#I'm the only writer for Forgotten Hill here so I'm afraid that even if it's bad you guys are just stuck with me

[blue-howlite]

Being their significant other headcanons, Forgotten Hill edition

Featuring Ethan McMillan and Nathan McMillan.

Warnings: literally these two are a warning of its own. If you know the game then you don't need any more warnings, you know what you're getting into. Some gore-ish stuff but it's on the average Forgotten Hill gore-ish level.

Yn = Your name

Ethan

If you're Ethan's lover, you'll have to get used to seeing his experiments. You don't have to like them, but if you could show some curiosity...

He has a hard time balancing his work at the clinic and his private life with you. He'll often overwork himself and you'll have to drag him out of the hospital so that he can rest.

He loves physical contact. He basically melts whenever you hug him or hold his face.

However if you hold his hands... well, it's complicated. His hands are what he uses to operate, to block them is telling him to not use them. So he might instinctively pull away when you hold his hand while he is still on working hours. Holding his arm is fine though.

His love language? Quality time together dear. Doesn't matter if it's home or the clinic, he's happy as long as he gets to spend time with you and he appreciates when you come looking for him because he has to come home from work, even if he won't admit it.

...also he created a creature just for keeping you safe. Forgotten Hill is a strange place and he knows it, so you'll have a "pet" with rather long claws and teeth to protect you whenever you go.

Which usually is to and from the clinic because of your workaholic of a husband that you have to drag home.

And about husband.

You two got married. Doesn't matter if you're someone from Forgotten Hill that he knows since he was a kid of you're from somewhere else, even sometime else. He's putting a ring on that finger in a few years max, he's traditional like that.

He always wears his ring of course. Now the thing is, he almost lost it once while operating on a patient, so... he just implanted it over his heart. You can see the ring's outline on his chest. Romantic, isn't he?

He doesn't use many pet names. "My love" now and then, maybe "My beloved". If you want to use some more original pet names for him you can, but you'll get a lot of side eyes from him.

The urge to call this man "kitty" what is wrong with me.

He likes sleeping with you- get back horny disgraces. I'm taking about catching the Zs.

He usually prefers to sleep each on your own side of the bed- but maybe hold something of him, like his hand or his arm.

But if you want to sleep while holding him or being held by him, go ahead, he'll comply.

He's just that much in love with you to enjoy things that he wouldn't usually like.

Nathan

If you're Nathan's lover, get ready to help him stringing the puppets he creates. He'll fully teach you how to do it so you can do it together!

He doesn't feel like the Puppet Theatre is a job, rather, it's his hobby. So he's usually pretty good at balancing work and personal life.

Except when he hyper focuses on a new play. He doesn't really realise he's doing it, but he might spend more time in the theatre than with you. He'll make it up to you once things is over though.

He likes to hold and touch you. You can do the same to him, but he prefers it when he's the one initiating. Just one of his quirks I guess.

His love language is physical affection. He just likes to touch you. He'll be stitching a puppet while laying his head on your shoulder, or writing a script with a hand and caressing your hand with the other.

He doesn't like you going around Forgotten Hill alone, usually if you have to go somewhere he'll be with you, especially at night.

He's a bit unconventional, he doesn't feel the need to marry you. However, he will get you matching rings to point out your relationship.

He likes calling you by your name, but he also likes to call you "My love" and, well... pretty much anything with "my" in front of it. If you do that too... yeah he's not letting you go.

And about letting go.

He's holding you whenever you sleep together. Doesn't matter what, he is holding you. He won't close his eyes until you're asleep into his arms.

If you go out on your own he'll wait for you to come back. If you're late he'll start to get anxious and might come out to look for you.

He just doesn't want to lose someone he loves so much so don't you ever leave him.

@choco435

[liron-ao3]

TW: Cis writer writes about trans character and dysphoria.

Chapter 1

(Read it on AO3)

Total darkness surrounds him as if the earth had swallowed him whole. He coughs, his throat feeling dry as hell, burning with every breath he tries to take.

He feels hard, yet damp wood underneath him. The air smells rotten and stale and Dean can't breathe properly as if the amount of oxygen is running out.

Don't panic! he tells himself, refraining from taking a deep breath even though it might steady his heartbeat.

He pats down at the pocket of his jeans. Thank, God! No matter what happend to him, the lighter that his brother Sammy gave him for his 16th birthday is still there.

