#i feel stupid I swore to god that was two bears high fiving

[marvelobsessedteenager]

All The Hurt - Chapter 3

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings: ANGST, Peter was an ass, reader is a hurt and petty bitch, fluff to make up for the angst, curse words, lots of “coincidences”, horrible description of death and feelings lmfao I’m sorry

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: dis a long one HAHAH

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You groggily twisted in your bed as you tried to find the nagging nuisance that interrupted your peaceful slumber that barely lasted five hours. Your vision slowly focused as you rubbed your eyes vigorously, still searching for that damned alarm clock that you couldn’t seem to find.

“For fuck’s sake,” you grumbled, turning on the lamp beside your bed and hissing at the sharp light that was out to attack your pupils. The alarm clock, which somehow made its way onto the floor, read 7:00 AM, September 14th.

You scratched the side of your head, wondering why on earth your past self decided to wake you up this early on a random day.

Until it clicked.

September 14th. The Academic Decathlon competition that was being held in D.C. - the one your team had been preparing for months on end.

With all the ruckus that’s happened in the past few months, the competition was filed under the “unimportant events” cabinet in your mind. Truthfully, you didn’t really want to go. The only reason you were in decathlon was because you and Peter had a competition going to see who could get into as many after-school activities as possible while keeping their grades up. Plus, he said your intelligence would be an asset to the team.

It was stupid, really, but you both found joy in watching the other succeed, and at the time, Peter thought it’d be a push for you considering you were demotivated to study.

After he left you, you quit everything else besides decathlon. When you tried to, they told you you weren’t allowed to due to your name already being written down as one of the team’s members. You slacked off and often avoided going to the after-school practice altogether, hence why you forgot about it.

However, right now, it wasn’t a burden you had to bear. You were grateful for the upcoming distraction, and you thanked God Peter was somehow able to spontaneously quit the team the other day, the 'Stark Internship' granting him access to do so. Luckily for you, that meant some form of escape without having to be around him.

You felt yourself become lighter already, and you quickly got ready for the fast-approaching competition.

Once found your team waiting by the bus, you were greeted by a disoriented-looking Flash, making you giggle as you approached him while giving everyone you passed by a smile. “You look like shit.” You commented when you reached him at the back of the lengthy bus.

“I feel like it,” he groaned, his forehead pressing into the side of the vehicle, “I’m so not a morning person.”

You rolled your eyes and handed him the iced coffee you bought for him on the way, “I know, that’s why I got you this.” You said, shaking the beverage and holding it out for him, "Drink up, Eugene. We got people to beat. And before you ask, yes it has almond milk in it.”

He lifted his head and looked at the coffee in surprise, then back at you, “You’re a lifesaver.” He said, engulfing you in a hug so suddenly you had to hold onto the side of the bus to keep you both from falling back.

You teasingly shook your head and patted him on the back, “I know, I know. I’m amazing.”

“I don’t disagree.” He said, pulling back and taking the coffee from your hands with a small ’thank you.'

You stared at him as he slurped on his drink and sighed in bliss, and wondered what it would be like if he treated everyone the way he treated you.

You knew of his past and understood why his actions came from a place of hurt and nothing more. During these past few months, Flash helped you open your eyes and made you more understanding of people. Especially those who tried to cover up their pain by pushing others away in self-preservation, in fear of showing others who they truly were because they were afraid of being hurt, taken advantage of, or even worse, mocked for it.

At the simple gesture of getting him coffee, he seemed shocked that you even remembered his order, let alone got him something. Your empathetic side was much stronger than you thought it’d be, you realized, your heart aching for the misunderstood boy who stood in front of you.

“What?” Flash inquired with furrowed eyebrows, capturing the metal straw once more (because plastic ain’t it).

You were about to make a joke about how you were staring at him to process how ugly he was when Abe gleefully yelled, “Hey, it’s Peter!” And pointed ahead of him.

You swore your heart stopped for a moment, the voice in your head repeating the word ‘no'.

Your eyes widened as you slowly turned around in astonishment to find that, yes, it really was Peter, in the flesh.

And he’s asking to rejoin the team, but you were still caught up in his presence.

And how much you hated it.

Of course he showed up. Last fucking minute.

Boiling anger shot up to your throat and escaped through your mouth with a growl, “No, no way,” you walked towards him, eyes burning with rage as he backed up, “You can’t just quit, make a grand last minute entrance and be welcomed back.”

Of course, he was welcomed back by all but you and Flash, but that didn’t make a difference to anyone else no matter how many times you whined and objected.

“One more smart team member couldn’t hurt,” Mr. Harrington said.

And that’s how he ended up taking his seat about two rows behind yours, as you and Flash took your designated spots in the front. All the memories of him being Spider-Man fogged up your brain like you couldn’t see anything but him in the suit. It was infuriating how just him being there seemed to fuck with you.

What really pushed you to the edge was that you caught him looking at you. And not just stealing glimpses, no, you mean full-on gawking.

The audacity, you thought, exhaling loudly through your nose.

You found it hard to answer Liz’s training questions correctly. How could you? You were consciously aware of his presence, and consciously aware that he could be hearing your thundering heart if he concentrated enough.

Okay, so you may have done a little bit of research about him and watched a couple of his one minute interviews with reporters. None of them explained how he got said powers, but in one he told the interviewer all his senses were far, far more advanced than normal humans.

You wondered if he ever got a sensory overload.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the ring of a bell and his answer that followed, his voice echoing in your head. When you answered incorrectly for the second time, you decided to give it a rest. You plugged in your earbuds, raised the volume as high as it would go, and wished you could tune out your thoughts like you did to the world.

You were already awake when you reached your destination. While the rest of the students were in awe of how big it was, you and Flash weren’t.

Once all rooms were assigned, Peter and Ned immediately dashed to theirs without waiting to hear Liz’s plans to "act rebellious as a group". Normally, that wouldn’t raise any suspicions, but now that you knew about Peter’s little secret, you were skeptical. They must be doing something related to Spider-Man.

You ignored the dull pain in your chest.

And as much as you wanted to find out, you were drained. Thinking had seemed to take up most of your energy, which was something you needed in order to win. So, you grabbed your spare key card to the room you shared with Sally Avril and searched the second floor for Room 249 together.

Sally and you weren’t exactly friends, but you talked a few times and said hello to each other via a nod when you passed each other in the hallways. She agreed to be your science partner for this quarter’s project, and you knew that she was incredibly bright for her age, so you didn’t mind rooming with her for a while.

When the both of you were out of breath and complaining about your backs aching from your heavy backpacks, you thankfully found your room.

And, what do you know? It was exactly across the fucking hall from Peter’s.

You annoyingly rolled your eyes and hastily swiped your card on the card reader, pushing the door with your foot and throwing your backpack onto the bed before flopping on it with a groan, your tiredness leaving you and allowing anger to fuel you instead.

“You okay?” Sally asked, always the sweetheart, shutting the door and placing her own backpack on the bed, taking her possessions out.

“Just peachy,” you sarcastically mumbled, your face squished between the pillows. You could only describe their scent as hotel rooms, but they were cool enough to help put out a little bit of the fire that you still had within you. You took a deep breath and pushed yourself up, leaning on your elbows, “I’m gonna go check the gym out.”

A while back, you learned how to manage your anger by using it to your advantage. The excess adrenaline helped pump your energy and allowed you to finish your workout faster, which in turn made you stronger and defused the storm within you. You took your gym clothes to the bathroom and changed before yelling out a goodbye to Sally and exiting your room.

As you shut the door behind you, you looked up in time to make eye contact with Peter, who stood behind his glass window and froze upon meeting your eyes. You scoffed and turned away, and he sighed and continued closing the curtains to his room, obstructing anyone from seeing him remove the tracker from his suit.

When the clock struck 10 pm, you heard a secret knock that meant Liz was here to take your asses to sneak into the pool as a group. You tiredly tied your robe around your body as Sally opened the door, squealing and giving Liz a hug. The group was buzzing with excitement, and you weren’t 100% sure of it, but you were certain this was the most rebellious thing they’ve ever done.

It was adorable how innocent they were.

While the students ran down the hall, you slowed your pace down to walk beside Flash, who waited for you at the end of the line they formed and handed you a snickers bar - your absolute favorite.

“Aw,” you cooed, finger tapping his nose, "Is this a thank you for the coffee this morning?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Flash scrunched his nose and flicked your hand away.

“What's up with you lately?” You asked, peeling away at the bar’s wrapper and taking a large bite, “You’ve been so touchy and caring. I mean, you’ve given me more hugs this week than you have in your entire life.”

Flash’s ears turned red as he pursed his lips and looked down at his bare feet, “I’m not being touchy.”

You stopped and turned to face him with a tilted head and cocked eyebrow. He sighed, “You almost died, Y/n,” he admitted with a small voice, tracing all your scars with his eyes, "I don’t know, I just...I don’t want to lose you, you know? It was scary.”

Your demeanor softened and you gave him a gentle smile. Flash wasn’t one to open up and express his feelings properly, but it warmed your heart that he tried to with you. You wrapped your arms around him once more, calmly rubbing his back, “I don’t wanna lose you, either.”

He snorted and pulled back, jabbing your side and making you squeal, “Yeah, who wouldn’t?”

You jokingly pushed at his shoulders, “I could give you a fucking list.”

The two of you laughed in the hallway as you looked up to see that you were almost at Peter’s door, where he stood there talking to Liz alone. Or, more accurately, both of them exchanging love eyes that made them fumble with their words and made a visible blush rise to their cheeks.

You rolled your eyes with disgust and gagged in revulsion while your heart clenched so hard you had to put a hand on your chest to make sure it was still beating.

And boy, was it beating, all right.

Flash was quick to notice your actions and tried to get them to separate, cupping his hands over his mouth, “Yo, loser,” he called out, making Peter turn, “Stay here. I’m sure Iron-Man is gonna need your help rescuing kittens that are stuck on trees.”

You let out a chuckle and grabbed Liz by her arm when you got close enough, “Come on, don’t waste your time with him. He’s got civil duties to get to.” You threw a deadly glance at him and dragged Liz with you to the pool, failing to notice Peter’s crest-fallen face.

Who cares about him, though? You were here to win a competition and get the trophy - maybe that’ll prove to your dad that you’re worth something, and if that fails, it’s still pretty cool to have accomplished something.

You ended up teaming up with Abe and successfully pushing Flash into the pool, high-fiving Abe before he canon-balled in himself. You giggled, watching your teammates gesture you to come in, but you shook your head and took a seat in one of the chairs.

“Oh, come on, Y/n. Just come in for a minute.”  

“I’m not a swimmer, Flash. I’ll be here, just not in there.”

Your body was aching from the lack of sleep and constant moving around. Plus, you really weren’t much of a swimmer. You quietly took a seat beside MJ as she read a book you once read as well, the chair making a screeching sound that made you cringe and alerted MJ of your presence.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked, flipping to the next page and reading on, but somehow she saw you throw a glance at her.

“Nah,” you crossed your arms and leaned back, watching as Liz got splashed with water by both Cindy and Abe, who then proceeded to dunk Flash’s head in the water and high-fived, “just recognized the book, s’all.”

She hummed and nodded, and you saw her peek up at you from the corner of your eye, “Good taste. I’d like you if you weren’t a bully.”

“Guess you’ll never like me, then.” You replied, monotony lacing your voice, immediately putting an end to the conversation that was only beginning to bloom. You knew she was going to transform it into another ‘what you’re doing isn’t right’ lecture, but you’ve heard enough of it from Jane.

A tense silence settled between you two as her words settled in your mind. A bully. That’s exactly what you were seen as. You guessed people don’t exactly see what caused the change in behavior, but they see the change itself.

You placed the back of your head against the concrete wall and stared up, looking through the built in glass that allowed the moon’s light to bleed into the pool, fully brightening it up until the shadow of a figure covered the view. Him.

Him clad in his latex suit with a backpack on, hands holding the mask that would hide his identity from the rest of the world.

You saw him staring at her.

