ＷＯＬＦＢＬＯＯＤ [ ．．．] @lockwoohd - Tumblr Blog

bluemocn:

@lockwoohd asked : ∗ 83﹕ sender is discovered having a panic attack by receiver ., from tyler !!

“ ty? ” her voice , she fathoms , must be an echo at the bottom of a wall , reverbating against its damp walls to reach him . this empathy is not spun out of thin air — it was earned , through many crouched by the kitchen table , wishing something would’ve whisked her away from all this death that encircles her . she knows —— she can still feel the shivers on her skin like needles , the cold sweat trickling down her neck as the whole world becomes foggy .

“ ty , it’s okay . it’s okay … ” pandora coos , bleeding into view , scooting down to where her knees can touch the ground . something but be real , and tangle , and so her little fingers stretch themselves thin draping over his closed first like a warm blanket , pressing it to his own chest so they’re both listening to the pace of his heart —– it quivers and stomps , that wilderling , determined to escape its bony cage .

“ everything’s gonna be okay , it’s okay … just breathe ——- can you do that for me ? breathe , in … and out … ” her very words are slow and calculated , long and deep , syncing up their breathing as to estabilish a pattern he can easily follow back home . she breathes . she holds . she exhales . she does it again and again and again , chest falls in rhytimic descent , and rising again , unburdened . until he can do it too . “ it’s okay , ” she reassures one more time , all tangled up in the battle drums of his chest . “ you’re okay. ”

⸻

The world is not kind to those who linger between forms. Not a wolf, not a man. Something in limbo, perhaps, bleeding out onto the floor like a fetus still in the birthing sac. Something inhuman, ugly and scarred, enchanted by those with sharp teeth and instincts that require sons to hate their fathers. Or whatever parental figure that looms in the bathroom mirror, a ghost that is worshiped only through darkening eyes and a strike of a palm. Anger is not inherited, it is stolen. Auctioned off to the highest bidder, the cruelest one, the one with bulging pockets and a thirst for power. Remember, the moon said, the creature is frightened of its reflection. Remember, the father said, the son will be the sacrifice no matter what is in the bloodline, no matter what lineage the mouse belongs to when caught in the maze. Tyler should have predicted this. There is always something hidden in the rich hallways of the Lockwood manor, not ghosts, not old libraries, not persian carpets. There is a growth forming, and it began shortly after he was born, he suspects. A distaste for the existence of himself, adopted from his own flesh and blood. The perception of his reality had morphed. It was all a competition, a stage set and the audience the faceless form Richard Lockwood takes when disappointment swallows him whole. A bleak future awaits him, and this is obscenely obvious when he collapses outside the locker room. Pulse heavy, weighs his shoulders down in giant gulps. No air, no life, no way to settle the heartbeat from tearing into him and bringing out that monster inside of him. A violation of sorts: transformation. It’s a rude awakening, causing his teeth to grind and throat to peel open in loud grunts as he tries to keep the spontaneous shift to himself. Her face is barely in view, his vision is dotted with clumps of red. He blinks hard, jaw locking, thinks how persistent her palm is over his fist. Exhale roughened out through flared nostrils, eyes focusing just over her shoulder. He was never good with eye contact when he seemed to be the one in a vulnerable position. Submission saved for his father’s rage, no-one else. ‘ Allergic reaction to some dickhead’s cologne in the locker room. ‘ The excuse slips out, no mercy for those willing ears. He’s pulling his hand away from her, eager to be out from under that warmth. Unable to know what to do with it, what to say about it. He clears his throat, places both palms flat on the tiled floor as his head arches back to hit the wall. ‘ Was that enough action for a librarian? ‘

#GENERAL: CHATS.#&. GENERAL: PANDORA DAWSON.

wonderbcy:

@lockwoohd asked: ∗ 8o﹕ sender and receiver go shopping together .

matt felt right in his element whenever he was with tyler. but how wouldn’t he? that man was his best friend, his brother, the one person he trusted the most in the world. not many had such connection and he knew it damn well, that was the reason why matt never took it for granted. yet, that wouldn’t stop him from shitting on his mate at any given chance – but he figured that was just friendship. their dynamic was simply made that way and they both enjoyed it so there was no harm in annoying each other to no end only to laugh and pull each other into a play fight to release it all. there were down times too, of course, as it was in everything but they always figured it out. that was what made their bond unbreakable. now, walking in a steady step next to tyler as they were out shopping, matt stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jersey jacket and turned his head to look at his friend. “ is it time for that spring closet change? i heard the girls talking about it. good to see you’re joining them. ” he teased with a shit-eating grin, swaying to the side a bit so that he wouldn’t be hit as a result. a chuckle slipping past his lips as he directed his gaze ahead for a bit, it didn’t take long for him to turn his attention back the the other male. “ so you gonna spill or not? don’t tell me you just wanted fashion advice, mate. ”

