𝕚𝕥 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕖.

I FELT IT [ ... ] EVERYWHERE.

A STUDY IN: coming of age. loss of innocence. blood vs chosen family. the game of survival. self - discovery. loneliness as a destructive force. persevering despite the odds. the human condition. companionship as salvation. overcoming fear. unconditional love.

#WIZARDSLAYS. an independent, private, highly selective &. mutuals only writing blog for william byers [ THE BOY WHO CAME BACK TO LIFE ] as interpreted from the hit netflix show stranger things. written primarily as an ORIGINAL CHARACTER. ANTI - SCH.NAPP / GEL.MAN / DUF.FERS. established since may 2022.

exclusively traversing the upside down with @partyleader.

these hooded clergymen had injected him with sleep potions to bring him into the temple of bhaal, where the god of murder orchestrated what almost seemed like a magical bloodletting, where he drained will of his blood and touched upon him with his own blood to create his chosen bhaalspawn outside of the normal methods of reproduction. it was purer this way, as the god had been in search of a usurpor to become the next slayer. unfortunately for will, just a child at the time, was the unlikely subject to this torturous procedure. he was kept in this temple for a week before being dumped back on the streets of baldur's gate, the last bits of the sleeping potion wearing off and suffering from amnesia of the events that had transpired.

he doesn't remember how he made it back home, but somehow, he does. because of his memory loss, he chalks it up to getting lost within the city, but they knew there was more to the story. there was just no way for them, or will, to find out.

will lives with this magical blood churning in his veins as he grows through puberty, and he experiences his first urge at eighteen years old. it nearly knocks him off his feet with how deeply he craved for bloodbath, which completely horrified him and he sought salvation through prayer to his chosen deity, ilmater (will had become a cleric shortly after the events of his kidnapping, in hopes that this would clean him of his past and make him born anew).

these urges continued to get worse as time progressed, and praying seemed to be helping little. will knew that something was not right. he knew, deep down, that there was something off. that he came back wrong when he woke up confused in the dirty cobblestone of the undercity. searching for answers, he sneaks out of rivington and back towards the place where all of his nightmares began. this time, however, he was met with a strange man lurking in the sewers, piercing eyes sending a shiver down his spine.

( his name was henry creel. will didn't know it at the time, but this man was one of his bhaal siblings - the one whom was bhaal's chosen, at least, until will became of age )

henry managed to trick will into trusting him, and in doing so, fell victim to his wrath. henry did not want to see will usurp him from his place as bhaal's chosen. he would do anything to prevent him from following his destiny - and it is in the damp, dungy walls of the sewers that henry not only lobotomizes him, he also forces an ilithid parasite into the crevice of his eye so that it can eat away at his brain, soon to become a mind flayer and no longer pose a threat to the throne that henry so badly wanted. from here, will was purposefully put onto the nautiloid ship, barely alive inside the pod, to be shipped off and never to be heard from again.

at least, that's what they had thought.

A: the energy

you arrive like warmth does, without asking permission. Before you speak, before you settle into a chair, something in the room softens. Conversations loosen their shoulders. Silences stop feeling accusatory. People don’t always know why they feel safer around you; they just do. Your presence is porous. You feel atmospheres the way skin feels temperature. Joy clings to you easily. So does unease. You often carry emotions that were never formally handed to you - just left in the air, assumed you’d hold them. Still, there is something grounding about you. You remind people that gentleness isn’t weakness, that openness can be steady. Colors: Honey, warm amber, sunlit linen Scene: Sitting cross - legged on the floor while others talk around you, quietly anchoring the room just by being there.

YOU  WAKE  TO  THE  PUNGENT  SMELL  OF  SMOKE  WAFTING  THROUGH  THE  CRACK  OF  YOUR  BEDROOM  DOOR.   its  acrid  scent  tickles  at  your  nose,   and  almost  instinctively  you’re  stumbling  out  from  under  the  covers,   panicked  breaths  straining  your  lungs  as  you  immediately  vacate  the  comfort  of  your  bed  to  go  investigate  the  source.   there’s  a  dreaded  familiarity  to  it  that  triggers  a  cascade  of  memories  to  come  flooding  back  to  the  surface;   the  white - hot  flames  that  had  scorched  you  from  within,   writhing  in  pain  from  an  invisible  enemy  that  couldn’t  be  stopped  no  matter  how  hard  you  tried.   burnt  flesh  memorializes  itself  within  your  senses,   the  fumes  of  the  horrific  aftermath  still  finding  a  way  to  haunt  you  all  these  years  later.   every  single  atom  of  your  being  is  begging  for  you  to  react,   to  do  something,   anything  to  acknowledge  its  pleas  for  peace.

