⟨ derek luh, he/him, 30 ⟩ as ⟨ eric honeyfield ⟩. often to be found ⟨ at the cliffsides hotel ⟩. Who's he loyal to? ⟨ the garnett coven⟩? Careful, or you're his current obsession in the glimpse of an eye. as written and loved by– ⟨ river, she/they, utc, eating disorders ⟩
II. HEADCANONS -- fresh out the slammer.
Name: Eric Zhi Honeyfield
Occupation: Clerk at Cliffsides
Age: 30
Sexuality: Pansexual
Species: Witch
Clan/Pack/Coven?: Garnett
Hometown: New York, New York
Relationship Status: Single
III. BIOGRAPHY -- break free.
tw: death, abuse, torture, almost-death of a loved one, blood, injuries
It's a silly idea, Eric thinks at first. But the past two years he's spent swooning over his very best friend all come down to this moment. It all comes down to this. And so Eric finds himself laying in a half-broken tent in the middle of nowhere, with a person that would rather spent their last summer break from school collecting rocks and camping, than attending whatever party is going on in their hometown, New York.
Eric first meets her when he and his father move apartments. He's eight, a short boy, full of bruises. His father, a hunter, fallen for a woman that turned out to be a witch, hurts him to avoid one thing -- for him to step into his mother's footsteps. For his powers to set in. Eric is never quite sure why he doesn't just toss him out to die, but he finds himself lucky to find his new home at Mira's place -- her Dad is cool, loving, and safes him a seat everywhere. And so it begins. Mira moves away to Toledo for a year, and the abuse gets worse. Gets bloodier. Eric is fourteen when it reaches his climax, and eighteen when he finds out just how badly it's worked.
It hasn't, to be exact.
When Mira gets ripped out of his tent by dark witches at night, Eric finds himself in a horrifying mess of magic, and when he sees it, the way Mira suffers, the way she hurts, his heart hurts so bad, that it all breaks free. Magic, only released in states of pain. That's all his life becomes.
Mira is traumatized, that's clear, and so they slightly drift apart, Eric so heartbroken that he finds himself in a constant state of pain -- he's old enough to move out, so he does. He's old enough to learn, so he does. He searches for his mother, searches and searches, and is able to find out she is alive, and well.
It all leads him to Port Liery. He takes her name, moves in with her, learns from her. He becomes the person his father never wanted him to become, the person he never wanted to become.
He becomes a witch.
III. WANTED -- break the curse.
HIS MOTHER -- Almost entirely UTP. Had a kid with a hunter (could have been aware, could have been blind in love), left the kid with him for UTP reasons, relationship with him now is UTP, but would have been good at first. Has to be a witch, but coven UTP.
HIS CHILDHOOD BESTIE -- As written in his bio -- totally down for changes, even of gender!
A FLING -- Someone he has been trying to distract himself with, from his best friend, from his life, from whatever, really.
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"I know it." He says, simply - slightly amused - but not making fun of the boy. Instead, he knows he'll order his own overly sweet, sugary coffee before the day is out. It's that time of year, after all, and what better way to indulge than pumpkin spiced lattes? "If you'd like a break, I can order you a water." He gestures towards where he hears sounds of people making beverages.
But instead, he pulls out a phone and navigates to the voice memo to begin recording. The screen reader helps with this lack of tactile information, at least. Sighing, he slides the phone forward and allows Eric to speak into it.
"You're looking for your father to sue him? Interesting. Most people - Well, I'm sure you know." He shakes his head. "I don't need to know details of your relationship unless you'd like to share them. But I would like to know everything you know about him - places he's frequented, types of hobbies. It'll help me piece together the information more solidly."
"I'm all good.", Eric confirms, taking a deep breath. Conversations about his father always seem to end up being the worst ones. They were only ever okay with Anika -- and still, brief. He's an alcoholic. He's an ass. He hurt me. All mumbled out late at night, perched up in some cheap, rain-soaked tent, freezing in winter. Late winter always got to him. Nature all frozen up, barely to be reached. His true home, the one thing in the world he loves the most. When others call out for Mom, Dad!, Eric calls out for Earth.
"Yeah." Eric gulps down his guilty conscience. "He was, uh, abusive." His voice doesn't break, but it gets significantly more quiet as he speaks. "Towards me, and my mom. She left him, though. He's an alcoholic. Well, used to be. So he gambled a lot. And I mean, a lot. He was in a newspaper for winning some big bucks once, but that was when I was ten. So twenty years ago. He should be around sixty. I was born in New York, and we lived in Toledo for about a year. Sounds good? Like, enough?"
