#horror!verse

[gallowsheart]

❝ did you just ‘’oh, damn‘’ yourself? ❞

@alwaysxinxtrouble

To be honest, Jesse didn't always pay attention to the shit that came out of his mouth. He'd been talking to himself for years before anyone but his brothers were there to actually listen. He kind of had to, since there wasn't anyone else around for miles. He'd been working in the butcher shop with Jed since he was old enough to help out, and he worked the counter more often than not so he could chat with the customers-- an aspect of the job that Jed tolerated a little and Abram not at all, making Jesse the best man for the job. These days, though, the three of them were taking it in turns to stay on the ranch and keep an eye on Robin. None of them trusted the twins alone with her.

He kept up a running commentary while they worked together on the old tractor in the shed. The thing hadn't worked for years, and while Jed might have been able to get it running, he didn't have the time. Robin was good at that sort of thing, and she'd been able to get farther with it than Jesse could have on his own. Oh, damn! might have slipped out when he'd finally managed to piece a particularly difficult part back together, but he had to pause a moment and think back over the last few things he'd said, finally chuckling when he realized she was right.

"Why, yes ma'am, I did. Good to give yourself a little credit now and then." Who else was going to do it? Jed wasn't a big one for compliments, Abram barely spoke, and the twins were, well-- them. He straightened and stretched, his back aching from being contorted over the machine for so long. Frankly, she could have clocked him with one of the heavy wrenches and tried to run at any time that day. None of them bothered to bind her wrists or ankles anymore, not even Jed.

[om3ned]

❛ It's amazing how far you can get on denial. You know why so many people use denial to get by? Because it really fucking works. ❜

@crownedinsin

Damien hadn't really intended to show up at the same bar around closing. He didn't even know what time it was. Hell, he didn't even know how he'd gotten there. He must have blacked out and gone on autopilot, his subconscious deciding this was a safe place. It was easier to believe than that he'd just wished himself there. He'd wanted to get away. Away from the nuns who were trying to save him or kill him, he wasn't sure which. Away from all of Lyon's and Rutledge's fucking mercenaries, or whatever they were. Away from all the people he'd killed, but his mind instinctively shied away from that.

He was half-naked and covered in blood, none of it his. There had been wounds. He distinctly remembered thorns cutting into him in that pit that grave, but his flesh was whole and unbroken now. His teeth were starting to chatter, less from cold than from fear. "I--I'm having a little trouble d-denying right now," he admitted. "I'm sorry I-- didn't mean to come here. I should…" He trailed off, having no idea what he should do. Go home, pack a bag, and flee the country, maybe. It was sounding more and more tempting. The bartender was right. Denial was a good option. As long as he ran, he could pretend this wasn't fucking happening.

[bettyxsnooper]

•✦• ELIZABETH COOPER has just been issued a ticket to the multiverse. They're a [25] year old cisfemale (she/her) who's currently working as an FBI agent. Originally from • Riverdale •, you might know them best as BETTY COOPER. You know, the one who looks a lot like ✦ LILI REINHART ✦ and has that daughter of the Black Hood, hunting serial killers, crescent shaped scars on her palms vibe? We hope you enjoy your stay here! •✦•

[frightnightx]

@defectivexfragmented

Jerry couldn't recall much about his human life after centuries like this, but he recalled enough about the attack to know he hadn't been meant to survive it. There was no maker waiting for him when he woke, and he'd had to learn the ropes himself. He wasn't sorry for it. He wasn't particularly prone to sentiment, and it taught him how to survive. It was his best skill. Shame so many humans didn't share it. For whatever reason, certain ones had always been drawn to his kind. Curiosity maybe, or simply a fascination with darkness, with death. He couldn't say for sure what this one was, but Jerry was a predator. He knew when he was being hunted.

Or followed, at any rate. He'd slipped into the club to see whether his human tail would follow, and he could admit to some curiosity on his side too. It wasn't just any human who could spot what he was or keep up with him. The other man didn't smell like a killer. There was no blood on him, no fear, both scents that lingered. Jerry had eaten enough serial killers to know the signs. (What? It was more entertaining to hunt monsters than victims when he felt like a challenge.) He was something though, and something was interesting. He did not want to catch the interest of something like Jerry.

