#//you find in a safe room tucked away far from whatever monsters are lurking out there. like with all the other save rooms

[mechahero]

//Thinking about video game-esque stuff for Lambda again. Save points for him would either be a game console or one of his favorite magazines.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: lmaooooooo this just gets gayer and gayer 💀💀

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Do you copy? This is a code red."

The rising sun makes its way through the blinds in Max's bedroom, its gentle yellow rays split into several thin beams and casting out over the three sleeping bodies splayed over one another on the floor. El's body still curled into Y/n's arm, her hair a mess. Y/n was splayed out on her stomach, crooked, as her head had edged its way onto Max's pillow and her legs fell over El's. All the while, a sleeping Max had resorted to using the back of Y/n's shoulder as a pillow.

And they were snug as can be, tucked away in sleep, drool threatening to drip from their parted mouths as Lucas's desperate voice rings out from Max's super com.

"I repeat, this is a code red."

The device seems to grow louder with every word, slowly but surely pulling the girls from sleep.

"Max. Do you copy?" Max lifts her head from Y/n's shoulder, scooching back onto her pillow, and begins palming the ground under her bed. "This is a code red."

Her hand finally finds the comms and she senses El lazily rise up onto her elbow. She presses the button and seethes into the microphone.

"Shut. Up."

She slams the antenna down and shuts off the device, throwing it back under the bed. Y/n hums into the pillow, eyes still closed.

"Mm... what's red?" She asks through clenched teeth, still much too tired to even move her jaw.

"Nothing," Max yawns.

She turns over in bed, nestling back into the rainbow sheets and finding herself nearly nose to nose with Y/n as El rubs the sleep from her eyes, finally joined them. El just settles her head back into her pillow, her tangled hair still falling over her face and blocking out the sun. She let out a soft yawn, letting sleep return to her as she snuggled back into Y/n's arm happy and warm.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Lucas stares at his super com in light shock as he looked between his friends perched on either side of him on the basement couch.

"She turned it off."

Simultaneously, Will, Lucas, and Mike's eyes all jump to the phone hanging on the wall.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The blaring ring of Max's telephone is the next thing to wake them, and Y/n groans. Max shoots up in anger, her long red hair falling over her glaring face.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." She seethes, pulling herself up to her feet.

"Tell him we're not home," Y/n mumbles, still fighting a losing battle with sleep and a foggy mind.

Max stomps across the floor, strategically maneuvering around her friends, and rips the phone off its receiver.

"I'm sleeping. Go away,"

"Max, this is Will—" her hand caught mid-air, the boy's words barely registering to her in time. Reluctantly, she brings the phone back up to her ear. "I need you to stay on the line, and please just listen."

When Will doesn't hear the click of the dial tone, he breathes a sigh of relief. His eyes dart over his shoulder at his waiting friends trying to feed him the words but he ignores them, turning away.

Max frowns into the phone at what he says next, his voice going pleading.

"Is Y/n there?" There's a pause, and Max frowns down at the phone when she thinks she hears light shushing. "And El? Are you guys all together?"

Okay, now she was bugging out a little.

"Why?" She asks, an edge gradually returning to her voice out of concern.

She glances over her shoulder at her two best friends; Y/n had finally opened her eyes and was trying to make sense of her surroundings as she squinted through the sunlight and El was flowing up at her, worried.

"Just, stay together, okay? Something bad happened, is happening, whatever. We don't really know, but we can't take any chances."

"Okay, what are you talking about? What's going on?" She presses.

"Just meet us at Mike's house, and I'll explain. We all will. Just get over here, quickly."

"What?"

"Hurry!"

And then the line went dead.

Max held the phone in her hand, her stare drifting off as Will's words echoed in her mind.

"What'd he say?" El asked.

"Yeah," Y/n yawned, finally pulling herself into a sitting position, her face puffy from sleep. "is everything okay?"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Try Dustin again," Mike says, turning to Lucas.

"He's not answering," Lucas says.

"So, try him again,"

Lucas bites back a sigh and returns to his comms with a sigh. Will picks the phone back up, shooting Mike a knowing look.

"I'll try their house,"

Lucas shoots him a thankful look before returning to his mindless search.

"Dustin, do you copy? I repeat... this. is. a. code red."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dustin watches from the very same ledge as Lynx Transportation hauls a cart full of shipments from Kauffman Shoes and Imperial Panda. But his mind was still spinning, trying to formulate possible answers as to just what he was dealing with as he scouts for their routine.

His eyes had caught on the third armed officer who approached the keypad holding a small plastic card, and Dustin made a mental note.

"That keycard opens the door, but unfortunately the Russian with this keycard has a massive gun,"

Sure enough, the metal doors swung open and the cart is pushed inside. Apart from his cautious glare on the armed guard standing watch, his eyes try to catch whatever lays beyond the threshold.

It looked to Dustin to be a storage room no bigger than his living room, stacked with similar boxes.

"Whatever's in this room, whatever's in those boxes, they really don't want anybody finding it," Dustin concludes as he paces the back room of Scoops Ahoy.

Robin and Steve sit opposite one another in thought.

"But there's gotta be a way in," Robin mutters.

"Well, you know..." Steve stops twirling his hat, quickly reshaping the top with a quick puff of air before dropping it on the table and leaning in with a serious tone. "I could just take him out,"

"Take. Who. Out?" Robin blinked.

"The Russian guard," he answers obviously.

Robin leans back in her seat, nodding sarcastically at him through wide eyes and Steve scoffs.

"What? I sneak up behind him, I knock him out, and I take his keycard. It's easy,"

"Did you not... hear the part about the massive gun?" Dustin asks with crossed arms.

"Yes," Steve snarks, surprised. "Dustin, I did. And that's why I would be... sneaking."

"Ahh," Dustin nods. "Well, please, tell me this, and be honest, have you ever actually..." Dustin gives an all too casual shrug, knowing exactly what button he was pushing. "won a fight?"

"OH-kay, that was one time—"

"—Twice. Jonathan. Year prior?"

"Uh, listen. That doesn't count,"

"Why wouldn't it? Because it looks like he beat the shit out of you."

Robin finds herself laughing, lazily rolling her eyes across the shop as the two continue to bicker.

"It was—"

Her grin slowly falls when her eyes catch something in the corner.

"—You got a fat lip, crooked nose, swollen eye, a lot of blood,"

"...things all added up, yeah they sound bad but..."

As the thought grew into an idea, the grin returned to Robin. "That just might work,"

She was out of the backroom, hand diving into the tip jar faster than they could blink. They scrambled to the window in a baffled frenzy.

"Robin,"

She didn't answer, and when she made a break for the exit, Steve and Dustin tumbled out from the back room.

"Hey, Robin! Hey, what— what are you doing?"

"I need cash," she explains, backing out of the store.

"Well, half of that's mine," he pouts. "Where're you going?"

"To find a way into that room, a safe way. And, in the meantime, sling ice cream, behave, and don't get beat up," she says with an excited smirk. "I'll be back in a jiff!"

With a quick two-finger salute, she had disappeared into the crowd leaving her privately self-proclaimed Dingus Duo at home base.

Steve sighs, looking to Dustin only to find him licking the scooper.

"Oh, dude," he scolds, yanking it out of his hands and returning it to his sling with a twirl. "Come on, man, not my scooper,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The trip to Mike's house had indeed been a quick one. When Max had relayed the message, a grave face became all of them. El and Y/n looked at each other and knew; their fears were being realized. And Max knew there was no more denying it, no matter how much she wanted to. No matter how much she needed to.

"I didn't think it was anything at first," Will says.

He was before his friends - most of them anyway - all of them seated around the coffee table in Mike's basement. He hadn't realized how much he had missed Y/n until he had seen her, nor her him. And neither had left each other's side since they gathered. She was sat beside him on a low footstool, El to her right on the upholstered chair, and him on her left; perched on the arm of the couch to the far right of Mike and Lucas.

Concern was etched on her features, as it was on all of them as they listened intently.

"I mean, I think I just didn't want to believe it." He sighs, locking eyes with Y/n knowingly. "The day I first felt it was at Day of the Dead,"

《•••》

And not unlike only months short of a year prior, when he felt himself ensnared in the terror and icy grip of the monster that lurked in shadows only he could see, Will Byers could feel his skin tightening painfully as goosebumps gripped his neck. It was a chill he hoped he'd never feel again, a chill that had nearly destroyed him and his family and friends. And Y/n. The passionate, fiery, hatred for the girl was the only thing about this icy monster that burned brighter than the horrifying memories it left with him.

"Will?"

Startled, his head is ripped to her direction, arm already slipping away from his neck as she stares at him in worry. She recognized the look in his eyes all too well, and immediately she knew something was amiss.

"Will, what is it?"

《•••》

"The power went out that night, too," Mike says in realization, and Will nods.

"And then I felt it again at the field near the Nelson farm the next day."

《•••》

Will stopped suddenly when the world plunged away from underneath his feet and the dark feeling returned. All the while, Y/n's voice faded into the distance as he gripped his goosebump-covered neck, looking fearfully out onto the horizon.

"Think they'll carry me if I fake a leg injury?" She chuckles, her voice far away and fleeting from him.

Despite the steady burst of hot air carried through the breeze and the sun beating down on his skin, he felt a total absence of warmth. And like almost like a phantom limb, all he can feel is panic and something dark, and desperate... Something angry.

"Will?"

《•••》

"Then again, yesterday outside Castle Byers,"

《•••》

As Will mingled with the dirt beneath him, the storm pounding against his back soaking him to the bone, he feels it again.

The same feeling he had felt the night before Dustin's return, the day of, and now...

Well, there was no denying it. No more running. This was real, and it wasn't something so easily shaken.

A great change was upon him and his friends, a change none of them were prepared for.

Shakily, he pulls himself to his feet, not entirely sure if the voice calling his name was real.

"Will?"

With a faraway look in his eyes, Will turns to his awaiting friends as his stomach plummets beneath the earth.

《•••》

"What does it feel like?" Max asks from her spot across the coffee table.

"It's almost like..." everyone watches patiently as Will draws on a thoughtful face, for once it seems, struggling for the right words. "You know when you drop on a rollercoaster?"

Y/n, Max, and Mike all nod.

"Mm-hmm,"

"Yeah,"

"Sure,"

"No," El says, still listening intently.

"It's like... everything inside your body is just sinking all at once, but this is worse," Will says, a faraway look in his eyes that Y/n knows all too well. "Your body... it goes cold. And you can't... breath."

Will's eyes jump down his wringing hands when he feels Y/n entwining her left with his right, interlacing their fingers and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. He feels his shoulders slack at her warm touch and he sends her a thankful look before continuing, feeling just a little braver.

"I've left it before," he says through a wavering voice. "whenever he was close."

《•••》

He fearfully crept towards the front door. He came to a stop when he heard the dreadful sound of wood creaking and he watched in horror as the front door slowly swung open to reveal a reddish-purple sky, and the violent winds were carrying leaves and other debris with it. Something strange was growing around the outside of the house and he felt the familiar sensation returning.

He felt his blood run cold and his skin shriveled up, goosebumps breaking out all over. His breathing picked up and he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he watched frozen in terror.

《•••》

"Whenever who was close?" Mas asked, fearing the answer she already knew.

Will tried to remind himself he was in the presence of his love and his friends but fear still gripped his lungs and threatened to steal his voice. Finally, with a trembling breath, he spoke the truth none of them wanted to hear, changing the rest of their summer - and possibly the rest of their lives - forever.

"The Mind Flayer."

《•••》

"Go away!"

It got closer. It was swooping in like a vulture but Will didn't give in.

"Go away! Go away!" Tears were streaming down his face, and the monster got closer.

《•••》

Y/n's eyelids fall closed at the mention of the monster that brought so much harm and grief to her and the lives of her loved ones as the truth hits her completely. Just the sight of his convulsing body and his weeping mother that day out on the field when the Mind Flayer got him was traumatic enough. Her eyes flicker back open, back onto the equally horrified looks of her friends and her grip on her boyfriend's hand tightens.

"I closed the gate," El reasons.

"I know, but," for a moment, WI loses his voice again and he clings to Y/n's touch like a lifeline bringing him back. He fears the words he is about to speak, not only for his sake but for everyones. For Y/n's. But the fear was too great to keep quiet. If it was even a real possibility, it had to be stopped. As soon as possible. "What if he never left?"

Shakily, he looks around the room with horror hidden within his hazel irises until they land on Y/n, full of grief. His voice was soaked with apology, unable to contain his worry.

"What if we locked him out here with us?"

Y/n's head turns to meet El's eyes, the two share an equally concerned and knowing gaze from beside one another. Her stomach was twisting into knots, the horrible, sickly feeling of dread that had been building for the past two nights was finally realized.

||𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"This is him," I say, throwing a spare piece of paper on the D&D table before us all. The six of us all stood together, finally surrounding the D&D table for all the wrong reasons but there's no time to think about that now. I grab the charcoal in hand and began frantically scribbling an all too familiar shape in charcoal. "All of him,"

"But that day on the field," I explain. "part of him attached itself to me,"

I fight the intrusive memory trying to overwhelm me, bringing back the phantom chill that has always lingered since that day.

《•••》

He stood frozen, now trapped in the swirling fog. Several black tendrils spawned from the mass and invaded Will and he could feel the evil presence as it possessed his body and settled in his very soul.

《•••》

I yank my hand across the page, pulling up my dirtied palm to show my friends before nodding to my left.

"Y/n got him out of me,"

《•••》

"I think it's an earthquake!" Mike cries.

A light breeze picks up in the tunnel from where they're headed, carrying with it a warm toasty wave of heat that answered their question.

"No, not an earthquake!" Dustin's eyes went wide from behind his goggles as he looked to the others excitedly. "It's Y/n!"

•••

The Henderson child had managed to pull herself from unconsciousness, and she now stood across the bed. Her arms were stretched out before her and a blazing fire resided in her eyes, a grunt pulled from deep within her throat. Three bloody lines where his nails had caught her ran diagonally down her vein-covered face. Each vein protruded from her skin as blood poured from her nose and ears.

Like a broken dam, all that raw power trapped inside her burst free. Y/n was a supernova, a sight to behold as everything inside her exploded all around her.

•••

Will's mouth opens in another scream and a billowing cloud of inky black smoke escapes. It twists and unravels out from between his lips like a pitch-black tornado.

《•••》

"and El closes the gate,"

I flip the page back over and my eyes trail across my friends' faces thoughtfully, the last of the pieces falling into place as I explain.

"The part that was still in me, what if it's still in our world?"

《•••》

It grows larger and larger, circling over the boy and looms over the entire room as it had the last few days. Will's body goes limp, falling back onto the mattress as the dark mass zips across the room and through the front door breaking it open.

Nancy quickly recovers her footing and chases it out of the door to assure it's leaving for good. Sure enough, when she reaches the porch she spots the black dust circle the trees before disappearing into the sky.

《•••》

I plant my charcoal-dusted hand on the paper, leaving behind a faint trace of black.

"In Hawkins," I conclude.

"I don't understand," Max began. "The Demodogs died when El closed the gate. If the brain dies, the body dies,"

Y/n shook her head gravely from beside me, standing up a little straighter after leaning against the table.

"But the brain didn't die," she sighed heavily in realization. "Not all of it. So the part that was in control, lost. And so did the army, but, enough must have survived... And now after all this time..." She trailed off.

Mike nodded from beside me.

"Exactly," he said. "We can't take any chances. We need to assume the worst... The Mind Flayer is back."

I feel Y/n shift uncomfortably from beside me, her eyes drilling holes into the paper as she chews on her lip and I feel a tug in my chest. But the others were still looking towards me, waiting, and so was she so I continued.

"And if he is," I begin, hesitant to tear my eyes away from her. "He'll want to attach himself to someone again. A new me,"

Once again my eyes meet with all my friends as the very air around grows thicker, and Lucas finally concludes what we all fear.

"A new host,"

I nod and the room falls quiet again at the challenge laid before us.

It was difficult enough facing an enemy as powerful and ruthless as the Mind Flayer, but I think it helped our chances considerably he attached himself to me; someone who already had some insight on his territory, the Upside Down. Not only that, but I was indescribably lucky enough to have the people I have in my life who fought for me. The chief, Bob, my friends. Jonathan and my mom, and of course Y/n.

But his next victim could be anybody, and that's what makes him even more dangerous.

Finally, Y/n broke the silence - the second time she had spoke since the news had been broken. If I thought she was terrified before, I was dead wrong. I saw pure dread growing in her eyes as they trailed from El's and up to mine, widened and shining. It was with a plunging stomach I knew she had our first clue.

"Oh, no,"

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[yukidragon]

Our Life Snippet - Unsettled in Sunset Bird

It’s time again for another slice of my Our Life: Beginnings & Always fan novelization’s first draft! After two weeks in a row of Step 2, let’s have something from a different step, shall we? Let’s take a peek at a piece of the spooky little Step 1 moment: Ghost.

As always, thank you all for enjoying my work, and a special thanks in particular to this lovely game’s lovely creators, @gb-patch​. You’re all wonderful!

 …

 It was a dark, moonless night, still and silent. It was so quiet that it didn’t feel natural, and that was what kept Jamie from sleeping. Normally the nights would be filled with soft noises, like the air conditioner thrumming, and the faint hints of the wind, crickets, and the ocean drifting in from outside. There seemed to be none of that tonight, no matter how hard Jamie listened, and that troubled her. Her hearing was sensitive, so she should have heard something of the usual night time sounds besides her own breathing. The only solace she found in the oppressive silence was the faint sound of Lizzie snoring in the next room over. It at least reminded her that she wasn’t alone in the house.

Jamie tried her best to shake off how eerie the night felt. Unfortunately, not even rereading her favorite book in the gentle glow of her flashlight under the safety of her covers could make her stop noticing the stillness around her. Each turn of the page was loud, too loud, and it left her too uneasy to continue reading.

After putting her book away, Jamie kept her flashlight by her side, though she forced herself to turn it off. She was supposed to be sleeping no matter how eerie it was. She just had to remind herself that there was nothing lurking in the dark, no matter how scary it seemed. There were no such things as monsters or ghosts or boogie men that tried to snatch little kids’ feet if they were too slow to get back into bed safely - her parents said so and they were right about just about everything.

Jamie tried to distract herself with happier thoughts. Memories of the fun she had this summer were the first thing to come to mind, and she sifted through them like pages in a scrapbook. This was the best summer she had ever had, and she knew that was because of Cove. All of the best moments involved him.

It was funny. Jamie had only known Cove for, what, two months now? It wasn’t a very long amount of time at all, yet her new neighbor had already become such a big part of her life.