⸻

The forest turns a blind eye to those who worship it. It had remained silent and cold amid those howling winds and deep nightmares, but aren’t all gods like that? Observant and stripped from all human emotion. A faceless carcass that people kneel in the mud for, begging for second lives, begging for the rivers to flood once more. Tyler had dreamed about the woods again, the third time this week. Something about it speaking to him, the branches reach and sway for him, the leaves rustle in the humid breeze. There is always something decomposing underneath the soil and maybe that’s why he’s drawn to it. The roots, the grass, the dragonflies that flit around his face. Look, they say: we’re beautiful and short-lived. Each time he tries to chomp on their frail wings and swallow them, their bodies torn apart by something larger than they are. This is an addiction, he’s assuming, and a side effect of the shift. He wasn’t a carnivore before all of this, was he? Certainly he had wanted to be. Slipped on the skin of a man before he had turned fourteen. Kept a knife as a tongue and bullets as spit. He was cruel and soaked in his violent nature like a king in an ice bath. Is this a trait of the son or a trait of the father? Is this what a life of broken bones leads to; pain, suffering, a rabbit that stumbles upon the fur of a grizzly bear? They are all pretending to be what they aren’t. Puppets dancing along to the invisible string of old curses, the ancestors of pointed ears and big paws. There’s a relief to be around someone who accepts, even if he doesn’t fully understand, what his brother is. If he had a body to bury he would only bring Matt along. They both taste the grave of the father, the bitter absence and the overwhelming presence. Where Matt had adopted a soft-spine, Tyler was the backbone. A solid piece of ancient oak that refused to splinter for any foe that bared their teeth at either of them. A loose smile hangs along his mouth, brows raised with feigned surprise as he hoists a shopping bag over his shoulder, the two new shoeboxes growing awkward to carry in such a small bag. ‘ Jesus man. Pretty sure my mom is more subtle than you when it comes to asking about girls. ‘ Still, he doesn’t share. Doesn’t offer any generously intimate details like he would if this was a meaningless fling. Some girl that he was reckless around would be plastered across his face with false praises and animal-like remarks about her body. Instead, he shakes his head lightly, a nod towards the food court. ‘ Gonna’ have to buy some fries, Donovan. Only way to make me talk. You owe me with that whole insurance shit, anyway. My dad was pissed. Your mom hooking you up with some money eventually, or am I claiming you as a dependent? ‘

#GENERAL: CHATS.#&. GENERAL: MATT DONOVAN.

dreamyoncs:

something was brewing. whether it was something holy or cursed – they wouldn’t know. but the thing was, davina would take either. everyone would rather take a path filled with dandelions and chirping birds and the gentle swaying of branches. anyone would want to have it easy and happy – & that’s really nobody’s fault. that was the human nature after all, drawn to pretty things and sources of easy happiness. yet davina didn’t mind walking on thorns until her feet bled, burning alive at the stakes, ripping open her heart just to keep him safe in there as long as it was in the name of something worthy. in the name of love. it was a doomed thing to want someone to be one’s forever from the very first moment that they looked into each other’s eyes for real. perhaps no one should be so willing to give their all to another soul right from the start. maybe the vultures flying overhead were the stalkers of their respective blood, preying for the moment of their union. this could very well be much more than a young girl and boy falling madly in love, could have been written onto every brick of the road ahead that they would take on hand in hand. had the ancestors always been whispering about the boy in the shape of the beast into her ear? had her powers really became the strongest during full moons, crystals cleansing under its light and the nature bending easily at her will then? had she been kept away from the rest of the world for him & him only for her whole life? it seemed there were no answers to these yet, though she did feel it in her heart. she knew what the heart wants now. and as much as she tried to paint it lightly with easy, flirtatious banter, their gaze held something heavier. something bigger than them. “ yeah? your party-goers would beg to differ. ” of course she knew about them. her skin itched and stomach turned whenever she heard a pretty girl talk about his parties and how amazing they were. yet, she tried to cover that jealous bit with more banter. “ guess i’m caught red handed. can’t blame a girl, though, the witchy business has been slow lately. ” a complete lie, though it was clear that she said that just for the sake of it when her lips formed into a grin. which, soon vanished as he leaned in to hover over the tender skin of her neck, giving her goosebumps as she felt his warm breath. throat bulging with a hard swallow, she could only take so much when he did kiss her neck, winning a soft whimper on the verge of a moan from her lips. “ tyler… ” his name left her mouth in a hushed tone, shaky and breathy, followed by a soft groan the moment he pulled away to leave her lips parted and cheeks hotter in hue. it was only a kiss on the neck, yet she needed a whole moment to function properly. and even then, she was flushed. “ food sounds good. ” she said before pausing for a moment, then reached to brush her fingers over his to tug a little to get going. “ we really should start somewhere. ” lips forming into a grin, she then added. “ maybe we should call it a diner date. ”

⸻

No matter how quiet the river gushes, the answers will never be heard. They do linger around the pines, in between the roots of those growing giants. The green daughters and sons of mother nature have been around a long time, they know when a son isn’t really a son, but a slab of meat on the butcher’s table. Not that he had spoken aloud of the old bruises, the ghosts of punishments that can never seem to find their way home. Not that he was anything other than the scarecrow of a boy he had always been meant to be. He rustles in the wind, lets his bed of damp straw in his heart dry out under the sun. This whole time he is expected to be silent, unseen, unheard, unnoticed. He is not a man, but a floor mat, the peeling wallpaper of a family farmhouse that hasn’t survived the month’s drought. This biblical offering is more than skin and small gasps. This is worship in the holiest of meaning, the very beginning of lust and reverence. Religion more so in flesh and tongue, rather than worship and intricate ceilings. He had easily found himself wrapped around another spine. An eater that held a bottomless appetite, a woman that refused pretty apples and instead wanted the bleak core of rot. Is he speaking of the girl he is in love with, or the entity inside of her? He has decided to enjoy the heat of her firestorm. He will let his cheekbones grow hollow and soulless. The sacrifice of letting someone see all corners of oneself, even those dark alleyways that has been long since abandoned. If this is what it means to survive with honest intentions, then he will melt his own hair and spin his own head. Possession always began with the heart. How it was weighed down with stones and hay when tossed into the roaring rivers of devotion. Yes, he will say to himself in the shadowland of fantasy, he could thrive in this weather. Let the sandstorms come and wipe his existence from the earth, leaving only ivory bone and old teeth. Only if it means she would touch him once more. Those fingers of rage and delicate intervention between heaven and purgatory. The silence that had always followed the primal acts of ecstasy baring resemblance to visions of renaissance paintings, the whites of eyes glowing like demented angels. He will consistently find himself in the woods looking for redemption. Forgiveness that comes to him like a hesitant doe, but chews on him like a pack of wolves during the coldest of winters. There are some things he should have left buried. Davina Claire and her ability to strip him bare is one of them. Still, he searches for all pieces of her in his day to day life. A scavenger hunt of a dead crow. A discovery to yearn for venom in his bloodstream once more. It’s a honeyed venom, at least, a slow death. A death that allows for hallucinations of the future, premonitions laced in each breath she takes as a moan. He hadn’t wanted to stop touching her. Wanted to push her against the truck and taste her deeper, as far as she’d let him. He’s led with a tug, the obedient beast following in a slow trot as he opens the door for her and then climbs up the driver’s side, sitting down with an exhale. The grin is delightfully oozed along his mouth, sugar-sweet and decisively teasing. ‘ Are you jealous? ‘Cause you sound a little jealous. What can I say, I know how to show girls a good time. You looking to keep me focused on just one? ‘ Not an ounce of regret, he sings the tune of a proud dictator. A misconstrued perception that had been picked up by watching his father interact with women. Not that he wanted to be him. Not that he was him, by any means - although he often fantasizes devouring his own heart. There’s a moment of a pause, pulse half-heartedly continuing to keep him alive, mostly out of spite. ‘ Burgers sound good to you? ‘ A mumble as the truck pulls out of the parking lot, turns down the main street and heads to the diner. Fingers tapping along the steering wheel as his gaze settles on her for a second or two before fixating back on the road in front of them. ‘ So, what does this witch business of yours involve, anyway? Is it dangerous? ‘