He'd melted into the crowd of humans, senses alert for one in particular. He could hear every swish of fabric, every panting breath, every skitter of an insect in the walls over the pulsing music, the lights painting the room a vibrant, gory red. His favorite color. Every human in the place had a scent he could pick out and follow like a thread marking his way until he found the one he wanted. Closer than he'd expected. Did he know how close he was? Intrigued in spite of himself, he drifted closer, moving like water through the crowded dance floor until he'd appeared behind him almost like magic, breath by his ear. "You're playing with fire."

[xdefendingandy]

❛ so, what do i owe this pleasure? ❜

@pleinsdemuses

Andy wasn't always the easiest person to get along with, but since being liked wasn't high on his list of priorities--and it was even lower after the events of the previous year--he didn't particularly care. He didn't have to be liked to be good at his job. His personality had clashed immediately with Neal's when he started working at the DA's office, and it had not improved with time. The media circus over Jacob's trial had demolished whatever was left of their professional relationship, and they barely tolerated each other in the office these days. Since he hadn't liked him much to begin with, Andy considered it a minor inconvenience. It was easier if they could be civil, but it wasn't going to wreck his day.

He apparently wasn't the only person who found the man's personality difficult, and he'd paused a moment outside Isabella's office. He didn't catch the gist of the tirade, other than to note that it sounded extremely one-sided, and there was only a brief pause before he knocked lightly and stepped inside, stopping Neal in mid-sentence. "Got a minute?" He held up the folder in his hands and tried not to smirk as he stalked past him. He waited until he'd disappeared around a corner before he turned back to her. "Nothing. I just wanted him to leave. I hope that wasn't important." He barely stopped short of asking if she was okay, but the silent question hung in the air regardless. Isabella didn't need him to fight her battles for her, but he'd have stepped in on anyone being harassed in their own workplace.

[vvaywardhunter]

Honesty Hour - Dean, you haven't been compelled what are you still doing with that bloodsucker?

@pleinsdemuses

"Okay first of all, fuck you. Second of all, she did compel me not to leave Mystic Falls, so I'm working with what I've got here."

"Oh, and also the sex is bomb."

And he's starting to catch feelings.

[raisedxbywolves]

“You’re talking mad shit for a guy within kissing distance.”

@pctentialbreakupsong

Theo had a tendency to bail whenever anyone started to catch feelings, which put an element of chaos in any relationship with him that lasted longer than a few nights. He wasn't clear on why Riley was willing to put up with that on again/off again shit they had going on, but that was her business. It made the rest of the pack crazy when they were on, but since that wasn't a lot different from when they were off, he didn't consider their opinions much of a factor.

He was leaning on the pool table at their favorite bar, cue in one hand, and he might have just tossed out a challenge to get her to play with him. That hadn't been the kind of playing he had in mind, but it wouldn't take a lot to persuade him either.

"We tried that, remember? It didn't work." He grinned when he said it though because something not working was absolutely no reason not to try it again in Theo's book, especially if that something was a hot, tiny blonde who could kick his ass without breaking a sweat. Okay, maybe some sweating, given the lycanthropy made him just as strong as she was, but still. He wasn't opposed. If insanity was doing something over and over again and expecting different results, then sign him up.

[grimmusings]

“ i can’t see into the future i’m not a witch. “ { for damien }

Answered here! 🔥

[crossxxbones]

🦇- A vampire

@alwaysxinxtrouble

He groaned as he came to, slumped against the wall in a pool of blood, most of it his. The room was cinder block walls and cement floors, no windows, the open door hanging half off its hinges. He had no idea how much time had passed, whether it was the same day or even daytime at all. It took several long seconds to remember where he was and why, and then he took a second to marvel that he'd woken up at all. The mission had gone south, something tearing through his men like they were civilians rather than some of the best trained mercenaries out there. Whatever it was, it was faster than a human, faster even than a super soldier. He'd fired as many times as he could when it came for him, but the shots hadn't even slowed it down. It hit him like a freight truck, teeth ripping into his neck like some kind of animal. He shouldn't have survived.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing the spot on his neck. He expected to feel raw, open flesh, but the skin was smooth and unmarked, though his fingers came away tacky with blood. It didn't even hurt, but he'd attributed that to shock, not to there being no wound in the first place. Actually, nothing really hurt. He shifted, pushing himself further upright, and took stock of his body. Most of his exposed skin was slick with blood, but he couldn't find a wound. His back didn't even hurt where he'd slammed into the wall, a glance behind him at the cracked cinderblocks confirming how hard he'd hit it.