You felt your heart fall to the pit of your stomach, where it seemed to only cause a burning sensation - jealousy. You were looking at him while he was too busy looking at someone else, and that seemed to have followed you your entire life, even when you weren’t friends.

You gulped and turned away before you ever saw his line of vision move over to you, wondering and wondering.

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The next morning, you stood in front of Flash’s room with your hands on his shoulders as you tried to calm him down.

“Holy shit. Holy shit, I can’t do this, Y/n,” He said, rubbing his forehead. His shoulders were rising and falling at a quick pace beneath your palms as he took shallow breaths, nerves practically spewing out of him.

Who knew Flash was a worry wort?

“Okay, Flash, listen to me,” you grabbed his face and tilted it towards you so you could look him in the eye, “This competition is just a competition. It doesn’t prove your worth to anyone.” That’s not what you thought of yesterday, "Your grades and results don’t determine how smart you are, all right? They’re just numbers and letters, and those don’t make up who you are. And besides,” you gestured to the group of people that were across the hall knocking on Peter and Ned’s door, “if you’re so worried, we’ve got a whole bunch of smart-asses who’ll make up for your stupidity.”

You gave him a teasing smile and relaxed when he shook his head with a chuckle.

“You’ve got this, Eugene.”

He took a deep breath and nodded his head in affirmation, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got this."

“Attaboy! That’s the spirit!” You said, punching him in the shoulder and laughing when he held his arm in pain.

The concoction from the other side of the hall seemed to have risen above your laughter, making you and Flash exchange a look before running over.

“What’s going on?” Flash asked, causing everyone to turn.

“The boys won’t come out, and if they don’t we’ll be late,” Liz answered, checking the watch on her wrist and tugging the ends of her ponytail stressfully.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” You mumbled, rolling your eyes and elbowing your way through the crowd until you reached the door.

“Ned! Parker! Get the fuck out of this room or so help me God I will fucking break the door down!” You yelled, repeatedly slamming your fist on the door as it shook from the force.

To your surprise, the door immediately swung back to reveal a sweaty Ned and a missing Peter. Before he was going to say something, you asked, “Where is he?”

Ned stood there like a gaping fish, opening and closing his mouth with broken words falling out, “He..uh, he..won’t be able to make it?”

“He left?”

Ned took a shaky breath in and toyed with the hem of his shirt, “M-maybe..”

Typical Peter. Running away when he was needed.

“Of course he did,” you pinched the bridge of your nose then turned to Liz, “we’re just gonna have to leave without him.” You shrugged, watching as Liz’s shoulders deflated.

She looked mad, worried, and at the same time disappointed. You guessed it had something to do with whatever they were talking about yesterday.

You also guessed he left due to something that had to do with Spider-Man, but you didn’t have enough evidence to prove it to yourself. Regardless of how you wanted to feel, you started getting rather distressed. You wondered if he left after seeing you guys in the pool, where he was, if he was all right, why he hasn’t come back - all questions that could be answered by Ned, you realized. But you didn’t want to risk it.

So, you made your way to the competition with murmuring nerves and trembling hands. You blamed it on the competition, but you knew deep down that it was Peter’s absence that was troubling you.

Either way, you thanked God for MJ’s intelligence that won you the competition.

Hugs were being exchanged all around and pride flowed between your teammates as a golden trophy was handed to your team.

To celebrate, you made your way to the Washington Monument, where you’d be given a boring tour and promised an 'unforgettable view.’ However, there was a tugging feeling in your stomach as Flash asked Mr. Harrington if he could tell Peter that he was expelled. He still hasn’t shown up. Your mind raced with possibilities, and only got worse as the monument's elevator ascended.

Until it abruptly stopped and aggressively shook in its place, causing panic to spread among your group as dust fell upon everyone from the hole that seemed to have appeared above you, covering you from head to toe. Smoke began to fill the elevator’s confined space and-

And this was starting to feel like Delmar’s all over again.

You were frightened, hands shaking and tears welling up in your eyes as oxygen barely made its way into your lungs only to come out again. Your eyes were glued to the hole in the elevator’s roof, as if it’d somehow close up again if you stared at it long enough. It felt as if you were looking at the inside of one’s body - it was a sight you were never meant to see, and now, here you were, seeing it. You saw the wires and pulleys that kept the elevator in its place, and you couldn’t describe how wrong it was.

“Okay, guys, I know that was scary but our safety systems are working. We’re very safe in here.” The lady assured in the most tedious way possible. It was like you weren’t about to meet death himself. Like everything was okay.

It wasn’t.

“No, lady! No, we’re clearly not!” You yelled as you collapsed to the floor, clutching your head and rocking back and forth.

“Okay, Y/n, breathe, breathe.” Mr. Harrington crouched down to your level, inhaling and exhaling slowly as if that’d help you. You could hardly focus on anything but the fact that you felt like you were going to die.

Death seemed to chase you wherever you went, like you were cursed, and now these people were going to go down with you, with no superhero to come swooping in because you didn’t know where he was.

Oh my God, why is this happening?

Flash hastily looked around and pointed to a small opening on the side of the elevator, “We can open that! We can open that and get out through there!” He said, and the others got to work right away.

Ned carried the lady on his shoulders as she successfully pushed it open, allowing new air to come through, the group taking a large, collective inhale. Flash kneeled down beside you, and rubbed your back, promising you everything will be okay, which calmed you down enough to stand up.

You were still scared, hands were still shaking, but you knew you had to put others before you. So you concealed them from everyone’s view, and helped your teammates safely climb out to where a group of security guys was waiting to pull them out.

Cindy went up first, then Abe, Sally, and the dude with glasses you could never remember the name of, until you, Flash, Mr. Harrington, Liz, and Ned remained.

They all suggested you go first, but you refused and told them you’d be fine with assisting them. Flash was up next.

The minute he jumped off the elevator’s surface to grab ahold of the security guard’s hand, the wires which held the elevator in its place snapped and you began your fast descend, screaming into oblivion as your heart rattled inside your ribcage.

A strong force stopped the elevator from falling further for a second before it started falling again, not giving you enough time to catch your breath. It hit a large metal ground, hard, and that seemed to stop it and made you fall on your knees and bust the rest of the glass.

You breathed harshly, thinking it was over, basking in sweet relief until Spider-Man fell from the hole into the elevator and pushed it down even further, prompting the elevator to plunge at an even faster rate, and both Liz and Ned to let out an ear-deafening scream that made its way to your stomach, twisting and turning it while your knuckles turned white from the death grip you had on the railing.

There's your second chance at death, because apparently, one time wasn’t enough.

With his quick thinking, though, Spider-Man raised his arm and shot his web to the ceiling of the building, holding on as he planted his legs on the corner of the elevator, and pulling as it hung in the air.

He looked around the elevator, pausing for a second on your curled up body, before clearing his throat, “Hey, how you doin’?” He said, thickening his New York accent, “don’t worry about it, I got you.”

Ned - like he wasn’t about to fucking die - began fangirling over his best friend as he yelled out multiple 'yes's and bounced up and down, making the elevator’s wheels creak, threatening to fall once again.

"Hey, hey, hey, big guy! Quit movin’ around!” Spider-Man scolded Ned, his voice returning back to normal as he tugged on the web to slowly pull the lift up.

Your insides were still flipped and in all the wrong places, mind frozen as you sat on the ground, still rattled, with tears pushing hard against your waterline. Your breathing was loud and labored, which caught Liz’s attention.

“Hey,” she sat down beside you, voice husky, still half dazed herself, “we’re gonna be okay.” She said, almost as if she was trying to convince herself with her words, "We’re safe now.”

She paused for a moment, "I know what happened to you at Delmar’s-“ You saw Spider-Man’s head swerve towards the both of you for a second as you inhaled sharply. “-but you’re okay. We’re all going to be fine.”

You tilted your head towards her, tracing over her messed up hair and flushed cheeks, dirt painting her face but a small, hopeful smile sat on her lips. You managed to give her a nod and a squeeze of her hand in acknowledgment. Though it did nothing to calm you down, you were still grateful for her sincerity and effort in trying to do so.

“All right, everyone out.” Spider-Man demanded once you reached the level where the security guards were waiting. His grunting made it sound like he didn’t have as much time as he needed, and every person made their way out slowly but carefully.

You shakily stood on your legs, waiting for everyone to get out and counting down until it was your turn. Three, Ned was out first. Two, Mr. Harrington made it to the other side. One, Liz was safely out as she looked back at you and stretched her arm, palm open and awaiting your own.

You quickly skidded across the floor, and just as your skin touched hers, the web broke into two with a splick sound.

And for the next second you were falling to your death, all on your own.

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Tags: @peachescream06

[greenninjagal-blog]

Let Me Hear You Scream pt2

Ready for more spooky vibes? If you missed the first part you can find it [here!]

Summary: Upon waking up in a forest he doesn't recognize, Roman vs a Bear Trap goes almost exactly how you would think it goes.

Words: 6374

TW: Bear traps, blood, violence,

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Roman has always had an unusually high pain tolerance. He had to, being twin brothers with Remus and all that. The sheer amount of danger the two of them got into as kids delegated that if he was anything less than completely indestructible, he’d be dead the next time Remus started a conversation with “I bet you won’t…”

He remembers that summer when Remus dared him to ride his bike down the concrete stairs, and he remembers how the wheels pitched him forward and his helmet cracked on the sidewalk, his knee skidded on the concrete, and his arm went snap with pain so white hot that Roman actually thought that the whole thing had popped right off his body entirely.

He remembers lying on the ground so shocked that he couldn’t even breathe, much less cry, and he remembers Remus laughing in the background, “I didn’t think you were going to actually do it! Oh shit, Ro? Roman! ROMAN!”

He remembers it so clearly.

“REMUS!” Roman shrieks into the forest, with tears rolling down his cheeks. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY, YOU FUCKER!”

His ankle burns. He can’t feel his toes, he can’t feel his ankle, he can’t feel anything, but there’s blood all over his hands and he can’t look down in case he faints.

His hands are trembling as they blindly work over whatever the fuck he stepped on. He can feel the slushie that he last ate, swirling in his stomach, boiling and bubbling until he feels it corroding his back molars. His fingers fumble around the… the metal teeth, oh god he’s going to vomit. His ankle screams in pain when his fingers prod too close to his actual limb. His ears echo with the painful awful SNAP of the jaw mechanism like its seared right into his soul.

“Remus,” He sobs, “I’m going to fucking kill you--”

Because there was a line here; Yeah, Remus dared him into a prank war with one of his stupid “I bet you wont, you prissy goody two shoes…” and Roman poured glitter into Remus’s laundry once, then Remus replaced Roman’s toothpaste with mayo, then Roman put white hair dye in Remus’s shampoo, and Remus swore he would get some type of revenge, even though he loved that look so much that he kept a stupid white streak in his hair. At least Roman thought he did-- He did, right?

Remus wasn’t the type to keep it to himself if he was upset. Neither of them were: Roman had perfected the art of loud sighs and dramatic monologues into a microphone and Remus had set things on fire to make people pay attention.

He didn’t-- wouldn’t--

He wouldn’t drag Roman into the middle of nowhere and make him walk into a bear trap for hair dye that would come out in another few weeks.

((Wouldn’t he?))

Everyone said Remus was insane, through whispered rumors and gossip that dissipated the moment that Roman walked into the room. Roman hadn’t ever seen the insanity himself; he grew up with Remus chasing squirrels in the park and diving into dumpsters for cool treasures and it was normal. Remus had always found humor in strange and weird things and as they had grown up those things had become less real and more abstract and Roman still didn’t think it meant that Remus would do this.

The forest is dense around him, stupid, dark; Roman isn’t sure he could recognize it even if he had a map in front of him, but then again Remus was always the more environmentally aware person of the two of them. He doesn’t know where Remus went the fuck off to either-- he’s brain is fuzzy at everything more than a few seconds ago when he blinked opened his eyes and took one step forward into a metal death trap, but he… he thought Remus had been right beside him, so close that… that…. His head is singing with pain and the backs of his eyes are melting.

“Hey!” A voice calls out and Roman flinches so hard that the metal spikes dig into his ankle and his scream strangles him.