It didn’t feel like it was August already. It felt to Jamie as though it had only been a week or two since the start of June when she first met Cove. Summer always passed by much too quickly, but this one slipped away in a blur of laughter and sunshine. It really was true that time flew when you were having fun, and it made sense that every day she spent with Cove sped by faster than a rollercoaster.

Jamie settled into her pillow with a smile on her face as she remembered the fun she and Cove had just earlier that day. Her eyelids dipped heavily, sleep finally catching up to her as she dreamed up new adventures the two of them could have tomorrow.

That was when something scraped against the window.

The sound was practically deafening in the eerie silence, and Jamie jolted upright, her eyes flying open wide to stare at the window. Nothing but darkness and the dim glow of buildings in the far distance greeted her.

It was just the wind, Jamie reassured herself. Or rather, it was likely that the wind pushed one of the branches from the tree outside her window against the glass. It wasn’t uncommon, especially in the summer when the breezes could get pretty strong, so that meant there was nothing for her to be scared of. Summer breezes could be the worst sometimes.

Jamie tucked herself back under the covers and turned her back to the window. She wasn’t going to be a scaredy cat over a tree branch and some wind. She was eight - way too old to be scared of the wind.

The scraping repeated itself, and Jamie felt the sound crawl up her spine like pins and needles. She grabbed fistfuls of her blanket and pulled it over her head, determined to ignore the creepy sound. It was nothing, and she wasn’t scared.

Unfortunately, the more Jamie tried to ignore the eerie noise, the louder it seemed to grow. The more she heard it, the less it sounded like it was a branch scratching the windows; it sounded more like something outside trying to get her attention, and it was scraping its long, gnarled fingernails against the glass, wanting to come inside.

The image made Jamie turn back around and sit upright, her eyes wide and fixed once again on the window. Again, she saw nothing there… or, at least, nothing she could see.

Jamie inched closer to the window to get a better look outside. Movement caught her eye, and she focused on the tree outside as it swayed a little in the breeze.

That proved it, Jamie told herself. It was just the wind and the tree. That was all.

Jamie kept repeating this to herself as she once more buried herself beneath the blanket. It was only the wind and branches and nothing more.

But the scratching didn’t stop. Though Jamie squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to ignore the scraping noise, it just got louder, drowning out the sound of her heartbeat echoing hard in her ears.

For a third time Jamie sat up and stared out her window at the swaying tree, trying hard not to blink. She waited, determined to see the branch scrape her window and prove that there really was nothing to fear, no ghosts or witches or monsters trying to pry their way inside her room and gobble her up.

When the sound repeated itself, Jamie flinched, her entire body tensing up. The tree was bending in the wind alright, but not far enough for even a single branch to reach her window.

Nothing was there. Nothing touched her window. Nothing.

Jamie all but leapt from her bed, scooping up her flashlight and stuffing her feet into her slippers before hurrying to her bedroom door. She couldn’t ignore this anymore. She had to know what was making that sound.

Quietly, Jamie crept down the stairs. The lights were still on downstairs, which meant that her moms were still awake. They always stayed up so late every night.

Her first instinct was to go to her moms, but they were busy watching TV in the living room. Jamie didn’t want to bother them, not when there was nothing to see. All she had to do was go outside and see for herself that there was nothing to be scared of and then she could go back to bed.

The soft soles of her slippers allowed Jamie to sneak soundlessly past the living room. Her moms didn’t notice, too focused on whatever they were watching on TV. They didn’t even hear the soft click of the front door’s lock or the sound of it being gently opened then even more gently shut as the little girl snuck out into the dark, eerie night.

 …

 Cove couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t all that unusual that he would find himself lying awake in this house that was supposed to be his home now. Although the place had grown a bit more familiar to him in the past two months, this bedroom still didn’t really feel like it was his room even though it had all of his stuff in it. This left some nights, like tonight, with him lying awake and staring at the bottom of the bunk above his head.

It was so quiet. That should have made it easier to relax and fall to sleep, but tonight it somehow left Cove feeling uneasy. The only sound he could really notice was the faint burbling of his aquarium. It was also the only source of light, casting a soft blue glow through his otherwise darkened bedroom.

The fish swam around in their little home without a care. Even without his glasses, Cove could see them well enough to watch them. Some of the fish drifted about lazily while others zipped to and fro as if they had no idea it was night and everyone should be winding down for sleep.

The sight was soothing. Most nights when Cove had trouble sleeping, he found that simply watching his pets go about their own fishy lives to be a comforting distraction, and at some point he’d drift off to dreamland.

Maybe it would’ve worked that night too if Cove didn’t feel so painfully homesick.

Since his dad dragged him there, Cove had grown a bit more familiar with Sunset Bird and its countless weird quirks, but that didn’t mean he was used to it. There didn’t seem to be a day where he didn’t compare it to his real home, especially when something happened to leave him feeling alone and helpless, like a night that felt eerily quiet and empty like tonight.

Cove knew that he wasn’t really alone in the house, no matter how much it felt like he was. His pets were right there, and he knew his dad only a couple rooms away. The only one who was supposed to be there but wasn’t was his mom.

It was hard for Cove to wrap his head around the fact that it had been two months since he had seen his mom. He couldn’t think of a time when they were apart for more than a day before he was taken away from his home. She called practically every day, and it was always a relief to hear her voice and her reassurances that she missed him and still loved him, but phone calls weren’t a substitute for being with her face to face.

Her phone calls made Cove happy, but at the same time, it was hard not to feel angry with her and the countless excuses she had about why he couldn’t come back home or why she wouldn’t come see him. His dad had just as many excuses for why life just couldn’t go back to normal.

Excuses, excuses, excuses. His parents just expected Cove to accept it all no matter how unfair it was. They assured him that he would feel better about everything eventually, but he didn’t. Supposedly this house would feel like home eventually, but it didn’t. Nothing about living here felt right to him even after so many uneasy nights in this weird place. Nothing about Sunset Bird felt like home, and he knew it never would be.

A smiling face with blue eyes that glittered like the night sky filled with stars popped into his mind unbidden, disrupting his gloomy thoughts.

Jamie. If there was one good thing about Sunset Bird that Cove couldn’t find anywhere else, it was her.

Although Cove couldn’t stop missing his home and his mom, somehow spending time with Jamie allowed him to forget just how much it hurt when they were together. Somehow she had the power to make every day they spent together so much fun. He never felt lonely like this when she was around.

When Cove first came to Sunset Bird, he thought he’d never be able to smile ever again, but somehow he could when he was with Jamie. He could even laugh again despite everything. He had friends back home, but they never made him feel the way she did. Sometimes the way he felt around her confused him, but he couldn’t say that he disliked the strange fluttering feelings she set off inside him sometimes. Every moment they were together felt more right than anything else in the world.

It was a shame that it was too late to go see her. Maybe if Jamie was there, Cove wouldn’t be feeling so uneasy in ‘his’ bedroom right now.

Cove let his thoughts drift back to the fun they had earlier the day and the plans they had for tomorrow. Jamie promised to show him some secret spots only she knew about. She didn’t say what exactly made them so secret, but he was curious to see what he might find there all the same. Everything she shared with him was always so interesting and fun. He could hardly wait to see her again.

At some point, Cove found his eyes growing heavy as he focused on the countless memorable moments he shared with Jamie this summer. He stopped thinking about all the things that were wrong and missing as he filled his mind with thoughts of her.

Cove had barely begun to drift off when a horrible scraping sound tore him from sleep and threw him harshly back to reality.

Cove jolted and his eyes instantly darted to the window, heart pounding hard in his ears. He didn’t see anything strange, but it was a lot harder to see in general in a dark room without his glasses. Reaching over to the nightstand, he quickly retrieved his glasses and put them on before casting another frightened gaze to the window.

When the sound repeated itself, Cove threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. A shiver ran through him, not just because of the unsettling sound, but also because it was an uncomfortably cool night. He hurried over to the window and peered out into the dark night, but all he saw was the fence and the wall of the house next door. There was no sign of whatever made that eerie noise.

Cove couldn’t settle down without some sort of explanation, some proof that whatever was causing the noise wasn’t something frightening and dangerous like a ghost or a monster or… He barely cut his thoughts off there as another shiver ran through his body, one definitely not caused by the temperature this time.

His bedroom faced the side of the house, but his window was wide enough that if Cove looked at just the right angles he could see some of the backyard and the street in front of the house. What little he saw of the backyard showed him nothing but ominous dark shadows that could be anything, while in front…

A shock of blue caught his eye instantly. In the glow of the street light stood none other than Jamie. Her hair was down for once, but that was obviously because she was dressed for bed, not running around outside to play. She stood in the middle of the street in a set of purple patterned pajamas and a pair of oversized slippers that looked a bit like she stuffed her feet in a couple of her stuffed animals.

Cove stared at Jamie for a moment more, watching as she looked up one side of the street then down the other. Then he was hurrying to shove his feet into his shoes. He barely thought to throw on a sweater to combat the cold before he quietly snuck outside to find out what drew her outside on a creepy night like tonight.

[bjy-on-ao3]

Fic Friday: Needy, Part 1

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Another concept that has been sitting in my notes since I finished the first season of Durarara!!. Izaya has been coming up a decent amount in some recent conversations and I was convinced to continue watching DRRR!! with X2/etc, so my want to write this has been reinvigorated.

This lead-up can be skipped if desired. It’s mostly Reader being bored and getting more jealous as the day goes on, but I felt like writing it and was having a good time, so it exists (plus it’s a little help to practice for a longer project I may have in mind.). You won’t miss out on any smut skipping this chapter, so if you’re here for that, feel free to move onto the next one!

Part 2

Summary  Reader’s jealousy over the attention Izaya gives to everyone else finally comes to a head one evening. They discover it hasn't exactly been a secret to the information broker.

Needy (F! Reader/Izaya Orihara)

Chapter 1. Green-Eyed Monster

You came to slowly, unwilling to leave the peaceful land of slumber, tangled in the soft warmth of the sheets and pillows like so many other days. The surrounding room was dark, the sheets displaced by whatever tossing and turning had taken place through the night. You contemplated snuggling back into the blankets and snoozing the day away, but admonished yourself quickly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with your wrist. It wouldn’t do to spend all day in bed - at least not alone.

You had long since grown used to waking up in Izaya Orihara’s bed, often after long exhausting evenings preceding it. Many mornings you awoke in his arms, or with him in yours, surrounded by his faint scent of soap and spice and bitter tea. Those were the sweetest. Had someone told you when you first met him Izaya was the cuddling type - in or out of bed -  you would have laughed in their face at the absurdity. As much as he claimed to love humans, he didn’t come off as the type to be physically affectionate. You were glad to learn that your first impressions had been incorrect. 

Recently something had changed. Izaya’s workload new was far heavier than before, which left less of his time for you. You occupied yourself more often while he stared intently at various screens for hours or went on about plans only he fully knew and understood. You were used to that well enough, just not so much as had become the recent norm. Sure, Namie was often around as well, but she was little in the way of good company or entertainment. 

There were the times when Izaya left to gallivant around the city and make life a pain for the more powerful or notable denizens of the city or to meet clients to broker his work. When he was away you didn’t even have to chance to try to coax him into taking the occasional break. Those were the days you hated the most, but you knew it wasn’t his job to amuse you all the time- even if you would have been perfectly happy with that kind of arrangement.

Despite suggestive promises and invitations to join you, you had begun retiring to bed alone long before Izaya more and more commonly. Often you feel asleep before he ever came to bed - some nights you weren’t sure he did at all. Even on the mornings you knew he had, whether from the displacement of the bedsheets or a faded warmth beside you, he was up and back at work before you woke as if he had never stopped. That morning was another on which you awoke alone, frowning at the impressions in the sheets beside you and wishing you had woken earlier or he had stayed longer in bed.

You tried to convince yourself it was normal, reminding yourself that Izaya was a busy man. That he had so much business to attend to was no surprise, especially when Ikebukuro got rowdy, due to whatever new event involving the color gangs or a shift in Yakuza politics popped up. But reason did nothing to wash away the bitter taste in your mouth when you wandered out into the hall and looked down to see Izaya entertaining another early morning client. 

You frowned, glowering down at the seated client - you weren’t sure who they were, but they looked vaguely familiar, so likely some regular - sitting across from Izaya. The informant in question looked as cool and confident as ever. For a moment, the lilt of his voice overturned your bitterness, but the moment was brief and it returned obstinately. You waited, resting your elbows against the rail, sure to remain hidden among the shadows cast by the apartment’s angles. 

You knew better than to interrupt his business. Even if you were upset it seemed to consume every waking hour recently, interference was taboo. You had learned that a long time ago. You weren’t sure if Izaya being wholly unconcerned you might overhear a business conversation meant he just didn’t care or if he trusted you. Maybe it was a bit of both.

You grew bored quickly, hardly listening to the exchange at the desk below, despite neither bothering to keep their voice down. At last, there was a shuffling of something - funds, contracts, whatever, you couldn’t tell from your perch - and then the client rose with a farewell and turned to leave. You eased further into the shadow, fairly sure you weren’t in danger of being seen, but better safe than sorry. Passingly, you imagined how irate some of Izaya’s clients might have been if they were aware a second set of eyes and ears was butting in on their private conversations with the informant.

Izaya followed courteously, seeing them off to the door and bidding a professional, cheery goodbye. Only once you heard the door snap closed did you make your way down the stairs. But before you even descended the last step, you heard Izaya engaged in another conversation and your face sank. He wasn’t speaking to you, of course, but another client or contact on one of his many cellphones. Work, work, and more work again. Izaya cast you a small smile before tuning back into his call, plopping down on the couch as he talked.

You sat down on the cushion beside him, careful to stay quiet and not interrupt his call. Izaya lay an arm along the back of the sectional but didn’t touch you, and you gave it a  sidelong glance. A childish part of you fantasized about tearing the phone from his hand and tossing it away, undoubtedly garnering his attention one way or another. You quickly silenced the thought, waiting some more. You had hardly been awake for long, and already you had done so much waiting.

Just as you were considering moving off the couch to grab a book off the shelf or freshen up, you heard the call winding down from Izaya’s tone. A hopeful excitement sprang up in your chest and you inched closer to Izaya as he hung up.

“Izaya, since you’re done with those clients, how about we…” you began to propose, placing what you intended to be a seductive touch on his knee. Your words fell away, noting Izaya was paying no mind to you - his eyes and fingers focused on the message he was composing on his phone.

“Hm, what was that, darling?” He asked, hitting send and tucking the phone into a pocket.

“Ah, it was nothing important,” you dismissed, sighing internally and pulling your hand back. You had a feeling you knew what the answer was going to be.

Izaya eyed you quietly for a second, and you wondered if he suspected the thoughts simmering beyond your dismissal. “I see. Well, I’ve got some things to take care of,” he announced, the previous scrutiny disappearing and replaced by his typical demeanor. When he rose from his seat, his fingers brushed fleetingly across your shoulder and you followed the oh-so-slight motion out of the corner of your eyes. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

You almost rolled your eyes at his teasing words. You really should have been the one warning him. Izaya Orihara telling you not to get into trouble when he caused and attracted it himself in so many forms was an irony so thick you could taste it. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you would,” you shot back wryly.

He smirked, leaning in for a second and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek that left you wanting. You watched him straighten and turn on his heel, vanishing down the entryway and out the door briskly. 

You sighed, leaning on your elbow on the back of the sofa with your cheek resting on a fist. Silence enveloped you again, save for the dull chatter of the birds outside and even fainter sounds of people in the streets below. You searched the apartment lazily, trying to decide on something to entertain yourself with. Neither the TV nor the assortment of books on the shelf piqued your interest, nor did the idea of laying on the couch and browsing the internet or the forums. Certain ones were amusing now and then, chatrooms especially, but you weren’t in the mood for any of that.

In your search, you realized that you were left completely alone in the apartment. There was no sign of Namie, whom you knew by that time would have normally arrived. A day off for the woman then. Just your rotten luck that you didn’t even have her prickly company for the day. Perhaps you would take a stroll down to Ikebukuro and entertain yourself there instead.

A shower and a change of clothes later and you had left the spacious apartment, unsure exactly where in Ikebukuro you were planning to go. It was always important to monitor your surroundings in the city, even if you weren’t somewhere sketchy or isolated. You weren’t sure if your involvement with Izaya was a secret or not - or how widespread it was, even if it was a secret. All you knew was that not everyone liked the information broker and some of those people had enough balls - or few enough brain cells - to think screwing with someone more closely involved with Izaya was a good idea.

Even with that in mind, Ikebukuro, for all the trouble that took place so often, really wasn’t very intriguing most days. Sure, there was always something lurking beneath the surface, someone moving pawns on a chessboard, or some plan being brought to fruition. None of that mattered though unless you wanted to butt into someone else’s business. And unlike a certain someone you knew, sticking your nose into other peoples’ affairs wasn’t a hobby of yours for the most part.

You grabbed a quick bite to eat in one of the small shops on your way into the more bustling parts of the city. You weren’t sure if you had gotten a bad batch or if everything just tasted worse from your boredom and bitterness, but your breakfast left you thoroughly unsatisfied. A running trend for the morning it seemed. Well, there was plenty of time in the day left to fix that, right? 

For a while, you sat down on an empty bench on a busy street, watching the many perfectly ordinary people of the city going about their daily business, blissfully unaware of the games being played around them, save for when the usual players shook up things in particularly noisy ways. You mentally picked one out from the crowd, now and then, wondering if beneath the surface they had some awful or bizarre secret, as was the case for several of the notable names in Ikebukuro. When you had first come to the city, you would have never imagined such normal-looking people were capable of having such impressive secrets, but your time had taught you much.

Here and there, over an hour or so, you spotted several of the men or women you knew to be trouble of some degree. A high-schooled aged boy who couldn’t have looked more commonplace if he tried with some fantastical sounding name. A tall man in a headscarf who often rode around with a band of eccentrics in a van. A man with dreadlocks and glasses, flanked by a grouchy looking blonde smoking a cigarette. Your brow arched up and a jolt of jealousy swirled in your gut at the sight of the blonde.

You knew most of the others were involved in Izaya’s business in one form or another - generally not by choice - but you were acutely aware of how much attention he paid the blonde. He had spoken about him before, insisting how much he hated monsters like him, but you weren’t so sure sometimes. Whatever the case, he devoted a lot of his attention to making his life miserable, you knew that much. Time you pettily felt could have been better spent paying attention to you without the threat of being beaten into the concrete.