BUT  THIS  ISN’T  HAWKINS,   AND  THIS  ISN’T  THE  MAC-Z.   this  is  the  quaint  and  cozy  apartment  you  share  with  mike  wheeler,   nesting  at  the  corner  lot  of  a  bustling  los  angeles  street,   far  away  from  the  horrors  that  had  plagued  your  childhood.   here,   there’s  no  demogorgons  or  upside  down  or  the  looming  threat  of  the  mind  flayer.   it’s  just  the  two  of  you  trying  to  move  on  from  the  past  and  start  anew,   together.   and  as  you  turn  the  corner  of  the  hallway,   you’re  greeted  with  the  sight  of  mike  fumbling  with  the  saucepan,   a  slurry  of  curses  tumbling  from  his  mouth  and  very  visibly  flustered  from  his  failed  attempt  at  cooking.   in  the  end,   it  isn’t  the  supernatural,   or  interdimensional  monsters  threatening  their  return   —   it’s  just  your  boyfriend  nearly  burning  down  the  place  because  of  the  big,   bad   …   bacon  grease.

although  the  sigh  of  relief  that  escapes  you  is  fleeting,   it  eases  some  of  the  tension  in  your  shoulders  all  the  same.

“   oh  my  god.   ”     a  giggle  stutters  on  the  last  syllable,   hand  flying  up  to  conceal  the  grin  blooming  to  life  upon  tired  features,   hazel  eyes  alight  with  amusement.   the  kitchen  looks  just  as  bad  as  it  smells   —   ingredients  thrown  all  over  the  counter,   a  multitude  of  dishes  littering  the  space  and  mike  had  even  left  the  milk  carton  forgotten  on  the  island.   whatever  his  plan  was  this  morning,   it’s  clearly  backfiring  in  the  most  disastrous  of  ways,   and  you  can’t  stop  the  laughter  erupting  from  your  chest.     “   mike,   what  are  you  doing ?   what  are  you  even  trying  to  make ?   ”

“    could   you   like  ,   go   back    to   bed   and    we’ll   pretend    you   didn’t   see    this   ….    total     and    absolute    disaster   ?  ”

TONGUE  CLICKS  AS  YOU  LET  OUT  A  RESOUNDING  TISK,   relenting  to  your  desire  for  closeness  despite  his  pleas  otherwise  as  your  feet  begin  to  carry  you  across  the  hard - wood  floors.   there’s  no  way  that  you  could  just  leave  him  like  this  now,   not  after  witnessing  his  self - inflicted  catastrophe.   maybe  you’re  taking  just  a  sliver  of  pity  on  him  as  he  adorns  those  big,   puppy - dog  eyes  and  trains  them  right  on  you,   as  if  it  was  all  part  of  his  grander  plan  to  draw  you  close.   either  way,   it’s  working.   

arms  snake  around  his  ribs  and  you  rest  your  palms  flat  against  his  chest,   rising  to  the  tip  of  your  toes  just  to  tuck  your  chin  onto  his  shoulder.   head  tilts  enough  for  your  lips  to  graze  the  pale  skin  of  his  neck,   a  gentle  peck  placed  just  below  his  ear.   the  warmth  of  adoration  blooms  within  your  chest,   sweet  and  syrupy  as  it  tingles  under  your  fingertips.

“ yeah, good idea. ” IT'S A BARELY CONTAINED WHISPER that trembles from your lips, nodding your head gently in quiet agreement. there's an effort on both sides to move from your current positions, but in your attempts in doing so, a sudden crashing sound reverberates against the walls and startles you right out of your own skin. fingers clasp desperately to the fabric of eddie's shirt instinctively as a means to calm the rapid beating of your heart. “ what was that ?! ”