Roman blinks back his tears just in time to see a figure stumble right out the thickets nearby, with the grace of a new born fucking dear. Roman swears in every language he knows and then some he doesn’t as the person scrambles back to their feet and zeroes in on him with an expression that Roman usually associates with the memory of his science teacher right before she demonstrated how to break a frog's ribcage for their dissection.

“No,” Roman says, “No, back off--”

He tries to scoot back and agony shoots up his leg so bright and violent that his vision whites out.

“Don’t move,” the person says, holding up their palms up suddenly to show they were unarmed or something. Roman isn’t sure what that’s supposed to do when he knows that Remus himself has never needed a weapon to be a lunatic. “I’m going to try to help.”

“Do not fucking come near me,” Roman snarls. “Who are you? One of Remus’s fucking little friends--”

“I assure you I don’t know a Remus, but you are in pain and believe I am qualified to help.”

“Fuck off!”

Roman swears that the pain is getting to his head, meddling with his thoughts like alcohol except not fun and Roman would not suggest anyone repeat this experience. The stranger-- Remus’s friend or whatever-- is staring at him with a patient impatience: like his mother waiting for him to finish his story before she runs off to answer a call on her work phone. They’re older than Roman, by a year or two, with sharp cheekbones and back framed glasses of a stereotypical nerd but a height that makes it hard to even imagine anyone looking down on them. Their eyes are colder than ice, and frost wafts off their breath. They’ve got a sweater vest on, with a tie, and converse dotted with glow in the dark paint in the shape of space nebulas.

Between his teary eye lashes Roman thinks that this guy looks incredibly tame for someone who associates with Remus and he fights the urge to vomit.

Is his leg supposed to be feeling cold?

Oh god, was he going to lose his foot? His breath swells up in his lungs, like a balloon pressing against his ribs. He wouldn’t be able to walk without a foot-- He wouldn’t be able to move or leave these woods or get help-- Remus and his psycho friends could easily cut up the rest of his body and let the wolves get him and then at school when someone would ask what happened to that dumbass who used to make dumb jokes on air during the football games, everyone will be like “Who?” and “didn’t Remus used to have an annoying twin? What happened to that guy?” and no one will ever find him because no one would car--

“Please,” The Doctor Who-ever says, in a faux calm tone as Roman nearly swallows his tongue. “I have medical knowledge, and you are clearly in distress.”

Agony races up his leg and Roman whimpers again. He swears he can hear the sound of metal grinding against his ankle bones, biting in deep and forcing the marrow to crack and shatter and explode until it's just a bunch of broken glass-like fragments under his skin. His head feels light and he frantically breathes deeply because he is not going to pass out, he is not going to make it that eas--

He’s cut off by a sudden crashing from behind behind himself: snapping of branches like a wild animal is tearing through them, the crunch of dead leaves steadily getting louder and heavy and deadlier, the swearing that are all tell-tale sounds of Remus crashing directly into someone and both of them eating the dirt as they barrel through the thickets and roll to a stop a few feet away.

Nerdicus jerks back like they were expecting anything less of Remus’s spectacular grand entrance.

Roman bites down on his tongue to stop himself from outright whimpering. Remus, his twin, his mirror image, rolls back to a sitting position like a possessed doll coming to life, untangling his limbs from another crumpled, groaning form that must be some other friend of his, and snapping them back in place because what are limbs to a maniac like him? The setting sun paints him in an eerie light and Roman’s skin itches with equal parts rage and terror at him, for dragging them out there, for putting out bear traps, for doing all this as pay back for a stupid little prank in a prank war he fucking started--

Remus’s laughter is obnoxious as always and Roman tries not to flinch at the sound of it alone, holding back a white wash of fear with just his force of will.

His other friend is another person that Roman hasn’t seen before-- not that he spends a lot of time getting to know the faces of the delinquents that his brother hangs out with. They’ve got on black jeans and a black T-shirt with one of those reversible sequin designs in the shape of a skull. Their blond hair dances in the last dregs of the evening, even as they pull a leaf from their bangs and yanks their dirty yellow beanie back over their head.

“Holy shit!” Remus says, spitting out dirt from his mouth. “Is that a bear trap?”

“Remus!” Roman whimpers with a tight throat. “This isn’t funny!”

“Au contraire! I left you alone for like five seconds and now you’re in a bear trap!” There’s a glint in Remus’s eyes and Roman recognizes it from those times when Remus climbed too high in the trees back at home, when he stared at a growing flame of a match too long, when he reached across the console and yanked on the steering wheel, screaming Roman’s name--

Roman brain pulses to the point where he can feel it knock against his skull and that hurts almost as much as ankle and he swears he sees stars on the backs of his eyelids and he does not want those to be the last stars he ever sees.

Remus swoops towards him and Roman flinches back, nearly screaming when his leg jostles.

“Chill out, Prince Charmless,” his twin says, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna get it off. What’s your range of movement?”

“Do not come any closer to me, you asshole!”

“You can’t get that thing off yourself,” Remus says.

“And whose fault is that?” Roman snaps.

Remus freezes, tilting his head slightly to the side. His rat's nest of hair creates an unearthly silhouette as he looks down at Roman, something straight out his Halloween horror films, and Roman bares his teeth in warning. He’s not thinking about how Remus’s foot can stomp down on his injured, trapped leg, he’s not thinking about how there’s no one around for miles, he’s not thinking about how there’s nothing and no one to stop him from straight out fratricide--

“Why am I suddenly getting the feeling you think I know what the flying fuck is going on here?” Remus asks.

“Don’t you?”

“No!” Remus says, delightedly, happily, cheerfully and his voice makes some distant bird caw. “I thought you snapped and took me to the woods to kill me yourself! This is much more boring now that I know I haven’t managed to break your last shreds of sanity.”

“Why would I--”

“This is ridiculous,” Glasses McGee cuts in sharply, adjusting said glasses with their index finger. “We need to remove your foot from that trap now.” They look at Remus and the other person. “Are either of you knowledgeable about the mechanics of bear traps?”

Remus throws two thumbs up, and Roman remembers vaguely a rant from a year or two ago about unethical bear hunting and steel jaw traps and how animals would step in and then lay there for days suffering as their mangled limb held them captive regardless of them trying to chew it off for freedom and oh god he’s going to be sick--

“Roman,” Remus says somewhere beyond the screaming in his head. “Oh shit.” It sounds like he’s far away and distant, or maybe underwater and Roman is drowning. He can’t seem to breathe anymore, like the teeth biting into his ankles had wrapped around his chest and was slowly crushing him.

People are moving around him, faint voices talking and then suddenly burning blinding white hot pain that shoots all the way up to the back of his eyes.

He screams and bites down only to find there’s something in his mouth-- fibers and the unmistakable taste of wool and Roman nearly gags on it. He blinks back the foggy pain and finds that he’s leaning on Remus and Webster Dick-tionary is pressing a multicolored sweatshirt to his leg delicately with the bear trap fully closed a few feet away, tethered to the ground with a heavy metal chain coated in a red paint that makes Roman’s vision sway all over again. The slushie claws back up his throat and he gags.

There’s someone new standing just behind the nerd: a very pretty person in a pretty skirt and headphones with cat ears on them around his neck. The splash of freckles and the round glasses makes them look a bit younger than the rest of them, but that could also be Roman’s brain twisting things around the moment that they wince in sympathy as the nerd prods part of his ankle.

They’re magnificent, Roman decides with a dizzying certainty. They’re the sun in the middle of this dark and dreadful forest, the stars in the night sky, the lighthouse in the storm guiding Roman back from complete devastation with just those shiny eyes behind cracked lens.

The other person, the one in the black skull shirt, Sid from Toy Story come to life, is standing just behind him and Remus, looking on distastefully from a good distance away. It takes Roman a moment to realize he’s biting down on the guy’s beanie, and gross. He spits it out at the same time as the nerd presses too close to where the trap had caught him.

“Son of a Witch!” He hisses. “A dragon witch, a fucking---”

“Oh, boo,” Remus says. “He’s alive.”

“He was not in any immediate danger of dying,” Space Case says firmly. “And isn’t he your brother?”

“Looks like someone is an only child,” Remus says. The person in black reaches out and snatches back his beanie, his entire face curling into some disgusted expression as they hold the part with Roman’s saliva away from themself.

“Wonderful,” they say in deadpan and stuff the beanie in their back pocket.

Roman blinks, struggling to sit up by himself. He scrubs his face trying to get rid of his tears, and buries that boiling humiliation being the center of attention like this. Of course, he has to be grievously injured for anyone to care about him, for anyone to take a moment to look at him, for anything--

Remus lets him go, stretching up and yawning like nothing about this is weird or strange or scary to him.

Part of Roman is reassured by that. Like, of course Remus isn’t terrified out of his mind; what is there to be scared of when he’s the most terrifying thing in a 100 mile radius? When he handcuffed himself to the doors of the city history museum to protest its demolishment even though the wrecking ball was right there, when he wore a mini skirt to school to protest the dress code even though he’d been beat up for less before, when he marched into the Governor’s office when he was refused a meeting about the rescinding of the pollution standards in the the county and laughed in the face of the armed guards that told him to leave.

Remus had an endless supply of guts and determination and Roman had wished for so long that his reckless bravery could be contained, controlled and banished, but now it kinda felt like Remus slipping a familiar jacket over Roman’s shoulders and telling him to relax.

Google.com-- Roman is seriously running out of names for them-- leans in and tears the new holes in Roman’s jeans further-- Roman grimaces at the thought of having to buy another pair to make up for this, but the nerd expertly uses the excess fabric to tie up his wound with a professional precision.

“Alright, Doc Oct,” Remus says while they work. “What is the diagnosis? Amputation? Do I need a body bag?”

“I just said that he was not in danger of dying,” they say, finishing the knot which only causes Roman to grunt a little bit. “And my name is Logan, if you must know. I am not a full medical doctor by any means, but I believe that he will recover fully; the trap broke skin and there will likely be a nasty amount of bruising deep in the muscle tissue, but he will recover in a few weeks of rest. It will probably be best to keep weight off your foot as much as possible.”

“See, drama queen?” Remus says to Roman, shoving his shoulder. “You’re fine.”

Roman gives him double middle fingers for his trouble and tries not to shake too hard with relief. He stares down at his leg, forcing a steady breath through his lungs and out his nose, and wonders with a dizzying amazement how his leg was not only in one piece but recoverable, after all the pain. He isn’t sure that it’s not just the placebo effect of someone saying that everything’s going to be okay, but he wiggles his toes and swears that the pain only wracks his limb moderately this time.

Even closed, the bear trap looked menacingly at them: Roman’s blood on the jaws that were curled into a ghoulish grin, just waiting for someone to get close enough to open and bite down on. He’s not sure how Remus and the Doctor Doolittle-- Logan-- managed to get it off him.

Logan turns and offers the sweater to the person in the skirt. “Ah, sorry, I’m afraid the blood has…”

Roman sucks in another breath at the sight of it: the bright splotchy blobs of red that bled through the pastel tye dye design that would likely never come out and eternally remain a reminder of how Roman put his foot directly in a bear trap like an idiot-- What would he have done if there was no one around? Died? His own stupidity had ruined such a nice piece of clothing and--

“It’s okay!” The angel says with a somewhat cartoonish voice. Roman blinks in surprise at the sweetness of it, tasting sugar even as the words hold over the air. He swears he can envision their I’s dotted with hearts; a soft and kind tone despite the fact that Roman had ruined their sweater. “I’m much more relieved he’s going to be okay!”

“Let’s not get too excited,” Doctor Doom says, causing Roman to stiffen and Remus to glance back curiously towards them. They’re turned away from the rest of the mismatched, miscellaneous group, looking into the trees with a gaze that makes Roman’s stomach roll over and not in any way that is even remotely good.

“What?”

They glance back at them with an expression something that Roman can only call shifty. Like a snake before it strikes, they’re poised on the balls of their feet, coiled with the power to move at a seconds decision. Untrustable, Undependable, Unkind-- and Roman squares his shoulders just to prove to himself that there isn’t actually a dagger point about to plunge into his back.