( @jasimkhalil
-- Jasim's office
late, in the evening )
One hour until close, and Eric rushes in, bell ringing and all. With him comes a cold rush of air, the faint smell of sweat and worried, almost panicked eyes, that search the vet's office for any sign of danger. Maybe the other's would consider Eric the danger, given he's holding a full blown deer fawn, injured and squeaking in pain.
"I know you're not supposed to pick them up.", Eric points out before he can be scolded, "But the forest..." Maybe not the best thing to say, or to explain, "His whole family is dead. I found them, in the forest." Vampires, is what he truly wants to say, but showing off the greenish glow of his magic in the middle of the office wouldn't be the smartest thing to do. "I read he helps wild animals, too. On Google.", he defends himself then, quickly, "Please?"
Freyja opened her mouth to say something -- anything -- but then she closed it. What was she supposed to say? She hadn't told anyone about her engagement. Truthfully, she had no idea how. "There's no need. Really. I'm fine." Freyja insisted as she watched her friend step inside the apartment. Her cheeks were on fire from embarrassment.
"No, he's... busy." She muttered, her eyes shifting downwards. "I'm... no. Yes? I mean, better than I was, but..." She held her wrist up towards Eric, showing him the bite marks that had yet to heal. Her skin was irritated -- redness having spread across her pale skin around the wound. "Could you make it heal faster?"
"He-uh?", Eric grins when he gets his confirmation about a manly roommate, while slowly taking her wrists into his hands, and inspecting them, as he slides out of his shoes. The witch does his usual trick -- lifting two fingers, greenish glow, to check the apartment for heartbeats -- but she's right. There's only hers. "I can, but there is a payment." Wiggling his finger in front of his face, he ushers her to show him a place where they can sit down, "Why do you have a 'roommate'? Is there something I don't know?"
Obviously, there is. From what he's learned about Freyja, he's sure that this is not just a random arrangement. In his eyes, she hides so much depth, and more so: struggles. Trust doesn't always come easy, and especially after what he's heard has happened, he's sure there's more to it.
( @asa-m-holland
-- the forest
in the middle of the night )
Though the night is cold, Eric feels hot at first. The aftermath is beautiful, in his eyes. Stars he can watch up in the sky, stars all around. Stars in his head. Fading in and out of consciousness, Eric calls out to nature -- to Earth. Calls for help. There's no answer, not at first. Then, gently, rising from nothing, a trail of will-o'-the-wisps appears, leading to him -- Eric is not quite sure what's at the other end of the trail. He hopes it's Anika, hopes god, please, don't let it be a hunter. Don't let it be a vampire.
He's bleeding from multiple wounds, and is so dazed, that there's no word that leaves his lips. Eric gasps for air, as tears stream down his face. Turning his head to the sight, he watches the flowers he was about to grab, swaying in the wind. The approaching footsteps echo through him, but when a greenish glow surrounds his fingers and he senses -- nothing. No heartbeat.
"No.", Eric whispers, deeply afraid, in an attempt to scramble himself off the ground, "No."
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( @anikabooker
-- his apartment
late, in the evening )
Blood is rushing through his ears, and it's loud, like a river. There's not really sleep, as he knows it (but how does he know sleep: waking up drenched in sweat, tortured by nightmares -- and that is in no way different to his current state). His couch feels itchy, like a bed made out of thorns, and not soft corduroy. The walls are moving, the lamp is shaking, and when he rolls to the ground, it feels itchy, too. His whole body hurts -- especially the slash in his abdomen, ripped open from his movement, ulcerously and red.
When others scream for water, Eric's mind screams for earth. For the ground. Soil, plants, a river and it's rocks. Cold, to his heat. He has to crawl to the door when he hears Anika ring the bell, has to pray she has her emergency spare keys he gave her, when his fingers can't reach the doorknob. "Anika.", he croaks out, slumped against a wall, "Earth."
When August had laid down it had been in bed, his injuries from the masquerade finally healed so he could comfortably lay on his side. As far as he knows, he is still asleep. Mind blank, quiet, as time passes. But his body twitches, and writhes on the mattress for a while before he is on his feet, something primal having taken over. As if in a daze he makes his way out of the complex, bare feet unbothered by rock and hard pavement as he moves blindly through the streets and into the treeline. His mind was quiet, blank, unconscious. Even as his bones begin to break, clawed hands rip at the shirt that covers him.