There was no pain, but his body did feel… strange. Everything in the room was in blinding focus, like he'd taken too many uppers. Every sound seemed magnified, from the swish of fabric in his tac pants to the squeak of a boot in the puddle of blood on the floor. And the smell, god. The smell of old blood was overwhelming, but it was more than just that. It was the smell of meat like in a slaughterhouse, bodies reduced to so much muscle and bone. He gagged, staggering to the door. There were bodies in the room, and more in the hallway, but he knew at a glance they were all dead. That explained the smell. His throat felt raw as he cleared it, and then he thought better of calling out. Whatever had killed most of them could have fled, or it could still be here.

[crossoutjenn]

✔️ @biblicallyaccuratemcu liked for a starter!

It wasn't that easy to kill a demon, though getting stabbed in the heart did set her back a bit. She'd had years to recover from that and put a wide distance between herself and Needy, mostly because she worried another confrontation might end in her ex-bff's death. And the past was the past, like get over it and move on already. So she did. Supernatural powers came with a learning curve, and Jennifer had learned a lot about herself in the years since high school. She learned she didn't have to kill every time she fed, but it was more fun (obvi) and the perks were better. Sex, blood, or fear could get her by, maybe indefinitely, but they wouldn't make her powerful or irresistible. And, really, who wanted to be average?

She was well-fed for tonight's campus Halloween party. Jennifer didn't even go to school there, but colleges were perfect feeding grounds. The low-level lust in this room alone was enough to give her a little buzz, and any excuse to wear a slutty costume that made her tits pop was fine by her. She'd dressed appropriately as a devil. She wasn't necessarily planning to eat someone tonight, but if the opportunity was there, Jenn wasn't one to turn it down. Right now, she just wanted to dance and flirt with someone pretty.

Pretty was currently being loomed over in a corner of the kitchen by a dude who clearly thought size meant he had his pick, a Neanderthal state of mind she'd never had any patience for. Jennifer didn't bother to get a further read on the situation. Maybe the girl was into it, or maybe she was three seconds away from stabbing him with a butter knife. Whatever. She put a hand on his chest and gave a single firm push. She was stronger than she looked, and his eyes were startled as he stumbled back a step. "You're not even close to being hot enough for her, dude. Time for all small-town gomers to go back to mommy's basement." Her other hand found the redhead's and gave it an excited tug toward the dancers. "Come dance with me."

[vvolfsbaneblooms]

🐺 @luminescenc1e liked for a starter

It wasn't the first time Larry had woken up in a tomb, wolfsbane on the floor and not a familiar face in sight. He'd like to have a talk with whoever had moved his corpse and resurrected him, but they weren't coming forward to take credit. It had been less than a week since he woke, and he was still acclimating to the jarring changes in time and place, uncertain exactly how much time had passed since he hadn't known the year he'd last died. It all seemed to run together, like something out of a nightmare.

Night was falling when he went walking through the town. There were a few people still out, but in general he preferred to avoid a crowd. The wolf's head cane had been buried with him, which made him suspect another motive other than grave robbing, the silver harmless against his human flesh. His senses were little better than a human's in this form, but he could swear he knew the scent of another wolf. He didn't mean to stare at the other man, but he'd never met another of his kind, with the exception of the one who turned him, and there hadn't been a lot of dialogue in that encounter.

"Sorry… Could you tell me what city this is?"

[gallowsheart]

@alwaysxinxtrouble

Jesse had no idea how long the woman had been in the camouflaged pit. He didn’t have time to check the twins' traps every day and knew they weren't exactly diligent about it either, despite repeated reminders that rotten meat that had been dead for days was no good to anyone. He guessed it was anywhere from a day or two to only a few hours. He’d had to bind her wrists and ankles and gag her to haul her out, but he’d removed the gag once they reached the slaughterhouse.

Nobody was going to hear her from in there, and he liked having someone to talk to while he worked, even if the conversations could be sort of one-sided. She didn't seem reassured by his promises that he would kill her so quickly she wouldn't even feel it, or that it was lucky he'd found her before the twins did. They liked to play with their food, no matter how many times Abram raged at them that fear and pain affected the flavor. Conversations could be sort of one-sided with them too. Their listening skills were highly selective.