The person’s voice is silky smooth, but Roman can’t find it in himself to be jealous when the meaning of the next words hit. “I don’t suppose any of you remember just exactly how we came to be here, do you?”

The woods echo with a strange emptiness, like the trees themselves are holding their breaths. The silence is eerie-- Roman’s never been a forest this quiet. He’s never been anywhere this quiet. The hairs on the back of his neck raise up.

Logan and the shining, shimmering, lovely vision share a look and the former shrugs, occupying their hands with tying their sweater around their waist.

“It’s fuzzy,” they admit, thoughtfully. “I was leaving my dorm...and then…” They grimace, which is downright awful to witness: Roman doesn't think anyone deserves to look so uncomfortable, and certainly not a beauty like them. “...then I was here.”

Logan makes a sour face like he managed to misplace a decimal twenty seven steps back in his math equations. “I was uncharacteristically late to class, but I seem to have some form of amnesia surrounding the hours since then as well; It was just past two.”

Dr. Facilier-turned-teenager turns to Roman, their eyes asking a question they already know the answer to. And part of Roman wants to snarl at them, tell them to knock it off with the creepy aura and better-than-you-expression, explain to them exactly how they ended up all here together because there’s a logical, causal explanation.

But Remus is already laughing. “Oh come on! We were…. What were we doing again?” Remus freezes for a moment, some of the smile leaving his face. “Ro? Where were we…?”

Remus is dressed in another one of his ripped T-shirts, the Save the Turtles one that he wore to that protest a few months ago and when he volunteered to clean up beaches for the weekend. His sleeves are ripped off to show off the endangered Tiger tattoo on his shoulder up to his neck, and his jeans are the recycled ones that he bought second hand and begged Roman to repair rather than buy a new pair and “give his money to the capitalists that are trying to kill us all”.

In comparison, Roman is wearing his letterman jacket, with his name engraved on it that he got for being the announcer for the football team three years in a row. He’s wearing his announcer uniform too-- his hair is styled and his colors are coordinated to the white and red of their school, but Remus never comes to the football games anymore.

Or well, he’s not allowed to come to the games anymore after he stole the tuba from the band players and charged into the field during the game back in their freshman year.

Still he-- remembers… he thinks he remembers... They were in the car together, Remus needed to go somewhere and Roman had to drop him off and then speed off to the game, right? Remus' feet were up on his dashboard, mud flaking off into his freshly cleaned car, his air fresheners weren’t working, they were fighting over the radio, Remus’s hand reached out, latching on to the wheel and a scream--

“Fuck,” Remus says, rubbing the side of his head like Roman had slapped him. “Did you crash our car out here?”

“Me?” Roman says, incredulously.

“Yeah!” Remus says. “Did you get brain damage in the crash too? Are your brains going to fall out? You were the one driving, dumbass.”

“You grabbed my steering wheel!”

Remus snorts. “What? No, I didn’t?”

“Yes you did!”

“No way!”

“Yes way!”

“I wouldn’t get anything out of--”

“Boys!” Skeletar says, clapping to get their attention. “Less arguing, more answering the question.”

Remus looks at Roman and Roman glares right back because he did not crash the car. Between the two of them Remus was more likely to crash a car-- proven from how he totaled their green Ford Fiesta nine months ago and now even around the pounding headache he can still remember the feeling of surprise as Remus’s sporadic movement jumbled through his own, the yank that caused him to lose control, the-- the--

He doesn’t remember what happened after that, but he knows that then Roman had opened his eyes out here, taken a step forward, and nearly lost his foot to a bear trap.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Logan says. “Even if perhaps you happened to have a car around here, that does not explain how the rest of us came to be here. And likely from the events that you are describing the car is not in functional condition-- although I’m unsure how your persons would have come out of such a thing without a few visible injuries…”

“I didn’t crash the car,” Roman says firmly.

“Oh, like you didn’t step into a bear trap?” Remus asks innocently antagonistically.

“Why are there bear traps out here anyway!” Roman hisses. “Isn’t bear hunting or whatever illeg--”

Roman almost doesn’t hear it: it starts so softly and then it raises in pitch and suddenly it's ringing in the air like cracks in the fragile glass silence. He feels his breath disappear right out of his chest, his body tensing and everyone jerks towards the direction the sound comes from, like they’re expecting to see something out there.

Roman remembers hearing people yell at Remus to get out of the way of the wrecking ball, remembers hearing the teachers snap at him to go change into his gym clothes, remembers the armed guard spitting on Remus’s face, his own shouts turning to something just above an animalistic growl when he told Remus to knock it off, you’re making me look bad.

And still he doesn’t remember hearing anything sound so horrified. So desperate. So despondent.

It is the noise that causes Roman to break out in goosebumps, electricity dancing along his skin causing all of his hairs to raise, and himself to find it suddenly very hard to swallow. Roman is scrambling back before he can remember that his foot should not be moving and he bumps into Logan as he does.

It cuts off short and disappears like someone took a pair of scissors to the sound itself, snipping the scream for help away before it reaches the end.

And Roman doesn’t think anyone is breathing anymore. His heart pounds in his chest, waiting for the rest of it.

The trees cast shadows so deep and dark that not even the moonlight will touch them. Somehow without Roman noticing, the temperature had dropped until the air feels like frostbite licking his exposed skin. Roman doesn’t dare move another inch-- doesn’t like the idea of what might happen if he reminds the rest of the world that time is still passing.

“I…” the person in the skull T-shirt says, in a very low, strangled tone. “I don’t think bears are what's being hunted.”

“No,” Roman says, “No.”

“Oh god, I’m gonna be sick,” the person in the skirt says.

“No!” Roman says, throwing out his arms before his thoughts can catch up. “This is not--”

“We need to leave,” Logan says, face pale. “Now.”

“I think I saw a gate,” Remus said, no hint of his unhinged grin. He thumbs the direction that he and Kaa came from. “I pulled the switch but it didn’t open. I thought about climbing but there are no holds and barbed wire around the top--”

“It’s likely lacking a power source then,” Logan says steadily calm and Roman feels like he’s losing his whole goddamned mind. “Let me take a look at--”

“We are not being hunted right now!” Roman blurts out.

The others stare at him for a solid, endless second and Roman’s stomach threatens to crawl up his throat. He waits for them to agree with him, waits for them to laugh and call it a joke, waits for Remus to tell him he’s so easy to scare, come on Ro, did you really think there was a murderer in these woods? This is grade school level effort!

Roman gets the feeling that he’s going to be waiting a very long time.

“Guys,” Roman says, slightly more wobbly than he means it to, slightly more softer than he means it to, slightly more terrified than he means it to. “We aren’t being hunted for sport, right?”

Because-- Because he’s seen horror movies. And he remembers once how Remus poured a bag of popcorn over his head and said that if they were ever in that situation, he’d leave Roman to rot, maybe even toss him to the killer himself, laugh as Roman screamed and begged and cried.

He doesn’t look at his foot. He doesn’t look at his foot and think about how he can’t run. He doesn't look at his foot and realize that they’re going to leave him behind and no one will ever know what happened to him and no one will care--

Remus is suddenly right in front of him, offering a hand right into Romans face. Roman blinks back the burning tears on his cheeks and looks at the limb with a trembling lip.

“Come on,” Remus says. “You’re a little bitch when you ruin your mascara, Ro.”

And Roman tries to articulate the billions of insults he has in his brain, but all that comes out is a whimper as Remus latches on to his wrist and pulls him to his feet. He stumbles the moment that he tries to put weight on his foot, flickers of pain echoing in his brain although it's not nearly as bad as he was expecting. Remus pulls Roman over his shoulder with his injured leg raised between them and all of his weight on Remus’s shoulders.

“I’m not leaving you behind, dumbass,” Remus says.

((Why wouldn’t he?))

“We need to help them,” the person in the skirt, the good and just and wonderful person in a skirt, says suddenly.

“I don’t think they need our help,” Hans Gruber-minus-the-German-accent says. “In fact, I don’t think they need anything, anymore.”

“How could you say that?!”

“Easily,” they respond, shortly.

The person in the skirt is shaking, Roman realizes. They’re shaking and hugging themself and they look slightly green in the face.

“I came from over there,” they say from behind trembling hands. “I-- I didn’t hear anyone else over there but they must have been there and I-- I can’t--”

“They’re dead,” Dr. Jerkyll says clinically, like a surgeon with a knife. “Us rushing towards that area is only going to get us attacked next. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die, thank you very much.”

“We can’t leave them!” The other argues.

The person in the skull shirt steps towards the other and grabs their upper arm to spin them back to the direction the scream came from. Then with a derisive and terrible sneer, they shove. The cutie in the skirt stumbles forward, nearly face planting on the uneven ground.

“Then you go help them,” they say, with streaks of faint and awful moonlight painting them in a pale halo. They wave back to Logan, Remus and Roman, and Roman feels very much like he doesn’t want to be included in this group all of a sudden. “Don’t drag the rest of us into it.”

“Hey, don’t be a dick!” Roman says, stepping forward and hissing when he places a slight weight on his foot. “What if it were you out there?”

They scoff. “Me? I would never let myself get caught by a psycho murderer in the woods. But if I did, the last thing I would want is my valiant savior to come charging to my rescue and then get slaughtered right beside me like an idiot!”

“I’ll keep that in mind, you slimy snake,” Roman says.

“I bet you will, Hiccup,” they shoot back. “The gate is this way. Try not to step in another bear trap, won’t you?”

“Damn!” Remus says, “You’re a bitch! What’s your opinion on plastic in the sea?”

Roman slaps Remus’s arm and gives him a glare because really? Right now? They’re in the woods, someone just screamed and probably got murdered, they don’t know how to get out, Roman’s injured, and Remus is doing one of his weird flirting attempts.

Great.

The person in the skull shirt at least looks slightly thrown by the question, narrowing their eyes and shaking their head as they turn away as if they can brush off the rest of the group. “The sea turtles are dying.” They say blandly, without a hint of actual emotion. “Oh no. Next time I see one I will give my condolences about it’s mother.”

Remus’s mouth pops open for a retort that Roman knows is going to be bad, but before he can get the words out, there’s a loud sound of cracking branches from behind them. Remus drags Roman back from the area, planting himself in front of Roman like some kind of human shield and Roman wobbles, without anything to put his injured leg on.

“Jesus Christ!” A new voice screams, as they trip over a thicket and fall into the clearing.

They move like a blur; barely more than a shadow with the ungodly amount of black they’re wearing. Roman can make out a pale face, dark bangs and terrified eyes, before the scramble back in the ground leaving… leaving smears of deep red on the ground in front of them. Their flashlight goes flying off to Logan’s feet, but they don’t seem to care as much about that as moving away from whatever is behind them.

The air tastes like metal, like copper, and Roman swears the world sways under him. His heartbeat blares in his ears almost louder than the newcomer’s hysterical sobs.

There’s a thud. And another.

And the trees themselves seem to shake and draw from the shadow that takes form. It peels away from the others, massive, hulking and distorted in all the wrong ways: at some point it must have been human, Roman thinks hysterically. It has two legs and two arms and a torso and a head, but it's elongated towering over even Logan at his ridiculous height. Its skin is covered in soot and dirt, layers upon layers to the point where Roman almost thought that it was wearing some kind of leather armor. It has rubber overalls on, strapped...strapped to its body with metal hooks that catch the thin moonlight peeking out of its bulging bare shoulders in a way that looks…looks self mutilated. The patchy ugly skin is healed around the metal, molded to it, absorbing it. In one hand is a cleaver, cobbled together from various metals with an unfinished touch and dripping scarlet all the way down the handle to its massive hands. Roman thinks that with one hand it could easily crush one of their skulls.

But worse than that, than the blood, than the stench coming from the thing, than the bloodlust that's echoing out of it: worse than all that is the mask welded to its face. A pale white skin that nearly glows in the darkness, framed with jagged sharp edges of bladed teeth in a terror inducing smile. Soulless orbs exist where eyes might have once been: now there are empty voids without a human behind them.