Deeper into the woods as if on instinct alone, the wolf perhaps having taken over, golden hues glazed as he shifts. Moving through the trees and undergrowth seamlessly. Something must alert it, the sound of foliage rustling, a deep growl vibrating in his chest. The beast is on the hunt. Hunched over as it finds and stalks its prey. Still, his mind is blank, with no sign of the man inside even as his form pads forward, its maw glistening as if it’s gone rabid, eyes shining as they are hit with a beam of moonlight.
The shift is nearly complete, the large black-furred figure slowly stalking out of the shadows as it moves in on the witch, a low growl sounding in its throat. Not a warning, a threat. It’s hungry. There is a split second as it finally fits its paws to the ground, jaws snapping as its body tightens, and coils, ready to lunge as its growling grows louder.
Only in one moment has Eric ever destroyed with his magic. A primal call for help from a young, desperate teenager, had awakened magic long suppressed deep in his core. Trees had broken and bend and grasped, to rip a set of witches out of their formation. To save his best friend. Pain had made it start, and had to be used ever since then -- an endless circle Eric was stuck in. Pain, helping, healing, pain, helping, healing. There's no shard or knife or Anika around to help. He's sent her the text. Told her he feels like he's being watched.
There's no connection to nature, as Eric tries to rip his hand open on a nearby try, and it doesn't come when his skin doesn't break, doesn't hurt badly enough. He knows it will be hard to heal himself when he's injured my the person in front of him -- and still. Doesn't run. Doesn't jump. There's simply no point.
Is it full moon? Eric doesn't know. Simply stands, hands spread apart, desperately searching for that green glow. Tries to think of Anika so hard, she maybe thinks of him too. And then he braces for the pain, as the wolf creeps closer.
( @moonpains
-- the forest
late, middle of the night )
Eric isn't proud of most of his actions in life. Being best friends with a hunter (though she claims not to have friends at all), helping her out whenever she needs it, roaming through the forest in the dark, at night, just to fulfill his interest in potions. What witch even thinks of that? Night-blooming Jasmine, and whatever it's good for, is next on his list.
Unaware of his surroundings -- like he always is, and that even though the rise in hunters and killings of witches should be something that concerns him. He thinks of Anika, when he starts to feel like someone's watching him, takes out his phone to text her, but only reaches a dead end, this late in the night. And then he sees it -- a figure in the dark. And Eric, sadly is not a Bolter. Eric stays, and stares.
Bones cracked back in place, still healing from the night before. Hence, why she prefered not to be seen in that state — savoring what litle pride and dignity she had left. How many times have they been here before? She remembered Eric patching up her wounds, with that apologetic look in his eyes that meant — it would scar. Anika never cared for those reminders on her flesh, didn't care if the bone would heal right, or the fact that none of this was particularly nice to look at. As long as she was back on her feet.
She'd advised him not to come — threatened him even. I'll kill you — Anika stared at the last of their conversation over text. Then she got off that hard matress and made sure the coast outside her shoebox of a room was clear. Eric's face wasn't the only one threatning to show, yet the one in the other room she avoided for a different reason entirely.
But when did Eric ever listen to reason? Or threats?
Newly healed flesh almost ripped, once slender arms reached for a bottle of amber liquor. Wincing at the painful tug in her abdomen. Almost as painful, as Eric's demands.
The door swung open sharply. "Told you not to come here." like his concern was only going to irk her more. Arms spread out like a barrier between the door and it's frame.
Now that he'd seen her in the flesh, Anika hoped he'd be satisfied and leave.
"Cool. Very scary, that look on your face. I almost winced, kind of? When you opened the door? Maybe that was just because you look like shit, though. And you look guilty. I can see it in your eyes, the creeping feeling of ignoring your one and only true friend." Eric wags his pointy finger in front of her face once, then twice, "You don't befriend witches for fun, you befriend them for torture. Or something like that."
Eric holds up some potions he's brought, then wiggles his other, scarred hand, "I didn't survive that slasher event for nothing. Come on, Anika. Let me at least check you up." His last sentence is less joke-y, and more serious. Which Eric rarely ever is -- it's his best weapon, getting rid of his jokes when his actions actually mean something to him. When he's actually hurt, or actually... just serious.
"You ignored me, too. And being seriously injured is not the time to throw temper-tantrums, no?" Eric peaks inside of the apartment, "Do you live here alone?"
The client wasn't late, he was. And it was the first time in their dealings that he's been so. Another client of his had needed an emergency meeting of sorts, and he had to make sure to give her the information she desperately needed.
So he slides into the seat across from where he's instructed Eric to meet him, and folds his hands over the table. He cannot see the man in front of him, but he can hear the shuffle of clothes of someone across from him.