Blood dripped from the edge of a sharp knife while he carved up meat at the counter. He wasn't trying to scare her more, but it was possible he didn't realize what a frightening scene that was. He was waiting for one of his brothers to get home to help with her. Contrary to popular horror movie myth, it was difficult to single-handedly butcher and preserve the meat from anything larger than a pig. Not impossible, but they didn't like to waste anything. The whole process would be smoother with another set of hands. Though Jesse had a tendency to run his mouth, that was not a detail he'd shared with his captive.

He didn’t look up from what he was doing at the sound of the sliding door, assuming it was one of the twins come to check on their haul, until Jed's voice snapped through the space. He had that oldest brother talent of commanding instant attention and making him feel vaguely guilty, even when he hadn't done anything wrong. Or maybe it was just that he was already shouting.

"What the hell are you doing? Jesse, what the fuck."

Jed was staring at Robin, bound on the floor, filthy and crying and looking like she'd just been pulled out of a pit, which, he realized with a sinking feeling, was probably exactly what had happened. He knew the twins had traps set up all over the property, and none of the locals ever made noise about the occasional missing hiker. But this was bad. This was bad. Robin wasn't just some random hiker. Locals were off limits. They never killed people they knew, and he’d already been seen in town with her on multiple dates. They couldn't just kill her, as Jesse had clearly been planning to do.

But they couldn't just let her go either. It was plain at a glance that she'd already seen and heard too much. Jesse never did know how to shut his goddamn mouth.

"Fuck!" He was still yelling, his younger brother's voice competing with his.

"What are you talking about? She was in the trap!"

"That's Robin! That's the girl I'm going out with! Goddamnit, Jesse!" He shoved him hard, heedless of the knife in his hand. It was no threat to him. The Ashworth brothers might infight from time to time, but they always stopped short of actually hurting each other.

"Well what the fuck, Jed! How was I supposed to know?"

Jed ignored him, moving almost on autopilot to Robin. He knelt by her, reaching to loosen the restraints on her wrists. He didn’t like seeing her like that, helpless and terrified. It was still relatively new between them, but he’d liked her. More than he’d liked anyone in a long time. And they would probably have to kill her now. Robin would die for nothing, and her disappearance would bring unwanted attention to the family. Shit.

[om3ned]

muse: Damien Thorn (A&E's Damien) open to: mutuals and non-mutuals / 21+ / other horror muses, multifandom crossovers, etc. / OCs welcome if you have active threads with mine plot: Damien flees before the final events of the show. He knows who and what he is and has some of his power, but he has not yet fully accepted it (nor does he wish to). trigger warnings: suicide/suicidal ideation, animal death/dead animals, religious themes

Damien wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here. He wasn’t even sure where here was, although if he had to guess, it was somewhere isolated outside of the city. Maybe he wasn’t even in New York state anymore since the weather had changed, a light snow now falling. He’d found a place to sit on a stone bench under some trees, and he’d been there long enough that the cold had started to seep into him, his fingers and toes numbing. He didn’t fool himself into thinking he could actually die from exposure. His last attempt to end his life had been, probably literally, a miraculous failure.

But it seemed like a lot of effort to get up and leave. He didn’t know where to go or what to do next. He’d thought only of getting away, of trying to outrun the truth of himself, but if anything, that display of power had only reinforced what he’d been trying to ignore. He could no longer pretend it was all some grand conspiracy. Something was wrong with him. The proof was everywhere he turned.

He didn’t look up at the sound of footsteps, his face in his hands, but he spoke clearly. “You probably don’t want to come any closer.” He’d already seen what had likely drawn their attention: a ring of dead crows circling the ground around him and the bench. It looked intentional, but it wasn’t. Things had a tendency to drop dead around him of no apparent cause.