In a slow, almost robotic motion, it raises the cleaver in its hand. Blood rolls down the handle onto it’s hand and Roman watches the bulb of red drip down into the grass right between the newcomer’s sneakers.

Oh, Roman thinks suddenly very clearly without any room for a single doubt, This is what death looks like.

“NO!” The person in the skirt screams and suddenly they shove forward and throw themselves in front of the swing of the cleaver. Roman isn’t sure who screams louder at that: him, the person in the skirt, or the person on the ground bleeding out.

His brain is on fire, every atom in him is screaming so loud that he can’t hear his thoughts. His own breath flees his lungs with abandon that Roman’s brain somehow hadn’t gotten because instead of running away he’s running towards the monster. His blood boils in his veins and he pushes through Remus with the sort of reckless abandonment of sanity he never would have thought he’d ever make.

His vision locks onto the kid on the ground and his fingers latch on their left shoulder and he hauls them back.

The air next to his ear whistles as the cleaver misses them by centimeters and the person in the skirt screams as they fall to the side, and specks of something wet and warm and sticky flings through the air like its a water fountain; Roman feels it splatter across his face and his brain heart thuds in his chest.

Remus appears on his other side, grabbing Roman’s hostage by their other arm and they both pull them to their feet, ignoring the way they scream in pain. Their torso drips ruby into the dead grass at their feet and Roman-- Roman--

The hulking monster in front of them gives his cleaver a shake and drags it over its own arm to wipe away the blood, like it's nothing more than a hindrance. It turns its entire body towards the person in the skirt, the gorgeous selfless angel of a person that Roman hasn’t gotten the name of-- of someone he isn't going to get the same of because the abomination raises the cleaver again.

Roman screams because he does not want to watch someone die, please he doesn’t want to be in this nightmare anymore, wake up wake up wakeup--

There’s a brilliant white light that explodes at the last second. Roman himself jerks away from it, but that’s nothing compared to the inhuman howl that the creature makes as it stumbles back to the edge of the forest, covering its beady eyes with its massive hands.

Logan flicks the flashlight off and grabs the person in the skirt by their uninjured arm and looks back at them only briefly with an air of finality.

“RUN!” He says.

And Roman does.

[soulwillower]

long way home • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested:  please please please do a richie x reader about long way home by 5sos

warnings: nothing really, some mentions of canonic trauma but its really vague and underaged drinking

i was happy to write this bc it def got me out of my slump! lmk if yall want more fics

(also i loved 5sos so much back when the self titled album came out in like 2014. i was such a huge fan in middle school so this was so nostalgic to write!!) 

[reader + losers are in their first year of college, set around early summer 1995.]

2.9k words

♡

"i don't really know what else to do. we have an hour and a half until we meet everyone." you say, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen upon the car after bev had climbed out the back. you hum, settling back against the passenger seat, head lulling to meet richie's gaze.

 you can't help but smile. he's looking at you - just staring, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. he hums, too, turning his head, arm grabbing the shoulder of your seat as he backs up the car. "i have an idea. let's just go - what?" he asks, smiling with a chuckle as he catches you staring at him.

you blink as you flush, "i don't know. just really missed you." you say with a laugh, shaking your head as memories flood your mind. his face flickers for a second and he shakes his head, hair bouncing slightly in his flattery. "gee, i missed you too. it kinda sucks that we all went to opposite sides of the country." 

you blow air from your lips gently in agreement as richie starts to drive somewhere east. "yeah. not seeing you for six months is, surprisingly, pretty shitty." you say, causing richie to snort. "you could barely handle it." he says, hand shifting gears as he stops at a stop sign. 

you roll your eyes, but you don't tell him the truth: he's right. "let me tell you, when i got the bear last, i sure wanted to forget all about you." you say, kicking your feet up on his dash. 

you and the other losers all split ways after graduation. of course, you all still kept in touch with phone calls, letters, and that of the sort. but you all had found a favorite way to all still feel close together: a toy canvas bear bev found that you all signed and drew on, shipping it around the country and letting it stay with each person for a week. 

you'd all been printing photographs of the bear with yourselves at various places around all your campuses and sending them along with the bear as little post cards. the most recent from richie had the tattooed-bear propped next to him at a party, smirking with the bear in a vulgar position that had made you roll your eyes so hard you almost got a headache.

 that was in april, and you spent the month and a half after that missing richie and your other dumbass friends so much it hurt. 

richie smiles, "oh, yeah. that bear had some fun times with us up in the ol' N-Y-C."  "-don't call it that."  "-anyways, i did miss you guys, i wish you could meet my roommate, charlie, he's a hoot. i almost wanted to stay up there and have you come to me, y'know?"  you nod, all too familiar with that feeling. "yeah, i wanted to do that too. there was some kind of-" you stop, frowning. do you really want to admit this to anyone? will they think it's weird? but then you remember it's richie. "-i don't know, some kind of dread i felt at having to come back here." 

it's quiet for a second, and you think you said something wrong, but richie's knuckles tighten slightly and he nods, "me too. i have...bad feelings from this place. i didn't want to say anything, but- i don't know. i feel like something's..." but the thought seems to swim away from his voice, getting lost in the dredges of his brain.  

and then as if on cue, the old car bumps its way over a speedbump and you cross past old neibolt street near the tracks. 

 a sick shiver runs down your spine as your eyes fall on the long road, fading away and extending as far as your eye can see...almost into a foggy dark haze, the train tracks running parallel making you feel desolate. 

clouds suddenly move to cover the sun in the sky and you feel cold - you feel like something happened here, something important - but you have no idea. it makes you anxious, so you just swallow, saying nothing and instead looking ahead. richie does the same, and his knuckles are pale against the wheel. 

"the only reason i came back was so i could see everyone." you say. it's quiet, but you know richie's agreeing with you. 

the car rumbles on, eventually pulling past your old high school. you perk up, pointing to the glass and laughing. "wow, look at that shithole." 

"swore we'd never go back there, didn't we? when we left?" richie says, amusement lacing his tone. you're clearly both relieved to have changed the subject, and you nod, chewing your lip. "yeah. you know, i know it was really terrible and stuff, but i have some pretty fond memories from that place." 

humming, richie nods and slowly pulls into the parking lot. “remember those days?” he says, “kickin back in the ol’ schoolyard during lunch.” 

you do remember those hot days, richie, bill and bev smoking cigs while you and eddie play a game of marbles or scramble to copy richie’s math homework. ben reading a book, mike eating stan’s sandwich. the heat barreling down on the eight of you... 

he stops the car next to the football field and you snort slightly at its misery in the dying purple and blue of the summer twilight. "remember those bonfires that were always over in the woods right there?" he points a chipped nail towards the dense trees on the other side of the field, and you can see it. 

the crackling of the wood, the orange glow reflecting the light strands of stan’s dark curls. there’s a sea of students from your class and the class above, everyone rowdy with drunken fun. there’s laughter drowned out by the boombox placed on the outskirts, blasting a salt-n-peppa song that has eddie bouncing around with some kids from track. over to the side, you can nearly see bev's lips curl around a note as richie strums on someone else's guitar, putting together some surprisingly pleasant chords while mike throws twigs into the fire, singing softly with richie and bev. 

you can almost smell the smoky hot air from those nights and you remember the odd sensation of feeling invincible back in those days, when your greatest fear was nothing more than coming across your parents when you were too hungover to remember anything the next morning. 

it’s almost melancholic, the realization that you’ll never have those years again. you’ll never have your friend group in the same way as you did in high school, and it was barely over a year ago. it hurts a bit, until you realize you’re here, in the car with richie. 

but still, despite the feeling, you grin. “why did we think it was a good idea to party so close to the school?” 

richie chuckles, “it was safer. for some reason.” 

it makes you smile, "i wonder if those pabst cans are still hidden in all those hollow logs." you muse, a gentle smile splaying over your lips. richie huffs a small laugh at the memory of jorge garcia drunkenly stuffing the empty beer cans quickly into the log when the cops came. 

a car pulls into the vacant lot behind you, and richie takes the liberty of driving away again, still not really sure where you're going. 

the trees roll past, and soon you're passing through the downtown section of derry, causing the two of you to fall silent as your eyes flick up and down the nearly desloate streets. the aladdin passes by quickly and you remember going to see so many films with the others for less than five bucks a pop, richie slipping an arm around your shoulders and whispering in your ear about the weird worker who always gave you the eyes. 

you smile lightly as your eyes fall to look ahead, passing the corner store. you remember how many times you and richie and stan stopped there after classes or during lunch to grab slushes while the workers weren’t looking. you remember the sticky fingers and bright blue tongues. 

then as you stare more at the ugly front of the store, memories from middle school scratch the surface of your brain. "didn't the boys..." you say, perking up as you turn and watch it pass, richie looking at you attentively. "-eyes on the road, rich." you say absent-mindedly, "...didn't they... steal stuff from there? i can't remember why... it was for ben. tissues?" you ask, tilting your head. richie's brows furrow. "i had to stay outside with him, all i remember is bein' pissed i couldn't go in. dunno why, though." he mutters. you hum, sinking back in your seat. 

"crazy, how quickly you forget your childhood." he says quietly. 

the town slowly fades away before your eyes, and its just then that you realize you're going the opposite way from bill's. then it's plain grassland and marshes, dipping into the barrens. your lips twitch and the silence, while pleasant, makes you feel nervous. 

you look to richie, all nervous slowly releasing from your body. 

you feel stupid for thinking it, and you don't dare say it, but there's something really sweet about being in the middle of nowhere with him. 

you feel like driving along this ugly, terrible road on the outskirts of a truly ugly and terrible town with someone as beautiful and captivating as richie is such an important moment; as if the roads along here are a place only you and richie share to yourselves. 

"i kind of like taking the long way home with you." you let slip instead, instantly feeling hot and panicked as the words leave your mouth. "y-you know, because i just really didn't want to- er, i don't like being-" 

as you stutter out some excuses, he leans forward towards the wheel, face turning to you with a smirk. "oh?" he asks. you feel flustered, your hands sweating and heart tingling as you stare at his handsome face. 

"god, sorry." you say, feeling flushed, "i don't know why i keep rambling. it's so awkward." 

"y/n, you could talk about anything." he says with a laugh, and you look at him, trying to ignore the sheer zoo of animals parading around in your stomach and instead escaping this moment with a sarcastic, "even dead squirrels?" 

he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, his hair glinting in the light. "yeah, whatever baby. i just don't wanna be wasting my time alone when i could be here with you. that's what i'm trying to say." 

and the stupid pet name almost makes you snort but you also get butterflies, the words that he's said making you smile so wide you're almost embarrassed. "yeah, well." you say bashfully, "i guess spending my time with you is, like... the best part of coming back home." 

you avoid eye contact, staring out the window as you pass the house of your junior year bio partner. "hey," richie nudges your jaw and you almost jump at the feeling of his cold ring against the warmth of your skin. he speaks softly. "i'd never let you down, you know." he says, mischief in his eyes. you smile against his hand and look at him, his blue eyes warm and inviting and looking like home. 

your eyes fall back towards the windshield and you see a sign up ahead. shifting, you look at richie again to find him still staring. 

he's got such a terrible habit of watching you instead of the road (he has since high school), and that combined with his lead foot (also since high school - wentworth tozier was a menace on the streets) has you conditioned into reminding him of every obstacle that he may run into while driving. 

"stop sign, richie." you mutter, knowing in his ramble he won't notice it (it happened way too many times as high schoolers). he seems to not really hear it, and you say again, "stop sign!"

just before it's too late, the car lurches as he slams the breaks and you just barely hit the white line, your hands bracing yourself against the dashboard. "oh my god." you hiss, shaking your head. richie's laughing. 

"we've been hitting every red light. can't i just have one pass to not stop at one of these things?" richie says. you roll your eyes with a slight head shake. you can't believe him. 

"you'll be the death of me, tozier." you mutter. richie's still laughing quietly and then he takes a big sigh, hand reaching out. you lean forward, hand reaching for the volume knob on the stereo just as richie does the same, and your hands brush by accident. you feel warm and instead of pulling away, his hand covers yours and he gently turns your hands, bringing up the volume of a green day song. it's seemingly just in the background as you watch your hand in richie's, then slowly turning your gaze up to his face. 

he just stares at you as you stare back, wanting so badly to kiss him but wondering if he feels the same. 