"Apologies. I didn't mean to keep you waiting so long - And unfortunately, I don't have much information to tide you over. But I was wondering if I could get a rundown again on what it is you'd like me to find?"
"What's up?", Eric says more as a greeting than as a question, "No worries, dude. I've been chilling drinking too much of that pumpkin spice stuff. You know, the sugary coffee that makes your teeth hurt?" The witch twists and turns the paper cup in his hands, before taking another sip of said. Not that it calms his nerves, no, quite the opposite actually -- it makes him even more fidgety, and when Eric finally realizes, he pushes the cup to the side and leans forward in his seat.
"Just my Dad, actually. I'm not quite sure if he's hiding from everyone, or if he's just hiding from me. He doesn't... necessarily like, like me? I'm actually also not just... searching him for fun. I want to... sue him. Yeah. He's called... Chen... Dōngyě? I think. If he hasn't changed his name."
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( @freyjaxcarter
-- Freyja's and Aaron's apartment
early, in the morning )
"Why does it smell like a man in here?", Aaron asks, eyebrows raised, the moment Freyja opens the door. "It looks like a man in here, too. There's not even a parallel universe in which I could see you wearing that awful jacket." The witch leans into the apartment, seemingly spying, "We're going to pamper you back onto your feet, and in the meantime you tell me all about your mysterious roommate." Wiggling his eyebrows, Eric steps inside, takes his shoes and jacket off and then finally looks at Freyja instead of at the obnoxious jacket (it's Aaron's work one for his emergency shifts out, neon orange and bulky).
"Is he here?", Eric whispers shouts, allowing himself one more snooping gaze, before turning right back around to check on Freyja. "Nevermind, ditch the conversation about useless guys. What's up with you? Are you okay?"
( @anikabooker
-- Anika's apartment
late, at night )
In his whole life, Eric was sure, he had made some great decisions. Some of them hadn't been perfectly great, some had been amazing, and some terrifyingly awful. Today's decision might have been his peak -- peak of hitting rock bottom.
Anika was great at avoiding him, that had been proven, and Eric was great at getting on her nerves. Maybe tracking her down with a tracking spell (through a random pair of washed socks he had sneakingly taken at one point, just in case) wasn't one of his best ideas. Maybe it was genius. But no matter what it was, Eric didn't feel exactly great standing in front of her apartment's door, after a kind neighbor from upstairs had let him in. The lengths he had to go (Sorry, I forgot my keys to my girlfriend's apartment!) just to knock on her door, would haunt him for at least a few minutes.
"Whoah." The earth underneath her -- surprisingly -- shifts slightly in order for her to maintain her balance. Rarely did her magic respond kindly to her. Or anyone, for that matter. When her eyes shifted towards the person and she suddenly realized who it was, she frowned. It was clear that Eric had drank at least one too many.
"Are you okay?" She couldn't help but ask as she stared at him with concern. "We need to get you some water." Freyja held out her hand towards him, hoping that he'd take it.
"Are you okay.", Eric echoes, not sure what to answer -- and he just leaves it like that, nodding away at her offer for some water. "Bad week.", he notes, blinking rapidly in an attempt to shoo his fuzzy vision away, before slowly taking Freyja's hand. "I don't really wanna be here, but I promised someone I'd be here, so I'm here."
Eric looks down at their hands -- it's been a minute since he held hands with someone in any way. Anika is not big on physical touch -- not that he is, either, but sometimes, a little is nice. Sometimes, Eric feels a bit alone, when Anika is not around -- because who else is there, now that he's officially stuck in Port Leiry. Freyja is a nice reminder that there is other people, so he tags along, silent and compliant.
"Are you okay?", he then asks, "You look nice. Pretty."
She was aware no magic came easy to Eric, but Anika knew better than most what he was capable of. A lot more, than some silly tracking spell. She'd seen it with her own eyes — raw power. Not without a little bit of help first —
Green eyes traced over his open hand, and then back to his face, "How fast do you heal now?" Anika wouldn't risk exposing the witch to the blood thirsty beasts hiding behind spelled masks.
So she considered her other options — throwing a punch, perhaps a slap, yet would that be enough for any kind of spell, let along the one she needed performed?
How selfish, can you really be?
Lifting the edges of her dress slightly, the hunter removed the dagger that was secured on her thigh — a silver edge flashed before him. "What's the most we can get?" because she was not only selfish, but greedy too. Couple of hours wouldn't do — hell, he'd still be around then. "As far, as he'd go. Still city limits, I hope." anxiety evident in the way she flipped the dagger in between her fingers, eyes focused on the way the blade spun. "He gotta reside somewhere, right? Gotta have a sire and a bunch of minions. They always do."
