I've decided to make a thread for anyone wanting to try their hand at a Hellboy fanfic. I'm a writing type myself so I'll definitely post on here. You can also post comments on stories, or suggestions in case someone would like to go back and change things. Let's try to keep it rated T for Teen, in case some Mature stuff is too explicit for virgin eyes >_< OC stories are fine, but Mary Sue ones can piss me off a bit. But then again, I'm not the guild leader!

I'm writing the first fanfic! This is just a cute little one-shot for Meyers with and OC. I think its a little upsetting he's underrated in the movies and was cut out of the second, so I thought it'd be nice to shine a little on him! Here's to all the Hellboy movie fans! May contain spoilers for the first movie if you haven't seen it! Told from Meyers point of view.
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Strange But Not a Stranger: A MeyersxOC one-shot

"I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound."
-William Shakespeare

The BPRD was a funny little organization. All the surrealism and visualizations of monsters and paranormal beings really came down to earth in that department. What was assumed and what was true clashed together in a bloody battle only to be slayed by the unyielding sword of reality. And for the time I was in the Bureau, I came to see that wild reality.

Like Hellboy. If there was ever a doubt that he was truly just a blue-collar, down-to-earth type of guy, it was only seperated by harns, a tail, and red skin. The appearance truly did strengthen that irritating barrier, as I knew when I first saw him, both mesmerized and terrified. A catalyst, he was open, bluntly honest, and always thought he was right. And I trusted that factor of his character.

Then there was Abe. Despite the fact we never got terribly close as friends, he was a curious person to be around. He was honest too, but not in the way Hellboy was honest. His honest was so peculiar it only left you with more questions about him then when you started. Less of a catalyst, he was more of an enigma, with gentle, quiet hobbies, very much like someone who enjoyed college education and reading. Not so nerdy, but very, very curious.

And Liz. Of course there's always Liz. Her own issues with herself make her max out Hellboy and Abe's personalities to the extreme. She had her own horror story that never matched her normal form. But she was accepting, more accepting than anyone I'd ever known. Her own problems made it easier for her to understand others.

But after the BPRD, after my adventure with Hellboy, Abe, and Liz, I had to learn one more thing.

What am I? Well I was about to learn....
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I was soon returned to an office station in Washington D.C., despite the protests from the Bureau. They were estatic that I had managed to befriend Hellboy in the time we had during our short adventure. But the FBI were even more insistent, and soon I had packed up again and moved to D.C. I kept a long distance relationship with my old partners via letters, but if I was too busy, news between the four of us was rare. However, no matter how busy my week was, I always, always, always put off time to enjoy a little coffee and a snack at Le Brange Deu Ceau. I had never takent the time to learn French, so I assume it was something fancy.

That's probably where my second little adventure came along.

Every Saturday at 8:00 am without fail, I sit in a usual spot by the window, with a coffee and cream and the featured pastry. And everyday without fail, someone would sit in the seat next to mine, seperated only by a pane of glass. Even in rain, that person sat out their, hair flopped over their eyes, sipping silently at watering coffee. I soon learned by passing whispers that the person's name was Lottie. And I would soon learn she would become my first and last girlfriend.

I merely appreciated her silently through the pane of glass. She was a lady and I was a man after all, and few things never change. Pale with pinkish hues, I would compliment her skin as that like a poet, a rare pearl lighted to nirvana. Nowadays I now it to be true, simply pale. Her dark, floppy hair always shaded her eyes, her eyes which I would grow to love after I saw them first that day...

I had finished my usual Saturday routine when I walked out. I was astonished to see her asleep on the table, gaining some raised eyebrows from the passerbyes. Being a kindly citizen I gently shook her shoulder.

"Miss? Miss?"

"Mmm...wha?"

She raised her head up and I was astonished. Her eyes had a special tint of yellow, not quite gold, but sunflower yellow. Her cheek had a honeycomb imprint from the table. I would have laughed had I not been caught by her gaze.

"Err..you feel asleep.."