He fumbles at his jeans, willing his stiff hands into cooperation until he can finally fish out the silver lighter and with fingers that feel as if they weren't his, he runs his thumb several times over the little metal wheel unsuccessfully until - finally - a little flame lightens up the space around him.

It casts more shadows than light, distorting what he knows to be his body into long forgotten wraiths. But there's no use in processing this cruel game his brain is playing with him.

The space around him is confined, planks of wood on top of him and to every side. He tries to call for help, but his voice betrays him, coming out squeaky and parched. It doesn't seem to belong to him. He coughs once more and his next attempt works better, at least it is louder, but his voice still sounds so much higher than usual.

Anger flares up in his chest or maybe it's just the air pinching his lungs. He bangs at the planks above him and feels soil raining down on him, sprinkling his face.

He's buried alive! What sick son of a bitch would do that to him? Sure, he has enemies from all over the country, human and supernatural beings alike, but even for most of them this sick game would be a notch too much.

With all strength that he can muster, he pulls at the brittle wood and tears it apart until the hole above him is big enough to shovel his way out of what he realises is supposed to be his grave.

He doesn't know how long it takes, he doesn't know if he's still alive or already breathing soil. He keeps on digging upwards, driven by instinct and the sheer will to survive, to kill the bastard that thought killing him like this was what he deserved.

Finally! He feels the soil getting more loose, more dry, and then - sweet mother of Jesus and all the angels who witnessed his birth - he feels grass under his fingertips and his right hand reaches into fresh air for the first time again.

He presses his other hand out, widening the hole in the ground above him and with more will than bodily strength he pushes his chest out in the open, taking in a big breath of air. He coughs due to the new sensation of filled alveoles, burning inside him like the fires from hell.

His head is a little dizzy but he still keeps on crawling, shoving, pulling, until his whole body finds solid ground and the sun slowly caresses his cold cheek.

He turns on his back and closes his eyes. It's fine. I'm fine. I'm safe. The last one feels like a lie, but Dean doesn't know why. He's too exhausted to think about it.

He gulps and groans and looks into the blinding sun standing high on a cloudless blue sky.

He lies there, maybe for minutes, maybe hours. His throat still feels like lined with parchment paper. He needs water. It's way too hot. He will die of thirst if he doesn't move and for a short moment he entertains the thought of just staying like this until his heart stops beating.

But then he thinks of Sammy who is surely looking for him. He imagines his grief laced face finding him after he fought so hard to get out of this hole, imagines him erecting the funeral pyre, cloaking him in a white sheet, and burning him all alone, here, God knows where.

No, he can't let that happen!

So he pushes himself off the ground and gets up on slightly wobbly legs, taking in his surroundings. There is an improvised wooden cross on what should have been his eternal resting place and fallen trees encircling the little grassy patch that may have been a small clearance once.

The trees lie disrooted on the ground, but it's clear that they weren't the victims of a normal storm. It looks as if a nuke took off, as if something inside the clearance exploded and took the trees down.

Dean tries to make sense of it and for a long moment he just stares and breathes, before willing his eyes to look for signs of civilisation. He thinks he finds them in the far distance, something red catching his attention.

With his eyes still fixed on the red object, too afraid to lose sight of it and hoping that it isn't just a thirst induced Fata Morgana, he shrugs out of his long-sleeved shirt and binds it over his teeshirt, around his waist. He takes a first step, still a little wobbly on his feet, then the next, and the next, until his legs remember how to work. His whole body feels foreign, but he keeps on moving until he reaches the red objects he hung his life on.

They turn out to be old fashioned pumps at a dated petrol station. The sign says 'closed', still he knocks and calls, "Hello!", his voice still not recovered from whatever the arsehole who buried him alive did to him.

There is no answer and he unknots his shirt around his waist and uses it to protect his hand while breaking the glass door to get inside the little shop.

He thanks whoever might listen that the shop seems to still be in use as he finds a fridge with bottles of water.

He downs half of one, the burning in his throat now nearly worse than before. He takes another hurtful breath then looks around.

He knows he's in the back of beyond, but where exactly? He sees a stack of newspaper and grabs one. He's not surprised to find himself in Michigan, but he blinks twice when he sees the date on the Pontiac Daily Gazette. It's September 2008.

This can't be right! He lost four months on earth. Maybe he should just be thankful that his decades in hell didn't pass here, too. Coming back to a world where people like his uncle Bobby might not live anymore - not due to a hunting accident, but because of old age - would be so much worse.