Shaking off the feeling, you daydreamt for a little while about what it would be like to be involved in all the dirty dealings and trickery that went into the politics controlling the city. Maybe it would be a better and more exciting use of your time than what you did for fun. You doubted you were cut out for how cut-throat you had heard the game could be though, so perhaps it was best it remained an idle imagining. Eventually, imagining what-ifs and singling people out in the ever-moving crowds grew dull and you stood up, taking your outing back on the move.

Turning a corner, you glanced through the immaculately polished glass windows of a quaint, cozy cafe. Your face stretched in surprise, eyes widening for an instant as they landed on a slender form and handsome, sly face there was no mistaking. Izaya looked so comfortable, settled on one of the window seats facing outward. He looked to be watching the crowds go by, sipping contently at the steaming mug in his grasp. People-watching? That was the business he had needed to attend to? 

Jealousy swelled in your chest again, acrid and burning, and you took a deep breath to quell it. Yes, you had been doing the same thing recently - out of necessity to amuse yourself since Izaya had ignored you, you reminded yourself crossly - but you hadn’t labeled it as something that needed tending to. You stepped back, glaring from your spot on the corner for a moment before making an about-face and striding angrily away from the cafe windows. Now you were bored and angry. So much for the idea that there time for the day to improve.

You tried your hardest to clear your head as strolled aimlessly, but the stubborn emotions refused to go. The image of him seated so relaxedly in the cafe as if he had nothing else in the world he could be doing compounded your frustration, making it grow hotter and more irrational. ‘You could have spoken up’ a small voice piped up. ‘Maybe you’re just not interesting enough to keep his attention,’ another far meaner voice sneered. You ground your teeth and shook your head, refusing to accept either suggestion.

When wandering alone with your antagonistic thoughts became too much, you gave up the idea of your pleasant excursion. Head cloudy with nagging voices and snippets of the day, chest burning angrily, you made your way back to Izaya’s apartment. At least there you could be moody in peace without worry of anyone seeing.

[seigephoenix]

Title: Toss A Coin A/N: Witcher AU.  I didn’t want this to remain lost so I’m transferring it here.  Cause I love my BNHA Witcher AU dang it!  It is a Character x Reader fic. Trigger Warnings: Canon-typical violence

You sighed as you looked up at the crumbling tower.  The stones worn down by time and disuse, a mere shell of what it was.  Climbing ivy clung to the stone, digging in and eroding the structure further.  An eerie backdrop against the dark forest.  Some would call it a safe place to stay for the night, unaware that danger lurked everywhere.  Whether it would be in the tower itself or in the forest beyond, there was always something lurking ready to strike.  That much was clear to you in this world, and it wasn’t always unnatural creatures that lurked with danger.  With a gentle tug you turned your horse allowing him an avenue to bolt if he sensed danger.  Your sword strapped to the saddle laid heavy against your leg, the silver metal covered by the plain sheath.  Only the hilt held the crest that was familiar to you.  The metal forged into a sigil as much as you were forged to be what you were.  It was a comforting weight that eased your worries.  A well-equipped warrior stood a better chance in these trying times; however you preferred the two daggers you were trained in.  You could admit a good longsword could come in handy with certain enemies.  Those that required a little distance to fight.  

The local townsfolk whispered about young men and women being abducted near the ruins never to be heard from again.  A group had recently gone missing and that had involved a lord’s son.  The people feared retribution if they could not find the man or his corpse.  Thus they were willing to hold out their coin to you to investigate.  Better your blood spilled than theirs.  Your horse shimmied alerting you to something lurking.  A gentle pat along his neck soothed his nerves and allowed you to concentrate on your senses and feel the area around you. One handy advantage to being what you were, nothing could truly hide from you for long.  The cluster of gravestones had a quick curse leaving your tongue especially noting the freshly turned dirt.  At least three freshly turned graves.  The group that went missing was four.  You clicked your tongue as you figured they were all dead, but you were paid to find the information and kill what was causing the disappearances. Whether human or monster.  The graves were a dead giveaway to what creature you’d be facing and it was a nasty business facing them.

“Aye.  A hungry grave hag is it?”  A grotesque parody of an old woman with a sharp tongue that would lash out and poison.  You knew to be on your toes.  You sighed and slid off your horse.  “Best get to safety old friend.  This won’t turn out well.”  The sword fell heavy in your hand as you slapped your horse’s rump with the flat of your free hand.  You brought out the oil cloth and slid the alchemical potion on the silver blade. Any advantage was needed, these creatures were quick.  “Now. Let’s rid this land of you.”  A quick scan of the sky gave you an approximate thirty minutes left of daylight which meant the grave hag was less likely to be awake.  They operated at night and were weak in the light.  You drew closer to the door and heard soft whimpering coming from the inside. That was odd.  Whimpering?  Grave hags didn’t whimper.  But their victims do.  You took a step back and then slammed your boot into the weak point in the door sending wood splinters everywhere and the door fell off its hinges.  Best to get it over with.  If there was a survivor it would be best to grab the hag’s attention to prevent any extra casualties.

The unearthly screech filled the small room.  The grave hag was not happy at being woken.  You took three large steps back into the once sprawling courtyard now choked with weeds and brambles.  The thorns tugged at your leathers but could never penetrate the thick hide.  Your eyes fixed on the entryway as you waited. A few seconds later the creature crawled into view.  The skin grey and littered with pustules leaking greenish fluid, the smell was enough to gag most ordinary men.  Its skin resembled that of a bloated corpse’s with sunken eyes glowing with otherworldly light.  “Aye you are an unsightly one, aren’t you?  Would’ve left you in peace but you had to kill the living.”  You sighed and parried the grave hag’s tongue as it lashed out at you.  The putrid smell of its breath had your stomach turning but you’d smelled worse. A quick flick of your wrist and your blade sliced through thick flesh and resulted in the tongue flopping on the ground at your boots.  The pain filled screech raked across your senses as you leaped forward and aimed for the head.  The gleaming silver of your longsword sliced through her flesh.  The now headless corpse flopped to the ground and you used Igni to burn the corpse.  

“Best go and cleanse your home.  Can’t risk anything else catching wind and invading.”  Your boots crunched over the loose dirt the only sound in the area aside form the crackling of the fire.  Best to get the hell out of the area before the smell drove you away or lured hungry predators looking for a quick meal.  Though, you couldn’t figure what creature would think charred grave hag flesh a pleasant meal.  You entered the dwelling and a faint call caught your attention.  Your longsword was in your hand in an instant as you scanned the room.  Huddled in the corner was a… Human?  You sheathed the sword and stalked over to the man who held up his hands in front of his face.

“Just do it quickly!!! Go ahead!  But I taste terrible!!”  A sigh escaped your lips as you took in the man cowering on the floor.  The cloth he wore had to be expensive as the stitching was fine and the thread appeared gold.  His breeches were tight and well made to fit his fit frame.  Perhaps the nobility participated in physical training, you weren’t too fussed to find out.  Your eyes roamed over his boots and saw they were not worn from travel or battle. They alighted on the lute and instantly your demeanor soured.  A bard, just my luck.  I’d prefer the grave hag.

“I’m not going to eat you.” He lowered his hands and blue eyes met yours.  The shade was a rarity, it matched the shade of the sky at noontide.  Strange, you didn’t think humans could possess that shade. You crouched down until you were eye level with him.  

“You’re not going to eat me?”  You shook your head as you worked at the bindings on his wrists, soon the cloth strips fell away from his skin.  The angry red grooves had you wincing but now the man was free.  He could take care of himself, maybe.  You sighed as most bards you encountered were pompous pricks that cared only to inflate their own ego.  They knew nothing of survival or battle, they just chose to sing about it amidst ale and fine food.

“No.  I don’t care for the flesh of humans.”  Sarcasm put an edge to your tone but he didn’t miss it. Relief swept his face as he grinned up at you.

“Well that’s great! The name is Oboro Shirakumo!  Who do I have to thank for saving me?”  You sighed and straightened.  You gave him your name which he rolled off his tongue. “I like it.  It suits you!”  He grinned and looked around frantically.  “My lute!”  You pointed to the corner and the delighted sound that left his lips almost had you smiling.  Almost.

“Why were you there in the hag’s company?”  He tucked his lute back around his body before he straightened his tunic and dusted his breeches.  He was a tall bastard.  You sensed irritation simmering in the faint aura he gave off.

“Not by choice!”  He held up a finger towards you which only earned him mild interest.  “I was traveling with a group, may they rest in peace, and we were ambushed by whatever that was.  Did you say a grave hag?”  You gave him a brief nod and he shuddered at the mention of it.  “I shall count myself lucky then.  We were traveling and stopped here to rest for the night.  Then that thing attacked us each night.  I was next but I don’t know why it didn’t eat me.”

“Hmm.”  You didn’t want to comment on that.  Perhaps the grave hag disliked the taste of bards. You had no clue.  Though the idea of a grave hag turning up its nose at bard flesh was an amusing one.  “If you are alright now, I shall take my leave.”

“Wait!  Wait!”  You turned your head as his hand grabbed your arm with his fingers digging in desperately. Irritation flared briefly in your chest before you tamped it out.  “I shall pay you handsomely if you can escort me to the nearest city.”

“No.”  You shrugged off his hold to his utter shock.  

“What do you mean no?”  He stood in front of you with his hands crossed over his chest.  “You did hear that I will pay you to take me.”

“I heard you.  Doesn’t matter how much you pay me.  I will not take you into the city.”  You stepped out into the night air and blew out a breath as the fire had died down.  Only ashes remained of the creature that haunted the area.  The townsfolk were likely to be appeased, you doubted they’d be happy, no one was happy these days.  

“Then take me as close as you can!  I must get back to the city!”  He wasn’t giving up which only annoyed you.  There was something about him that tugged at your mind.  No martial skills you figured.  Those soft hands had probably never seen a sword in his life. The man was a sitting snack in the area and no doubt would draw more creatures from hiding.  Causing more chaos and work for you.  You had your own mission to finish but getting more work wasn’t part of that.  Irritation buzzed along your nerves and you grumbled.  In the end you made your decision on that gut feeling you had that this man would die without you and for the first time in a long time, you had an attack of conscience.

“I’m not going into the city but I will take you as far as a half day’s ride from one.  There’s a town nearby that you can purchase fare from.” His eyes lit up and he cheered before doing a little jig.  It was honestly one of the most amusing things you’d seen lately that the laugh escaped before you covered it with a cough.

“I heard that!  You can’t hide that laugh from me.”  His smile wasn’t dimmed one bit by your glare at him.  “Thank you! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the escort.  Though, will anyone else be joining us?”

“No.  I travel alone now.”  You whistled and the sound of hooves reached you as your horse came running back.  Your hand ran over his neck and massaged to ease his fear as he nosed at your hair. “Get on.”

“What?”  Oboro stared at you in surprise.  His blue eyes blinked owlishly before he pointed to your giant destrier.  “That is not a horse!”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.  Get on the horse.”  He huffed but managed to get up in the saddle after a few failed attempts.  “Tell me you’ve ridden a horse before.”

“Of course I have! Just not one this big before.” You shook your head and started walking towards the exit of the clearing.  “Wait, it’s nighttime!  That’s when the monsters come out!” Oboro’s voice had just the slightly tremble in it.

“I know.”  You answered simply.  

“I see you’re going to be an excellent conversationalist on this trip.”  He sighed and crossed his arms as he sat back on the saddle.  Your horse gave a loud snort which amused you. “Tell me something.”  You briefly glanced back at him as you kept stride with the horse.

“What is it?”

“What are you?”  That startled you.  Not that you exactly hid what you were, that was too difficult. The mutations weren’t subtle but neither did they alert the vicinity to your presence.  To the well educated a quick glance was all they needed to have your name on their lips.  

“What do you think I am?” Best to get the preconceived notions out of the way.

“Hmm.  A seasoned warrior for one.”  He grasped his chin as he thought about what else.  “Wait a second.  Let me see your eyes again.”  You sighed and turned your gaze back to him.  The color left his face as he saw them.  Eyes with narrow pupils just like a cat.  One of the few telltale signs of what your kind was.

“A. A.”  He stumbled over his words and you decided to put him out of his misery.

“A Witcher.”

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP: CHAPTER 4

((alright y’all, here we go. the long-awaited chapter 4. i hope you like it~))

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3// read it on ao3!

(tw: panic attack, anger, electricity, injury mentions, blood mentions, fight mentions, minor angst, mild anxiety)

word count: 7112

“What do you want to know?”

Thomas watches the way the merman shakes on the lab table.

“Are you cold?” he asks. Logan blinks at him. “You’re shaking. I know you’re probably scared, but the table can’t be super warm, either. Do you want a blanket or something?”

Logan tilts his head suspiciously. “What . . . what is a . . . blanket? Does it hurt?”

“No,” Thomas says, and it hurts his heart that Logan thinks he’s going to be hurt here. He knows that it’s probably the most rational thing for him to assume, but he hopes they can convince Logan they mean well. “It’s . . . it’s a soft thing. We drape them over ourselves to stay warm, and we use them when we sleep, too.”

“It is cold here,” Logan admits. “If you do not mind, I – I think I would enjoy one of those blankets.”

Virgil hurries out of the room and returns quickly with a red-and-gold plaid blanket. It’s thick and warm, and he’s painstakingly careful as he drapes it over Logan’s shoulders and tucks it around his body. “Better?” Thomas asks.

Logan sighs shakily and curls into the blanket. “Better,” he agrees. “You . . . must have other questions for me, I imagine?”

“You’re surprisingly fluent in English,” Virgil says, clicking the tape recorder he keeps in his pocket on. “I didn’t think you’d speak this well.”

Logan looks at him as though he’s stupid. “Of course I speak this language,” he says. “My kind speak the language of whatever human civilization we happen to live near. We need to understand what your fishermen are saying if we’re going to avoid getting netted and killed. Not . . . that it always works.”

“We’re not going to kill you,” Thomas says. “We just want to know how to help you.”

“Put me back,” Logan says immediately. “Put me back in the ocean. Let me go back to my pod, they’re probably worried sick I –”

He looks at them and clamps his mouth shut. “Pod?” Thomas asks. “As . . . as in a family unit? You – you have a family?”

“Of course I have a family!” Logan snaps. “What, did you think I was some kind of monster roaming around the ocean on my own sinking ships and eating sailors?”

“What –”

“Don’t play dumb with me! I know exactly how humans think! They think we’re monsters! When they catch us, they take us apart to study us or they put us on display and kill us slowly or – I don’t know if they eat us or not but I wouldn’t put it past you!”

“Okay, calm down time!” Virgil says. “We don’t think you’re a monster. We wanna study you, yeah, but we don’t have to vivisect you to do that!”

“What does that mean?!”

“We aren’t going to cut you open,” Thomas says softly. “We’re scientists. We study the ocean and the creatures that live in it. We rescue animals that have been hurt by other humans.”

“You mean you steal them.”

“No, I mean rescue. We bring them here, we patch them up, and we let them heal in a safe environment where predators can’t get them. And once they’re strong enough to survive in the wild, we let them go. We release them into the ocean, where they belong, because keeping them here longer than we have to would be cruel.”

Logan is still glaring suspiciously at them, but there are tears brimming in his eyes. “I – I don’t – I want to go home,” he demands. He doesn’t sound nearly as scary as before. “I want to go back to the ocean.”

“You’re not strong enough to survive that journey,” Thomas says. “You were poisoned by that net, and it tore you up pretty badly regardless. You aren’t going to be healed enough to go back for at least two weeks.”

“That – I – n-no, you – I can’t – th-they’ll be so s-scared,” Logan whispers. “They’ll think something happened to me. I – I have to go home. Please.”

Thomas looks at his hands. “I . . . I’m so sorry, Logan. We can’t let you go home yet. If we do that, it . . . it would be opening you up to all sorts of dangers that -”

“You think I don’t know how dangerous the ocean is?!” Logan snarls. “I grew up there! I spent my childhood frolicking around the depths of the Marianas Trench! My idea of fun was to taunt a shiver of sharks and get them to chase me because I knew I outpaced them easily! I’m a hunter! There are plenty of dangerous things in the ocean and I am one of them!”

His chest is heaving, eyes narrowing, tail twitching. Thomas inhales sharply, preparing to say something, but then he catches the scent in the air. It’s sharp and metallic, almost coppery but not quite. He knows this scent. It’s almost . . .

Electric.

“Virgil, get down!” Thomas yells. He grabs Virgil and tackles him down to the ground, rolling away from the metal chairs and the metal lab table and the metal everything. Logan screams, tail slamming against the table as electricity crackles down his entire being. It leaps out from the circular patches of scales on his arms, it arcs across his tail, it crackles at the corners of his eyes as he screams.

“Let me go!” he wails. “Please, let me go back to them! Let me go! I don’t want to be here! I never wanted to be here! Let me go back to them!”

The electricity fizzles out, and Logan’s hands find their way up into his hair. He grabs at it, pulling it much harder than Thomas would prefer as he screams. “Let me go! Let me go, let me go, LET ME GO!”

“We can’t do that!” Thomas calls. He curls his body protectively over Virgil’s, shielding as much of him as he can. “We can’t let you get hurt any more than you already are!”

Logan shrieks again, and Thomas claps his hands over his ears, because that is not a human noise. It sounds like the scraping of a rusty ship’s hull against rocks as it crashes in a midnight storm. It sounds like the wind howling through a wild November hurricane. It sounds like the power and fury of the wildest ocean depths, condensed into one long, never-ending noise.

Eventually, however, it does end, and when Thomas finally uncovers his ears, he hears not the shrieks of some long-dead sea monster entity, but the muffled sobs of a broken man. He cautiously rises up onto his knees, peering over the edge of the table to see Logan, slumped over the cold, hard metal, face buried in his arms. His entire body shakes with sobs, and Thomas carefully reaches for his shoulder. “Logan -”

“Get away from me!” Logan roars. He throws his head forward, snapping a mouthful of gleaming fangs, and Thomas barely manages to avoid those fangs sinking into his hand. “I want to go home!” His entire body is tense, preparing to launch himself off the table, but he’s shaking from the force and wincing from the pain.

“Virgil, can you please go into the kitchen and make some tea?” Virgil looks at Thomas as though he’s just asked him to set the lab on fire and leave him there.

“Doc, are you sure -”

“Yes. I got more teabags, they’re in the cabinet above the stove.”

Virgil cautiously edges away from Logan, who glares at him until he leaves. Once the lab door slams shut behind him, Logan’s gaze snaps right back to Thomas. Thomas carefully lifts his hands up palm-out.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You hurt me when you took me away from my family!”

“We didn’t set that net,” Thomas says, soothing but firm. “We found you on the beach, poisoned and dying. I’m sorry that you got caught in it, and I’m sorry that you’ve been stolen from your family. I promise that Virgil and I will get you back to them as soon as we possibly can. But we run the risk of killing you if we release you back into the ocean as you are.”