She didn't reply. She simply gathered her purse and walked away. Behind there was a lingering scent, nothing flowery or sweet, but something oily and musky that made me feel light headed. I barely noticed one gleaming strand of hair caught on the iron table. Without even realizing it myself, I picked it up and twisted it in my fingers. I continued to do this all day until I finally lost it in my sleep when I collapsed onto my bed at home.

I had an amazing dream. I was with that lady, and we were in a voidlike place, no walls, only the floor of my room where pictures and posters hung up with nothing there to support them. And we talked. What about, I forget, but we did talk, and the vision of her happily gleaming eyes remained firmly pressed into my memory and would never fade away.

I became very ill after this dream.

I woke up feverish and sweaty, dizzy and unable to see straight. I called work with my apologies and stated I simply could not come to work today. I thought it a passing fever, took some medicine and rested all day. The next day, and the next day, and a week passed by and I had gotten no better. Everyone sent their regrets and wished a speedy recovery, but by the rate I went I was more or less likely to end up in a hospital. I was sorry to miss my usual Saturday coffee, but who would miss me? Not the chefs, not the clerks, not even Lottie whom had always been a pane of glass away...

I don't know where Lottie found my address, but come Sunday and she knocked at my door. I was surprised nonetheless when I invited her in. Lottie ignored my politeness and pulled my hand towards my room. After making sure I was firmly in bed, she shook my entire life upside down.

"You took some of my hair right?"

"Ex-excuse me?" I was flustered. How did she know?

"What you feel, is not a fever, or the flu. Its nothing bacterial or infectious," she leaned in and whispered in her shuddering voice.

"You just fell in love with me right?"

And that was it. We became a couple in that clumsy, unorthodox confirmation. And now those Saturday traditions became after work conditions. We sat together outside, come hell or high water, drank coffee, and I took in Lottie's strange musky scent. Despite my boyish inexperience with girls, I thought I had few illusions about dating. Lottie threw out those ideas. We barely spoke but a few sentences about our days at work. It didn't feel like a normal relationship should, holding hands, hugging and kissing, telling each other everything. But there was something concrete there that I came to appreciate and I mentally kicked myself for little a measly pane of glass come between it all the times before.

Lottie was no doubt unique. She had few hobbies, she worked from home as a translator and had graduated from a simple public college. She liked her coffee with sugar rather than cream, and always kept up our rituals. She'd depart with a pleasant goodbye, and we'd meet again the next day. But it bothered me still, these built in ideas on what a boyfriend should be and how a relationship should work. So I dared the next time we met.

"Are we really boyfriend-girlfriend?"

It merely slipped out, in a hush, embarassing to say when it finally cracked out of its impatient shell. She looked at me through her floppy hair, and finally grasped my hand. Bewildered, but willing, I let her pull me away to the park. We did not stop walking until the buzz of activity in the capital was dimmed. She sat me down on a seat and placed her hands firmly on my shoulders. We were alone.

"John, can you keep your eyes closed?"

I said I would. With eyes fluttered closed, she grasped my hands. When they were plunged into a soft, but oily sensations, I realized she had put my hands in her hair.

"John, We don't need to hold hands or go out on dates or tell each other everything. In your dreams I'm everything you want me to be, but in reality we are a lot more special. Our bond has something deeper than blood, and you can feel it now, pulsing from my hair."

It wsa true. The hair wasn't chemically altered, dry and dead, but it was alive, slowly dripping out that oddly satisfying oil into her dark hair. She moved my hands to my neck, and for the first time, we kissed.

And I was disappointed.

Not that she wasn't good, the thin, moist lips were smooth against mine and moved harmonically, but I felt a stinging pang in my chest. What kind of illusionist was I? What kind of love was I imagining before this anyway? An American couple, with a white picket fence and three kids? A dog and some odd neighbor? What had I been doing?

And somehow, that pang kept echoing inside me, reminding me everytime after that illusions were not real. They were never real. The only thing that's real was Lottie, and Lottie was a reality that rocked everything.

"Open your eyes."

And I saw again.
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This was based off of several novels I've read concerning the "American Dream." And since I often portray my enthusiasm for literature in what I write, this is what came out! Hope you liked it! Don't be shy to post whatever kind of story you like!