"hey." he whispers, quiet for the first time possibly ever. "hey." you respond softly, watching as he comes a bit closer. his hand is still in yours. "i am so happy to be home. with you." he says sincerely, his eyes wide and honest behind his glasses and his smile soft.  your breath catches slightly and you smile, "me too. i always feel like this is the way it's supposed to be. u-us." 

something in richie's eyes change, a light of sort, and then he's leaning into you and you're kissing. 

his hand that isn't in yours falls to softly rub your thigh and you're taking a shuddering breath as your lips touch his. he tastes like mint chapstick and those stupid red-hots he was eating earlier, his lips slightly cold but his tongue warm as he slowly pulls you closer to him. 

your mind almost falls blank as the world melts away, the only thing in your mind is how long you've missed out on this - richie is kind of unexpectedly a fantastic kisser. you pull him closer by his hair as his tongue grazes yours, his thumb tilting your jaw for a better angle. 

but suddenly a horn honks loudly behind you and you both spring apart, your stomach panging with anxiety at the noise.

"shit." you hiss as you remember you're at a stop sign. richie snorts slightly, a smirk on his face despite the blush on his high cheekbones, feet going back to the gas pedal and clutch. his hand leaves your thigh as he drives forward and you clear your throat as the car turns behind you at the intersection, leaving you two back in the middle of nowhere with just you two. 

it's tense for a few minutes, neither of you two really talking and you can tell the tension is going to kill richie, his hand twitching on the shift and his leg bouncing. 

you break the silence after a couple more moments, "did you want to pull over-"  "-yes." he says quickly, car almost swerving as he pulls off the road near the quarry. you laugh and grip the handle of the car as you slide to a stop and he laughs too, the feeling of glee unmatchable. 

you both unclick your seatbelts after gaining a few breaths, and then you're leaning over the console to kiss richie hard enough on the lips that he falls back towards the window. he holds your face with his hands and he laughs a bit into the kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip before tugging it. "goddamn, you're eager." he mutters into your mouth. 

you smirk, pulling back. "fine, i don't have to kiss you. we have to be at bill's soon, anyways." you say, feigning a fake dismissive voice. 

"wait, no, no. we've still got 20 minutes." richie defends after glancing at the stereo on the dash. his eyebrows raising in a plea. you giggle, leaning towards him and bringing your arm over. he's beaming as your face nears his and he moves to kiss you but you turn your head, instead letting his lips graze your neck as you lean to turn off the headlights.

"tease." richie mutters hotly against the skin of your neck before biting down softly, kissing over the skin. "i thought you said i was eager?" you say with a teasing smile. he hums, "y'know, it's pretty unfair to be teasin' me, toots. i've been eager to kiss you since we were seventeen." he says, and you can't help but smile, pulling him in to a kiss as his hands slide up your thighs and yours tangle in his messy curls.

you pull away slightly, "you want to get in the backseat?" 

taglist:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier​  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby​ @trashedfortozier  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @oceandog13​ @chl0bee @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @screammin @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @five-motherfucking-hargreeves @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter  

© all content belongs to soulwillower 2020. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[whoreforenemiestolovers]

a story i wrote about eris and mor and what happened five-hundred and nineteen years ago.

Word Count: 3093

Characters: Eris, Morrigan, Cassian, Keir, Beron, Rhysand

TW: Abuse, Torture

---

Eris was still reeling from his conversation with Cassian.

“Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” Cassian had pushed and pushed for an answer. He sat by the fire in the room Rhysand had given him for his stay in the Hewn City, a glass of liquor in his hand. He never let his thoughts wander to the events from over 500 years ago. The memories were just too painful.

“I think you might even be a good male.” Eris shuddered, he didn’t need a brute like Cassian telling him he was a good person.

“You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.” Eris would have imagined Morrigan would have told them the truth by now, considering that is what she’s known for. He started fading off to sleep, eyelids heavy from the alcohol, and for the first time in years, let his mind recollect the months leading up to the worst moment of his life.

Five-Hundred and Nineteen Years Ago...

Mor was the most beautiful woman Eris had ever seen. Her blonde hair shining as bright as the sun, her golden-brown eyes twinkling in the moonlight of the Night Court, and that red dress that she loves to wear, Eris couldn’t get enough of her.

From the moment Eris Vanserra laid eyes on Morrigan, he didn’t see any other female. He begged and pleaded with his father to arrange a union for them, and finally, he agreed. Tonight is Mor’s birthday and her father Keir is going to announce the wedding to the Night Court.

Morrigan was on the dance floor with her cousin, and High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She moved like a goddess and Eris was head over heels for her. Keir moved to the center of the room.

“May I have everyone’s attention,” Keir was tapping on his glass, looking like a smug prick. Morrigan’s father was such an asshole, so much so that one of the reasons Eris was so set on marrying her was to help her get away from him. “I would like to make a toast for my daughter’s Morrigan’s birthday,” he paused and smirked at Beron, Eris’ father and High Lord of the Autumn Court. “Tonight is my daughter’s seventeenth birthday, one of very many being High Fae. Tonight’s party is for her and being so, I have a present. Too long have we been at odds with the Autumn Court so tonight I am proud to announce that my daughter will be married to Eris Vanserra, the oldest child and heir of the Autumn Court.” Everyone started clapping and cheering but from across the room, Eris could see Mor’s face drop.

He could see a tear slip from her eye and something inside of him broke. Mor ran from the room and Eris followed.

Eris followed Mor into a dark corridor, far from the festivities, the scent of her perfume almost sending him to his knees. “What’s wrong Mor?” She turned around, tears staining her red cheeks.

“Did you know about this?” He could hear the hurt in her voice.

“Of course I did, I want to marry you.” Eris was being open and honest, something he never does. “You’re my mate Mor.”

“Don’t say that,” Mor was looking around to see if anyone heard, “I am no one’s mate. I do not belong to anyone. We have talked about this and I have said that I do not want to marry right now. I am only seventeen Eris. I want to live.” Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “Eris, I--” Eris cut her off before she could say anything.

“Please don’t say it Mor. Give me time. I will delay the wedding. You can have all the time you need to live your life before settling down. Let me prove myself to you. Give me a year and if I don’t change your mind by then, then you can say it, I promise. But please Mor, do not say those words to me. Not right now.” Eris didn’t think he could bear hearing those words. The breaking within his chest. Not being able to sense her. To feel her.

Mor hesitated before answering, searching his eyes as if she was questioning whether or not he was genuine. Her tears were gone and the silence was heavy between them as he waited for her answer, and then finally, she spoke. “Okay Eris. One year. If you can delay the wedding I won’t say the words. Not yet.” He let in a slight breath at the sound of his name on her lips, praying one day she would say it with love in her voice. A faint smile overtook her lips as she leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I truly hope you can persuade me within the year,” she paused and looked into his eyes, “I think you might be one of the good ones.” With that, Mor ducked around him, heading back to the party.

Two Weeks Later…

Eris looked into the eyes of the beauty across the table from him and something broke inside of him. “What do you mean we have to get married within the month?” Mor questioned her father.

“I mean what I just said Morrigan. Beron and I decided it would be best if the ties between our two courts were solidified before this war comes to us.”

Rhysand, who had been silent this entire meeting, finally spoke up, “This isn’t your court Keir. Last I remembered I am the High Lord.” The earth seemed to shudder from Rhysand’s power.

“You might be the High Lord but you are barely more than a child.” Keir scoffed as if forgetting Rhysand is the most powerful High Lord Prythian has had in centuries. Eris swore he could see Rhysand’s power creeping across the table to Morrigan’s father.

Keir went still. “You seem to be forgetting that I am High Lord because I was the most powerful in my family, uncle. Do you see how easy it was for me to penetrate your mind just now? With a snap of my fingers, you’re brain dead, a living corpse. Never speak to me like that again or I will not hesitate.” Everyone at the table was silent and motionless as life returned to Keir’s eyes and motion to his body.

Morrigan was speaking now, “Rhys you’re the High Lord, can’t you stop this?” Rhysand’s eyes went dark. He began to speak with a softness in his voice Eris had never heard before.

“As much as I would like to Mor, I can’t,” Rhysand looked down, “ I may be High Lord but Keir is your father. Until you are married, you are technically his property. I can’t claim blood kin on you because he is alive.”

Mor jumped out of her seat, slamming her hands down on the table with rage glittering in her eyes. “Then kill him Rhysand! I am no one’s property, least not his!” Keir was staring at her wide-eyed, probably wondering if Rhysand will actually do it, Eris thought. Rhysand and Mor have always been close, there is rarely anything he wouldn’t do for her.

“Mor, you know I would love to,” Rhys paused, glaring at Keir, “but I can’t.” Rhysand looked exhausted and defeated. It was Beron’s turn to speak up.

“There will be no debate. You both will be married within the month.” Fire was simmering beneath his eyes, the same fire that was within Eris. Beron stood up from where he sat, “do not test my temper children.” With that, he turned on his heel and left the meeting room. Mor then glanced at Eris, tears brimming in her eyes.

“You promised,” she let out a sob and a piece of Eris’ heart broke at the sight. Keir laughed, receiving a growl in return from Rhysand. With that, he left the room as well, leaving only the three of them.

“Mor I will figure something out, just promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Eris was pleading with her because Gods only knew what his, or her, father would do if she did anything to sabotage the union. Mor looked at him through her tears, sadness and rage flickering through to the surface.

“I will make no such promise,” she wiped off her tears, straightened her gown, and walked out of the room. Rhysand looked at Eris with dismay. They stood in silence for a few moments before Eris spoke.

“Should I go after her?” Eris had always been good at talking to females but Mor was different, he loved her. She was his mate, and he never wanted to do anything to upset her.

“I think Mor just needs to be alone right now. Give her some time I’m sure she’ll come around,” and with that, Rhysand departed as well, leaving only Eris to his thoughts.

The next morning Beron announced they would be departing after breakfast, winnowing back to the Autumn Court. Eris wasn’t ready to go. He knew once they were back in their own court, in the privacy of their home, Beron would raise hell. He still had the scars left from last time.

Mor wasn’t at breakfast. Eris frowned at not being able to see her again before he left. After breakfast, Rhysand winnowed them both back to the Autumn Court and as quickly as they appeared, he disappeared. Beron turned to look at Eris, “go wait for me in the cave. I have some things to attend to first,” He smirked at him and Eris swore it was the most evil sight he had ever seen. Eris slowly made his way down to the cave, building up the strength he will need to face his father. He entered the cave and waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. An hour. Beron liked to make him wait, to build up the anxiety and fear for what’s to come. After two hours of sitting in silence the door creaked open and in walked the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

“Hello, my oldest son. My heir. The one who, even though I give so much, shows so little respect.” Beron walked across the room to a tray that held many sorts of torture devices and weapons to inflict pain. “Why haven’t you strapped yourself to the chair yet,” he questioned, still studying the instruments in front of him.

Eris used his magic to strap himself to the chair, bracing himself for what he knew would come next. “Keir told me what your dear Morrigan said after I left the room, ‘you promised.’ What exactly did you promise her my dear child?” He walked closer to Eris, a scalpel in his hand. “What did you promise her?” The scalpel was on his face now, pushed a little deeper and it would draw blood.

“Just that I would try to have the wedding delayed for a bit,” Beron pushed the scalpel into his cheek, slicing from his cheekbone to his chin. Eris screamed in pain.

“And why would you want the wedding delayed, boy? I thought you wanted to marry her?” Beron moved the scalpel to the other side of his face, cutting once again, only deeper. Eris jerked and screamed, hoping someone, anyone, would hear and stop this madness. But Eris knew better. He knew no one came down here and even if they did, they knew to ignore whatever they heard. Eris’ face was on fire, the salty tears from his eyes burning the wounds on his face.

“I do want to marry her, that's why I would delay it. Because it’s what she wants and I love her.” At that, Beron summoned fire into his hand and pressed it into Eris’ bare chest, right over his heart.