His skin burns like fire, but not from the burn of the sun. He needs to get his shit together. There's no use in focussing on details like this. He needs to find Sam and get the hell out of here.

He walks to the old washbasin to cool his boiling cheeks. Together with the cold water a bit of the built up tension goes down the drain.

He pats his shirt to his face, drying it, and that's when it hits him. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

All this time ever since he woke up in this cursed makeshift coffin, the foreign feeling that never quite left him even when his body cooperated with his brain again, with one look in the mirror it suddenly all makes sense.

His lips form a silent 'no' as he sees his own reflection in the mirror. His features, though distorted in horror, are soft and void of facial hair. His hairline is lower, too. What the actual fuck!?

In disbelief his gaze wanders down his reflection, finding soft hills where a flat chest should be. He breathes in sharply before raising his shirt tentatively. Where he is used to find strong muscles he finds a soft belly framed by wide hips and a slender waist. Where he sported two thin, red scars he's met with two breasts that used to be the biggest trigger of dysphoria until the wonderful day when he had finally gotten rid of them with the credit card of an insanely rich businessman who had died after making a deal with a crossroad demon. It had been the happiest day of his life, well maybe after the day he had gotten his hand on the first tube of testosterone gel.

Dean presses a hand to his mouth, trying to keep the wail inside that breaks his way from deep down inside his stomach up to his throat, ripping him apart in the process. All his fighting, all the pain, all the things he did to make the body he was born with truly his.

He stares at himself in the mirror or more precisely the version of him that he thought to have left in the past, the one that he never really fit in, never filled out, the one that people knew by his grandmother's name.

His hand shoots to his crotch, but all he finds are loose briefs and he knows that not only his packer is gone, but also his cock. Son of a bitch!

Tears brim behind closed eyes, burning their way out until he can feel them on his smooth cheeks.

Alastair himself couldn't have been so cruel to send him back into his personal hell that is a body not fitting the soul within.

Dean braces himself on the washbasin. He takes one deep breath, then another, and another. He looks up in the mirror again, but all he sees is a slightly older 23 year old version of himself and all hope drains out of him.

~

If you liked this, please follow the story on AO3.

[punkscowardschampions]