#GENERAL: CHATS.#C: DAVINA CLAIRE.

dreamyoncs:

you could have been killed. it felt like that very phrase had become the everyday life of the witch lately. she felt as if there were predators stalking at every corner, waiting for just the right moment to lunge. a moment of naivety and she could be history - she knew it damn well, yet she’d be damned if she let it stop her from living her life. she was not one to cower into the shadows in fear. bravery did not come bare of foolishness and that was perhaps the very thing that could bring her to her doom, yet that was not something she could rub herself clean of. everyone, including herself, would have to accept it; she would always stare death in the eye if she had to instead of running away from it if it meant standing her ground. she had lived almost all her life in isolation, without having much to herself, so she would never give up anything without a fight. be it her special place in the woods, or the control of her powers, or her loved ones. she would not give tyler up just because of an encounter gone wrong with another wolf. she would do anything in her power to keep him from getting dirt on his hands for her that he would regret later. now that he knew already, the best thing she could do was to do anything she could in order to keep him calm. a soft sigh slipping past her lips as she looked at the man, davina lifted her shoulders slightly. “ that was my safe place, tyler. you couldn’t have known. even i would have never expected that… ” words fading into a mumble, her thumbs were stroking along his warm skin as she spoke, a faint smile formed on her lips. “ i love that you want to keep me safe. you have no idea what it means to me. but you have to understand this, i need you safe just as much. ” and she hoped he did. if he knew that whatever she did she’d do for him, then she could stand up to anything without a worry. settling comfortably in his lap, she wrapped her arms around his figure and nuzzled against his neck, his smell feeling like home. she remained there for a while, just breathing in his scent and basking in his presence until he spoke again, which made her tilt her head up to look at him. then, she shuffled with a sudden decision, one leg moving over his lap to sit on his thighs so that she was now facing him properly, palms on his jaw. “ promise me you’re gonna be okay. ” she said, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “ promise me that you’ll always hold me like this. ” another kiss, now closer to his lips. “ promise me this. this is all i need. ” leaning closer one more time, now her lips were on top of his lips, claiming them in a calm and hopefully soothing kiss.

⸻

If the guard is not protecting someone he cares about, does he exist at all? Is he trapped within the confines of limbo, the inky darkness keeping him in a constant loop of fear. The house had been a cold hearth, great hallways of golden chandeliers and voices that bounce off marble tiles and against the mahogany of doors. There was always the smell of richness in the air, a floating scent of pine and mint. Meant to keep those inside awake and alert, as though they were living through wartimes, but in politics there was always a conflict to straighten out. Guiding himself through the unstable moods of his father was no different. He studied him like a hawk with a field mouse, kept his jaw locked unless he was required to speak. He let the windows rattle when the hurricanes came calling, anything to appear aged and extraordinarily in control. How else does a tool learn how to become a wielder? How else does the nail become the hammer? The gods do not look at the lambs when they refuse to bleat, the butcher is not pleased when the meat turns soiled and grey. After all, the tenderest part of the body is the heart. What is his worth now that it’s all stained and torn apart? What is left of him that’s salvageable? The boy who failed, the man who will only succeed his father through his walk to the gallows, the keyhole for his identity shrinks by the minute. This is why he feels the conviction of protectiveness over Davina, the desire to prove himself not as a righteous saviour, but as a man. Like anything he does in his life, there is the hate for his father blending with his desperation for his father’s approval. Pathetic, weak-boned, jaw-slacked. He truly was a beast. He listens to her thoughtfully, chews on her words as they settle themselves over him like warm velvet. A mixture of frustration and utter devotion causes a clenched out exhale to shake through him, the back of his throat marred by the force of it. ‘ And I need you safe. I don’t [ . . . ] trust this town, the people in it. Weird shit keeps happening and I don’t like the idea of you being caught in the middle of anything. ‘ He’s trying to explain this in hopes to dissuade her from keeping him alive. His death would not precisely be a godless act, but his bones were sacrificial. He had only ever felt alive on the pyre, burning for someone who had left a cut on his lip, or a swollen lump on his forehead. He wants to say more, to tell her some cracked open secret that his lungs have breath for, but he pauses. Halts physically as she repositions herself, the multiple displays of kissing, her siren-like movements rippling through his vision. He’s kissing her back, hungrily, firmly, her mouth warm and wet. His hands sliding to her thighs, parting them a bit wider, only slightly. Fingers now moving up her shirt, gentle and explorative, enjoying how her skin feels underneath his palm. He stops just before the lace bralette, breath heavy, a small swallow as he pulls away. Eyes searching hers for some kind of earth shattering clue that this isn’t real, that she’s a dream he’s made up and he’s drowning somewhere in an ocean. Tongue sliding along his bottom lip, the sound of his pulse shooting through him is a drumming background noise. ‘ I don’t [ . . . ] want to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Davina. God, I just can’t stop touching you, you know? ‘

