could kick a hangover's ass.

Your thoughts barely collect themselves, realising you had been placed here in hospital.

"Oh shit, you're awake!" A voice calls beside you, seeing it belonged to a middle aged ginger man, with a slightly impressive moustache. "Chief Harrison...?" You mutter, squinting your eyes confused, as he slowly sits back down on the bed side chair. "Easy, son... you've had a rough night." Harrison begins, handing you a glass of water, which you slowly sip. The tooth pain from yesterday was gone.

"What... What happened to me...?" You groan, situating yourself into a seating position. The events of last night was blurry, the only thing prominent coming to mind was a fight between you and the beast. You lost.

"After the encounter with the killer, four boys managed to ram their truck into him. Saving your life, it looks like." The Chief explain, picking up a notepad and going over some notes. "Good news, no South Park residents died thanks to you, just some little Denver twerps." He goes down the list, laughing a bit at the deaths of those from Denver. A little harsh.

"Bad news, the guy got away. We questioned the boys that brought you to hospital, but they all said the same thing; 'he got up and ran away'. after a pickup runs someone down, they usually stay that way..." Harrison finishes, grimacing slightly from your appearance. He was actually shocked you've woken, Doc said you would be in a coma for a few weeks at most, judging by your wounds. "I just wanted to make sure we've got every detail on the fucker. Anything you wanted to add." The middle age man questions, pen ready on his notepad.