“I’ve spent my entire life in the ocean! It can’t kill me, it can’t hurt me!”

“You can barely move right now.” Logan bristles, and Thomas hates himself for being so callous but he needs Logan to understand the severity of the situation. “There’s no way that you would survive on your own. Even if you can defend yourself from predators, you’re exhausted and you can barely move. How are you going to hunt? How are you going to feed yourself?”

“My pod will -”

“How are you going to locate them?”

“I - I can call for them!”

“Sure, but what if they can’t hear you? The sound will only travel so far. If they can’t hear it, you have to move, but your mobility is extremely limited. It would be better for you to wait until you’ve healed more. I’m sorry that you have to be here, but you do.”

Logan screeches loudly. Thomas covers his ears and hunkers down to wait it out, but he can’t completely block out the noise. It’s a horrible noise just on principle (like grating metal, like nails on a chalkboard, like steel wool fibers pulled apart and dragged across a cheese grater, like a badly out-of-tune piano, like the death shriek of a hellish creature, like a car wreck), but there’s more to it than that. The noise is horrible because it’s the sound of a heart breaking, shattering into pieces.

The screech goes on forever and it lasts only a moment. By the time Logan has stopped screaming and Thomas’s ears have stopped ringing, Virgil is lurking near the staircase. He’s wearing his wireless headphones to muffle the horrible noises. Thomas smiles, balling his fists to hide the shaking, and motions for Virgil to come in.

Logan is shivering, pulling the blanket tightly around himself and curling up to avoid looking at them as best as he can. Virgil’s footsteps are hesitant and shuffling, less of a step than a drag of his foot across the linoleum floor. He carefully sets the tray down and looks at Thomas, hesitantly pulling one headphone away from his ear.

“Is . . . everything okay, Doc?”

“Yes, Virgil, everything is fine.”

Thomas sips at his tea, watching the merman carefully. Logan very pointedly stares at anything he can see that is NOT Thomas or Virgil, clutching his arms so tightly that Thomas worries he’ll leave gouges in his arms. “I’m sorry that we have to keep you here,” he says. “But you have my word that once we’ve confirmed you’re stable enough to survive, we’ll release you into the ocean.”

“How am I supposed to trust that?” Logan snaps. He doesn’t look at them.

“The doc would never lie to someone,” Virgil spits, defensive, but Thomas shakes his head a little.

“He’s allowed to be upset. For all he knows, we kidnapped him.”

“We did not! We would never -”

“Virgil, how would you feel if you woke up injured and isolated in a strange place and were then told that you weren’t allowed to go home for quite some time? I know I would be terrified.” He turns his gaze from Virgil to Logan as he speaks. “I would want to go home as soon as possible. I would want to be freed immediately, and if I wasn’t, I would lash out at anyone who tried to keep me confined, even if they said they only wanted what was best for me. How would I know they were telling me the truth?”

“I . . . I guess you’re right . . .”

“Logan,” Thomas says softly. “I understand that you’re upset. It’s okay. It’s a perfectly natural and valid response to the situation that you’re in right now. I just want you to understand that Virge and I, we’re going to take care of you. We want you to recover and we want you to get home safely.”

“How am I to trust that?” Logan says softly. “I know what humans think of those like me. We are rare, exotic creatures to be kept on display and shown off like trophies. We are not capable of real thought or speech, despite our tremendous ability for ‘mimicry’. What if I never see my family again?”

“Why don’t you tell me about them?” Thomas prompts. “You don’t have to be super specific, but talking about them may make you feel a little better . . .”

Logan’s eyes flicker towards him, although they focus on his feet rather than his face. One hand comes away from clutching the blanket to gently touch the odd band of lighter-blue scales coiling around his upper arm.

“I . . . I suppose . . .”

*~*~*~*~*

Sunlight filters through the water. A red blur darts around in front of him, weaving with ease through seaweed that would tangle in his fins and ensnare him. “Stay where I can see you, Roman!” he calls, but the smaller mer doesn’t listen.

Finally, he catches up, taking a detour above the seaweed, almost panicking when he hears crying. He sends out rapid distress clicks, but when Roman answers back almost immediately unharmed, he calms down a little (but not much).

“I found someone!” Roman calls back. “He’s crying and he’s all alone, I think he might be lost!”

He swims closer, listening, and he picks up on the sobs only a few more seconds after Roman does. “Hello? Are you alright? You don’t have to cry, we’re here to help you! Did you lose your pod?”

“I . . . I do not . . . I do not have a pod,” the stranger sniffles. A few quick clicks confirm that there is a second mer, slightly smaller than Roman, sleek and streamlined with his hands pressed to his face. “I am all alone.”

“Do you remember what happened to your pod, little mer?”

“I do not have a pod,” he repeats. “I - I have never had a pod. I do not . . . I do not remember what happened to me. I woke up near this reef, and I was alone, and I cannot remember ever not being alone. I . . . I think that I have always been alone.”

He feels the water disturb as Roman fidgets, rustling his spines and trying to decide if he should reach out and comfort the strange mer with touch. “You’ve . . . always been alone?” Roman asks softly.

“Yes,” the mer says. “I . . . that is not normal, is it?”

“No, little guppy, it’s not,” he says. “But it’s okay, you don’t have to cry! You can come with me and be part of my pod if you want!”

He can see the mer freeze, fidgeting a little with his hands and looking up at him instead of down at the sea floor. He starts to uncoil, just a little bit. “You . . . you want me?”

“Of course, guppy! Roman here used to be part of another pod, but when we found each other he was all alone too! Now he’s part of my pod, and he’s not alone anymore!”

“It’s really great! We’re a small pod, but we’re a great pod! I like us much better than my old pod,” Roman says, puffing his chest out proudly. He hears the other mer giggle a little, quietly.

“Do you want to join our pod, guppy?” he asks, soft and gentle as though he’s cradling a sea otter pup in his palms.

“Wh - really? You really want - I can join - you - really?!”

“Of course! I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to join us!”

He’s close enough to the other mer to see when his face breaks into a wide grin. “I would love that! I - I’ve never had a pod before, how do I join?”

“Tell me your name.”

“Logan. I - that’s the only thing that I remember. My name is Logan.”

“Welcome to the pod, Logan.” He reaches forward, carefully wraps his thumb and index finger around Logan’s upper arm. He concentrates on Roman, the only other member of his pod, and hears Logan gasp when all of his scales light up. Roman grins proudly at his side as the blue scales on his arm begin to glow.

When he pulls his hand away, there’s a band of light blue scales wrapping around Logan’s arm. “Whoa! How did you do that?”

“Easy, guppy. I’m magic.”

“He’s an elder mer!” Roman boasts proudly. “He can do all kinds of cool, neat stuff that we can’t because he’s magic! That’s our podmark! It means you belong with us now!”

“And it shares a little of my magic with you,” he adds. “I age differently than regular mer, so now you age differently, too! I didn’t ever want to lose my pod, and now I never have to!”

Logan smiles shyly.

“I’ll race you!” Roman declares, turning and pointing out into open water. He sends a click out, waiting for the echo to show him the shape of the rocky cliff that Roman is gesturing to. “I bet you can’t beat me!”

“I bet I can!”

“You’re on!”

He feels Logan take off, and he’s slicing through the water like a shark. Roman doesn’t even start swimming, so completely stunned and in awe at Logan’s speed. “He didn’t tell me he could rocket around like a sailfish!” he complains.

“You didn’t ask, guppy,” he chuckles. “You’d better start swimming, or he’s going to beat you for sure!”

“Never!”

He lets them swim for a minute longer, carefully sending out echos to check their progress. Logan is absolutely going to beat Roman to the cliff, even without the head start he’d accidentally received. With a soft bubbling huff of laughter, he swims off after them.

---

Roman is dizzy. Where is his pod? What’s happening? All he knows is that one minute, he was swimming along after his dad and his brother, and then he was suddenly slammed into the sea floor. He pushes himself up, flaring his spines defensively.

There are orcas surrounding him, gnashing their teeth as they circle above him. The largest one is battle-scarred, tail swishing menacingly, and as Roman puffs his spines out, the large orca slams its tail at him. So that’s what knocked him down.

Roman swims up, looking for his pod, but he can’t find them. They must not have realized that he’s been caught. His head is still spinning like a whirlpool with the force of the blow, but he has to fight. He has to get out, he has to get back to his pod.

One of the orcas lunges towards him, and he twists, slamming his spiky tail into the orca’s body. It howls in pain and jerks forward, yanking him through the water and straight towards the gaping maw of another orca. He quickly yanks his tail away, shouting a word his dad would never approve of as a few of his spines are ripped away. Even though they’ll grow back, his heart still pangs at the sight of his beautiful spines embedded in such a monster.

Two of the orcas rush him at once, and he quickly barrel rolls away from them, firing his spines out as he dives through the opening. He shrieks as one of the orcas snaps and catches his tail in their jaws. Pain explodes up through his side as he slashes his arms around and stabs his elbow spines directly into the orca’s eye.

“Get off of me!” he roars. The orca lets go with a yelp as Roman floods his gills with water and screams his pod call into the water. The orcas around him make angry noises, and not for the first time Roman wishes his dad was here. His dad speaks orca, he could get these awful creatures to leave him alone. And his dad is big, he would be able to tail-slap the orcas into the abyss.

The orcas, angry at Roman fighting back and angry at him calling for help, swarm him. He doesn’t have enough spines to fight them all off, and he drives his elbows into them at every opportunity but it’s not enough. There is pain everywhere as they bite at him and tail-slap him, and soon enough he’s sinking back to the sea floor.

The water around him clouds with blood, and the orcas begin to circle in a more hurried frenzy. The ones he’s speared are beginning to sink from the poison in his spines, slowing down as it invades their brains and slows them down, but that hasn’t helped him. If anything, it’s spurred the other orcas into a frenzy.

Roman calls for his pod again and again and again and again, desperately praying to the Goddesses of the Seven Seas that his dad shows up to save him before the orcas eat him.

“Roman?!”

Roman jerks his head up, hearing a response to his pod call, but quickly realizes that it’s Logan swimming to his rescue. “Logan, no, get out of here! Go get -”

“I’m not leaving you!” Logan skillfully weaves through the orcas and swims down to grab Roman’s forearms. “What happened?! Are you hurt?! No, that’s a stupid question, you’re obviously hurt, what can I do?!”

“You can get out of here!” Roman hisses. “You can go get dad, he can fight off these monsters and you’re faster than I ever could be!”

“I’m not leaving you!” Logan repeats. “What happens if they get to you before I get back? I just got this pod, I’m not abandoning you!”

Roman is distracted by the sight of one of the orcas growing impatient with waiting. It dives down, mouth open, teeth glinting and sharp, and Roman knows that it’s going to sink its teeth into Logan’s fins and hurt his baby brother and he will not let that happen.

“Logan, get down, now!” he snaps. Logan jerks his head up, turns to see the orca. But he doesn’t move; instead, he positions himself in front of Roman. “What are you doing, you kelp-brain?!”

“GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!” Logan roars. Roman gasps as the dark rings of scales all over Logan’s tail and torso and arms begin to glow, so brightly that Roman is forced to close his eyes. The water around them gets suddenly warm, and then there’s a burning all over Roman’s body that leaves him stunned and paralyzed. He can barely keep his eyes open, and the last thing he sees is the illuminated silhouette of his enraged baby brother.

---

Logan blinks awake, feeling strange motion around him even though he is not swimming. He opens his eyes and realizes that he is being held in someone’s arms.

“Dad . . .?” “Shhh, guppy,” he soothes. “It’s alright, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

“But - but Roman, he - they - I -”

“He’s safe too, guppy. I have him.” He is shifted, carefully, and Logan realizes that his dad has him cradled in one arm and Roman in the other. “He’s lost quite a few of his spines, but they regrow after a few days. It’ll be painful cause he’s lost so many . . . but he’ll survive. We’re going back to our cave so I can patch him up.”

“Wh . . . what happened, Dad? I remember finding Roman, I remember turning to see the orca, I remember getting angry . . . but nothing else . . .”

“You have a gift,” his dad says, and he sounds proud. “You have been blessed by the Goddesses of the Seven Seas. They have given you the Burning Light.”

“Wh . . . what?”

“The rings on your body emit a Burning Light. It travels through the water and stuns everything in its path. Few mer are gifted with the Burning Light - you are blessed, guppy, truly.”

“I just wanted Roman to be safe.”

“And he is, guppy. He most assuredly is.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Burning Light?” Virgil asks, rapidly scribbling down notes.

“We later learned from overhearing human sailors that the humans refer to the blessing as ‘electricity’,” Logan says. “It allows me to hunt, and to protect my pod, although that is not my primary job. That belongs to . . . to my brother.”

“Roman, right?” Thomas says. “The one with the spines?”

“Yes,” Logan murmurs. “He is my older brother. He and my father . . . they are the only family that I have in this world. They are my pod. And now, I have been taken from them, and . . . and I do not know if I will ever see them again.” One hand comes up to touch the light blue band of scales around his arm, what they understand now to be a mark from his pod.

“I promise that you will,” Thomas says. “We just want to make sure that you’ll survive when you go back to the ocean. You’re injured, and you can barely move.”

“I am aware.”

“I promise that as soon as you’re healed, we’re going to let you back to the ocean,” Thomas says. “We don’t want to keep you here any longer than we absolutely have to. But I cannot, in good conscience, let you go to your death.”

“I . . . I suppose I can appreciate such a sentiment,” Logan sighs, “although I am still fundamentally opposed to remaining here. I . . . am sorry that I attacked you earlier. I was distressed, but . . . that is not an excuse.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Virgil says, snapping his head up. Logan’s eyes widen slightly at the fire in his voice, a fire Virgil hadn’t meant to put there but doesn’t bother to suppress. “For all you know, you’ve basically just been kidnapped by your greatest enemy. It was a perfectly legitimate response on your part. And the doc and I are fine.”

Logan blinks. “I . . . thank you, Virgil.”

“No problem.”

“May . . . may I make a request?”

“What kind of request?”

“I - I would like to go back into the water now,” Logan says, looking away from Thomas and Virgil nervously. “I dislike when I am not at least partially submerged.”

“Well, you can’t go back into the big tank until we flush it out and bring in clean water,” Thomas says. “You were peeling your bandages off, so the water’s contaminated, it’s got your blood in it now. And we have to rewrap the bandages that you peeled off . . .”

“What about the turtle tank?” Virgil says. He refers to the large, flat, cylindrical tank where they keep smaller sea turtles and rays when they’re brought in for recovery. It kind of reminds Virgil of the touch tank at an aquarium, and it’s not an ideal place to keep Logan permanently but it could be a good solution for the time being.

“Hmm . . . That could work,” Thomas says. “Logan, would that be alright with you?” “You . . . care what I think?” “Of course we do.” Thomas smiles gently. “We want you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

Logan looks painfully surprised, and Virgil can’t stop his mind from wandering to what kinds of horrible, torturous things the poor merman thinks they’re going to inflict upon him. “I . . . tell me again what you are proposing?”

“We can’t put you back into the big tank because the water has your blood in it, and you could get sick if you sit in that. And we need to rewrap your bandages, too. But we have another, smaller tank that we can let you sit in so that you’re in the water at least a little. Virgil will rewrap your injuries while I flush out the tank, and then you can go back in the water, okay?”

“That . . . that seems adequate.”

“Okay then,” Thomas says. “Can we pick you up, Logan?” 

“Yes,” he says, “although I would prefer -”

Logan stops talking before he finishes his sentence, but Thomas refuses to let him. “What is it, Logan? You’re allowed to tell us what you would prefer.”

“I . . . would prefer if . . . if you held my tail, while Virgil held my . . . the rest of me.”

“You - you really would?” Virgil feels his face heat up as Thomas shoots him a distinctive blackmailer’s grin before smiling kindly at Logan again.

“Of course we can do that,” he says. “Virgil, is that alright with you?”

“Y - yeah, of course it is,” Virgil grumbles, glaring at him. When he looks at Logan, however, his anger evaporates as the merman reaches out and gently touches his upper arm with one hand.

“Thank you, Virgil. I greatly appreciate it.”

“Yeah - I - um - y - no problem,” he mutters, feeling the heat spread through his cheeks and his ears and his entire face. Logan removes his hand from Virgil’s arm, and Virgil feels the spot where it was begin to tingle and burn from lack of contact. Before he can properly begin to process what that might mean, however, Logan reaches up and locks his arms around Virgil’s neck.

Virgil barely manages to remember to breathe, but after only a few seconds of short-circuiting he remembers how his arms work and scoops Logan up. He’s faintly aware of Thomas next to him, gathering Logan’s tail into his arms and wrapping it carefully around his shoulders and waist to keep it off the floor, but all he can focus on is Logan.

Logan’s arm presses against the bare skin of Virgil’s neck, and it’s slightly rough and scaly but also surprisingly smooth. His hair is damp, with little beads of water running down his face, and Virgil swallows hard as he watches a single drop run down the pale column of Logan’s neck. His eyes are framed by small, glittering, dark blue scales, but even their beauty cannot compare to how pretty Logan’s eyes are. It’s like staring straight into the depths of the ocean, frightening but mesmerizing all at the same time.

“Earth to Virgil?” Thomas asks. Virgil snaps his head up and looks away from Logan, towards his boss. “Are you ready to go?”

“Wh - I - y-yeah, I - sorry, boss, I got distracted. I’m ready, I’m sorry. Are we moving now?”

“Just waiting on you, Virgil. On three?”

“On three. One . . .” “Two . . .”

“Three!”

Virgil and Thomas both lift up at the same time, managing to hoist Logan up off the table. Logan shifts a little, apparently still slightly unnerved by the idea of being lifted around, and Virgil tries very hard not to think about how he’s basically carrying Logan bridal style. Instead, he pushes up onto the balls of his feet and begins to take slow, careful steps backwards, glancing between Thomas and Logan and his destination over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Logan says softly, and his mouth is right next to Virgil’s ear. Virgil is proud of the way he doesn’t even flinch a little, even as his heartrate rockets up to truly dangerous levels.

“N - no problem.”

Virgil carefully lowers Logan into the tank, keeping his hands under Logan’s armpits to hold him upright while Thomas disentangles himself from Logan’s tail. It slithers neatly into the water in one shimmering, fluid motion, and Logan carefully lays back, submerging himself completely in the water before poking his face up above the surface.

“Better?” Thomas asks.

“Much.”

Thomas heads off to the big tank, and Virgil pulls a roll of bandages out of his pocket. “This might sting a little . . . but I promise I’m not trying to hurt you. I just wanna keep you safe.”

