soupon_thesea
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“And that’s what I love about you, Arthur. You even surprise me.” With a snap of his fingers, Arthur found himself somewhere else. Without John to guide him, he is stuck at the mercy and momentary whims of a mad god. At least his intentions seem innocent for the most part.
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what to do when a naked american man and his rotting friend show up in your livingroom by soupon_thesea
Fandoms: American Werewolf in London (1981)
19 Nov 2024
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David wasn’t aware of himself in Piccadilly. It wasn’t him growling and snapping at passers-by: that was the wolf. He wasn’t of his own mind so he couldn’t have stopped himself from nipping the heel of a woman who rushed out in front of him. She didn’t even have time to react before the noise and commotion forced him away from the square. The wolf found shelter in an alley. He understood how the man in East Proctor, his lycanthropic sire, must’ve felt in his last moment. A final flash of comprehension, the knowing of his cost of cowardice; Jack was right to tell him so. So when David stood at the mouth of the alleyway, watching cops and pedestrians swarm what he knew to be what was left of the wolf, he knew the true cost of his mistake.
David Kessler was dead.
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The lights come up on a man center stage and he swears he's been here before. You would think that after performing the same show night after night, the lines and blocking would feel like second nature; that cosmic sense of deja vu must come with being an actor. But Arthur can't help but feel like he's lived this all before.
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Benevolent inspired take on the night Arthur lost Faroe.