Ali & Ro

Ali: Soooooo Ali: How'd your date go? Ro: I'm not sure who you meant to send this too, but perhaps try again? Ro: You can't mean me Ali: Coy, that's how you're playing it, I see Ali: Solid choice 😉 Ali: You and Drew musta been agonising over coffee options then Ro: What are you talking about, Ali? Ro: It was just a coffee stop for everyone, rehearsal fuel Ro: You know full well I've never been on a date Ali: I know full well that was just a ploy for some alone time with you Ali: and not yet but it is so clearly on the cards! Ali: I'd start dropping hints now, otherwise who knows where you'll end up Ro: Don't be ridiculous? Drew isn't remotely interested in me like that Ro: Why would he be? He has his pick of girls at school, and beyond the gates, too I'm sure Ali: Because you're you and he should be so lucky Ali: A bombshell with brains to boot Ali: Yeah, he's got a rep but he's being uncharacteristically sweet with you so, taking him at face value Ali: Anyway Ali: What do YOU think of him? More importantly Ro: Oh no no, this isn't a transformation story whereby I take off my glasses or get my braces taken off finally and am suddenly considered good enough for the protagonist Ro: Besides, I'm not even smart, just a hard worker Ro: Most importantly, he's always sweet with Meena so it's hardly uncharacteristic Ro: Other than knowing him as her kind older brother and Caleb's friend I really don't, know him that is Ali: Oh hush ignoring the fact that art is always a poor imitation of life and not the other way 'round Ali: He's love interest #1 at best, potential to be more if he sticks to his lines Ali: You're the loveable protagonist, silly Ali: Hmpf, fine. Would you like to know him better then? Ro: Of course, like I said, he's kind and sweet and Caleb's proven himself to be a good judge of character Ro: I just fail to see why he'd be interested in getting to know me, beyond being civil to me for the aforementioned reasons of mutual connections with important people Ro: He's Drew Goldsmith and I'm me Ro: We're incompatible given even the little we are both aware of concerning each other Ali: Well, I dunno about that, I think he's a fool and my evil plan is working 😏😂 Ali: Because he fancies you Ali: Potentially Ali: This stuff can defy usual logic, for better or worse, opposites CAN attract or repel in the case of humans Ali: But he wants to find out, I know this practically for a fact (of course, I haven't asked, don't worry) so its up to you to decide if you do too Ro: I have no idea what you believe you possess in terms of knowledge about his attractions or intentions but I highly doubt you're right in so far as him fancying me Ro: Sorry to say Ro: He may look like Connla of the Golden Hair but I am by no means a fairy maiden Ro: If only I could be noble born, never grow old or indeed never die Ali: Have you forgotten what happened to the last person to question my omniscience, sister? 🤔🍄💀😉 Ali: And have you also forgotten who and what you are, 'just because they told us too Ali: Cannot believe what I'm hearing here, I refuse to! Ro: of course I haven't Ro: but perhaps I should try and grow up, or at least be more realistic, when it comes to this Ali: Never! We do live in those green and pleasant hills after-all Ali: Won't stroke his ego as hard as to say UNLIMITED pleasures await but Ali: Everyone is positively like a silly child when it comes to love Ro: It isn't love though and therein lies the issue Ro: Simply a silly crush on my part and polite interest on his Ali: It rarely is at first sight Ali: and there's nothing polite about how keen he is Ali: See where it takes you, that's all Ali: he's clearly going to be hanging 'round jam seshs' and the like as long as you're about so whatever it will be, its inevitable Ro: I thought it would be, the whole charade of fireworks when our eyes collide and butterflies in my stomach. Everything clear and definite Ro: I'm afraid of whatever this is Ali: That's just horniness Ali: You just have better restraint than romance novel writers, is all Ali: Its aright to be afraid, its new and unknown Ali: Here be monsters Ro: Well that is comforting, especially if it ensures I won't fall as hard and fast as those heroines do Ro: particularly if I'm destined to do so alone Ro: Okay...but what if the monster is revealed to be me, in his eyes anyway, what if he gets to know me and doesn't like what he discovers Ali: Sure it was the corsets, poor girls could barely breathe, makes swooning all the more likely, those dastardly dandies! Ali: Then he's as bad, and ignorant (and MORE scared of the unknown than you feel right now), as every explorer who wrote natives off as savages Ali: You are far from a monster in every sensible definition Ali: Misunderstanding maketh monsters Ali: So that'd be on him, can't control other's perceptions but he isn't going to think you are, there's just no reason to Ro: I know you're right but Ro: I just suppose I wish I could control something Ali: I know Ali: Well, one thing you can control is your yay or nay to whatever he's offering up Ali: Not suggesting you have to make the first move, or put it all out on the line, 'cos he definitely will Ali: #gentleman Ro: That much is definite Ro: We should call another rehearsal, allow you to guide my vision to where yours currently reside so I'm not blindsided Ro: because I'm just not seeing what he wants with me Ali: Absolutely Ali: I'm really feeling the whole band thing too Ali: Are you enjoying it? Ro: Unexpectedly so, yes Ali: Right? I think everyone is Ali: Its something Ro: I've never played in front of that many people outside of a recital setting, I thought I'd mess up but it wasn't like that at all Ro: And everyone there seemed really into it Ro: Who knew there was so much respective talent surrounding us? Ali: Mess ups are more than welcome but you're flawless Ali: Me me me! 