Logan sighs, wincing as he shifts his tail so that Virgil can see his arms. Tenderly, Virgil pulls out a cloth and begins to carefully wipe at the exposed injuries. Logan hisses at the sting, flinching just a little, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t bite Virgil, either, which causes Virgil to breathe a massive sigh of relief.

After all the injuries are wiped down and clean, he begins to bandage them. Some of them are small enough that he can simply cut off a small piece of bandage and plaster it down, but some of them require wrapping lengths of bandage around Logan’s arms and torso.

Virgil keeps his touch as light as possible, applying as little pressure as possible, since there are bruises around the injuries. Logan flinches and winces but keeps his face stoic, watching Virgil with a careful, calculating, almost eerie intelligence. Virgil pretends that he doesn’t notice the way Logan is looking at him, the way Logan is studying him.

He very much notices.

He finishes bandaging Logan before Thomas finishes flushing and filling the tank, so he turns to pick up his sketchpad before realizing that he probably shouldn’t be drawing Logan without his explicit consent. “Hey, Logan?”

“Yes?”

“I - do you care if I draw you? I usually draw the marine life that we bring in, cause it’s good practice, so I - I just figured that I should ask you for permission before -”

“What is . . . draw?” Logan asks.

Virgil hesitantly opens the sketchpad and turns it to some of his previous drawings - starfish, sea turtles, jellyfish, sea urchins. He flips through them slowly, watching Logan’s eyes widen and mouth open as he stares at the drawings.

“You . . . created these?” “Yeah,” Virgil says. He pulls a pencil out of his pocket and quickly sketches a flower in the corner of a page. “There . . . I kind of had some . . . some drawings of you already . . .”

Logan is quiet. “May I see them?”

Virgil blushes, tucking the pencil behind his ear. “Um . . . Y-yeah, yeah, I - here, here you go . . .”

He carefully shows Logan the sketches he’s already done - Logan curled in the tank, asleep, rough guess sketches of Logan’s anatomy, close-ups on some of Logan’s fins and the band of light blue scales around his upper arm. He deliberately doesn’t turn the page to the final drawing, which is a close-up of Logan’s face that he spent an embarrassing amount of time on.

“You . . . created these images of me? But . . . but why?”

“Some of the drawings I do get sold for textbook illustrations, some of them are for research purposes, some of them are just practice for anatomy. But most of them are just . . . for fun. I like drawing.”

Logan blinks. “Does . . . drawing me require any specific action on my part?”

“Nope. You don’t really have to do anything at all.”

Logan studies Virgil’s face very carefully, and Virgil studies him back. He doesn’t know if he’s going to be allowed to continue drawing the merman, but his mind is already thinking in artist terms. How should he shade Logan’s irises? How should he capture the delicate facial scales? How should he accurately represent the gossamer-thin fins that replace Logan’s ears, the hair that floats around him like a feathery halo in the water and plasters itself to his forehead in the air, the curve of his chin and the slant of his nose and the bright life that gleams in his eyes?

“You may continue to draw me,” Logan decides, finally. “On one condition.”

“What’s the condition?”

“I would like to be able to see the drawings when they are done.” Logan suddenly averts his gaze, looking away almost adorably. “If . . . you do not mind showing them to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Virgil answers immediately. “I’m more than happy to show them to you. They’re of you. Thank you, so much, for letting me draw you.”

Logan smiles, and his entire face lights up, and Virgil is so, so gay.

Before his soul can completely leave his body, Thomas calls that the tank is full, and Virgil is setting his sketchbook aside and helping Thomas carry Logan back to the tank. They do their best not to throw him into the tank, but he still sinks in the water without much grace due to his injured tail.

“He must coil like that because he misses his pod,” Thomas comments, watching the way that Logan curls up to sleep.

“We can’t keep him away from them, Doc,” Virgil says.

“We can’t release him yet, Virgil. He can’t even swim. If he goes back into the ocean, the scent of blood will attract predators galore. He’ll never survive, and he won’t ever see his pod again.”

“Yeah, but look at him,” Virgil argues. Logan is coiling up, slowly and painfully, and he looks objectively miserable. “He’s never gonna be happy here, Thomas. We don’t want him to suffer, but he’s gonna suffer if he’s alone.”

“So what are you proposing, that we go find his pod?”

Virgil smirks. “Well, actually . . .”

*~*~*~*~*

“You . . . you wish to what?”

If Virgil thought Logan’s eyes were pretty before (and he did), that’s nothing compared to watching his face light up as hope slowly unfurls its banners. He tears a chunk out of the fish and shoves it into his mouth as Virgil explains his idea.

“We don’t wanna just let you go back into the ocean when you’re injured and can’t swim, cause that would basically be a death warrant for you and we don’t want that. But you’re clearly miserable without your pod, so - so I thought that maybe, we could go and find them? We could bring them here to visit you, let them see that you’re alive and okay, and then they’ll know where you are and they won’t panic. And once you’re all healed, you can go back to the wild with them.”

“I . . . you are truly willing to help me?”

“We don’t want you to be miserable,” Thomas says. “And your family must be worried sick. I know that if anything ever happened to Virgil and I didn’t know where he was or what had happened, I’d be distraught.”

Virgil feels something strange welling up in his chest when Thomas says that, something like pride, something like love, something like acceptance and warmth and family. Instead of expressing these sentiments, he elbows his mentor gently and mutters, “Yeah, yeah, doc, don’t get sappy on me” while smiling and staring at the floor.

Logan grins, flashing his mouthful of fangs, but Virgil can’t see this as threatening. He can’t see it as anything other than incredibly endearing. “I - this - thank you, thank you so much, that is - this is more than I could dream of.”

“The only problem is that we don’t actually know how to find your pod,” Thomas says. Logan doesn’t appear deterred in the slightest.

“When we are not in the same place, we have a call that we use to find each other,” he says. “I could attempt to teach it to you and then -”

“Slow down there, bud,” Virgil interrupts. “We don’t have the same anatomy that you do, there’s no way that we could replicate a noise like that.” He hates to say it, hates to watch the way the hope in Logan’s face dies, but he can’t let it live if it’s false.

“We couldn’t make it ourselves,” Thomas muses, “but what we could do is record you making the call and broadcast it from the boat using the sonar equipment.”

“Could we reformat the sonar to do that?” Virgil asks. Thomas grins, sharp and intelligent.

“We absolutely could.”

Virgil grins back, and they both look at Logan, who’s cautiously smiling, hope beginning to creep back into his features. “Alrighty then, Logan. We’re gonna find your family.”

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas anchors the boat a few miles offshore and carefully prepares the sonar equipment. They’d had to record about ten different trials of Logan’s pod call before the merman had deemed it satisfactory, but he’d been so excited about seeing his pod again that Thomas hadn’t minded that much.

Out here alone, with Logan still in the lab and Virgil keeping him company, Thomas lets his mind wander to more pessimistic options. Even with the recording of Logan’s pod call, there’s no guarantee that he’s anywhere near Logan’s pod. There’s no guarantee that they’ll find the pod today, or tomorrow, and there’s no guarantee that even a fully healed Logan released into the ocean will ever find them again.

He shakes his head to clear the negativity; he can’t afford to think like that. Logan is desperate to see his pod again, and Thomas can’t let him down. He carefully hoists the sonar speaker into his arms, heads to the side of the boat, and lowers it down into the water.

Thomas has already decided that he will spend an hour in this location before he moves on, and he’ll advance five miles into the ocean every time he moves. He sits down at the monitoring equipment and presses the button to begin projecting the call out into the water.

He has plenty of busywork reports to occupy himself while he’s waiting for something to happen, so he does. His eyes flick back and forth from the sonar screen and the reports he’s filling out, not sure what exactly he’s looking for but feeling his optimism fade every time there’s nothing on the screen.

And then the screen explodes.

Thomas can feel the hull of the boat itself vibrating as the sonar detects something - someone - responding to the signal. He’s quick to shove the busywork away and pull up the sonar display, and gapes at what it displays. Something is quickly approaching, close to the surface and roughly the size of a medium shark, but that’s not what’s concerning.

What’s concerning is the other thing approaching from deeper waters, larger than the largest whale (the largest creature, full stop) that Thomas has ever seen. Suddenly, the signal gets fuzzy and distorted before completely warping out, and something thunks down onto the deck.

Thomas stands up, turning to see a mangled speaker on the deck. It’s covered in tooth and claw marks, crushed and crumpled and ripped like a tin can, but what’s scariest is the red-and-white spine the size of Thomas’s arm speared cleanly through it.

Dimly, Thomas realizes that perhaps summoning the pod of a lost and injured merman without having said merman immediately present might be a mistake. That’s the only realization he has time for before something explodes up out of the ocean in a spout of seawater. Thomas scrambles backwards, but not fast enough; whatever it is tackles him flat on his back and pins him to the deck. His head slams painfully into the deck, and the air is knocked out of his lungs, but Thomas can’t focus on that. He can only focus on three things.

The first thing is the gleam of furious eyes and the glint of razor-sharp fangs, bared above him. The second thing is the feeling of something sharp pressed close to the soft, vulnerable skin of his throat. The third thing is a single phrase, hissed out in a strangled, terrifyingly irate voice.

“What have you done to my brother?!”

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[shapeshiftersandfire]

until i fall asleep.

prompt: nightmares fandom: scary stories to tell in the dark characters: roy nicholls, sarah bellows cw: referenced/mentioned child abuse requested by @ssttitdramon​ and @four-foot-eleven​

Roy often returns home in the early hours of the morning, long after Stella and Sarah have gone to sleep. When he pulls in the driveway, the house is dark, save for the lamp light shining through the window of Sarah’s room. These days, it’s the only light he knows will be on. Sarah never sleeps in the dark. And after all she’s told him, it’s no wonder why.

His first order of business is, as always, to check in on Stella and Sarah when he gets in the house. He leaves his bag and work boots by the door, shakes out his wings, makes his way upstairs. Sarah’s room is the first on the right. Lamp light leaks into the hallway from the cracked door. She never sleeps with the door fully locked, either. As he makes his way toward her room, he expects to find the young swan curled under her blankets, with only the top of her head poking out from underneath. But instead, as he nears her door, he hears the rustle of sheets and a low whine.

“Sarah?”

A knock on the door gets no answer. Only more nondescript mumbling and whimpering and the rustling of sheets and wings.

Roy knocks again, still with no answer, before he gently pushes the door opened and pokes his head in. “Sarah?”

The young swan rolls onto her back as Roy looks into the room, wings jerking, mumbling incoherently. She doesn’t react to Roy coming into the room, or the squeak of the door as he opens it and shuts it gently behind him. Her knee jerks up, her face twists, Roy swears he catches a tear running from the corner of her eye.

“Sarah?” He sits down at the edge of the bed, far enough that he doesn’t sit on her, yet close enough that he could reach over and gently shake her awake if he had to. She doesn’t react as he sits, but her distress worsens as he watches her. Her face twists with fear and pain, she lets out little fearful sounds, kicking out at Roy, gasping for breath.

“No, no,” she mumbles. “No, please, please—”

“Sarah?” Roy gulps. He’s never seen her like this, awake or asleep. Not once in the entire time he’s known Sarah has he ever seen her this distressed, this…scared. He’s seen her nervous and suspicious, but this…this is something else entirely. This is something in his daughter’s nightmares coming after her, terrorizing her. “Sarah.”

Sarah doesn’t hear him. She shakes her head, mumbling again. Roy thinks he hears more of the same, “no, no, no, please,” or maybe it’s his ears playing tricks on him, but he knows he hears one thing for certain: “Ephraim.”

Ephraim?

Only one Ephraim had ever lived in Mill Valley, he knows that. Her own brother? He’s heard so little about what had actually happened in the Bellows house, but has managed to piece together his own conclusions based on the little bit Sarah told him: they kept her locked up somewhere dark and underground because of her condition, hence her fear of locked doors and her fear of the dark.

“Ephraim,” Sarah says again, just as clear. And then she starts crying, she jerks in her sleep, her breath becomes choked with tears, cut by thin whimpers and whines. Her thrashing becomes worse, more desperate, her whimpering becomes more pained; she jerks, curling into a ball, but still she twitches as though someone hits her, mumbling all the while, and Roy catches another word, semi-clear, one that sounds like Harold.

Her brothers. She’s having a nightmare about her brothers.

“Sarah?” Roy tries shaking her, but touching only seems to make her nightmare worse. She flails against him, pushing him away; he tries shaking her away again— “Sarah, wake up! Sarah—”

And then with a flare of wings and a flash of white feathers, Sarah shoots up in bed, pressing herself up against the headboard, curled in on herself. Her eyes are wide and glazed over—Roy’s not even sure she’s aware of where she is or what’s going on—her breathing is harsh and ragged, each one looks like an effort—her chest heaves, her shoulders move each time she takes a breath—and even then, as she takes in as much air as she can, she still can’t get enough. Every few breaths she’s cut off, choking, and then gasps for air again.

Roy’s wings flare as he backs away and sits down, he’s never seen Sarah like this before, he’s never seen her have a nightmare this bad—

“Sarah? Sarah, what’s wrong? Sarah, can you hear me?”

Sarah doesn’t answer. She stares at nothing, squeezes her eyes shut, hunches over a little more with a groan. “Hurts,” she whimpers. “Hurts.”

“What hurts, sweetie? What’s wrong?” Roy debates going to get Stella, her room isn’t that far away, but he doesn’t want to leave Sarah, not like this.

Sarah hugs herself tighter, eyes glazed over. “Hurts,” she says again, with new tears, a cough, and a shiver of pain, “it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—”

“Tell me what hurts, Sarah. Tell me where it hurts.”

Sarah stares down at nothing, cringing, shivering in pain. Her breathing is harsh, ragged. “Hurts,” she says, wings fluffed. “Hurts.”

“Where does it hurt, Sarah?” From where Roy sits, he can’t tell that there’s something immediately wrong with her, there’s no evident bruising or red marks. But Sarah’s clearly in pain, somewhere Roy can’t see, somewhere less evident. He doesn’t get any clear answers from Sarah herself, either, as she sits huddled against the headboard, whimpering, muttering “hurts, hurts, hurts,” again and again and again.

Roy looks into her eyes, unfocused and dull. She doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s even sitting there, no matter how much he tries to talk to her. Pain clouds her eyes, she flinches at something, either the hurt or something else, something still lurking at the edges of her nightmare. She’s not fully asleep, but she’s not fully awake, either. She’s somewhere in between where the monsters haunting her in her sleep can still hurt her.

She needs to wake up.

“Sarah,” Roy says gently, “Sarah, I need you to wake up.” He gently pushes on the bed near Sarah, careful not to touch her. She whimpers, curling in tighter on herself.

“Sarah,” he tries again, pushing on the bed again, “Sarah, sweetie, wake up. You have to wake up for me, okay? Sarah? Can you wake up for me?”

This time, Sarah blinks, the glaze in her eyes vanishes, her breathing eases. The iron grip she has on her own arms goes slack, leaving behind faint nail imprints in her shirt. She looks up at Roy with confusion, blinking away the last few tears in her eyes. “Dad?” She sniffs, swallows, looks around the room. “W-where—” she gulps again “—is this real?”

“Yes, sweetie,” Roy says gently. “It’s real. You’re safe.”

“I’m safe,” Sarah repeats, as though she’s trying to convince herself of it. She closes her eyes. Deep breath in, slow breath out. Deep breath in, slow breath out. And she does it again, until her breathing doesn’t shake and her wings have deflated. “I’m safe.” Then she opens her eyes, still hugging herself, still huddled against the headboard, not bothering to wipe the tears away.

Roy sits and waits for Sarah to say he can touch her. Quick, sudden movements scare her, he’s seen her flinch when he’s turned around too quickly, or when he raised his hand to reach something off a high shelf while she was near. Each time, she’s had a reaction much like what he sees know, where she hugs herself and turns away, wings raised, bracing herself for a blow. She’s never told Roy what her family did to her, outside of her need for the night-light, but the few times he’s accidentally caused her to flinch away says more than enough.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Hmm?” Sarah blinks, confused, then blinks again and shuffles her wings. “Oh. No. Not so much now. It-it’s going away. I’ll be okay.” She tucks her head in against the coolness of the headboard with a sigh. “I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Roy says softly. “Okay.” He leans back to give Sarah room, wishing he could draw her into a hug right then and there. Wishing he could hug away whatever pain that monster of a brother Ephraim Bellows put his own sister through.

(He’d heard the stories about Sarah Bellows, about the monster she supposedly was, but he’d never paid much attention one way or the other. Now that the local legend herself was living in his house, currently curled up against the headboard after a nightmare, Roy knows nothing in the legends happened the way every says they did.)

He doesn’t say anything more, letting Sarah have all the time she needs to reorient herself. He tries not to stare at her while she gets settled, instead trying to focus on the night-light plugged into the wall and not the way his daughter’s wings go through a pattern of fluffing and flattening until her feathers finally lay flat, or the way she almost nods off again, but the lingering memories of her nightmare wake her up again.

(Or the way she said her brother’s name, or the way she cried in her sleep—Roy has never seen Sarah cry.)

Oh, Sarah. She’s only eighteen, barely a year older than Stella, and already she’s gone through more in her short life on this planet than anyone her age ever should.

Sarah takes on deep breath, then another, rubbing her arms, and looks up at Roy. “Dad?” she asks slowly. “Can I have a hug?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, Sarah. Come here.”

Sarah gingerly unfolds herself and shuffles away from the headboard, slowly, as though part of her is still in pain, and scoots along the edge of the bed until she’s able to lean herself against Roy’s shoulder. She curls up there instead, tucking her head under Roy’s chin.

Roy holds her gently, unsure if he’s accidentally going to touch something that still hurts. But when he wraps his around around Sarah, closes his wing around her, she gives no indication that he’s hurting her. “Does it still hurt?” He watches his small daughter shift gingerly and test her wings before she sighs.

“Not anymore.”

Not anymore. There’s more weight to those words than she’ll say, but Roy can hear it with every syllable. He takes the chance and holds Sarah just a little tighter, watching her carefully for any sign he’s hurting her. Instead, she huddles closer, tucking her wings against her back, pulling her knees closer to herself.

Roy runs his hand over her head, mindful of her hair. She doesn’t seem to mind this, but Roy knows Sarah doesn’t like people touching her hair where it starts to fall away from her head; he hasn’t seen it himself but Stella had warned him about being careful with Sarah’s hair, she doesn’t like having it pulled, even in the slightest. He can only imagine why.

(What and when Sarah chooses to tell him more is entirely up to her. He’s not going to force her to divulge information she doesn’t want to share.)