[vvolfatthedoor]

⭒˚⭒ AVEN ALICE WOLFRAM ⭒˚⭒ has just turned to a new page in their story. They're a [ 30 ] year old cisfemale (she/her), and they're an ORIGINAL character. They're also a [ werewolf ] who's currently working as a romance novelist. They look a lot like ⭒˚⭒ PHOEBE TONKIN ⭒˚⭒ and come from a world of [ supernatural ], but you'll know them best by their wolf at the door, the pen is mightier than the claws (but watch those too), knows no strangers vibe. ⭒˚⭒

[frightnightx]

🩸 @defectivexfragmented liked for a starter

Humans didn't often capture his attention, which was probably for the best. It rarely ended well for the human. Once, he hadn't been that particular about who he turned when he wanted a family. There was strength in numbers, and most of them were just cannon fodder, but the world wasn't made for that anymore. Now, he turned one if he turned any, spent years or even decades with them, and then left them to their own devices. Every fledgling went off on their own eventually, and Jerry didn't fight it. It was the natural order of things. He checked in on them now and then, or they dropped in on him, and that was enough.

It had been some years since he'd had a companion, and he was starting to get… he wouldn't have called it lonely. Bored, restless, tired. Unfortunately for Clint, the archer had caught his attention. Jerry could never say exactly what it was that drew him to a specific human. Perhaps it was something different every time. Vampires as a whole tended to be drawn to beauty and talent, things they didn't have, and Clint had both. What he'd initially thought could be a problem--close neighbors had been a problem for him in the past--had turned into an entertaining diversion.

It was obvious Clint didn't believe in vampires, and it had almost become a game to Jerry now, seeing what it would take for him to notice and put the pieces together. Garlic, mirrors, running water, holy items-- all myths. He couldn't turn into a bat or a wolf either. (Pity.) Sunlight, on the other hand, was very real, and so was silver, at least in large quantities. Shoot him with a silver bullet, and it would burn like fuck, but it wouldn't kill him if he was already at full strength. A wooden stake would be more dangerous to him, but those were damn hard to aim. Had to destroy the heart completely. Invitations were also real, and he'd enjoyed himself a time or two leaning in Clint's doorway to see if he'd ask him in, finding veiled excuses to leave if he didn't.

Even Jerry got bored with games after a while though, and he was about to take this one to the next level. He knew Clint was following him--no matter how quiet, there was no masking his heartbeat--and he'd deliberately taken a turn into a more posh neighborhood. Knowing full well that Clint would have a clear view of him, he leapt a high fence faster than a human would have been able to and vanished into the shadows around the back of an empty house. He could smell that the home had been empty for days, but the in-ground pool was well-kept, the landscaping carefully maintained.

[heartlikeawound]

"'Try putting soldier of fortune down on your tax return and see how well that works.’”

HISTORY:

tw: death, war, injury, weapons, violence, blood, scars, self-loathing, guilt

'10s

Will never met his father, but he knew him. Everyone did. James Locksley was one of the richest men in New York City in the early 1900s, happily married with a son that was his pride and joy, so of course he could never be associated with a scandalous affair with a woman from the wrong side of town. Iris Hendricks struggled to make ends meet, and though she never explained some of the things she had to do so they could survive, Will understood. As soon as he was old enough–-before that, really–-he was taking any job he could to support her, many of them on the wrong side of the law, and quietly resenting the man who had left them both without a backward glance.

'30s

When she died suddenly just before his eighteenth birthday, Will was blindsided. The next couple years were a blur of drinking and bar fights and scraping by. It was by far the lowest point of his life, and he didn't much care if he lived or died. He thought death had finally come for him when something attacked him outside the city. He didn't know there were wolves that close--if that was even what it was--and he didn't understand how the wounds could be healing so fast. He had no idea what was happening to him until Andrew Grant stepped in. He was the alpha of a small, wandering pack, most of them career soldiers.

He never even knew the wolf who turned him. It was Grant who helped him through those first full moons when he was terrified and still half-believed this was some sort of delirious fever dream, who gave him a place in his pack and on his team when World War II found its way to the States. Will had a documented allergy to authority, but it was different with Grant. He'd finally found someone worth following, someone worth his loyalty, and perhaps he'd never known just how deeply loyal he could be. The pack was family, brothers, comrades in arms, and as far as he was concerned, that was the whole world.

'70s

There was always a war to fight somewhere, and he spent decades as a soldier, eventually working his way up to Sergeant and Grant's right-hand man. Slowly, though, the pack dwindled as members drifted off to put down roots or fell in battles. Even supernatural healing wasn't always a match for modern warfare, and the better they were at what they did, the more dangerous the ops got. He wasn't prepared to be the last man standing when one of them went wrong.