Eris was thrashing against the straps, the smell of his burning flesh mixed with the pain being inflicted almost made him vomit. “Now what have I told you about love?” Beron lifted his other hand, summoning flame to it as well, and pressed it against the other side of his chest. Eris couldn’t take it anymore. He was going to die soon if Beron didn’t stop.

“You said it isn’t real! That we shall meet the standards of no female!” Eris was screaming from the pain. He looked down and could see muscle and bone from where the skin was being burnt off. Beron retracted his hands.

“That’s right. We bow to no female. Why do you think there isn’t a High Lady? It doesn’t exist because females are the weaker sex. We can admire them for their bodies and fuck them like they’re dogs but we will never bow for a female.” Eris was gasping for air.

“W-we will n-never bow for a f-female.” Beron stood up, keeping his eyes on Eris. He picked up the scalpel once more, cutting a deep line into Eris’ thigh, just slightly missing a vein. Eris blacked out from the pain.

Eris awoke in his bedroom, bandages on his chest and leg. His face was healed by a healer so no one would know what happened but his father likes him to keep the scars on the rest of his body. He tried to sit up, pain flashed through his body and he collapsed back on the bed.

“Shhh don’t try to sit up. Say still,” the voice was one he recognized. The healer who has been there every time he has awoken from a blackout.

“How long have I been asleep Lydia,” he hated to think he’d been out for longer than a day.

“Three days sir,” she turned, hiding her face of disgust, the disgust for what his father does to him. “I shall be taking my leave now. Please do not try to move, you still have some healing to do. You lost a lot of blood.” Lydia left the room and that’s when Eris saw the note on the desk next to his bed.

Whenever you awake, come to my office.

It was in his father’s handwriting. He prayed for the day Beron died. The day he would become High Lord. Lydia told him not to move but it was best not to keep his father waiting. Eris shifted, lifting himself up with his right arm and pushing himself off his bed. He went to his closet, finding a tunic and some pants to put on, hissing at the sting of his shirt on his burns.

Eris departed his room and made his way to his father’s office. Two lefts, three rights, down a corridor, another left, and his father’s office was the only door on the right. Eris could find his way there in his sleep. He knocked twice, waiting for an answer.

“Come in,” his father sounded angry. This wasn’t good. Eris opened the door and walked in. “Shut the door and sit down.”

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Maybe it was because they shared blood or magic but Eris knew something was wrong.

“Keir was here earlier,” he paused as if to build suspense, he did always have a flair for the dramatic.

“And?”

“Your darling Morrigan went and lost her virginity to an Illyrian so she wouldn’t have to marry you.” Beron let out a laugh, “who knew you were so undesirable.”

Something inside of Eris broke. It was his heart. Not because she lost her maidenhead to someone else, but out of fear for what his father will do to her. “I don’t believe you.” He told Mor not to do anything stupid. He told her to just wait.

“You don’t have to believe me. She’s waiting for you in the woods. Beron left her there. But who knows if she’s still alive, it’s been a couple of hours.” Eris stopped thinking. What did he mean, who knows if she’s still alive?

He jumped out of his seat and started sprinting. He was faster than a deer running from a predator with his Fae speed. He ran through the gigantic house, one right, three lefts, four rights and down a corridor until he got to the entrance and threw open the doors. He was screaming for her, “Mor! Mor! Can you hear me!” Eris was running for the woods, praying he wasn’t too late. Praying he still had a chance to see her again. In the tree line a hundred years away, he saw something move. And he smelt blood.

Eris was sprinting faster than the speed of lightning when he came upon her. There, lying half-covered in leaves and mud, was his mate… naked. Her beautiful, porcelain skin, all cut up. Her eyes black and her lips bloody. Keir had beaten her half to death and there on her stomach was a note, nailed into her.

She’s your problem now.

Eris thought he was going to be sick. He knelt down and brushed the hair from her eyes, taking off his cloak to wrap around her. “Mor, you’re going to be okay. Do you hear me? You’re going to be okay.” He needed to get her to a nurse but didn’t know how to move her without causing her to lose more blood. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his.

Mor’s voice was raw, “Eris,” she paused and a tear slipped down her cheek. He could feel her pain through the bond, he knew she was on death’s doorstep. But that wasn’t why she was crying. He knew what she was about to do, a tear fell from his eye in realization.

“Don’t say it Mor. Pl-please don’t say it.” Eris was crying now. “I can make this right, I promise.” He was holding her in his arms, praying someone would come find them. Mor let out a sob, tears mixing with the blood on her face, and started to speak.

“I reject you. I reject the bond.” Eris felt a snap inside of him. This couldn’t be happening, he couldn’t lose her.

“Mor please. You know I can’t help you if you say it, the laws forbid it. I need to help you. Please let me help you.” He was begging her. He had never begged for anyone else. Only her. He would only ever love her. Want her.

She took in a deep breath, “I reject you. I reject the bond.” Eris felt another string deep inside of him snap and when he looked at her, he could tell she felt it too. When she rejected the mating bond, they would still faintly be able to feel each other, males can feel it more than females, but there would be an emptiness inside both of them that no one else could ever fill. Eris didn’t want that.

Eris was whispering now, his eyes blurred from the tears he was shedding, “Mor. Please.” He knew it was pointless begging, Mor was as stubborn as they come. That’s why he loved her so much.

Mor, still staring into his eyes, let another tear slip. She lifted up her hand to touch his face, a farewell, he thought, before saying, “Eris Vanserra,” she paused, closing her eyes, “I reject you. I reject the bond.” The cord linking them together finally snapped. They both felt it. Felt the pain and emptiness inside of them now. Eris wept, gently retracting his hands from around her, and laid her back down onto the cold, hard ground.

Eris could sense his someone coming but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. Not when there was a Morrigan-sized hole in his chest that used to be filled with laughter and beauty. Not when he lost the only thing that ever kept him from falling apart, hope.

He slowly stood, still not taking his eyes off of Mor. His brothers, he assumed, were behind him now.

“What do you want us to do with her,” Eris couldn’t tell who was speaking, he couldn’t comprehend anything. He spoke softly, afraid of hearing his voice crack.

“We have to leave her.” Another tear slipped from Eris’ eye. He stood still for another moment, hoping she would say something. She just laid there staring at him, silently begging him to leave. He could hear her heartbeat slowing, his heart breaking with it, as he turned to walk away.

Eris made his way across the 300 yards of grass leading to the house. Once inside, he headed to the closest chair available in the foyer, his brother’s trailing behind him. One of them poured a drink and handed it to him. “Don’t beat yourself up brother. It’s not your fault she whored herself to an Illyrian brute.” Eris’ brother’s laughed and he slowly turned his head.

“What did you just say?” Fire was crackling inside of him. He still didn’t know who he was talking to, all he could see was red.

“I said she’s a whore who went and fucked Cassian of all males. That’s low, even for a whore like her.” Eris exploded. One minute he was sitting and the next he was on top of his brother, beating him bloody. His fire magic was building up inside of him, about to be unleashed, looking for somewhere to strike. The male underneath him was trying to fight back but Eris had the element of surprise. His brother’s nose was broken and his face was so bloodied up, no one could tell who it was. Eris didn’t stop until he felt hands on his arms pulling him off.

Eris looked around the room, questioning what to do, but there was only one thought that came to mind. Eris didn’t think twice before he ran to the doors and back outside to get Mor.

Screw the laws, he thought. He couldn’t leave her out there. He couldn’t leave the female he had been chasing for years to die. She might not be his mate anymore but he still loved her. He loved her laugh and the golden-brown of her eyes. The color of her hair that somehow, exactly took the shade of sunlight. Her sarcasm and the way she never took no for an answer.

He ran the 300 yards in seconds, racing to the treeline where she had been lying, praying to the gods that her heart remained beating long enough for him to save her. He slowed to a stop looking for the female that made him a better male.

She was gone, leaving only a pile of blood in her wake and another scent he knew all too well. The scent of another male. The scent of the Shadowsinger.

Eris’ heart dropped and his soul came undone. He dropped to his knees and wept the last tears he would cry in five-hundred and nineteen years. He wept for hours, his magic building up in his veins until he was at a peak. His power unleashed from inside of him, incinerating everything within 100 yards of him. He burned and burned and burned, until nothing remained on the earth around him except ash. He reached the bottom of his magic and collapsed into what used to be Mor’s dried blood. It was there that he made vows to himself, the vows he would keep for the rest of his immortal life.

I will never open my heart again.

I will never show mercy again.

I will never hope again.

I will never love again.

[the-headbop-wraith]

2_37 Restoration

The vines catch at his ankles as he charges full tilt, sharp branches slap at his brow.  He can’t fend them all from his skin, yet there are no trees surrounding him, just branches. Hundreds of branches, low hanging tree limbs, gnarled and sharp twigs starved of leaves – all clutter his vision. Candle light flashed faster and faster along high wall paper, shades of magenta and fuchsia crashing against his eyes. Red, blue, red, blue – his bare feet slap at the carpeted floor, the panicked rhythm hastens the wild pitch of his heart until he feels like his chest is ready to explode.  Somewhere out there a mild thumping dips into a steady pace, while his legs whirl under him.  Soon, he’s aware that thumping sound is getting closer and closer, no matter how fast his legs beat at the floor under him.

__

Arthur snapped his eyes open and stares at the other side of the wall, through the opaque plastic window of the small stand in shower.  He tries to make sense of the blurry wall, struggles with the truth of the wall rather his hazy memory from an elsewhere.  The door was open and the cold air kneaded into his skin, helped clear his mind. It was stale air, not icy, not depressing and icy air.  The walls closed around him were as bleached and sterile as the surface of the moon. He shuddered and tightened his arm around his legs and tried to bar in the little bit of warmth bubbled against his stiff sides.

The bathroom that connected to the guest bedroom was functional and comfortable.  It had two doors, one that accessed the guest room and the other door across from it which opened into the front hall of the home.  It had the bare essentials, a toilet and sink on one side of the room, and a small shower in the fourth corner.  Arthur currently sat in the dry pan of the shower, staring at the bulbous shapes morphing through the distorted plastic.  He hated doing anything in a haunted home, especially sleeping.  His eyes shut again, it felt so good sometimes to just close your eyes and listen to the empty air around your head.

His eyes popped open to the gentle rapping on the door. A groggy voice blundered through the wood panel that separated him from the guest room.  “Art?”  It was Vivi, voice muffled by drowsiness and door.  “You in there?”

“Mm.  Yeah,” Arthur called back.  “I’ll be out in a sec.”  He wobbled something bad as he pushed himself up by one arm, and staggered out of the small shower closet stiffly.  He stepped over to the single standing sink and turned on the water.  He put away the portable medical kit, and managed to dig out a clean shirt without much problem getting it by the abundance of used ointment packets and bandage wrappers.  He slipped the clean shirt on carefully, shut off the water, and collected up the remainder of his gear before unlocking the door.  “Sorry ‘bout that,” he choked, as he pushed the door open a crack.

“It’s fine,” Vivi yawned.  She stretched her arms behind her head and scratched at her frazzled head, glasses gone and still dressed for yesterday.  “I was just getting worried, and I needed to get in an hour ago.”

As Arthur stepped out of the way, he finally noted the windows in the furthest corner of the room.  Bright sunlight poured through, golden and fluffy through the mild tint of fog and clouds.  It had to be early, shy of noon, the fog hadn’t burned off yet.  The last time he looked outside, it was very dark.

The door shut, and Arthur was left to gather his bearings.  He coughed a bit on the warm air, it was probably time for another pill.  Later then, he didn’t want to fool with his bag and risk drawing attention to himself.  

Since Arthur’s disappearance, Mystery had relocated himself from what was once warm blankets on the couch, to the warm bed and was on his back snoring with his paws bent over his chest.  Arthur stared at the happily snoozing dog bundled in his warm nest.  Arthur sighed.  “I could really go for coffee.”  Arthur set his bag down and flopped sideways onto the couch.  He curled up on his good side and slipped the blanket over his lower half. “Lewis isn’t back yet,” he noted.  At least, as far as he could tell.