He kisses the top of her head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sarah shrugs one shoulder. “Not really,” she says, but runs her thumb over the button of Roy’s overalls with a deep frown and chew at her bottom lip. After a moment, she says slowly, “It was about my—my brothers. They…they liked to hurt me.”

Roy’s heart aches; he holds Sarah closer, wishing he could protect her from the monsters that have already put their hands on her. Her own brothers… He’d grown up with two sisters, neither of whom lived in Pennsylvania, but he couldn’t imagine hurting either one of them, let alone finding any joy in it. What kind of family had the Bellows been? On the surface, they seemed well enough; he knew the town had raved about them back in the day, what with being responsible for putting Mill Valley on the map and all. But Sarah is living proof the Bellows were anything but. They were vile, inhumane, cruel, that they would ever do such a thing to their own daughter, whose condition is no fault of her own.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” he whispers, closing his wing tighter around her. “I promise you they’ll never hurt you again. No one ever will.”

Sarah hums. “Everyone’s promised they’ll punch everyone in my family.” She laughs a little, and even Roy finds himself smiling. Then her smile fades, and she looks up at him. “Dad? When I’m-when I’m ready to lay down again, will you…stay with me? Until I fall asleep?”

“Course, I will, sweetheart,” Roy says, gently rubbing Sarah’s shoulder. “You let me know when you’re ready. I’ll stay right here.”

[aquilaofarkham]

wolfsbane bloom

Trevor is bitten by a werewolf; Alucard and Sypha offer their support while the night of his first full moon creeps up. Eventually, he discovers that vampires do in fact get along far better with lycans than he expected. For bitchardarmitage.

rating: teen and up (canon-typical violence, blood, coarse language, brief mentions of death/suicide)

word count: 4,406

This will be easy, this will be quick. He’s done this sort of deed before. With every trudge forward, the heavy snow crutches beneath Trevor’s boots. He looks up through the trees; the creeping darkness of dusk turning into night makes them look more like the iron bars of a cage. The whip and sword hanging off either sides of his waist along with the crossbow across his back weigh him down. But he keeps moving - better to finish this now before the dead bodies start piling up.

Trevor blows into his hands, trying to warm them while taking a moment to exam his surroundings. Snowflakes descending from above gently blow onto his face and get caught on his eyelashes. Apart from the sound of his footsteps, the woods are silent. Dead, uncomfortable silence. He keeps an ear out for anything that might break it; a twig snapping under the weight of claws, the rustling of leaves against coarse fur, or the low growl of a creature that’s somewhere between human and animal.

Eyes glance towards the murky skies, settling on the bright full moon, before turning back down at the series of paw prints leading deeper into the forest. Far too big to belong to any normal wolf. It’s been a while since Trevor found himself on the trail of a lycanthrope. “Out of practice” is an apt descriptor regarding this recent endeavour. He’s not worried, though. His arrows are made from silver, his blade purified in wolfsbane, and the Morningstar still sings when he wields it. This should go easily. This should go quickly.

It’s not long before Trevor hears the very noise he’s been searching for. Readying the crossbow, he carefully spins around to face whatever is lurking in the bushes behind him. He takes aim and lets out a deep breath. The frigid air transforms it into a long huff of smoke. Trevor keeps both arms steady, his patience steadfast yet quickly running out. Until the foreign sound moves. First, he hears footsteps off to his side, then back behind, then to his other side. Circling him, over and over again. Stalking its prey.

The hunter keeps his feet planted to the ground, moving them only slightly, preparing himself for the right moment. The same noise continues, followed by that growl he needed to hear. Another breath and the footsteps stop. Trevor is granted a few short seconds before his own prey lunges forward. He rolls out of the way, kicking up clumps of snow. Raising his head, he looks directly into sickly yellow eyes belonging to a mass of dark fur, elongated limbs, and a snout full of teeth blackened with blood. It snarls, keeping its distance, biding its time, before making its second attack.

Trevor is much quicker. With the crossbow loaded, he takes his first shot. The short arrow drives itself into the beasts’ shoulder, barely an inconvenience. Then comes a second and third. Trevor reloads the weapon and takes aim just as fast as he dodges each vicious assault. Streams of blood and saliva drip from the lycan’s fangs. Those bits of silver have only made it angrier.

It doesn’t give Trevor a chance to reach for the Morningstar. It seizes the opportunity, wrenching the crossbow out of his hands and pins him against the deep snow, its jaws snapping at his face. Trevor tries holding it back, but only manages to slice open both palms. Teeth dig into his shoulder and neck. Trevor is thankful for the pain despite how much it burns. Instead of wearing him down, it motivates (or rather forces) him to grab his sword and burrow its tip between the creature’s ribs.

An agonized howl mixed with a whine echoes throughout the forest. Awkwardly yet with enough strength, Trevor’s blade pierces its neck, nearly getting caught amongst all the fur and flesh. Blood gurgles in the lycan’s throat, hacking it up in large globs. Last breaths before its heavy body collapses.

Trevor lies in the snow, blinded by snowflakes. Quick, yes, but far from easy. He sits up with a long groan and turns to his handiwork. The crossbow is in pieces, blood drenches the ground, and the beast is nowhere to be seen. In its place is a human body; naked, thin flaxen hair, and pale skin stretched to its limit over bones. They lay motionless, their life spilling out through their chest and neck.

The hunter doesn’t move, nor can he look away. It’s so rare for him to see a sight like this. There’s no sense of victory, but what should be felt then? Guilt? It had to be done. They were trapped. Whoever they were, he set them free. But what point is there in telling himself this? All Trevor can think of is a different reminder. The monsters he hunts, that his family hunted, must have been human. Even vampires were human before.

“Poor bastard.” He could give them a burial - not a proper one. Still, they deserve that much. But another sting crawls down Trevor’s arm. He places a hand against his torn-up shoulder; tender, wet, and burning. Tearing away the ripped fabric, his eyes widen at the wound left behind by the lycan’s teeth. All he can say is an exasperated, breathless “fuck...”

He’ll live. That’s what he’s terrified of.

--

Trevor walks back home, the pain in his shoulder reduced to a dull throb numbed by the cold air. He placed the body in a deep snowbank before retracing his steps. There it will freeze for the rest of the winter then thaw and decompose when spring comes. Or perhaps the wolves, foxes, and bears will find it; whichever happens first.

The only light guiding him is that of the full moon. Trevor sneers up at it. He knows the next one won’t be as beautiful or kind - unless he does something. He read his family’s bestiary as though it were a children’s bedtime story. He’s well aware of all the legends even those that contradict each other. The lycan travels on its hind legs, they are agents of the Devil, so on and so forth. 

One thing remains constant: kill the beast before it leaves its bite, and the curse will be broken. A harsh realization just as Trevor approaches home. He marches up to the front door of the Belmont manor, still half rebuilt and looking more akin to a large cottage than the grand building it once was. Strangely enough, he prefers this home to the one he was born an raised in. A warm hue of candlelight shines through the windows while smoke gently rises out of a short chimney. The other occupants are awake and waiting for him.

This is what Trevor was dreading. They’ll ask questions the moment they see him. They’ll look at his torn shirt with dark red stains, the teeth marks upon his skin, and the panicked expression on his blood-drained face. They care so much and worry for him even more, which is why Trevor will try avoiding them. He walks into the warm house, shaking off the snow that clings to his hair and clothes.

As he takes his first steps down the hall, Trevor stops. He notices a set of two faint voices coming from the reading room. Shit. Almost forgot; he needs to go through there in order to reach his bedchamber. His hand covers the wound. Be quick, keep your eyes down, and don’t draw attention to yourself. Three pieces of advice he remembers from the years spent as a wanderer. He should never have to act this way around his friends, his family, but it is necessary.

Trevor darts into the room, keeping to the walls lined with shelves. The glances he makes at his companions, who sit comfortably with books in their hands, are brief. “There you are,” greets Sypha. Her light jovial attitude lessens when she receives no reply. “So... everything went well, then.”

“Fine.” Trevor should know by now that a single, dismissive word has never been enough to convince either of them.

“That’s it?” Alucard lowers his book. “No boasting, no trophies of your victory? It’s not like you at all.”

“I’m tired.”

“Trevor, your shoulder...”

“It’s nothing.”

“It should be tended to. Come on...”

Trevor gently shrugs off Sypha. “Really, it’s not worth the trouble.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar.” Alucard may jest like he always does, but his tone sounds just as concerned as Sypha’s. Trevor’s face begins to sweat, he feels suffocated. He needs his room. It’s the only way he’ll be able to think clearly.

“I’m going to bed.”

“At least bandage that wound.”

“I’ll do it eventually.”

Sypha scoffs. “Always so stubborn-”

“Stop.” The response is far louder than Trevor wanted. Sypha and Alucard stare. His empty stomach heaves while the pit of his chest grows tighter, hurting him. “I appreciate the concern... but I really am tired.” He can’t even muster up a simple “goodnight” before rushing towards his room. Trevor shuts the door, his hand a death grip on the knob and sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t bother lighting a candle. Maybe the darkness will help focus his mind.

All options are weighed; none good, all bad, some even worse. Trevor returns to what he’s already accepted. Withdrawing a dagger he always keeps tucked in his boot, he checks the sharpness with his thumb. This is the only way. If he wants to spare others from the curse - if he wants Sypha and Alucard safe - it has to be. 

The door creaks open, Sypha comes into view, and Trevor quickly hides the weapon. Even in the shadows, he can tell that her anxious expression has worsened. “You were bitten,” she says. There’s nothing for him to deny.

“Show me what’s behind your back.” Her tone is bold, direct, yet gentle and Trevor cannot ignore it (he never could to begin with). He reveals the dagger slowly, almost shamefully. The first emotion Sypha feels is anger; how could he do this? How could he come to such an abrupt conclusion concerning his life without first talking it through with either herself or Alucard? She hoped Trevor had grown past this sort of reckless thinking. Evidently, he may never.

Sypha feels Alucard’s presence close behind her. Anger subsides into empathy as they walk into the room. Perhaps there is reason as to why Trevor came to a hasty decision. He’s a Belmont after all, born and bred as a hunter, knowing exactly what a lycan’s bite will do to a man. Still, it’s a decision they refuse to accept.

“Trevor...”

“Sorry. I... I didn’t want you to worry. But I have to do this.”

“No, you do not.” Sypha sits beside Trevor while Alucard carefully checks his shoulder, wincing as delicate fingers prod at the wound.

“It’s not infected yet, but it is very swollen and still bleeding a little. Put some pressure on his shoulder, I won’t take long.” He says to Sypha. Before Alucard can leave to continue playing the role of doctor just as his mother did, Trevor speaks up.

“There’s no point. Stop troubling yourself.”

“Not another word out of you. I’ll be right back.” There’s that blunt, aggressive tone Trevor has heard many times before, especially when directed at himself. It’s only because Alucard cares; he’s grown to care deeper and harder than ever. The dhampir then snatches away the dagger at an unusually quick speed. “And I’m taking this with me.” Only because he cares.

Alucard leaves Trevor with Sypha. Every uneasy breath causes his body to tremble. Hands curl into fists, nails digging into palms, as he tries forming his anxious thoughts into words. He holds himself back from grabbing tuffs of hair and bashing his head against a nearby wall. For being so careless, so stupid. “You really don’t understand...”

“We do understand. That’s why we’re both going to help.”

“Sypha, listen.” Trevor finds the strength to look her in the eyes. “When I turn, I won’t be able to stop myself and people will die. You and Alucard, you’ll...”

Sypha can’t bear to hear him talk of death and dying any longer. Enough, she thinks. “No one is going to die. Not your or anyone else. All three of us have seen enough death to last us lifetimes. We will help you through this.”

Trevor’s energy is spent. There’s not much he can do except trust her words - weakly. Alucard returns with his arms full of medicinal supplies: a basin of water, a cup of ointment made from honey and frankincense, gauze strips, and a needle with some thread. He works swiftly, diligently. Cleaning the wound, smothering it then sewing everything up. Trevor winces until the last bandage is tied. All he can think about is pain, that of tonight and that which will follow in the near future. Sypha squeezes his hand as Alucard rubs his hunched back.

Their simple actions ease the pain. Trevor hopes it will last for as long as it can.

--

There is much that can be done in a month’s time, yet not enough. Sypha immerses herself within books of the lycan mythos, some of which are older than the Belmont lineage itself. She reads of Dacian wolf cults, the cursed wolf king Vereticus, and poor children, seventh of their family, doomed to become beasts. How to track and kill, not help. Not save. But Sypha has many other books to tear through. If there are any alternatives, anything to suggest that Trevor might be spared his fate, she will find it. Alucard does the same and uses the notebooks left behind by Lisa, searching for a way to ease the eventual transition. Better yet, a way to stop it entirely.

It gets harder for Trevor with each passing hour. He tries, god knows he does. Carrying on with his hunts and errands, treating the days as though they were ordinary, postponing the inevitable. Distractions to keep himself at least half sane. But then there are the nightmares, common occurrences for a Belmont. Not these, however. Not the ones where Trevor chokes on blood and flesh or when his skin tears as easily as the thinnest parchment. He wakes up every morning, his stomach clenched and the taste of bile in his mouth. The closer the full moon approaches, the worse they become. Trevor can’t go about the days as normal.

Just as the last rays of sunlight shine through the stained-glass windows of the manor, Alucard finds Trevor in his bedroom. He sees him lying on his side, back turned, and the dhampir wonders how long he’s been like this. “No luck again?” The hunter asks before Alucard can announce himself.

“... Sypha and I made a tonic that will help with the pain when you transform.”

“But won’t stop it.” One pause is the only answer Trevor needs. “You shouldn’t put yourself through this much work for me.”

“Yet we do.” Alucard joins him on the bed. “And despite what you might think, we do it willingly.”

Trevor remains in his half fetal position, eyelids heavy. If that statement was meant to brighten his mood, it hasn’t. Alucard and Sypha have done so much for him. Enough that he feels he will never be able to repay them in full. Despite his honest attempts, he’s become a burden this past month and it will only get worse.

He finally sits up, his hair a bedridden mess. Alucard receives the first real glimpse at his bloodshot eyes, unchecked stubble, and cheeks devoid of blush and colour. Trevor turns to him, saying without words, “I know I look like shit”.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“It comes and goes.”

“For how long?”

“... an hour. If I’m lucky.”

“Are you afraid to sleep?”

“Does it seem like I’m afraid?” But Trevor already has the answer. “You’re right... you’re absolutely right as always. I’m so fucking scared. I can’t sleep because I’m scared of what I’ll see, scared of what I’ll feel, I’m scared of what’s going to happen in the next few days... I’ve never felt this much fear in my entire life. I feel sick and weak and...”

Alucard pulls the hunter in close, wrapping his arms around his broad back. “You know...” Trevor pushes his cheek against the dhampir’s shoulder. His sobs are quiet, repressed, which is just like him. “Contrary to what most people believe, vampires and lycans gets along very well.”

“... is it because you both turn into wolves?” Trevor asks, his voice muffled.

“The similarities certainly help. But it’s more a matter of solidarity between creatures of the night.”

“So what you’re saying is things would have gone a lot smoother between us at the very beginning if I happened to be a bloody werewolf.”

Alucard laughs and gives him a light hug. “A joke... and a bad one at that. Haven’t heard one of those from you in a while,” he hums. “Does this mean you’re feeling a little better?”

“I’ll feel better when all this is done and I can actually sleep.”

Without putting up much resistance, the dhampir guides Trevor’s heavy head onto one of the pillows. His tearful eyes shine like glass. “Then sleep.”

“I can’t, I’ll just see more of those... fucking awful things.”

Alucard ponders for a moment. Trevor will think of his next action as over sentimental. He might even poke fun at him, claim he’ll use it as blackmail, but he does it out of genuine affection for the idiot. Lying beside him, Alucard drapes the fur blanket over their bodies. “I’ll stay here until morning. I’ll help you sleep.”

Trevor lets out a defeated sigh. He places his head upon the dhampir’s chest, pleasantly surprised at how soft and warm it feels. The slow rhythmic breathing also helps put him at ease. Alucard’s fingers stroke his hair as lips ghost over the hunter’s forehead. “You’re not weak for being scared. We’re all scared. But we’ve made preparations and we’ll take all precautions. You’ll still be you, even after everything. The same foulmouthed, smelly... brave Belmont you always have been.”

He could go on, but Trevor’s eyes are already closed.

--

Near the manor, nestled under the hard winter earth, lies a cellar. Dark, chilled, and large enough to house over a dozen adult bodies. It was made for storage, but Trevor has found another use. One that will help save lives when the full moon rises this night. He can only hope.

Standing in the middle of the stone bound room, refusing a lantern or torch, he faces Sypha and Alucard. They seem apprehensive, uneasy, every quiet negative emotion. Even Alucard walks with an uncertain foot as he hands Trevor a small bottle. If the library books and their contents aren’t going to help him, perhaps this will. He uncorks it and pours a bitter tasting liquid down his throat, emptying the container. He’s drunk far stronger things in the past, but nerves almost cause him to retch everything back up.

“We should stay with you,” Sypha suggests. Trevor shakes his head, still reeling from the tonic.

“No. Just make sure the door is locked and bolted shut.”

“How will we know if you’re alright?”

“Won’t know for certain until tomorrow morning.”

“We can’t wait all night!” She glances at Alucard who doesn’t say it out loud, but agrees nonetheless.

“Then you’ll know everything happened like it’s supposed to when the screaming stops and the growling starts. It’s not gonna be a pretty thing to hear, I’ll tell you that much.” No one is in the mood for Trevor’s joke - if one could call it that. Not even Alucard has the energy to scold him. “But you can’t come in no matter what. Nothing goes into that room and sure as hell nothing comes out. Understand?”

Sypha and Alucard reluctantly understand. They look towards the stairs leading to the outside world. It’s late evening and the moon still be rising soon. A quick yet tight embrace is the best - or at least the easiest - goodbye they can give Trevor before exiting the cellar. Alucard closes the door, bolting it with a heavy clank. He and Sypha sit at the bottom of the steps; they’ve always hated waiting. In their shared experience, it never seems to be for anything good.

They pass the time in silence. Night arrives slower than expected. Sypha holds her knees to her chest, a shivering ball of stress while Alucard keeps his back against the wood and iron door. Small flakes of snow drift down followed by the cold light of the full moon. 

Before Sypha can ask if it’s started yet, they hear something coming from behind the door. Pained, restricted moans as though Trevor were holding them back. A series of “fucks” hissed through teeth grinding together. Longer it goes on until they turn into screams. Vocal chords strain and tear, becoming inhuman. Sypha’s hands cover her ears but she’s seconds too late. It’s in her head now. The banging, ripping, clawing, and crying have forced their way inside. Against her own wishes, Sypha’s mind pieces together a grotesque puzzle of what might be happening within the cellar.

