Chapter Text
Deep beneath the ocean waves, far off the coast of the eastern seaboard, the dreamer slept. And in his sleep, he searched. Sifted through the dreams of others, picking through them piece by piece, bit by bit, in search of something. What he searched for, he did not know, but still, he searched.
And there the dreamer waited, with no dreams of his own, for millennia, waking only when called upon by those of the surface to do their dirty deeds, and then return to the ocean once more.
Light. There was blinding light. Sounds assaulted the dreamer from every direction, pounding against his skull and making his head hurt. The surface world was overwhelming, and his limited exposure to it meant that he wasn’t quite used to it. There was no light down where he slept, miles and miles beneath the ocean currents, resting in a cave along the ocean floor, where only the strangest of this planet’s denizens lived. Down there it was quiet, peaceful, calm. Perfect.
So why did he suddenly dream of light, of sounds and sensations all foreign to him? He wanted it to stop. It was overwhelming. His senses were being assaulted on all sides, and he felt a growing anger welling up within him. He wanted to lash out, to destroy everything here and return to the ocean, to his home, to the darkness.
The dream ended, and the dreamer awoke at the call of another contract. He was exhausted, more so than usual, and the thought of going to the surface, for his dream to become a reality, was ever so unappealing. Still, he could not refuse the call, and so, the dreamer dredged himself from his sleep, and headed for the surface, to meet the poor soul who had been foolish enough to summon him.
It was nighttime when the dreamer arrived at the shore, stumbling to his feet and shuffling out of the water, his tentacles dragging behind him. It’d been ages since he’d used this form, and it was taking him a moment to remember just how everything worked.
‘You must put one foot in front of the other in order to walk. Right, then left.’ He mentally reminded himself as he followed the call up the shoreline, and towards an abandoned looking mansion. ‘Put your tentacles away. Humans have hands.’
The dreamer, or H. P. Lovecraft, as he was known in this form, paused outside the door to the mansion, tilting his head, then stepped through it. The laws of this world meant nothing to him, and he only really obeyed them if they were convenient to him. Most of the time, they were not.
The call grew stronger as Lovecraft paused outside a set of double doors, where the call was strongest. He double checked his appearance, making sure it was human enough-Two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears, exactly 32 teeth-then stepped through the door, allowing himself to be seen by those in the room.
A ring of teenagers sat around the ritual circle, laughing, and Lovecraft’s stomach dropped. ‘Oh no.’
“Okay okay okay, back on topic already guys!” A black haired boy exclaimed, glancing at the others. He was holding his palm over the ritual circle, dripping blood into the center. “Slice your palms and let the blood pool here.”
“You think this ritual is really going to work?” A red haired girl piped up from his right, slicing her palm with a knife, then passing it to the next person before leaning over the circle.
“Can’t hurt trying am I right?” The brown haired boy next to her asked, elbowing her and nearly knocking her glasses off. He sliced his own palm and dripped blood onto the circle, then passed the knife to the last person in the circle. “Either way we’ll have quite the story to tell.”
“Are we sure this is a good idea?” The blonde haired boy furrowed his brow, glancing at the others nervously.
“No, I’m quite sure it’s not a good idea.” Lovecraft spoke up, stepping forwards into the candlelight and causing the kids to jump. Normally he did not interfere with the last part of the ritual-he didn’t typically get there early enough to-but he did not fancy himself being bound to serve a bunch of teenagers who obviously had no idea what dark forces they were meddling with.
The teenagers all glanced at him with wide eyes, looks of fear on their faces. The black haired kid snatched the knife from his friend, scrambling to his feet.
“Who the hell are you?” He demanded, holding the blade out towards Lovecraft defensively.
“I go by many names. They are as numerous as the grains of sand in the ocean, or the stars in the sky. That book of yours refers to me as ‘Cthulhu’, and the idol you hold refers to me as ‘Azagthoth’. Personally, I prefer Lovecraft. Howard Phillips Lovecraft, to be precise, but that’s so pretentious, so Lovecraft will do.” Lovecraft stated, with more boldness than he felt. He didn’t much like people, and despite the fact he had the power to level their cities and destroy thousands of them with little effort, he was quite nervous actually interacting with them. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that, despite all his power, he was at the mercy of their will, bound by contracts he did not wish to accept, in service to people he did not care for.
The teenagers stared back at him in disbelief. He made eye contact with the blonde boy, and the boy’s eyes widened in fear.
“Put the knife down Varian. I don’t think he’s kidding.”
“Like hell I am. He’s probably some hobo who's been watching us this whole time and decided it’d be funny to screw with us.” The black haired boy growled, his eyes narrowing. “Well? You think it’s funny to scare us, ‘Lovecraft’? You think this is some kind of joke?”
The hostility caught Lovecraft off guard. He frowned. Apparently, if he wanted to scare these four off and stop the ritual so as not to be bound to a bunch of children’s service, he’d need to do a bit more. Immediately, he focused his power a little, letting a tension build up in the air, an aura of fear surrounding him. He was tired. He wanted to go home and sleep. If that meant traumatizing a few teenagers then so be it.
“Tell me child, do you believe in monsters?” Lovecraft asked, taking a step forward. The black haired boy frowned.
“What the hell type of question is that?” He growled, but his voice wavered. “You better stay back creep, or I’ll have my friends call the cops on you!”
Lovecraft’s eyes blackened, and he tilted his head far too far to be natural, tentacles sprouting from his sleeves. The boy gasped, eyes wide, and he tried to step back, but Lovecraft blocked the route with his tentacles, cutting the boy off from his friends, who all turned tail and ran. Terror spread across the boy’s face as he turned back around to see Lovecraft standing right in front of him, the soulless black stare causing him to shudder involuntarily, and he screamed at the top of his lungs, collapsing to the ground and holding his head. His eyes squinched shut, and Lovecraft stepped back, allowing the aura to drop, and reaching up to snap his neck back into place as the tentacles disappeared back into his sleeves. He glanced at the ritual circle as he walked past, hoping he’d done enough to discourage the group from attempting to summon him again, and headed back outside. The sun was beginning to rise, and he winced in pain from the light, increasing his pace to make it back to the ocean before the brightness became too much for his eyes to bear.
The light reminded him of his dream, and he found himself contemplating it. He’d never dreamed before, not in the many, many years he’d been alive. So why did he dream now, and why did he dream of the light, of all things?
“I’m supposed to give nightmares, not get them.” Lovecraft muttered quietly to himself, but shook his head. He was too exhausted to try and think about things like that. He just wanted to sleep.
Lovecraft paused at the shore, staring up at the sunrise with a frown, then stepped into the waters, and disappeared under the surface. His form shifted, and he swam down into the depths, back to his cave, eager for sleep.
Once again, his dreams were assaulted with sensations of sound and touch and blinding light. When Lovecraft woke again, at the call of yet another contract, he was more exhausted than he’d ever been.