#GENERAL: CHATS.#C: DAVINA CLAIRE.

dreamyoncs:

sacrifice was within the girl. whether it be a possible harvest in the future or how her mother birthed her as more of a mission than a daughter or the way she was always so damn willing to put her loved ones before her, that one fact was clear. sacrificial tendencies were running through her veins, embedded into her bones, written on her skin. and what better cause was there to step in line than love? maybe she was foolish to claim it before he did, maybe she didn’t know better, maybe this would be the end of her one day. she did not care. they all could point their fingers at her and laugh at her naivety, yet davina wouldn’t care for the opinions of those who had long forgotten what love was. did living mean only breathing? was it worth to lose people you cared about, the one you loved, just so you can bring air to your lungs one more time no matter how hollow your heart becomes? if that was the case, she figured she didn’t want it. she didn’t care for seeing another day if he was not going to be a part of it. accelerated healing or not, the tiniest doubt of him not being able to heal in time, of him losing his breath before his skin closed up was enough to make her do something about it. and she would never regret it, no matter at what cost. and the cost was draining herself in the process it seemed. the thing was, magic was never a linear thing, never consisted of simple calculations. she had just made the soil under their feet shake with the power of the nature around her, not even feeling anything during that, yet felt herself getting closer to the brink of unconsciousness with every passing second as she helped him heal a lot faster than he normally would. that was because she took from herself, it came from within the witch unlike using the nature to attack the beast and she had just used every drop of herself. it would take some time until she would be ready to use magic again as she was barely awake by the end of it. she heard him talk to her, of course she did, yet her hands were only pushed away because she had used it all. it was only when that she felt herself being carried off that she forced herself to focus her gaze on tyler, eyes immediately filling with tears. “ i’m sorry, ” she sobbed out, voice weak as she tried to reach his face but her hand didn’t even make halfway before it fell to his chest again. “ i’m sorry. i’m sorry… ” the same apologize repeated like a broken record, her voice cracked as she sobbed louder against his shoulder, cheeks shining under the moonlight with tears. “ it’s my fault, i hurt you… put me down… you have to – rest. i’m sorry… ” voice fading into a mumble than almost a whisper, her eyelids were draped over the blue hues.

⸻

The pawns had not always been pawns, but they were useful tools. Certainly felt like they held sharper blades when in the womb. Tyler had been birthed below a full moon, the ghost of clouds dimming the lighting for a moment until he gave out a brief wail. High-pitched and dutiful, as though he had already been the wolf in the mother’s blood; for there was no lamb metamorphosis for this Lockwood, no prey carcass left behind mid-shift. He had always been a carnivorous thing, a leech that attached itself to the vision of son-hood and thought that to be a god it meant one must spill blood each day. Or at least leave a bruise. Or a mark. Or a split lip that he could blame on the angels or a mishandled baseball throw. The home is not the mouth, but it does chew on the bits of the flesh until there’s nothing but bone. It had been a year since he had stayed a week at the house, but still he’s coughing up skull fragments and hair of his old self. The self he had claimed he had killed. The self that looked in the mirror and saw a broken armed boy begging his father for another chance at basketball try-outs. The curse had been within him, an ugly doom that curdled inside his belly. He had night terrors of the woods and something running in the woods, but it was always too dark to see the face on the formless. Maybe that was just a foreshadowing of himself. Who he is destined to be. What shape hunger is in the shadows is only what face he chooses to adopt in the mirror. Reflection of purgatory is the reflection of emptiness, and there’s just no filling that hole when it’s dug specifically for the suffering. This is why he refuses to accept anyone else dying in a puddle of their own lifeblood for someone like him - something as small and undeniably unimportant as him. The growth of guilt is a boil on his side, swollen and aching with each hurried step through the trees. Branches reach for him and remain ignorant of the form of mother nature in his arms, her apologies curling out with an earth-shattering bemoaning of sorrow. A grunted out response as he finally spots his parked truck, mouth setting in a firm line. ‘I’m gonna’ look after you, okay? Just[...]stay with me. Stay awake. Listen to my voice, it’s gonna’ be okay.’ Mumbled out phrases that should mean something, but the worry in his throat is clogging the emotion in his voice. He is rough around the edges now, the panic settling along his shoulders with the weight of Atlas’ burdens. One hand clasping her back while the other opens the passenger side door, lifting her high enough to sit her inside safely. Palm shaking as he slides it along her cheek, guiding her head to lay gingerly back against the headrest. ‘Don’t do that again. Don’t scare me like that.’

#GENERAL: CHATS.#C: DAVINA CLAIRE.

&. ＲＡＩＳＥＤＢＹＷＯＬＶＥＳ

#*THE VIOLENCE IN TRANSFORMATION.

facinaoris

#*THE VIOLENCE IN TRANSFORMATION.

tvdversegifs

Tyler Lockwood and Matt Donovan | “He was my best friend.” (requested by anonymous)

#babies !!!!!! he loves his brother / bestie !!!!!#*THE VIOLENCE IN TRANSFORMATION.#&. GENERAL: MATT DONOVAN.