😊 Ali: Toying around with the idea of doing some local performances Ro: Flawless was you and Caleb Ro: I've never heard your voice so complimentary in a duet before, don't tell Marlene Ro: Oh? I think the others would be into that Ali: 💕 Ali: Might get her so raging she'd have to join us to prove you wrong Ali: I know it probably sounds a bit soon but like you said, performances are so different to practice and whatnot Ali: People would vibe Ali: There's all the places I've done solo, they'd be chill, and you know Suggs? Left School this year gone Ali: He's having a big Bday party for his gf and he's asked if I could do something Ro: Terrifying as it'd be to make a possible enemy of her, she's a very good bassist Ro: Very true, and too much practice can make it sound too rehearsed which clearly isn't what you're going for with this Ro: I heard Caleb talking to Drew about potentially performing at the restaurant so he'd be excited for sure Ro: Hm...I'm not certain I know who you mean but a gig's a gig Ro: Would he be alright with you bowing out as a soloist? Ali: She is Ali: She's gonna come around on her own tho, I know her Ali: She's just pouting Ali: Understandably, I'm not being as glib as I sound, just, we weren't right Ali: Exactly! That would be chill, you've gotta come thru with me just to get food, it's delicious and its beautiful Ali: Yeah, of course, one person can only rock out so hard solo Ali: Even if that one person is me Ali: Like, Bowie had a band, ya feel? Ro: I trust you and your intuition Ro: When's the party? Ro: I need to mentally prepare Ali: ✌ Ali: we've got 2 weeks to prep, assuming he doesn't get his arse dumped Ali: awkies, want us to play you out honey? 😂 Ro: Funeral march for his ego Ro: If the stars are good to me I'll make 2 weeks of wishes Ro: Should suffice Ali: Brilliant Ali: I'll check our charts Ali: Pull out some eyelashes if necessary Ali: The stars will fall and align for us Ro: I have faith Ro: Have you told the others yet? Ali: I haven't actually, I'll drop it in the group chat later Ali: Seeing Caleb tonight so I'll discuss the finer points with him then Ro: Good idea Ro: Oh yes, I'd forgotten it's your date night! Ali: As long as he hasn't we'll be fine 😋 Ro: Have you done his chart? If not he has perfect eyelashes to steal Ali: Not yet Ali: Been getting quizzed myself by his Ma Ali: Fair 'nuff but no time to sneak in so hey Ms Cavante, where was Caleb born and at what time exactly? #witchgirlproblems Ro: How very unfair Ro: Tonight could be the night Ro: I've already got the cards out here, questioning myself Ro: The spread's favorable for the party to go well for us as performers Ro: [Sends her a picture of the tarot] Ali: Knew we'd ace it but with the fates on our side we CANNOT fail Ali: are you asking about the Drew sitch? Ro: Perhaps Ali: I got you Ali: Keep it between you and the universe 💖 Ro: OH what are we going to wear for our first performance? Ali: THE BEST BIT Ali: We need to plan! Ali: Maybe shop! Ali: I think the party is a masquerade ball (how sweet for a hapless stoner, right?) Ali: We could run with that Ro: Well now I'm enthused Ro: Pencil me into your diary please Ali: Absolutely Ali: I think we could make better masks than we could ever find Ali: or makeup looks Ali: we will workshop this Ro: Agreed, you could create something amazing overnight Ali: We could go out and forage fresh flowers for it Ali: that would look beautiful Ro: Yes! Oh my god, we have to Ali: Perfection Ali: I'll see what the others want too Ali: Maybe we could go a galaxy glitter/paint moment on the guys but I feel like Meena would fosho want in on this floral faerie moment Ro: If you need me to start pressing any of the flowers let me know Ro: I'll make time Ali: You're an 👼 Ali: We can do it over lunch Ali: in between practicing Ali: Such busy 🐝s Ro: I don't mind I like to stay busy Ro: Do you think Drew will come to the party? Ali: Same tbh Ali: I bet he will Ali: And not to show off his musical prowess, bless him Ro: Do we need a name to perform under if we don't just want to be called 'Ali's band' by the host? Ali: Fantastic point, I don't want to be THAT lead singer Ali: So much to think on, oosh! We'll have to put the feelers out in the group chat Ali: should be something we all vibe Ro: I bet the boys will have some interesting ideas Ro: You should speak to Tommy as well, he's learn so much stage stuff at school Ro: If we're going to do this might as well make it look professional I think Ali: Agreed Ali: As long as he doesn't want to choreograph a whole girl group dance routine for us Ro: Imagine! Ro: I'd have to hide behind the piano Ali: Shy yet sultry keyboard girl prerogative Ali: I'll crowd surf my way outta there Ro: How long of a set are we going to play? Ro: There's so many potential covers not to mention the originals you and Caleb both have written Ali: Oh man Ali: we could do 20 like an opener but we are the main act, as it were, but its not that hardcore Ali: I think we could put together a 60 Ro: I hope we can all agree between us Ali: we will Ali: oh, could you cover for me with Ma tonight? Ali: she's not my bestie rn Ro: Of course Ro: I have a rare night free of any babysitting duties so it'll be simple Ali: Good, you deserve a break from the little demons Ali: I hope a book and a bubble bath are on the cards after you calm down the dragon Ro: They are indeed Ro: Perhaps I can suggest the same for her Ali: Perhaps I'm just giving myself away as twisted but that is a hilarious mental image Ali: Her grumpy face peeking out of a bubble beard Ro: Ali don't that's going to stay with me when I do get in the tub Ro: Oh no Ali: 🙊🙈 Ali: I can only apologize Ro: Cleansing that from my thoughts immediately Ro: Are you coming home at all or just straight out to see Caleb? Ali: If I do, catch me creeping up the stairs Ali: She's not been this pissy since Lachlan Ali: She's so SURE Caleb is like that and its just Ali: hilarious Ali: imagine Ro: Once she gets to know him better she'll change her mind Ro: She has to Ali: She SHOULD but will she? Ali: Stubborn old goat 😂 Ali: He's not going anywhere any time soon so if she wants to pine for Marlene that's on her but Ali: 🤷 Ro: I'll start counting cars to wish on just for her (and you), hold my breath, dig out my baby teeth, everything Ro: She just doesn't want to be a grandmother yet is all, it's no slight on Caleb personally I don't believe Ali: My vagina my choice, Mama Ali: Bless her Ali: It'd be fine if she threw out the same level of concern at...oh, idk Ali: Bea and Fraze Ali: 🙄 Ro: If she could secure us all same sex relationships she would, undoubtedly Ro: Likewise, if there was any feasible way to show Bea concern that she'd allow it'd be done Ali: When your kids don't have the good grace to be gay #gutted Ali: Yeah Ali: I need lessons on how to be a bad bitch, clearly Ro: Please don't take any lessons from Bea Ali: Its okay, I don't think she'd be willing to teach me Ro: Very true Ali: Best kept secrets and all that Ro: Speaking of, I've just received a text and must go Ali: Say no more Ali: run baby run 💚 Ro: Have fun tonight Ro: Bluebeard and I will try not to miss you too much Ali: Aww, I'll be home for snuggles lads Ali: wouldn't wanna get pregnant Ali: Laterz Ro: See you soon xx

