#red note received

@deviloutofhell

                   “...Yeah, I guess. But uh...no one wants to give up hope. That the uh, the story will end differently.” 

He can’t hurt you. It’s the first thought that runs through Henry’s mind when he sees the man. He’s dreaming, of course. He always comes back here in his nightmares, but it’s the first time they have crossed paths. Usually it’s Stone, but it’s been a while for him. Lately, Henry has been alone, wandering through decrepit hellscapes. His hand clenches into a fist and he wishes he had something but then Walter speaks.

It’s not what Henry expected, if he expected anything at all. He’s thrown off, and perplexed. The statement doesn’t make sense. Or at least he can’t seem to understand it. There’s something hot roiling inside him, his nerves feel jittery, his face feels hot. He’s felt numb for so long, anger tastes unfamiliar.

Walter has the audacity to demand. It’s not a request, it’s not a plea. Henry’s jaw aches from how hard his teeth are clenched.

Henry crossed his arms over his chest, canting his head to the side as he looked the ghost over. Another night of dreaming, another night of being stuck here with this corpse.

The ghost over your shoulder, actually. But if Henry took a good look at the woman, he could notice, too, that she held the wrong kind of aura about her. He blinked a few times, snapping back to attention as if he had been far away. He swallowed, even as his gaze flitted between her and the specter.

What was my muse’s first heartbreak?

                 This over here. Henry has never been the kind of person to have a ton of relationships, obviously, however when he does get into a relationship, they are almost always long term. His first was in high school, and it was an on again/off again kind of thing, because the girl was more ‘popular’ than he was, and so sometimes she would give in to peer pressure and their relationship would go sour. Henry was pretty into her, though, and kept it going. It fizzled out in senior year, and ended amicably between the two of them. He didn’t really have any hangs up and so I wouldn’t say it was at all ‘heartbreaking’.

              However, the relationship with Allison lasted about two years and was probably his first serious one. Prior to Allison, he’d dated a few girls--nothing major, just kind of trying to get into the dating scene at the behest of ‘friends’ he’d made, or the one or two from high school that stuck around into the early years of college. Allison was the kind of girl he’d consider way out of his league, but he’s always had such poor self esteem, and so never considered himself anything but ‘dull’. So when Allison came along and showed interest, he was pretty sure that she was just playing a game. But when two weeks turned to a month, and a month turned to two, he started to realize she was actually serious. 

sex/romance headcanons | accepting

What are my muse’s requirements for a potential partner?

        Requirements sounds like such a harsh, strict word here. Henry likes someone who is kind, thoughtful–possibly even a studious type. Someone who might talk a lot about their hobbies, and their projects or television and always have something interesting to say. He likes listening, and so the person would have to be the kind that doesn’t expect too much input from him, or at least understand he’s not that talkative. He’s also the type that likes someone who’s adventurous, but not in an overbearing way. I don’t know why, but I’m literally thinking of Carl and Ellie in Up. While not necessarily a ‘requirement’ he does prefer women over men due to a previous bad relationships. If he were to enter a relationship with a guy, it would take a lot of time and effort and patience because Henry has some unresolved issues concerning physical intimacy and etc.

Who would my muse sleep with if nobody ever had to know?

          If we are talking people he actually knows–there’d be no one. But if we’re talking anyone in the world at any time he could choose? It’d probably be some rock star lead singer. Like Robert Plant. Or Steve Tyler. Axl Rose. But, you know, back when they were young. 

Does my muse like Valentine’s Day?

          It’s one of those days he never really pays much attention to until it’s right in his face, unless he has a partner. It’s a nice sentiment.

What are the ways my muse says ‘I love you’ without actually saying it?

@sidewalkofthecity

               His breakdowns aren’t the cacophonous implosions they once were. Time has tempered his distress and made it commonplace. It’s no easier to deal with, but he’s grown so numb, his own emotional turmoil hardly creates friction. When a new surprise presents itself he isn’t disturbed, not as much as he used to be. It’s as commonplace as his distress, and so he compartmentalizes it all. His mind is like a backroom full of file cabinets, all labeled and organized. Or, perhaps, it’s like a morgue, each cold chamber filled with the rotting memories; a file carefully describing the dissected pieces.

              His breakdowns are as if streetlamps were shut off one by one, until night time and darkness settled into every crevice. It’s like slowly descending into frigid temperatures so that the body is one chattering collection of bones held together by stiffened skin and muscle. He does a good job of pretending he’s okay, except for the stuttering and the shivering hands, the jerky, staccato nods. He shuts his eyes and takes in a deep breath, a second, and a third, until he can feel his heart beat slow. His pulse no longer dancing a mad rhythm. There’s still a tremble in his hands as he removes the cigarette carton from his pocket and lights it. 

              It’s abated, for now. Later, he’ll sit with his head pressed between his arms, knees pressed up sharp against his chest. He’ll wonder when he got used to being splintered pieces. 

       Red rust, and blood, was behind his eyelids, the sound of crazed laughter in his ear. A woman's hand held in his. A sharp pain blossomed in his shoulder. His heart raced, hammering in his rib cage. Hands shook attempting to light a candle and the patches of bruised skin was spreading across her figure like poison. His head hurt--

        He woke with a sharp gasp. Eyes opened and spun wildly, for a moment still there. His eyes fell on Heather, and he stared for a few seconds. Panic fled as he realized where he was and where he was not. A hand ran over his face.