dreamyoncs:

all of this had been a foreign concept for the witch in all of her nineteen years of life. forced isolation could only make an introvert out of a girl, then a rebel. though her rebel phase had never come, as the mother was out of the picture before that, and she was suddenly left with a minimal experience in almost everything other than magic. despite the isolation, when davina loved, she loved fiercely and seeing how much her heart opened wide and bled for friends should be more than enough to guess what her lover would get. there could only be two outcomes, too, with a girl who was never loved enough; she either would lose the ability to love at all, her heart turning into stone and skin to ice; or she would love so much, too much even, to the extent of losing herself in the process. davina was undoubtedly the latter, her love was not gained so easily yet once someone did, it was hard to not guarentee a forever within that heart of hers. and maybe friends had it easier with that but she had never had a lover before. she never knew how to, despite having people flirt with her or at least try that, but with tyler it all came naturally. as if it was always meant to be this way, as if it was written in the stars. and just maybe it really was, davina thought. maybe somewhere holier than them, when their fates were being written into their skins long before their birth, they had the same ink embedded into their skins. maybe that red string was real and it had always been wrapped around their fingers and they never knew until the right moment. maybe she was made for him and all they needed was a little push to fall endlessly into the depths of each other’s souls. a moment of courage and perhaps they had a forever now. oh, how she hoped they did. because it felt right. it felt right from the very first moment that she felt his hand on her skin, only an innocent brush of fingers that left flames in their path. it felt right from the moment she promised that she would hold him until it passed down there during his first moon. he felt right and as scary as love was, she could not imagine a better someone to fall for. because she had a feeling that she would fall right into his arms safely, just like how she did when he tugged at her waist, just like how her arms wrapped around his neck like all of that was scripted into their lives ages ago. “ yeah? and i thought i was the boring one here. ” she half-joked, giving a small shake of her head as she chuckled. in all reality, she would always worry about being enough for him deep down, but there was no need to voice it unless in a form of joke right now. leaning into his touch as she began to caress the skin on her neck, davina hummed along to his words softly, eyes closing for a moment. “ it’s only a moment of discomfort against helping you out of your pain. i think i’d take the first one. ” she would tell him if it felt something serious to her but this was nothing to busy him over. looking at him again, her hands moved up from his shoulders to his neck, then finally to his cheeks, palms warm against the sharp structure of his features. “ i understand that you need to do it yourself, i do, but if you ever need someone i hope i’m the one you know you can turn to no matter what. ” a pause, she then continued with a shake of her head. “ you didn’t hurt me. and you won’t. i know that, but if things go wrong, i can protect myself. i would never even think of burdening you with such thing. everything’s gonna be okay. i promise. ”

⸻

The transformations began at birth, although not necessarily made for some small creature. Certainly not for a child, but even so he had accepted his environment with a steady hand and an iron ribcage. Reality wasn’t so much of dust and kingdom, but a dried landscape of old history and remembered carnage. His education of who he is and where he comes from was a benign reminder of pain and suffering. Tyler grew during summer months and went dark during the winter. Quiet and introspective, as thoughtful as the moonlight that would decorate his bedroom. It was the cold beginnings of his own season that had dragged out his temperament. He was washed out by the sharpness of inner turmoil, a translation stunted by the slaughter of his innocence. Inside this trauma, he had uncovered the glassy orb of his soul. Clouded and neglected from years of confusion, there it sat inside his chest begging to be touched - or at least nudged a little. The companions at that time had been the ghosts that came during rainfall. The mists of their unfulfilled wishes wrapping around his throat and pulling him through the fog of a gray daylight. A particular grief that only some sons carry had become so present in his daily life, that the very pressure of its body against his lungs was comforting. This palette of self-doubt seemed prevalent even in times of joy and success. He had fought gods and won, yet there was a scab that endured without fully healing. If he bumped it, it would let out an awful throbbing. This being the failure to become. This being the skipped steps in metamorphosis. Soon, he thinks, he will develop completely into a haunted thing. Some annihilation for those who eat at him and try to possess him, as though he was an inanimate as a straw doll. Witchcraft in the way any man pulls away from the tide of oppression. The world searches to punish him and remove him from this gilded platform of earthy premonition. Still, he persists. He burns without cowering to the flames of others’ greed, he shifts between wolf and boy and prince. He is large and with an appetite for some immortal destruction, a desire for ruination and for rebirth. A cocoon in constant state of limbo, not quite his full shape, not quite his infant one. This is how he views the world: perception as a hazy tint, a vagueness of wakefulness. Except for Davina. Davina was in clear focus, details all perfected and crafted to make him want her. Davina had sharp angles and pink lips, full cheeks and socks that reached the fatty bits of her thighs. The legs he wanted to be in between even now amid a more serious topic of conversation. Palms resting comfortably against her lower back, his heightened senses already able to feel the warmth from her skin even beneath her layers. ‘You got me. I’m the most boring guy around. Bet you’re just trying to date me for my money.’ Mouth twitching out a grin, smugness not dissuaded by the previous incident. In fact, he seems to be drawing more of his confidence back as he leans down, head nudging its way into the crook of her neck. Lips hover just an inch above the curve between her neck and shoulder, next response breathed out before he teases a lingering kiss along the curve of her throat. ‘I need you more than you know, Davina. For all kinds of things.’ The chuckle is low and hushed out, pulse reluctantly obeying him as he pulls away and nods towards his truck. ‘Wanna’ grab some food? What are you in the mood for right now, Sabrina? I know I owe you a lot more than some lunch, but I figured we should start somewhere.’

#GENERAL: CHATS.#C: DAVINA CLAIRE.

dreamyoncs:

davina was usually an open book to those who she deemed closest to her. she could try to hide her feelings when she thought that those would only harm them but she could only hide so much from her face. she was no actor, no liar, no manipulator. and especially to those who could read her like the back of their hands, they could easily see what was going on. and she felt like tyler was quickly becoming one of those people too, he was picking up her habits, know when there was something bothering her… she loved it, she really did – after all, having someone who knew what was going on with you without even a single word uttered was something so precious that most people would live their lives without having something like that. but it also came with downsides too. like right now, she wanted to keep that to herself in fear of worrying him about it but one way or another he knew. and he looked uneasy at best, so she knew that the best she could do was to tell him the truth as not knowing the whole thing would probably only cause him to feel worse. with a sigh, she looked at him again when he encouraged her to with his hands, settling better in his lap in this angle. “ yeah. it was. i didn’t want to get you worried over nothing. ” she said before she pushed her hair back a little, showing the almost healed skin, then looked down at her arm where there was only the faint yellow-ish hue that a bruise left during the healing process. “ see? i’m okay, almost good as new. ” hands planting on his shoulders gently, she continued. “ so i was at my spot, trying to release some of my magic back to the nature when that man approached. said he was experiencing similar things, that he could help and all. then turned into a werewolf, he was clearly struggling, but attacked out of nowhere. something must have happened, it was so… weird. like it saw an enemy. ” lifting her shoulders, davina’s hands then moved down to his chest, caressing gently to ease him. “ i fought him off, he ran away. i don’t think i’ll see him again. ” one of her hands moving up to rest on his cheek, she smiled softly. “ i think i need you to just hold me. ”