It wasn't the first time Will wished he was dead. For all intents and purposes, he was, his identity dying with his squad, since there was no way he could explain how he'd healed from that. He was back where he'd started, aimless and looking for a purpose, although this time he didn't limit himself to one city. He spent time with various packs as he traveled first Europe and then the States, many of them the new homes of his old pack members, but nothing stuck.

Present

He was more or less back where he'd started before he met Grant, only now he was cursed with a longer life. He traveled the world, reluctant to join another pack only to lose them again, and finding none that inspired the kind of devotion of his old alpha. Will knew his way around mechanics and weapons, so it was easy to settle in a town and make himself useful for a few months. The wanderlust never completely left him though, and when that restless feeling started growing in him again, he took jobs as a bodyguard or a mercenary, even signing up for the occasional tour of duty, his most recent a four-year circuit in Syria.

"‘You fall asleep in the foothills, and the wolf comes down from the mountains. And you hope someone will wake you up. Or chase it off. Or shoot it dead. But when you realize that the wolf is inside you, that’s when you know. You can’t run from it. And no one who loves you can kill the wolf, because it’s part of you. They see your face on it. And they won’t fire the shot.’"

PERSONALITY:

Depending on the context, there are two sides of Will you're most likely to get. The more common is the easy charmer who can make small talk with anyone (probably while he's stealing your wallet), the casual flirt who's quick with an irreverent joke or a slightly wicked smile. Heads or tails how much of it is real or just sleight of hand at any given moment, but it's the one most people are familiar with.

When it comes to conflict, the charm falls away, and it's all business. He can deflect just about anything aimed at himself, but he has no tolerance for people who come for his people, or for bullies in general, and he'll fight for those who can't do it themselves. On the battlefield, it's dead-eyed sniper stares and clean, efficient fighting, nothing wasted. He's there to get a job done, and he's gotten very good at it after almost a century.

The nightmares are less about the people he's killed than the one's he's failed, and there's a bit of a self-hating streak buried under the rest of it. Deep down, Will doesn't believe he's a good person. He's not even sure he's aiming to be a good person most of the time, when so much of his life has been purely about survival. It's not the best way to live, but it's a good way not to die, and no matter how self-sabotaging he can be at times, he's not the type to let himself give up.

RELATIONSHIPS:

platonic

Platonic is where Will excels, whether that's family or pack (not a lot of distinction between those for him), and he's always made casual friends easily. He'd always been fascinated by cameras, some of the skills oddly transferable from aiming a weapon, and photographs are some of the only things he's saved over the decades. When he's bothered to unpack instead of leaving his stuff in storage, framed pictures cover his walls, and when the talk over drinks turns to stories about the past, he's always got a few. It's the only real way of keeping their lost loved ones with them.

He struggles when it comes to deeper connections. He's a deeply loyal friend, and there isn't much he wouldn't do for the people close to him, so by necessity he can't give that much of himself to just anyone. He'd do anything for the his pack when he has one: fight, steal, or die for them on a dime, but there's a wall there that didn't exist before. Losing Grant almost destroyed him, and he doesn't think he has that in him again. If his life has taught him anything, it's that everything ends. Better not to have anything he can't live without.

romantic

All casual, and he'll be the first to admit he's not looking for anything serious, or ever had anything he'd consider serious, and that's entirely by design. He knows he tends to hurt people simply by being himself (and no matter how often he says it, some people won't hear him on it), so it's safer just to keep it simple. He's out the door when either side starts to catch feelings.

Of course, that's just as much a self-preservation instinct. He loves deeply and recklessly when he lets himself, and he's a little afraid of how that would translate in a romantic relationship. He's already lost the two people who were most important to him, one family and one pack, and watched his pack members survive the loss of their mates, and he's not sure he can do it again. Letting someone that close just to lose them might wreck him permanently.

antagonistic

Will tends to take people not liking him as a personal challenge, but it's even money whether he'll try to win them over or find the exact thing that irritates them and lean on it, so there's probably no shortage of petty antagonism. Typically, he's not one to take it seriously though, or to find offense where none was meant.