[blue-howlite]

Can you do a puppeteer x jimmy larson?

That... That wasn't on my 2024 bingo card. But let's go! Though in my mind you're now called moth anon.

"The moth."

Nathan McMillan x Jimmy Larson

Where the captor is captivated by his victim.

Warnings: obsessive behaviours, trauma, blackouts, abandonment issues, gore, idealisation, stalking, Christianity mentioned briefly, Nathan's pov, creative liberties, writer that can't write, not proofread, written in one go because inspiration hit harder than Nathan.

Author's note: anon don't be offended but the way I wheezed when I saw the request... I never thought my silly little theory could end up in this. I'm absolutely here for it though. It's giving Lord Ruthven and Aubrey if Polidori wasn't a coward (read "The Vampyre" by John Polidori for reference).

As usual, I write these for entertainment purposes only! Don't replicate any of this in real life, and if you find yourself with a "Nathan" in your life, get help. There are a lot of helplines and online platforms and services that can offer support for your situation, REGARDLESS OF GENDER! Just stay safe out there <3

Stage. Music. Action.

When kidnapping someone, Nathan knew he had to be mindful of their friends and family. He knew that when someone went missing, their loved ones would often come after them. It was exhilarating, truly. He'd finish making a puppet, and the materials for a new one would walk right into his theatre. Nathan would leave a ticket as bait and they would come, like moths going after a light... unaware of the fire ready to burn them.

Jimmy Larson however wasn't just a moth, blinded by concern and fear. He had a sharp mind. He wasn't even afraid to feed the cannibalistic puppet human organs. He knew. Somehow, Jimmy Larson knew it was about survival. He didn't waste time to discuss or reject the brutal rules imposed by the town of Forgotten Hill, he adapted and moved on. That resilience was a quality Nathan couldn't help but admire, stalking the young man from the shadows and the pictures on the walls. The more he looked, the more he realised that Jimmy wasn't walking into the flame, he was skilfully dancing with the fire.

He didn't want Jimmy to leave. Nathan never wanted anyone to leave, truly. He wanted them to stay forever, that's why he kept them as puppets in his basements and his closets. Even the ones that couldn't shine on stage anymore, they couldn't leave him. When miss Petersen left with the little cross, Nathan's blood boiled. How could she?! He had made her a star! She had graced the stage with her presence for so long, and just that evening Nathan decided that she could retire from her honoured career. He didn't plan to abandon her in the wardrobe of course; she would still have danced and acted for him, for the rest of her existence.

However, Nathan couldn't bring himself to be mad at Jimmy for helping her. Jimmy was so compassionate after all, and had no idea what would happen! It wasn't his fault, truly. It was that woman's fault, for tricking him and taking advantage of his kindness! A silver cross was still a silver cross, a useful object in Forgotten Hill, yet she didn't hesitate in asking for it and leaving Jimmy defenseless.