⸻

The itch had begun how it always had: beyond the skin and organs, deep underneath the tissue of the soul. The entirety of his being had started to decompose to make room for some newer version of him. An ancient remedy of all sons, perhaps, is to become something completely different. Shed the skin that looks like the father, forget about those scars that remain etched on the heart like earth scorched by an old fire, morph into a beast that obeys only the moonlight and the starless sky. He will be a different creature than that possessed thing that hangs around his homeland. He will not eat the hearth and the child that looks like he is being devoured with each disappointed gaze. He will not soak in the black bathwater until he is a figment of the imagination belonging to his father, he will not become an unholy burden that lingers in the attic and rattles the windows when the storms come calling. Still, the desperation to crawl away from his skin is not his own choice. He has inherited this curse, and there’s nowhere else it can go but down his esophagus and through the corridors of his resistant body. It causes a stutter in his breath, the impulse large and unstable to shift and hunt down the unknown wolf in order to protect her. Pulse strains against his flesh, a monstrosity that pulls the chain it's attached to - but he refuses to let himself turn to the primitive godlessness of a killer. An attempt to keep his breathing steady, response spoken through gritted teeth and furrowing in his brows. ‘This isn’t nothing, Davina. You could have been killed.’ Fingers trail gently along the yellowed bruise, the shape of it somewhat significant to a half-formed heart. Ironic considering he felt like his own was breaking apart the longer he sat here and did nothing to keep her from harm. He’s listening to her explanation, but there’s a ringing in his eardrums - a vague drumming that speeds along with each moment, the nearing of some foreboding finality. Her touch helps soothe him, bringing him back to the swollen tension of reality, but he lacks the commitment to the end of the topic she’s pressing for. Hands sliding around her waist and pulling her towards him to hold her carefully and even allowing lips to press themselves lightly atop her head in a wordless promise. A murmured out threat to the open air invites the floating dust around the ray of light to cascade precariously to the floor, ‘I know his scent. I’ll make sure he doesn’t have the chance to ever hurt you again[...]I promise.’

#GENERAL: CHATS.#C: DAVINA CLAIRE.#tyler @ peter: aha what's your addy i jus wanna talk !!!!!

dreamyoncs:

her magic was never really supposed to heal. ms claire had decided to shape those nimble limbs and faint flutter of heart into something big, someone to carry on the legacy long before she was born. their lineage most literally being endangered mingled with the basic human instinct to chase after immortality through their offspring, through carrying parts of them on had resulted in strong beliefs and harsh upbringings. davina’s fate had been written at the hands of the woman she would later call mother and it consisted of a simple command that held way too much of a meaning within; carry on. claire salvation was tied to her from birth, her role seemingly basic yet given how she was the only remaining member of her family, meant more than it gave off. that was supposedly why her mother became the way she was. somewhere along the line the distinctions between protecting and destroying blurred out, the woman causing more harm than any good she meant to do to her daughter. davina didn’t suppose she wanted to hurt her outright. if not for the love of a mother held against her only daughter, for her purpose in her life, she couldn’t have done all that to her knowingly, at least not from the start. not till davina began to crack her cocoon in desperate need to spread her wings. then the woman turned bitter than ever, trying her best to hold her down. claires were nothing less than stubborn and in that battle of power davina won over, perhaps proving that her mother had actually succeeded. was that the purpose all along? to create a girl who could overthrow the authority, a fearless and determined magic-bearer; perfect for the namesake? she wasn’t sure, yet would rather not ponder on it anyway. it was long gone to her, those days were over and she would find her footing eventually. it didn’t have to be today, nor tomorrow. the time would come and all davina could do was to do her best to become her wisest self in the meantime. yet, the contradiction showed itself in the way how she was pushing her senses aside before him, holding her heart wide open and willing to swallow anything he would give him into it. if that made her stray away from her purpose, she didn’t mind getting lost. she had a feeling she would find her way eventually, especially if he was to hold her hand the whole time. cause she surely meant to hold his. watching his pained expression ease into one of surprise, davina knew she did good. it was a small thing to her but could see that it saved him a lot of trouble, which was the only thing that mattered right now. “ this spell is not supposed to slow the pulse down, actually. i just… reversed it for you. ” and she was actually proud of herself to be able to help, already thinking if they could make it into something permanent. there was no doubt that numerous ideas were running through her head as her gaze fell somewhere distant for a moment, eyes squinting a bit. “ i didn’t know that it was all related to the pulse before. now i have a clearer picture. maybe… i can do something about it. ” biting the inside of her cheek for a moment, she was wrestling idea over idea in her head, cancelling out ones that didn’t feel like they’d work and others left for experimenting as soon as she had the time. her absent expression changing into one of surprise upon hearing him asking about her, she looked down at her hand which was slightly trembling right now upon extracting magic but wouldn’t last long. “ oh – it’s okay, it’ll pass in a minute. it’s usually not like that, just lately it seems to happen frequently. ” shoulders lifted for a moment before she took a careful step towards the other but still keeping the distance he carefully kept between them, davina looked him over. “ do you wanna… go? we can do this later. i won’t get upset, i promise. ”