Some of the wood on the door suddenly cracks, not enough to break it open but a few more and it just might. Alucard’s eyes go wide. He immediately uses his body in an effort to keep it shut. Although having faith in his immense strength, Sypha offers her help. They share the same prayer: let this end.

The violent banging stops and the piercing screams quiet down. All that’s left is the same silence as before - Sypha and Alucard feel no comfort. They bring their ears close to the door and hear it. A guttural snarl belonging to a very, very big animal.

“Alucard...” Sypha whispers. “Do you remember what one of those manuscripts we looked at said?”

“Which one?”

“The one about northern lycan myths. It said something about calling out the creature’s name...”

There’s a tense pause before he remembers the passage. “If one should love the beast dearly, speak its true name and its humanity shall be restored.” The same text also suggested tossing the lycan’s human clothes in their direction. Alucard doubted its validity even when they first found it. “I don’t think...”

“We should at least try it. Please.”

Alucard’s furrowed brow softens. Of course it’s a risk, but he loathes the alternative of waiting until morning while Trevor stays locked in a dangerous body he can’t control. And listening to Sypha’s gut instinct has never led any of them astray before. If it doesn’t work, there’s always the clothes option. Cautiously, Alucard unbolts the door.

Sypha walks in before him, a small flame emanating from her fingertips. The steps they take are short and careful until a low drawn out growl stops them. Light reflects off ice blue eyes shining in the surrounding blackness. Backed into the farthest corner is a beast with thick fur, its posture cowered yet threatening, ready to strike if tested. Clearly a wolf, yet unlike any wolf the two have seen. Everything is too large; its head, limbs, teeth. From where Sypha and Alucard stand, they instead see a mouth full of daggers.

“Trevor Belmont.” Reaching out his hand, the dhampir is the first to say his name. The creature snaps its jaws, its barks deafening.

“Trevor, it’s us. You remember, I know you do.” Sypha stays close to Alucard, keeping the flame lit while her other hand prepares a different spell should they need it. The lycan lowers its head and crawls towards them on all fours, the hairs of its belly scraping along the floor. “Trevor...” Alucard repeats, stunned at how close they’ve gotten. Scared that one mistake could ruin all their chances. It sniffs his hand and blinks. No longer does it growl. Alucard and Sypha are tired of waiting but they must do it one last time.

Their hopes are rewarded when Trevor softly bumps the top of his head into the dhampir’s palm.

--

He doesn’t come out. Not into the forest nor the house. Trevor holds full awareness of what his body has become, but the fear of losing command haunts him. He cannot risk going outside. He won’t wander amongst the dense forests only to come across a village and succumb to any violent urges that might be screaming for release. So, he stays in the cellar curled up in his corner of stone and hay, alone.

A soft whimper escapes as one of Trevor’s oversizes paws covers his eyes. It was difficult convincing Sypha and Alucard to leave him alone without the use of words. All he could manage was a few persistent whines while he pushed the outside. They’ve been gone for a while.

Suddenly, out of the quiet, Trevor hears the door creak open. He raises his head, ears perking up and expects to see either a blue clad Speaker or a golden haired dhampir. Perhaps they’ve come to keep him company or bring him food. Yet in their place, Trevor is greeted by a wolf like himself. This one however is much smaller with yellow eyes and fur whiter than the snowy hills surrounding his home. He sits up, recognizing this creature.

Alucard enters the cellar, his nails tapping against the floor with every graceful step. The two take their time in familiarizing themselves with each other’s new forms. While the white wolf circles around him, the lycan remains hesitant. Until Alucard gives the side of his head a couple gentle licks and Trevor feels his muscles relax. You’re still you. Even after everything. Trevor doesn’t know if that’s what Alucard is truly thinking, but his actions seem clear enough.

They nuzzle their snouts together; maybe this is what was meant when he said vampires and lycans get along better than most humans believe. Trevor would be content to stay here all night, as long as Alucard stayed as well, but the white wolf has other plans. He trots over to the door and waits. Tentatively, the lycan trails behind him up the stairs. A passing breeze ruffles his fur. They stare at each other before Alucard bounds off through the trees. Trevor follows.

Running will do both of them some good.

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 158: Thanks for the Memories

"Lucy!" Henry called.

"Lucy...you need to slow down!" he called, as he finally caught up to her in the open mouth of the cave.

"I did it…" Lucy said, as she picked up a piece of glass from the dirt.

"Did what? Found glass?" he asked.

"This isn't just any glass! Don't you see? It's a part of my Mom's glass slipper! This proves I'm right about the curse and my Mom! She's Cinderella," Lucy insisted.

"Lucy…" Henry sighed in a chiding manner. But she put the glass in her pocket and continued on.

"Lucy...we need to go back up! It's dangerous down here!" Henry called, as he followed her further into the underground catacombs.

"No...there has to be more! You and my Mom belong together! You're my father," Lucy insisted.

"Lucy stop...I'm not!" he snapped and she looked back at him. He sighed and knelt beside her.

"Look...I'm flattered that you'd want someone like me to be your Dad. But I'm not...I had a daughter. But she died in a fire...with my wife," he confessed. She was about to protest, but he continued.

"They're buried in a cemetery, not far from here. I can show you…" he said.

"No...that's just what the curse is telling you. We're not dead! Just like the curse is telling Great Grandpa David that his wife is dead. But she's not...she's Mary Blanchard…" Lucy insisted.

"Lucy...listen to yourself. Detective Nolan isn't anywhere near old enough to be your great grandfather," he admonished.

"Yes he is! It's in your book! Snow White and Prince Charming...and everyone else didn't age, because of the first curse and then everyone in Storybrooke aged really slowly, because of their chalice," she argued.

"Lucy...the book isn't real!" he cried. She huffed and continued on through the cavern and stopped when she saw a flash of white, draped over a rock

"If the curse isn't real...then how do you explain this!" she cried, as she picked up the soft, white knit blanket and showed him the name embroidered on it in purple. It was a little dirty, but she brushed it off and was certain that Snow could get it cleaned. Henry looked at it in scrutiny, noticing that the purple stitching read the name "Emma".

"This is your mom's blanket! And if it's been taken from her...then something is really wrong," she pleaded.

"Okay...I'll give you that. This is some pretty good evidence...but there has to be some other explanation. Curses and magic aren't real," Henry refuted, as the ground trembled beneath them, cutting off more of Lucy's protests.

"Okay...that's it, we need to get out of here," he insisted. Lucy stuffed the blanket in her bag and allowed herself to be dragged back to the opening they had come down in. Once they were above ground again, Henry started brushing the dirt on her clothes off.

"Promise me you won't go down there again," he insisted. She nodded sadly. He was never going to believe. There was clear evidence right before his eyes, but the curse had really stolen all the hope her parents had. At this point, she knew it was likely that her great grandparents were the only hope.

Later, Henry dropped her off at the Belfry penthouse and then he idly drove back to Hyperion Heights. He parked along the road and waited a few moments, before he got out and went to the cemetery with a handful of Hyacinths. He placed the flowers on the gravestones of late wife, Cynthia Swan and daughter Emily. A fear tears slipped down his cheeks, as he stood there for quite some time.

~*~

Victoria waited patiently for the workers to deliver what they had excavated for her. She was on the secret floor high Belfry tower where access was expressly restricted to anyone but her. Once the delivery was made, the workers knew to leave right away and left the woman with the coffin. She ran a hand along the dusty wood and then lifted the lid, revealing the perfectly preserved body of her beloved daughter, Anastasia.

She heard the chinking sound of chains moving and lifted her head, watching a woman with blonde dreadlocks emerge from the shadows.

"So...you have finally unearthed her," Gothel stated.

"Yes...and now you shall help me find a way to revive her," Tremaine retorted. But the witch chuckled deviously.

"Oh will I? How am I do such in these chains? I am a prisoner," she goaded.

"And freedom can be yours once Anastasia walks among the living again," Tremaine reminded.

"You realize that the price to revive Anastasia is destroying your own granddaughter then?" Gothel questioned.

"I know…" she confirmed. Gothel smirked.

"And they call me monster...and witch. I'd say I've got nothing on you," she quipped.

"Oh, you are a monster...as am I. You are the monster that made me what I am,"

Tremaine hissed back. Gothel smirked.

"Touche...but your plan has a lot of room for things to go wrong," she reminded.

"Nothing will stop me...I've come too far," Victoria stated.

"Except that idiot Collector's plan to keep the Charmings apart has failed," she reminded.

"It doesn't matter...even together, they can't stop what is to come. And once I have what I need, I will cut your leash and you can proceed with your mission to destroy them, before they do remember what you are and seal you away again, like their predecessors did," Tremaine offered.

"You're the boss," Gothel said, as Victoria left, satisfied that Anastasia would remain safely hidden there. Once she disappeared in the elevator, Ivy emerged from the shadows.

"It's funny that she thinks she's really in charge," Ivy mused and Gothel smirked.

"We still need to be careful regarding them…" she warned. Ivy smirked back.

"Don't worry...even if Snow White and Prince Charming remember everything, they'll also remember exactly why they'll never want this curse to break," Ivy promised ominously...

~*~

Enchanted Forest 3

Storybrooke Year - 2021

Ella sneaked into the Tremaine Manor that evening and lurked around, in an attempt to see exactly what her step-mother might be up to. She saw the ornate coffin and knew the contents inside was Anastasia, perfectly preserved and whatever Lady Tremaine was up to, Ella knew her goal to was to find a way to revive her golden daughter. She tucked herself into a corner, as a man was escorted by her step-mother's guard into the sitting room.

"Leave us," she ordered to the guards, as the man bowed to her.

"Lady Tremaine…I presume," he greeted.

"Yes...and you are the Collector that I have heard about?" she questioned. He smirked smugly.

"That is the moniker I am famous for, but you may call me Clayton," he responded.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I require information and I have heard you can provide me with answers I need," she replied.

"If I can, I'd be happy to oblige...for a price," he said.

"Yes...I heard you collect magical items and have been frustrated by the lack of ingredients for your youth potions in this realm," she replied. He studied her, wondering how she had gotten such information.

"Yes...it won't be easy for me to achieve my revenge if I grow too old to function," he said. Lady Tremaine motioned to the door and Drizella led in a fairy, whom they had restrained with magic resistant cuffs.

"I intercepted this flea from helping my retched step-daughter a while back, but since I loathe magic, I really have no use for her tricks," the woman said.

"While I've been known to collect people before...she's unimportant. I'd only require the wand as payment," he replied. She smirked.

"Done," Tremaine agreed. The fairy looked at them in aghast.

"You will never acquire my wand as long as I draw breath!" she growled.

"If that's the way you want it," Lady Tremaine said, as she cruelly ripped the fairy's wings off her back, causing her excruciating pain. She fell to the floor in agony, as her wand appeared and Tremaine confiscated it. She wasted no time and used it to turn the fairy to dust. Jacinda covered her mouth in horror, as she witnessed such savagery.

"Now...this wand is all yours, Collector, if you have the information I require," she said.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Recently, an interloper by the name of Henry Nolan has interfered in my affairs. The whispers are that he is not of this realm and I ignored the chatter that he had royal blood. But recent setbacks have made me question if he may be a larger problem than I once expected," she replied. Clayton chuckled.

"Oh, I can tell you a great many things about Henry Nolan. But tell me one thing...is the truest believer alone?" he inquired.

"He was...until yesterday. Many people, family I assume, arrived to his rescue. Many of them had magic, including a couple that wielded it with an item I have heard you have sought to acquire for many years now," Tremaine explained. A greedy glint was alight in Clayton's eyes.

"So...they're finally here," he hissed.

"Then you know them?" she asked. He smirked, as took the wand from her. With its magic, he conjured an image akin to how science might create a hologram.

"I assume this is the pair you're speaking about?" he questioned, as they observed the attractive pair battling a fairy garbed in black.

"Yes...that's them and the powerful object they wielded," she confirmed.

"Snow White and Prince Charming...also known as Henry Nolan's grandparents," he informed. Drizella raised an eyebrow.

"Grandparents?" she deadpanned. He smirked.

"That object they hold was gifted to them by the Goddess Aphrodite herself. They are her champions...the truest love in all the realms. They create magic between them, including five irritating offspring, all with their own abilities," Clayton explained, as the images of five others appeared.

"Emma Swan Nolan...also known as the Savior and their eldest. She's by far the most powerful. Then there are the twins, Leo and Eva. They have an affinity with magic as well, especially lightning for him and wind for her. But that's not what is the most extraordinary about them," he continued, as the images showed him surrounded by animals and her healing wounds.

"He can speak to all animals and they are quite willing to obey him. And she can heal almost any wound," he said, as the images then shifted to the two younger ones.

"And the babies...Summer and Bobby. Summer's affinity is for water and her bubbles have proven to be impenetrable. And then there's Bobby...who was an infant last time I saw him. He may be unpredictable, for I don't know what powers he may have developed. But I assure you, he has magic too," he explained, as images of the others that had been with them appeared.

"With them, I'm sure was Regina, the former Evil Queen, and expert in magic, including dark magic. I'm sure she was accompanied by her husband, Robin Hood. Then there's Captain Hook, Emma's lover and general nuisance. He has no magic, but also has the annoying habit of surviving no matter what. But perhaps the most dangerous is...Rumpelstiltskin. Also known as the Dark One," Clayton explained.

"And this Dark One is an ally to these supposed light magic wielders?" Drizella questioned skeptically.

"Surprisingly yes...he usually has his own agenda and done many things they disapprove of. But...he's Henry's other grandfather," Clayton warned.

"This complicates everything I am trying to achieve," Tremaine muttered.

"You seek to bring your daughter back," he said, gesturing to the coffin. The woman nodded curtly.

"Then I'm guessing you're seeking the heart of the truest believer. A new heart full of belief is the only way to revive her," he surmised.

"How do you know that? That information was acquired at great cost to me," she said accusingly. He smirked.

"I am hundreds of years old, Lady Tremaine. I have visited hundreds of realms and acquired many a magical object. I may not have magic myself, but I am in expert in the ways of it...light and dark," he boasted.

"Then you know of another way then getting the heart of Henry Nolan?" she questioned.

"His would be best...but any heart full of belief would work. Unfortunately, with Snow and Charming around, getting such a heart won't be easy," he cautioned. Drizella scoffed.

"Well, there goes your plan of tempting Ella to steal Henry's heart for you. Even if she did get the nerve, she'd never make it out of the camp," the dark haired woman said smugly.

"Quiet Drizella," Lady Tremaine snapped, as she paced the floor. But she ignored her mother.

"Are these truest loves really as powerful as you claim?" she inquired. He smirked.

"Oh yes...just their mixed blood creates magic. Their hairs combined once brought magic to a land with none. They have broken more than one curse with just a kiss...and they share a heart. The Chalice is just the tip of the iceberg with those two," he answered. Drizella looked very intrigued by all this information.

"Do you think they could revive my Anastasia?" she questioned.

"If anything other than a heart full of belief can...it would be them. And luckily, I know them very well. I know ways to make them help," he said.

"If they are as good as you say...perhaps asking them is all that would be required," she surmised. He smirked.

"True...but they once cost me everything and I want them to pay. And they're going to help Tiana overthrow your rule. But if we were to team up...we could both get what we want," he offered. She smirked back.

"Perhaps this could be a beneficial relationship, after all," Lady Tremaine replied. Whatever reasons Ella had originally gone there were abandoned, for she had a feeling that this changed everything. She had to warn everyone that her step-mother had a new ally. She didn't know who this Collector was, but she knew she needed to tell Henry's grandparents and find out what kind of threat he could pose...

~*~

Hyperion Heights

David tossed and turned again, as dreams assaulted him. This time, they were very different, except they included Mary again. Except she was Snow and she was crying over him. And he was there...Clayton, taunting her. There was magical explosions around them and fantastical sights that he could scarcely believe were true.

~*~

"Hit him with everything you've got," she said, as Clayton raised his staff, poising it to absorb the chalice's power. But Emma's and Leo's magic slammed into his staff instead.

"You will not stop me, insolent brats!" he hissed. But Gold and Regina joined them, as Snow lifted the chalice and pointed it at the Collector. It glowed brightly and started sucking the staff's magic up.

"No...NO...this is impossible!" he cried. But Snow held it with determination until the staff stopped glowing and was nothing more than a useless artifact.

"What have you done?" he screamed in disbelief.

"I'll kill you...I'll kill all of you! Starting with you Snow White!" he screamed maniacally, as he pulled a gun from his jacket. Regina raised her hand to stop the bullets, but she wouldn't have to, for the Phoenix breathed fire down on the Collector. He screamed, as he saw his end seconds before he was consumed.

Robin and Regina shielded Summer's eyes and when the fire and smoke cleared, there was nothing but ashes left of the Collector. The curse smoke began to rise from the cauldron and Rumple waved his hand over it.

"What are you doing?" Leo asked curiously.

"I removed the Collector's designs from it and replaced it with much more pleasant things. It will now do your mother's will. This is her curse now," Rumple informed them. They looked to Snow, who still held Charming, sobbing uncontrollably.

She caressed his handsome face, knowing in a few moments, she would disappear and never hold him again.

"I can't do this...I can't do this without you," she cried.

"We've always shared one heart," she heard his voice echo in her head. She inhaled sharply and looked at Regina, as she approached.

"Snow...I'm so sorry," Regina cried.

"Regina...you have to split my heart," Snow pleaded.

"What?" she questioned.

"You have to split my heart and save Charming!" she exclaimed.

"Snow...we don't know if that will work," Regina warned.

"I have hope that it will," Snow said and Regina glanced at Gold.

"If it will work for anyone, it will be these two. But hurry," he advised. Regina thrust her hand into Snow's chest and extracted her heart. Snow lay next to David with a teary, but hopeful gaze, as Regina carefully split the heart in half. She pushed half into Charming's chest and the other half back into Snow's. The raven haired beauty sat up and put her hand on her husband's chest, her eyes willing him to open his. As nothing happened, Regina looked away sadly. At that moment, Charming's eyes went wide and took a strangled breath of air.

"Snow...how…" he uttered in confusion. But she only smiled and caressed his face, as their children gathered around crying in relief.

~*~

David shot up in bed, his eyes wide with disbelief and confusion.

"What the hell was all that?" he muttered, as he put a hand to his chest.