That kindness from the young man brought old memories to Nathan's mind... Gentle eyes, soft hands and warm smiles... His mother was kind, too. She encouraged him to pursue his passion, though only after Ethan showed his interest in anatomy and science. Subjects she could not stand, as a "good and christian" woman. She used to favour Ethan for his gentle demeanor, but as he took interests that were too close to those of their father, she distanced herself from the quieter twin. She loved the arts, and would ask Nathan to put on little shows for her in the afternoon. How could he forget all the times she'd listen to his stories and watch him move the little dolls he'd make, while sunlight hit her skin and made her eyes shine? Such a kind soul...

Nathan didn't remember a thing from when their mother left him and his twin. One day she was there, and the next she was gone. How cruel could it be to leave your own children without a word, an explanation, an apology, a word of comfort? Just disappearing...

As Nathan got lost in thought while hidden in the wall, Berry nudged him. His childhood horse never left him. He was always around, in life and death. Nathan gently pet his loyal friend, then resumed following Jimmy as he moved around the theatre. So much energy despite the dread and horrors filling the cursed town. It would have been a shame to turn him into a puppet and tame that indomitable spirit. Jimmy Larson was far too precious to be caged and tied up, Nathan had decided.

Just when he tried figuring out how to keep him, Jimmy found the exit ticket. Nathan felt rage boil in his veins. Leaving? How could he leave?! Didn't he see the world that was inside that theatre? Didn't he want to meet the man that ran such an incredible place?

No, he couldn't leave. Not just yet. Besides, Ruth would have loved to torture another Larson, and Nathan didn't want that. He wanted, no, needed to keep that man for himself. He couldn't give him up to the witch.

When he came back to his senses, Jimmy was laying on the ground, unconscious, just outside the theatre. Oh, what a mess. Blood was seeping onto the cobblestone from the back of his head. No, that couldn't, shouldn't... What did he do? Nathan kneeled by the limp body, pressing two fingers to his neck to look for a pulse, and immediately let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. Jimmy was still alive, though injured.

Careful that his head didn't sway too much, he carried the man in his arms. With every step, Nathan struggled not to stare at the unconscious face. He didn't get a proper look before, the cracks in the walls were too thin. Jimmy was handsome, without a doubt. With his kindness and sharp mind... how could Nathan ever let that man go? He had to keep him to himself.

«Did one of your puppets break?»

The voice of his twin echoed for a moment in Nathan's head, before he shook his head. As if on instinct, he had walked to Agony Street, where the hospital was located. Ethan was staring at him through the mask's eyes, just a few feet away on the path.

«He's... Can you take care of him?»

With a little nod, Ethan led Nathan inside the hospital, to one of the rooms. Jimmy was still unconscious in the puppeteer's arms, not giving any signs of coming back to consciousness. As he was laid on the bed, Nathan couldn't help but stare at him. Ethan didn't say a word, instead proceeding to take care of the concussion his twin had caused to the man.

«He'll be out for a few hours, but he's not in danger. Should I call you back once he recovers?»

Nathan leaned back against the wall. Ethan started looking for something on Jimmy, until he found his wallet and documents. He didn't utter a word, just gave his brother an uncertain look, to which Nathan shrugged. Ethan was closer to Ruth, but surely he wouldn't betray his own brother by telling her about the last surviving Larson around.

«I can't keep him here for long.»

Nathan grimaced, pulling his mask off in frustration.

«As soon as he recovers, he'll have to leave.»

A venomous look to Ethan didn't result in a more pleasant option from the doctor. And Nathan was aware of why. He scoffed and turned his face to the far wall.

«At least... hold him back. He's good with puzzles.» Nathan murmured.

«Those are not lacking in this town. I will activate some of Clockwork's projects to slow the young Larson down. It will also serve as an alibi if Ruth finds out about this.» the doctor said as he walked to the door, eyes glued to his twin.

Nathan nodded. He had to let Jimmy go this time... But as Nathan closed the door of the room, following Ethan out, he knew it wasn't over yet. He still had Josephine, and Jimmy clearly cared about her.

It was just about patience.

Who was the moth now, though? The man who barely glanced at the puppeteer's painting, or the puppeteer that couldn't tear his eyes off the bright light called Jimmy Larson?