⸻

There were many times when isolation and an empty room had been deemed as a more soothing companion than anyone else. A haunting that comes from within: he dreams of foggy swamps and burning fields. Nature eating nature, dust settling upon bones and corpses. He’s unsure if this is an omen, or just a mixture of forgotten memories. The symbolisms, however, are left alone. He doesn’t poke and prod at things that have barbed wire wrapped around them. Things being organs that continue to thud even in times of loss. Even during funeral after funeral of selves, lined up as if for a headcount. Resurrection as a daily routine, robotic and cold as if only moving a stiff statue of a man, rather than a flesh one. He wants to reach into the world’s core and pull out some semblance of reasoning. A logical answer to the pain and suffering that has happened, a beacon of hopeful reassurance. Instead, he remains silent. A black and white film that is rewinded over and over again, quiet if not for the occasional squeak of the tape and the whitenoise that follows. He will avoid those doorways that bring him to a dead end. He will not follow the false prophecies of his childlike aspirations, he will suffocate that small voice until it barely utters another word. It’s a challenge to become someone of substance when there’s been so many instances of breaking him. Boy to wolf to ghost. He was ripped from the title of son, followed by the title of a living entity. All importance in who he was had been erased and replaced by a mistranslation in his clumsy possession of identity. It was a god that had snuck inside of him and forced him to become spitting fire and uncontrollable rapture. A blindness that began at the base of the skull and traveled all around his head until he only saw red. All brief romances of kingdoms and otherworldly creatures left his brain. All fantasies have scattered, leaving behind the chilling truth of the methodical and the unfamiliar: he was monstrous and alone. But this isn’t completely about him anymore, is it? This is about wolves and the maidens who choose to run with them. This is about a trail of blood leading to pain and sacrifice. This is about defamation of self and old myths. Suppose that’s who she is to him. A woman bled out into the world filled with naivety and a heart that leapt from her throat to his open mouth. Either way, he knows he can’t keep her safe from himself - but doubt is what he’s made up of, and who was he to deny her? There’s certainly a deeper abyss inside of him and he’s unsure if she’d truly allow herself to be devoured by a faceless void like him. Son-hood his only recollection of a meaty form on this earth. Even then the father is king, and there’s no use in dethroning someone so blended in with terror and peeling wallpaper. Expression falters and softens into something a bit holier than what he’s used to. A genuine smile is slow-forming as he bows his head, shuffles his feet a bit closer until he can reach out and slide a palm along her waist. A gentle tug towards him, a breathy chuckle floats in the air between them before he speaks. ‘You’re full of surprises, Davina. Gotta’ say I’m feeling a little out of my element here.’ The other words he had wanted to say remained locked inside of Tyler, refusal of budging from his esophagus. He hates being out of control, hates the lack of dominance over a situation or the crawling itch that’s surrounding his body. She was ethereal, undeniably goddess-like in physical attributes and in her atmosphere of light - the beast entranced by what might eventually be his desolation. He’s studying her with his gaze aimed downwards to trail over her lips and then up to her eyes. There’s a concern underlining the heated glance, of course, but he’s not one to boast over the growing feelings. He will keep this love beneath his skull, tucked into a crevice and hidden until the next spring. Hand moves up to her neck once more, pad of his thumb skittering along her chin. ‘You’d tell me if you were hurt, right? You can’t do that again[...]I need to learn how to control it naturally. Like when I shift. I just need to[...]accept the pain. My[...]uncle told me sometimes it helps to have someone with me, but I can’t think about hurting you. What if next time doesn’t go as planned?’

#GENERAL: CHATS.#C: DAVINA CLAIRE.

dreamyoncs:

she should have been thankful that tyler had decided to follow her into the woods when she wanted to unleash uncontrolled and unstable magic into the nature out of habit. she had told him she would be fine many times before. that nothing would happen and even if it did, she could handle it. the witch knew his uncertainity was not for nothing. she watched him almost lose it when he found out about that incident with peter during a similar situation like this. on the inside, she shamelessly loved it; having to take care of herself in the facade of that strong girl got too tiring, too bitter at times. she needed the lover’s soothing hands on her skin, strong cradle that oozed safety, the quiet whispers in her ear that he got her. yet, she was nothing if not selfless. she’d rather suck it up than have him worry and feel bad about anything. that was why she was alone in the woods again, wondering how long would this lack of stability last and if she would keep attracting trouble wherever she went. that would have not been too bad if she hadn’t found out she’d roped tyler into this mess as well. when she was desperately trying not to cause him any harm in the slightest, she put him in harm’s way. that would eat her from the inside out, make her lose appetite and sleep, erase the ever present ghost of a smile on her face once they were out of here. she would carry the weight of tonight on her shoulders for the unforeseeable future, the blame already burning her eyes and tugging at her heart vigorously as she leaned over, doing everything in her power to remember those lines of old latin. panic-ridden hands were all over him, the wolf already forgotten as the only thing in her mind was to save him. she didn’t mind if it meant taking the harm herself – or worse. “ it can’t get to you. ” she said firmly as if that was what he meant when he voiced his worry, head shaking in frustration as she kept her hand pressed against the bleeding wound, pale limbs painted in deep red. “ stop– stop… i’m not going anywhere. ” she was trying to keep her cool, knowing losing it would not help right now, yet it did not come easy. she was all over the place; trying to focus, make the familiar chant slip past her lips, slow down the bleeding until she could complete the spell all the while keeping him still. which, he was not helping with at all. watching him fetch the keys, she was a moment away from swatting it away with the back of her hand, whole body trembling at this point. “ i. am not. leaving you. never. you hear me? no matter what comes. i will take it, not you. ” determination clear in her voice, she could feel that clearing her vision and the chant coming back to her finally. that one would have a toll on, especially with a wound so severe, yet she didn’t care. she’d drain herself if it meant saving him. lips moving in a whispered chant, she continued over his demands and pleas, body trembling and channeling magic until her nose is bleeding and the wound began to slowly but steadily close up.