Of course, it's a different story when his pack is at stake, and he'll take a battlefield approach on that. Nobody wants to be standing too close if it's bad enough to call up the soldier. He wouldn't choose vengeance for its own sake, but he wouldn't hesitate to make a point either. He can make it clean with no evidence, or he can make it messy enough to be a warning against coming at them again, but neither will trouble his conscience. Don't fuck with family. Don't fuck with people who can't fight back. The rules are simple but unbreakable.

"This was his territory as much as it was mine. I would get angry, and then he’d step in, not to defuse the situation, but to cover it with napalm.”

STATISTICS:

≛ Age: 106 ≛ Height: 6'0" ≛ Build: Lean and packed with muscle from a dedicated gym routine that includes weights, cardio, and sparring practice ≛ Eyes: Blue that shifts in shade depending on his mood, the lighting, or the shirt he's wearing ≛ Hair: Dark brown, cut close when he's been overseas, but he's been known to grow it out in the intervening years, sometimes long enough to brush his shoulders and with the scruff to go with it ≛ Distinguishing Features: Faded scars from the attack that initially turned him, along with a couple more recent here and there from silver, but nothing he pays a lot of mind to. There's a tattoo of a howling wolf and an iris flower on his ribs for Grant and his mother, and various military ink scattered here and there.

strengths

≛ Physical strength, agility, and endurance. He's a ruthless and efficient fighter in either form, with decades of martial arts and weapons training. A high tolerance for pain lets him push through all but the most severe injuries to get a job done (and he'll spend most of the first month after a tour sleeping off the physical and mental effects). He won't flinch at violence or doing the dirty work to protect the pack or discourage further threats--and if he's pushed that far, he might even enjoy it a little.

≛ Extensive weapons training, in both long-range and melee, from years of military ops. He's a sharp eye behind a sniper rifle or a blade between the ribs before you even knew it was coming, and hiding knives or smaller guns among his regular clothes has become a bit of an art form. While he has the usual weakness against silver like all wolves, there are silver bullets and knives in storage with the rest of the weapons that aren't for daily use, and a little nausea won't stop him from using them if he's up against another pack or rogue wolves.

≛ He's always been able to make easy small talk with strangers, swiftly charming them into letting their guard down. It was partly a survival tactic at first (watch this hand while the other robs you blind), but it's so much a part of him he can't separate it anymore. He's good at character assessments after short interactions, getting a sense of someone's strengths and weak spots, and they're usually pretty accurate. That's not to say his own issues don't cloud his judgement from time to time, and he's a little too capable of turning that critical eye on himself.

weaknesses

≛ Will is his own worst enemy, and while he's aware of his self-sabotaging streak, he's probably not conscious of just how deep it runs or the way it shapes almost every aspect of his life. There's too much blood on his hands for him to ever consider himself a good person, and there's still a fair bit of survivor's guilt in him over his mother's death and Grant's. If people got what they deserved, they'd still be standing instead of him.

≛ Going hand in hand with this self-sabotage is the fact that he's a proven flight risk. He's always got one foot out the door on any romantic relationships. No matter what he's temporarily committed to, there's a part of his mind that's always going to be making contingency plans. It's safer to assume nothing is permanent, and it's become a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy for him.

≛ What's that they say about poking a sleeping dragon? Will usually knows where the lines are, but that doesn't always stop him from deliberately stepping over one. It's not something he turns on friends or pack members regularly, since he actually likes and respects them, but he will occasionally entertain himself (or them) by seeing how long it takes before a stranger takes a swing at him. Fighting back would be unfair, of course, so he'll just smile with blood on his teeth, offer up a mocking salute, and walk away.

aesthetics made of mischief ≛ heart like a lit fuse ≛ click of a camera shutter or a sniper rifle ≛ blades twirling between fingers ≛ polaroids all over the fridge ≛ how sharp is your knife (flirting) ≛ permanent five o'clock shadows ≛ I am being perfectly fucking civil ≛ roar of a bike ≛ cocky smirks ≛ blowing smoke in your face ≛ leather and motor oil ≛ sorry about the blood in your mouth ≛ open road at sunset ≛ middle fingers hanging out the window ≛ baking asphalt ≛ wolf stares ≛ desert sun ≛ sticky fingers ≛ allergic to authority ≛ mocking salutes ≛ loyal to a fault ≛ the fire was put out as quickly as it started