"Fast.", Eric mumbles back, "I practiced tons for moments like this." It takes more effort, more pain -- more memories tumbling through his brain and making his heart hurt, but Eric is okay with it, if it's for a purpose -- and healing usually comes with the prospect of keeping himself alive.
The witch bites back a comment when she lifts her dress, and then says it anyway. "Maybe do that again later, for one of the hot Cowboys out there, eh?" There's no cowboys, but lots of boys, he figures -- so, close enough. Eric turns the pin once again, examining it's size.
"The longest I can do is 48 hours.", he admits, "And that takes a minute to spell, which would surely raise some attention from our little teething friends." Eric sighs deeply, then nods, "Is 36 enough? City limits is eaz." Eric nods in the direction of her dagger, "Minions like you have me, no?" Eric's smile is daring, drunk teasing full blast, "Come on, love. Hurt me. I know you like it." He's not quite sure if she does, really.
( @freyjaxcarter
-- the masquerade
late, at night )
When Eric first stumbles into Freyja, he's plastered out of his mind, and he's not quite sure why. He doesn't like the burn of whiskey down his throat, doesn't like the loss of control over his body. Maybe it's just the mass of nightmares and flashbacks running him over in recent days, that keeps driving him to drink like this.
Holding his hand out for a weird, handshake-like greeting, Eric retracts it just a moment later to wipe his hand across his slightly sweaty forehead -- sweaty from anxiety. "What's up?" He gives weird fingers guns, then drops them a second later, to release an awkward, cough-like noise. "Long time no see."
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( @dahliaalcott
-- the masquerade
late, at night )
Focused on performing magic for Anika all night, Eric has found himself tipping drink after drink. His mother isn't attending -- why would she care, anyway. She's not the biggest socializer, not the biggest fan of crowds, especially if they involve vampires. He's gotten a scold in from his hunter friend, and now finds himself tipping back water instead of delicious-somethings.
His joy to spot Dahlia in the crowd is sincere -- and even if he's not a 100 percent sure if it's her, he decides to walk over, beating the alcohol in his system, managing to walk in a straight line. "Dahlia!" His voice is more of a whisper, not wanting to expose her identity to the rest of the crowd (though he personally thinks it's easy to tell, anyway).
"It's nice to see you here!", is now more of an exclamation, "Are you here all alone or..?"
For once, she was the sober one. Anika maintained great self-control, when she was in the race for getting what she wanted. And Eric knew — for about a day already, what was expected of him — to be coherent enough to perform a spell. The item she needed to give him was a small pin, the tiniest she could find, easy to plant on a piece of fabric, and hard to spot.
They've done this before, somewhere between Ohio and Tennessee — she'd found a way to help him awaken his magic, not for her own personal gain — no, because having a struggling witch trailing behind you didn't really come with any benefits, only trouble. And Anika didn't need any more trouble, than she could handle.
Ragardless, the witch had been there for her, in more ways than she cared to admit — always cooking up something, when she needed him to.
"Eric, if you fuck this up — " words passed through a smile so tight, it could almost snap like a rubberband. A quick glance around the room, and they were off — Anika tugging him by the sleeve, to one of the balconies. Closing the glass door behind her.
"I need you to spell this." she pulled out the small pin from her purse, the fabric on the inside still bloody from the dagger she carried earlier. "Tracking spell. That's one of the easy ones, right?" like she's ever even been remotely interested in witchcraft to know this. But she had spent enough time in his presence, to actually listen to his rambling.
Eric allows her to drag him -- like always. Sometimes, he slips right into the role of a simple barbie doll, arms tugged and motions ordered until it's all to her liking -- and maybe he's grown used to it, so he doesn't complain. "I never fuck things up.", he mutter complains, lowering his chin like an insulted child, but he takes the small pin out of her hand, inspects it and nods. "Easy.", he keeps complaining, "Magic isn't just easy."
At least not for him, because a second later her hold his hand out in her direction -- her call to maybe cut, or stab, or scratch, whatever she's willing to do, and because he doesn't like doing it himself -- giving the little inflict of pain that releases his pressure, gets his magic going. His palm is clean of scars, though -- simply because his magic is nowadays good enough to heal his skin fully, leaving no scars behind.
Eric twirls the pin in his fingers, then looks up at her from his slightly bowed position, "How long does it need to last? How far does it need to reach?"