⸻

Bleeding out under the branches of sycamore trees was a version of the dream he had long ago. It had been forgotten about, shoved aside to the corners of his mind and ignored for years. There had been other warnings, of course. The lack of birds following him, the fantasies of growing horns and hooves, the ripped apart bibles in his father’s study. The violence of transformation is not always about the snapping of bones and tearing of tissue. There’s something darker inside him and he feels it stirring during the harvest moon, a hunger that becomes unbearably insatiable during the rapid drumming of his pulse. He could be a feral thing once more. He had been one in the womb - birthed out from a bloodied sac with teeth and claws, an inhuman thing to his father even without the fur. This ugliness of freedom is nothing if not intimidating. He is terrified of the open fields and the sparrows who fly in groups. He avoids the sky when it’s bright blue and thinks only of rainfall during humid days. He is too contained in this skin, keeps himself tightened at the neck with the thoughts he can’t say and the panic he can’t fully digest. Tyler will always be burning on the pyre made from his own backbone. Sacrifice is not inherited, but he did adopt it from his ancestors somewhere along the precipice of death and resurrection. He lingers in limbo torn between being a god and simply being whole. What is a body if not a home away from a home? Something just as haunted, perhaps, but quieter. He no longer shakes when the winds howl outside his walls. While the ache pulsates with an irregular pattern, he recognizes that there are things in this world that should never be tainted with the colour of slaughter. Her being one of them. Shallow breaths wheezing out as he blinks back the overwhelming pain that comes with the injury, a determination raw and cracked in his mind to remain alive for her - somber grunt falling from his throat being the sole provider of more worry for her. ‘Davina[...]what the hell!’ The fog lifts for a moment, but then eyes dart to the crimson dripping from her nose. The scent is filled with saline and berries, sweetness seemed to make its homeland in her arteries. Molars grinding together while he pulls himself up to a kneeling position, hand brushing hers off him and cupping both her cheeks in his palms. ‘Stop! Stop, you’re bleeding. Jesus[...]come on.’ Arms sliding under her knees and against her shoulders, lifting her easily. He begins a steady walk towards his truck, mouth poised in a deep frown. Strength restored with the help of his own accelerated healing and whatever magic she had been doing. Scent of the other wolf is faint, obviously scared shitless by the earthquake that Davina had caused. A dry gasp, soft pants coming from his mouth as he moves quickly through the woods, eyes cast downwards for a moment to check to see if she was conscious. ‘Stay with me. I got you, I got you. We’re almost there.’

#GENERAL: CHATS.#C: DAVINA CLAIRE.

dreamyoncs:

davina was in awe of how fast her attachment to the male was growing stronger with each passing day. she didn’t know what felt like a small seed of affection and attraction could bloom and grow into something this engulfing. her thoughts were riddled with him; his dark eyes that drank her up with each gaze, his lips that curved into the all too familiar grin that made her day, his voice that could both calm her storms and brew them, his touch that made her weak in the knees… it was all him, him, him. from the moment she woke she looked forward to when she’d be seeing him later that day and the last minutes before she gave in to sleep at nights her fingers would work their way on her phone for a quick good night message. perhaps it didn’t seem like a big deal at first but not seeing him a whole day until now was actually far from the usual habits that they had fallen into so far. she could feel the question linger even though he had not parted his lips yet and in all honesty she was expecting that. yet she was unaware of the meaning he would lay in between the lines. at his tease, davina felt herself relaxing in his hold as limbs stretched and held onto him despite the harsh tone to his voice. she didn’t feel the need to look underneath that to search for something else to it. “ yeah? good to know. i won’t think about you anymore either, then. ” an easy chuckle slipping past her lips which faded off into a soft sigh when she felt his hand tangle in her hair, davina leaned into the touch as it found its destination on her cheek. the moment of relaxation dawning on her swiftly when she picked the change in him, heavy breathes and tightened hand wouldn’t slip her by of course. eyes finding his quickly, she tilted her head to the side slightly to take in his expression. his question albeit expected sounded a bit interrogative and in that moment she wondered if he could catch whatever trace was left behind from the fight. maybe he noticed the healing cut in her hairline, maybe his eyes darted to her lips and he saw the faint tinge of blood slowly leaving its temporary nest on her bottom lip where it was busted, maybe he caught sight of one of the fading bruises on her arm as she reached to wrap them around him earlier. maybe her magic didn’t work as fast as she thought it would, yet she wasn’t sure of that still. she would give him the truth of course but didn’t know just how much of it she needed to present, the need to not have him worried over something that was over still kept within. “ remember when i told you i had been struggling with my magic recently? ” she said, sighing. “ today was one of those days. i felt like i’d slip any moment and i didn’t want to hurt anyone, ” tyler included, “ so i went into the woods. it was… not pleasant. but i’m all good now. nothing to worry about. ”

⸻

Not necessarily one to claim that his namesake was anything other than a burden, he had become intent on destroying whatever clots lingered in his lineage. He is no prodigal son and he certainly has made a vow to the moon or to whoever was listening that he wouldn’t turn out like his father. However, there is an inherited rage to his version of the truth - no matter what story he’s telling. The curse of the family is the curse of the child. He hadn’t fully understood that quote until the very first breath of the resurrection. The air scattered with humidity and heavy pine, the teeth in his gums loosening and being replaced with something sharper. His belly a black mark inside his body that refused to digest whatever old flesh still clinging desperately to his stomach lining. It’s because of this transformation that he observes many things around him with a different cluster of instincts than he had before. This second life around he is suspicious of even the trees when they crack and sway to the wind. He studies Davina’s throat and mouth, the quirk of her lips before she answers - the heartbeat steady and rarely swerving from anything out of the ordinary. Except for that scent. That earthy smell of another beast swarming around her like a nest of angry hornets. There’s a soured expression on his face for a moment, an attempt at battling the need to vocally claim her as his around the woods and mountains. It morphs into one of urgency, palm feeling too hot upon the surface of her thigh. ‘What happened? I know it was[...]another wolf. Did it hurt you?’ A faint outline of a frown as it allows his lips to sink downwards, hands sliding up to her waist to shift her weight slightly so she faces him. There’s a thick haze of concern that curdles his vision shortly, pulse lifting suddenly and fingers digging in around her fleshy curves in her lower back as eyes carefully look her over. ‘What do you need me to do?’

#GENERAL: CHATS.#C: DAVINA CLAIRE.