"It can't be...it's not possible," he murmured, as he got out of bed in and tossed a sleeveless shirt on with his sleep pants, before padding out to the kitchen for a drink of water. He spotted Bobby sleeping on the pull out couch in the living room and quietly went into the room. Gently, he picked up the book and leafed through it. Finally, after many pages, he found the scene from his dream. It was the man, Charming, being cradled in a crying Snow's arms.

"Trouble sleeping?" Mary asked, as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He nodded and sat back on the loveseat, as she padded into the room. He watched her in fascination, as she brushed her son's hair away from his eyes and kissed his forehead, before looking back at him.

"May I sit?" she asked. He nodded wordlessly.

"I had a dream...about this," he mentioned, showing her the page.

"And you're trying to make sense of it," she said.

"No...that's impossible. No amount of logic can explain what I saw," he replied. She nodded.

"Roni was there...so was Rogers and Weaver. And the doctor that did the DNA test was there too…" he said. Her eyes widened.

"The doctor? She had long raven hair...and blue eyes?" she asked. He nodded.

"She seemed familiar at the time...she looks like you," he mentioned. She nodded.

"Maybe you're not ready for any of this...it's too much without your memories," she said sadly.

"Roni put her hand into your chest and took your heart out. Then she split it in half and put half of it in my chest. I can't un-see that," he replied.

"What are you asking me? Because if you want me to tell you it's all true...I can. But when I tell people things like that, it tends to get me into places like Dr. Samdi's clinic," she said. She loved him, but if he truly wasn't ready to entertain the idea that Bobby was right, then she still had to protect herself. And it broke her a little that she thought she might have to protect herself from David.

"I would never send you back to that place," he hissed. She met his eyes.

"You say that...but like you said, this is a lot. I don't want you to be overwhelmed with too much too soon," she said. Gently, he brushed his thumb over her hand and once again, couldn't ignore how familiar she seemed with his touch.

"My life...didn't make a lick of sense before the night Bobby showed up at my door. Iris was the only part of it that seemed right...and then you and he came into my life. Since then...everything makes frightening sense and has been completely baffling at the same time," he confessed, as he took the leap and clutched her hand. She squeezed his back and urged him on with her eyes. He was cursed, but they still had their unspoken communication to a degree, for he kept talking.

"Until I met you, I could clearly see Margaret in my mind. She's...you, but she's dead. She was killed by a psycho Professor that was obsessed with her. I remember showing up to the scene that night. He abducted her and drove his car off a cliff with her in it. But...it didn't happen?" he asked.

"That's the memory?" she asked. He nodded.

"Yes...why? Don't tell me there really is an evil Professor," he quipped. She sighed and flipped to another part of the book and showed him.

"Not a Professor...just an evil doctor of science," she said. His eyes widened, as he looked at the bespectacled man.

"This is him! Professor Jenkins! He killed my Margaret," he said. Anger at Clayton burned in her. How dare he twist that harrowing time in their lives and use it to make David think he had lost her so tragically.

"No...this is Dr. Jekyll. He was obsessed with me and tried to use the lives of my family to force me to be with him. Fortunately, he didn't succeed, though he came quite close," she revealed.

"Wait...Dr. Jekyll? Like Jekyll and Hyde?" he asked. She nodded, as he skimmed the story in fascination and then looked back up at her.

"Why am I having these dreams? Or I guess memories if I'm cursed?" he questioned. She smiled.

"I don't know...this time is a lot different and I don't know why. Or maybe...it's because of everything we've been through. I mean...Clayton had to lock me away in an asylum to keep us apart as long as he did," she answered and then she shook her head.

"Do you think my memories will come back completely?" he asked. She looked at him and yearned for that moment when he did awaken fully.

"I don't know...if true love's kiss didn't work, then I don't know what the answer to the curse is this time. Or...it's not our true love's kiss that's the answer this time," she replied sadly.

"Is...is half your heart really in my chest?" he asked in a breathy whisper.

"Mmm...now that question can only be answered if you listen very closely," she replied, as her eyes locked with his and she put his hand to her chest. Then she put her hand to his and they stared into each others eyes. He gasped, as he heard them beat together and his eyes widened, as they beat as one. He looked over at Bobby.

"He's my son...isn't he?" he asked. She nodded.

"Iris is my daughter...you can have the doctor do DNA tests if you'd like," she replied. He looked back at her.

"The doctor…" he remembered. She nodded.

"She's ours too…Eva. I should have known she'd be in a hospital somewhere," she confirmed.

"And the...these two…" he said, as he pointed at the blondes in the book.

"Our eldest son...he's Eva's twin. And then...this is Emma," she replied.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Bobby ran into Leo at the zoo yesterday...he goes by Luke here," she replied.

"And Emma?" he asked, as tears sprang into her eyes.

"I don't know…" she choked.

"No one knows...no one has seen her and I'm scared," she confessed. Without thinking, like instinct, he put his arms around her and pillowed her against his chest.

"I'm sorry...I want to remember it all so badly," he said, as he held her. Gods she felt so right in his arms, like there was no where else she belonged and if this book was anything to go by...it was exactly where she should be. Snow sniffed and he didn't fight the instinct to wipe her tears away with his thumbs.

"You will...I'm sorry, I'm not blaming you. Trust me, it's not your fault," she assured. He nodded.

"I know...then it was Clayton that did this?" he asked. She nodded.

"He's involved...but he had help I think," she replied.

"Belfry?" he questioned. She shrugged.

"Maybe...that's the thing that scares me most though," she confessed.

"I don't understand…" he said.

"That night...the one where the curse was cast, there are pieces of it missing from my memory. All I remember from that day was us using a portal to travel from Storybrooke to the new Enchanted Forest for Lucy's birthday. Then...most of it's blank. I remember you holding me...and the kids clinging to us. I remember you telling me that you'd find me, like you always do...and Clayton mocking us. He said he was going to see to it that you couldn't find me this time. Then nothing…" she explained.

"So somehow...you retained most of your memories, except that night. Mine were taken completely…" he said, trying to understand. She nodded.

"That's why they use Dissociative Identity Disorder to explain my condition. Part of the time I'm me...Snow and then I'm Mary. Except…" she trailed off.

"Except?" he asked.

"Except since you kissed me back at Roni's...I think Mary is gone. I feel...different since then," Snow confessed.

"Do...do you think that true love's kiss worked then? At least partially? Cause...if I'm still cursed, then I shouldn't be having these dreams...or feeling what I'm feeling," he said.

"Maybe...we've seen curses before, but nothing quite like this one. Even with my memories...I'm still lost," she lamented.

"But you're not alone anymore," he reminded, as she looked at him and managed a smile.

"I still can't believe you believe any of this...you should be thinking I'm crazy. It's what people from this land are conditioned to think about things they don't understand," she said.

"Hey...you're not crazy. My brain may not remember yet...but I think my heart and my soul do. It's the only way to explain what I'm feeling for you," he replied, as he swallowed thickly and cautiously reached up to tuck a strand of hair that had fallen out of her baby ponytail behind her ear. Snow's heart raced. His touch always caused these reactions in her, but after two years absent of that touch, the ache inside her to feel more of him was only amplified.

"I guess maybe reading more of the book might help?" he questioned. She nodded in agreement.

"Except…" he trailed off.

"Except what?" she asked.

"Except all I really want to do is kiss you again," he confessed, as he leaned toward her. And even though her mind was telling her that they should wait until he was fully awake, she could never resist him. Their lips crashed together again and he kissed her deeply. He pressed his forehead against hers, as their lips parted briefly and they breathed together in ragged, impassioned gasps.

"I can't believe I'm kissing you again...I thought you were lost to me forever," he cried.

"I was lost...you found me," she breathed, as he kissed her again.

"Do I still call you Mary? Or Margaret? Or Snow…" he questioned, as he kept his forehead against hers. She giggled.

"I'd love to say Snow...but that might be too much for some people. But if it makes you feel any better...I was Mary Margaret during the first curse," she said. He smiled.

"So that's where that came from...Mary Margaret," he muttered.

"Mmm...I can't tell if they were being clever or lazy," she joked, as she pecked him on the lips again. He kissed her again, but a scream pulled them apart and they gasped.

"Iris…" David cried, as he took her hand and they flew up the stairs...

[foxcroft-rpg-blog]

Congratulations, Addy! You really understand both the light and the dark sides of Jack, but what I really appreciate how you don’t ignore the bad in him. Jack isn’t perfect -- far from it. He’s done bad things and gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd, and you understand that. I can’t wait to see what you do with him.

Thanks again for applying! Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the masterlist as soon as you can. Welcome to Foxcroft!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: addy

Age: (16 and over) 20

Preferred pronouns: (if you’re comfortable sharing) she/her

Time zone: est

Activity: (include a brief explanation) on a scale of 1-10, i will give a fair estimate and say I am a healthy 6.5. This is mostly due to the fact that I am a full time med-school student, so I do tend to get overwhelmed with a bit of work but honestly, I tend to lurk the dash quite often in my free time !! i’m pretty good about communicating with admins, as well, about absences when I need them !!

Anything else?: (questions, concerns, etc.) I am just like so excited to see this. I have only ever applied to one other bio rp before and never really made the cut so I am kind of anxious. I’ve always wanted to try and see how it goes honestly, so please bear with me !!

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Jack Adrian Ramsay

Date of birth: April 5th

How long have they been in Foxcroft: (1-3 sentences. Please be consistent with bio.) All twenty-five years of his life, Jack has been a resident of Foxcroft. The quiet, strange town witnessed the silent bruises and concealed burns with watchful eyes, making note of his whereabouts whether he noticed or not. The strangeness of Foxcroft is his home, the guise under which he’s lived and experienced the most bizarre ordeals. From the numbness of his home, to the water tower, to Val’s convoluted obsession with the Deathless, it was always here in Foxcroft. He’s tied to this town, always has been–just now in different ways.

Sexuality: (include a brief explanation) – Pansexual; the need to feel skin, to feel something, anything, is too great. It’s overwhelming; a hunger, a craving to feel warmth and heat and human touch. It’s a deep, carnal obsession that blurs the meaning of gender or sex. A tangled, writhing, moaning mess of limbs and bodies is enough to satiate him; Jack finds himself drawn to the electricity of skin to skin, not the definitions or labels. It’s a craving, a desperate desire to simply feel something, anything–and sex is only one way to do so.

FC change: non-applicable

MORE

How do you interpret this character’s personality? How will you portray them? Include two weaknesses and two strengths. (2+ paragraphs)

Addictive, impulsive, volatile; I interpret Jack’s personality to be one based off of the vice of wrath. The hollow emptiness he feels is a product of years of abuse, a convoluted and damaged result of a constant hunger that’s been locked away in him. The need to feel something, anything, manifests in a personality that falls prey to the dangers of addiction easily. Drugs and drinks are only the start, a physical and simplistic method for him to mask the deep emotional trauma he’s holding onto. He unwittingly clings to anything that seems to provide a sense of comfort; Val is only one example for him. She became something akin to “normalcy” for him. Constant interaction, going along with her to Church–it gave him something to hold onto and he automatically latched onto that only for it to blow up in his face in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. This just goes to show that he latches onto things quickly in the hopes of fulfilling the emptiness he constantly feels within himself.

Jack is PROTECTIVE, clear in the way he notices the changes in people like Cassidy. He wishes for the best of people even if he doesn’t originally tend to do so. He looks to watch over others–perhaps to fill the void within himself. He sees the good in others, such as Val, who gave him the hope of belief in something, anything, while Cassidy allowed him to see the purity in bright eyes. Jack is JUST, seeing the flaws in Val’s desire–no, obsession–with immortality. The murder of an innocent made him see the wrongness of it all–and it doesn’t sit well with him. He may despise himself, may fall into drugs and alcohol to make himself stop feeling–but he is not an inherently evil person. He recognizes the good, the bad, and the ugly–and he can tell when something is unfair. However, Jack is VOLATILE. His self-destructive tendencies manifest into addiction, obsession. The need to find something to exploit, to ruin, to destroy is the only way he knows how to cope. Abuse is never productive–and for Jack, the emptiness and hollowness of his upbringing lead him to need some sort of outlet. Destroying himself–and others–from the inside out is the easiest way of making himself feel something, anything. And on top of that, he is OBSESSIVE. No, he’s not a stalker. Not someone with a shrine tucked away in his room; he is someone who needs a beacon. Someone who relies on an emotional crutch to feel even the littlest of things. For him, that was Cassidy. She gave him some sort of belief, some sort of hope–even if it drags him under eventually and leads him to damage the things he holds dearest to him.

I would like to portray this character to be as flawed and damaged as he is while also showcasing the inherent good he possesses. He is not his demons, but he is who he is in spite of them. He has light in him, even if it is masked in the darkness and the gore of this entirely fucked-up cult that roped him into this mess. He is impulsive, brash, cold, numb–but he is good, able to love if given the chance. His self-destructive behavior makes it hard for him to connect and it may make him difficult to interact with, but he means well. I would like to portray him as this multi-faceted character that is neither good nor bad, but a nuanced mixture of all the shades of gray between the light and the dark.

How did this character react to the death of Hazel Abrams? Adam Foxcroft? (1+ paragraphs)

Confusion. Dazed, mind-boggling confusion. The fact that someone he thought would bring him hope would instead be at the root of all this throws him for a loop. He isn’t quite sure what to make of it all–he can feel the changes, after all. He can feel it in himself, see it in others; he can tell that Foxcroft is changing little by little–and it’s making him apprehensive. He can’t quite feel anything else–emotions are too little, too much. They don’t mean anything to him when the only thing in him is a nagging desire to black-out from everything around him. No, her death doesn’t personally affect him… but it does leave him with questions. Burning questions like fire at the tip of his tongue, threatening to drag him into a red-hot haze that could destroy him and the only thing he cares about. Adam’s death hardly phased him–not the way Hazel’s did. No, now he just knows. What that is, even he can’t quite tell. But it’s coming. A sickening, foreboding sense of confusion and omnipotent knowing mingling into one.

How do they see the town and its people? Think about the different groups of people and prejudices the town holds about them. (1+ paragraphs)

He never saw them to begin with; it was always himself. Drinking, snorting thin lines of ivory powder, shutting out anything and everything that came into contact with him. Up on the watertower, he finally interacted with someone from this town in a personal way–and since then, he’s begun to regret it. He sees that there is something very, very wrong. He sees that there are people who are obsessed with something he doesn’t believe in. He sees that the innocents are not safe. He sees that the pure and the good become corrupt. He sees the evil, the blackness–and he wants to shut it off. It drives him insane, how fucked up it all is. There’s no switch, no button–and he’s stuck with them. Tangled into a mess of a cult, stuck with people believing in something he can’t quite grasp. It’s too much. It’s unbearable. He sees nothing in them–after all, he’s nothing, himself–but he can feel that whatever it is that they’re doing, it’s just not right. And he also sees that he’s becoming one of them, slowly but surely, bringing in a whole new dimension of self-hatred.

For non-human characters: What does this character know about what they’ve become? Have they had any experiences that made them aware that weren’t exactly human? Elaborate. (2+ paragraphs)

Jack has always been unaware of what he is. The hunger, the cravings, the obsession with wanting something he could never quite put on a finger on–it was all a mystery. Foxcroft is a strange, twisted little place full of mystery and darkness that leaves everyone wondering. And Jack is no exception. He is beginning to sense the changes, the way his veins seem to crave that very specific something, the way the pain never seems to leave him–it’s all getting to be too much. It’s a sensation so foreign to him that it’s driven him to the point of near-madness. He’s a danger, a monster–he can sense it deep in his bones. Ever since the murders, the cold cases, the bodies showing up, the way he’s hurting Cassidy, the godforsaken Deathless… it’s only becoming more painfully obvious to him.

The emptiness hurts more than anything–because it feels like nothing at all. He felt it as a child, when his mother’s black eyes mirrored his own. Tangled in with a web of murderers that took the life of an innocent girl, he is beginning to see the darkness at the edge of this town. He sees the way he’s affecting the people closest to him. It’s an ugly thing to feel, self-loathing. But it’s there, stemming from the way his body is changing, the way he craves it. The way he’s hurting the one thing he vowed to never damage. He doesn’t quite know what it is just yet, but he can feel it deep in his bones.

Please include 1-2 possible plots your see for this character (1 paragraph brief explanation for each)

Discovering what he is ;; I would love to see Jack discover that his self-destructive behavior is damaging someone he cares about–Cassidy for example–because of his powers. I want him to expose himself and begin to hate who he is, what he is, and only feed into that volatile, self-destructing behavior because it would be so interesting to see how he copes. The damage he causes to the people around him would be enough to push him to a breaking point, surely, and it would be a very interesting thing to play out once more connections are established.

Falling in love (the right way) ;; I am a sucker for romance and nothing gets me more than the trope of the volatile monster finding peace in the gentleness of a lover–someone that can temper the raging storm within him and helping him see that pain isn’t something he has to bear alone. Someone that will help him unlearn the hatred. Someone that will help him tame what he is. It will be a long, slow, and angsty process–but ultimately, I want to see something healing. Of course, there will be plenty of moments in which he hurts and lashes out to tear the other down, but that’s a part of the very bumpy and treacherous ride.

WRITING SAMPLE

There are two options here, and you only need to complete one.

Para example 1 – https://zxiiden.tumblr.com/post/158238582247/zxcharie-h-it-wasnt-as-if-zaiden-hendricks

Para example 2 – https://zxiiden.tumblr.com/post/157661995287/illvssa-with-a-glass-of-champagne-grasped-in

EXTRA [THIS SECTION WILL NOT INFLUENCE ACCEPTANCE]

How would you feel about this character dying?: Honestly, I would be willing to cooperate if I felt as if the plot really needed it. If the character’s death is quintessential with progression, then I’m not opposed… as long as I’m allowed to apply for another character maybe ??

Why did you choose this character?: While I’m honestly a sucker for Jack Falahee, I have an incredibly deep fascination with the ‘hidden monster’ trope. Characters with these deep, monstrous flaws that cause them to be the victim of constant self-loathing are my kryptonite. As someone who often deals with crippling and often intrusive thoughts from anxiety and whatnot, I can personally relate to the feeling of not quite seeing yourself the same as others may see me–though of course not to such a severe extent! That would be worrisome. But I digress; I find characters like Jack fascinating. There are a lot of inner demons that are ripe for exploration, ready to be developed and fleshed out. The vices of a character like this make them believable, deep, and interesting. I really want to expand on this, see what makes him as broken as he is. The sinful nature of someone who can’t quite see himself as fully human is intriguing and dangerous.

Extras: (pinterest boards, mock blogs, aesthetic posts, drabbles, etc.)

Mock blog – https://jxckramscy.tumblr.com/

How did you find us?: I follow admin Janelle and clicked through and fell in love !!