I can't stop thinking about how badly I want to be Reverend Lester Lowe’s safe space. I want to cuddle the shit out of that man after a nightmare.
As the moon gets fuller and he becomes more and more disheveled. Anxiety and irritation building in him, he pays no mind to keeping himself looking presentable. Five o'clock shadow deepening into a darker shade, you can tell he hasn't shaved in days. Usually gentle green eyes blacken to a shade of unease.
Early on he's confused by the changes. Struggling and failing to keep his temperament in check, and he finds himself isolating in the church the more the moon swells. He keeps telling himself he's just tired and that maybe he's caught a bug that's been going around town. Opting out of any social interaction he can.
The nightmares begin shortly after the first full moon. Ripping, tearing, horrid dreams that feel so vibrantly real he wakes screaming. Shuddering breaths and soft trembles in the dark occupy most of his wolf-less nights. Muttered prayers in hushed tones, aimed at protection and comfort. He's scared, but he can't quite put his finger on why.
When he can't fall asleep or doesn't want to, nightmares digging into his subconscious and giving the tell tale warning signs of their arrival, he'll visit you. “Night walks” he calls them, tells you they soothe his occasional insomnia. Tells you that he “decided to drop by and check in.” even though it's 2 in the morning and any decent person would be asleep. Flashing you a nervous smile, while his hands twist and rub together anxiously. He doesn't want to impose, but he can't help himself.
You know what he needs. He wants you to take him in and make him feel safe. Comfort he gives to others but rarely receives himself. It's vital for him, especially nearing the full moon. The nightmares are bad and his mental state worsens. You don't miss how he trembles, the shimmer of unshed tears brimming in his eyes. As soon as you open the door, sleep is the furthest thing from your mind. You can see the damp beaded sweat on his brow beneath the dull golden glow of porch lights. “Oh, Les.” You coo, foot propping the door open so he can come in of his own accord. Holding your arms out, welcoming him into an embrace if he chooses.
He never refuses. head coming to rest on your shoulder, arms either wrapped tightly around you or crossed over himself. hands rubbing soothing circles on his back. Shuttering breaths don't ease, and you brace yourself for a long night. You expertly navigate backwards to the couch, getting more comfortable for the emotional clean up you're in store for.
“What's wrong, Les?” You tilt his head to look at you, but he avoids your eyes. Silence envelopes the surroundings, everything quiet aside from occasional sniffling. The Reverend was a quiet mourner, lest anyone acknowledge that he had demons of his own.
You wait for him to respond. Many nights he'll avoid it, head dipped low and sulking. Not welcoming conversation he has to partake in, preferring to just wallow in your presence and physical touches.
“Just ain't hav'n a good night s’all” his gentle southern drawl is little more than a whisper, “.....I had another one tonight….. Real bad.” he rubs his eyes furiously. You sigh, gently resting your forehead on his. Hands still resting on his face. He's still avoiding eye contact, it must have been a horrible dream. You don't push him to talk about the nightmares, having him relive it and regurgitate the horrid details sounds needlessly cruel. He tells you if he feels so inclined, although most times he would prefer to forget.
“It's okay. I've got you now. You're safe in my arms, Honey.” you repeat this like a mantra, and he seems to settle down a bit. Breath slowing and deepening. “Let's go lay down and I'll read to you, yeah? Put this nasty business out of your mind.” He nods and you rise, for a brief moment he loses the warmth and shivers. You offer him a hand and he greedily takes it, you lead him to the bedroom. It's almost routine at this point, climbing into bed and Lester follows. Planting himself firmly on top of you, so your arms envelop him. Your soft voice above him begins speaking words from the nearest novel you gave on hand. The sound of your heartbeat thumping steadily, it's so ordinary it makes him feel normal. Like all of this is a bad dream.
He doesn't feel worthy to envelop himself in your reassuring intimacy. He feels dirty and wrong, he wants to hide but he craves your warmth. He feels unclean, like he's tainting faith with his congregation, coming to you for comfort instead of relying only on the word of God to see him through. Look at him now, sharing a bed with a woman he is not wed to. Even if it is only platonic, he feels shameful for it, like hes taking advantage of you. You show him so much compassion he can't help but follow you around like a lost puppy. Savoring your sympathy as long as you provide him with it.
Hey do you think you can draw Lester Lowe from Silver Bullet, he's my favorite werewolf boi but unfortunately he doesn't get much attention! He's a good boi!
not entirely happy with how this turned out but dsgdshdf I tried