It wouldn’t take Vivi long to get spruced up and ready to tackle the days task.  A blessing and a… downer.  Five more minutes.  Two more seconds.  If he just rest his eyes, he’d be good.

Mystery was up.  He didn’t see when the dog had moved to his feet, but he was standing up on the bed and staring at the side of the room, fully focused on the door.  Arthur worked to get himself pushed up and over to see where Mystery’s attention was.  Arthur wasn’t alert enough to anticipate Lewis’ sudden appearance.

There was no Lewis.  However, Mystery hopped off the bed and padded over to the door, head down and ears high.  “Wassup?” Arthur mumbled.  Mystery arfed, as he neared the door.  “Whatever you say, buddy.”  Arthur spun over onto his back—

The door flew open and a pair of white bulbous bodies withered in, moaning and bellowing their arms.  They screamed, “Leave our house!” and “Be gone trespassers!” as they raced at Arthur.  Mystery kicked back on his rears legs, fell over, his claws scrabbled at the carpet until he found traction and bolted for the space under the bed.  “You will REGRET!”

“WOOOOO!”

“Holy—”  Arthur threw himself backwards, crawled over the side of the couch and away from the invading sheets.  As he tried to stand upright, his feet got tangled up in the blanket and his body went straight to the floor.  “Ow….”

“Ooh,” one of the ghosts groaned, wincing.  It pried off the white sheet revealing Tyler’s matted hair.  “Hey, you okay?”

“We’re ghosts!”  The other ghost declared, waving its arms.  “OOoooohhhhh!”  She stopped when Tyler slapped her in the stomach.  “Ow!  I’m telling mom.”

Arthur rolled over and sat up.  “Geez, what is wrong with you two?” he spat.  Whatever fatigue had flattened his brain on the hot pavement, it was gone, obliterated.  “You’d give someone a heart attack.”

“Were we scary?” Savannah asked.  Her hair stood up in all directions when she slid the sheet off.  “Your eyes went all white, it was crazy!”

At least he was clothed.  Arthur raised an arm to his side, where he had fallen.  He must’ve hit his bad nerve, that whole side of his ribs was buzzing.  “I could call you a few things,” he muttered under his breath.  All three turned their heads up when the bathroom door WHAMMED against the wall.

Vivi emerged from the mist in the door, hair soaked and slicked to her skull, damp cloths clinging to her body.  Whatever the teens said about scary, it paled in comparison to the look in Vivi’s eyes.  Arthur felt himself shrinking into himself, and he was far from the target of her fury this time.

“What in FLYING FUCKS are you two doing in OUR ROOM!” The house shook on its foundation around her voice.  Elephants stampeded, waves crashed, a certain dog in a room enjoyed hamburgers for the rest of its life.  “Do YOU have ANY MANNERS?  DON’T ANSWER THAT!”  Savanah shut her mouth.

“This is our house!” Tyler rebuts.  He rolled the sheet up against his chest, clearly unsettled but much too proud (or stupid) to admit anything redeeming.  “And you should be paying us rent or something while you’re here.”  Tyler glanced around, and turns his attention back to his sister but she clearly didn’t want to get involved in this.

Vivi was marching forward, head down, eyes flashing. Arthur threw himself into her path. “No, Vi, Vi!” he stammered.  “I wasn’t hurt!  They’re just kids!”  He tries to grab her by the wrist or snag her shoulder, but this is difficult to do when you have one less arm, and he’s backing up struggling to snap her attention onto him.  “VIV-VI!”

“The doors gone.”  Savanah had looked back and inspiration struck.  The door that was once open, was now not there at all. “Um….”

Vivi’s hostile advance had ceased, and Arthur hung on her shaking.  It was getting harder to see.  Now the windows had ceased to be, there were no longer exits present at all in the room. The apprehension thickened, the once soft pastel colors of the surrounding walls crack and darken, the harsh introverted coloration spreads down and down, burning away pale hues. Was it a trick of perception, the loss of light, or the tones of red and purple that were quickly gaining area, but the whole room seemed to be getting larger?  The walls extending but minutely, as the light faded.  Vivi helped Arthur stay on his feet, though he was moving away from the lush red carpet as it sizzled under foot; as if there was fire snapping at his feet.  

Mystery wriggled out from under the bed and hopped up onto the mattress.  The dog’s gaze followed the gradual progress of the carpet and walls until the two alterations met at the edge of the wall.  Mystery twisted around and gave Vivi his attention, one ear bent down at a loss.

“Lew?” Vivi whispered.  “Is this you?”  Savanah and Tyler ambled around whining, shooting startled eyes along the walls as the room contorted around them.  “You’re going too far with this.  Do you hear me?  You have to stop.”  She whips around when Arthur leaps onto the couch, one of the few areas of the room unaltered.

“He’s gonna kill me!” Arthur squealed.  He heaved the blanket from the floor up over his head and buried down into the cushions.  Mystery wasn’t far behind Arthur’s escape, and hops up into the thin wedge between the chairs arm and Arthur’s quivering body.  “He’s promised!  He swore, oh god!  This is it! Dead!  I’m dead- I’m dead!”  Mystery looped his paws over Arthur’s back and huddled down, he looked to Vivi.

“Pull yourself together!”  Vivi stooped beside Arthur and put an arm over a clear space on his spine.  Arthur shook something bad and tensed at her touch, whimpering incomprehensive words muffled by the blanket tangled about him.  “Pull yourself together!  Art!  Nothing’s happened so far!  Listen to me!  You—” All at once what little light had remained throughout the rooms metamorphosis dimmed, though blessedly not total darkness.  Vivi could still see Arthur and Mystery clearly, she could see across the room the distant walls.  “Lewis.”

A panicked shriek comes from the other side as Savanah and Tyler threw themselves to the wall, where once stood a strong and proud door. “It was here!” Tyler yelped.  He slapped his palms to the door and felt around. “We came from here!”

“Where is it?  Mom! Mom!”  Savanah screamed.  They hit the wall, screamed for aid, begged whatever force listened.  “We didn’t mean anything!  It was just a game!”

“She made me do it,” Tyler bawled.  “I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!” He twisted around to a low hissing-pop at his back, and shield his eyes from a flash of light.  “S-Savanah.”  His sister ceased pawing at the wall, and turned as Tyler tugged her arm.

On the floor lay the Ouija board with four candles burning by each corner, a vibrant flame that bounced and swayed, beckoning fuchsia light.  The glossy board with artistic rendition of sun and moon did nothing, but sat there on the foreign carpet and bathed in the otherworldly light.  In the center of the Ouija board was a black mare that resembled a burn.

This… it was beginning to make sense to Vivi, but she felt grossly uninformed.  She wanted to scream at Lewis to cease this nonsense, it had gone too far.  But she didn’t.  She could almost sense his presence strongly in the room pacing around, smell the fine kindling of his hot smoke as he waited.  If there was anything she had come to learn on her own of Lewis, it was that he was ruthlessly patient.

As if to answer her doubts over the nature of the scene, Vivi felt something brush into her leg.  She looked down.  One of the tool bags, a few of the incense sticks poked out from the top flap oddly, tips aflame.  Mystery gave a low sound, a hum, as Vivi reached down and plucked out the burning sticks.  She blew out the flames and kept the wicks held in front of her, the sweet scented fumes trail off as she shifts her footing on the carpet.

Somewhere at the wall Tyler and Savanah had huddled down and sniffled into their arms.  Vivi began to approach the teens slowly, it was difficult to see and the carpet had begun to resemble the ripped rug of a certain foyer.  The darkness that had been sewn into the walls of the room now constricted its prisoners, wound down and deep; barely recoiled from the four candles that huddled around the blemished Ouija board. When Vivi turned and checked her progress from the couch, she could see neither Arthur or the rooms furnishings, nor were Mystery’s soft coos audible.

With a breath from the sweet aroma of the sticks, Vivi leans over the board and fans the smoke.  “Spirit,” she commands.  “Be gone.”

Rather vanquish the hostility the Ouija board begins to spins between the candles.  The board whirls so fast it becomes a blurred disk, but the flames upon the wicks never sway at its dictation.  Okay.

“You two played with this,” she accuses.  “This is yours.”

“No, no,” Tyler pleads.  He tries to grab ahold of his sister, but Savanah just shoves him away and holds herself.  “I promise. It’s… realy, it’s her’s.”

“Shut up,” Savanah hissed.

The Ouija board spins faster and faster.  If it were not held down by the force that commanded it, it might’ve flown off into the great beyond that swelled around them. Still, Tyler and Savanah continue to deny every seeing it, buying it, all the way down to denying knowledge of what the cursed thing actually was.  The more they beseeched and whined, the faster the board twirled on the floor; the longer the Ouija board spun, the darkness all around them thickened and loomed; closing in, tightening over the bright flames of the candles, until neither of the three could see anything but the individual candle wicks between them. Savanah and Tyler clung to the wall paper behind them unwilling to risk seeking safety in the alien light, even when they could no longer see who it was that sat beside them.  Until finally—

“Yes!” Savanah barked.  “YES!  I got it from a friend!  I didn’t know!  We just wanted to know if our house— We WANTED a haunted house!”

And like that the Ouija board halts mid gyration, the darkness recedes, but not completely.  The nearest walls become visible, but not the rest of the room.

Vivi’s hair was starting to dry and little lone strands begin to stick up whichever way they wanted.  She was cold too, though the air felt very warm.  Her clothing had been practically soaked through.  “Okay,” she said.  “What needs to be done is… a closing prayer!  Have either of you done a closing prayer before?”  The unanimous mumble was ‘huh?’  “That’s a problem,” she continues, shaking her head.  Arthur was coughing, choking.  She felt better knowing he was out there somewhere, at least she knew where he was more or less.  ���A closing prayer sort of frees spirits from the board, and also protects those that use it.  Only those apart of the session can close a session, it won’t work unless all members are present.”  She gave them a critical eye and raised the incense sticks near her face.  “Did anyone else help you with your session?” Savanah shook her head.  

“You sure?  This is kind of important.”

Again, she pushed Tyler away.  “No.  Just us,” she said.

Vivi nods.  She lowers herself to the floor before the board, the incense held beside her. “Come closer.  You have to help me with this, or none of us will leave.” Neither of the two teens would leave the wall.  “You can stay there for as long as you like, but there won’t be a way out till you fix this.”  She held out a stick of incense.  “This will… protect you.”  She glanced aside and tried not to roll her eyes.

Reluctantly, Savanah shuffled forward, Tyler followed her lead.  The two faced the board where it had stopped, the images and symbols facing them.  Vivi handed them each a stick of incense.

Savanah sniffed.  “Is that blueberry?”

“Uh-huh.  It purifies the air, and it’s good for a séance,” Vivi chirped.  At a thought, she turns and calls into the dark. “Art?  You wanna help?”  A muffled whine came, and a separate bark from Mystery.  “I’ll take that as a no.”  

When the two siblings lowered to their knees, Vivi began fanning the remaining sticks she held over the Ouija board.  “Now, we’ll thank the spirit for sharing their energy with us,” Vivi explained.  “You’ll repeat after me:  ‘Thank you for sharing this sacred time with me.’”  Tyler and Savanah followed without a hitch, and aimlessly trailed their sticks above the now placid board, in a similar manner to that of Vivi’s antics. “‘We appreciate the flow of energy we have experienced, and we will use it for our highest good.’”  When they finished with that portion of the prayer, Vivi indicated the candles at the Ouija board’s corner.  “Start blowing the candles out—”

“Blowing the candles out,” Tyler blurted.  Savanah nudged him in the side and he winced.

“It will be fine,” Vivi assured.  “Do it slowly, not fast.  Be respectful.”  She waited as the two teens took a candle each to blow out.  “Say now:  ‘As we blow out these candles,’” Savanah and Tyler begin to repeat, between snuffing out the candle light.  The bright halo around their epicenter dims but doesn’t black out the transparent illumination completely.  “‘We close the sacred space, and ask that your protection surrounds us wherever we go today.’”  Vivi dips her head.  “Thank you two, that was very good.”  

“It’s dark,” Tyler’s voice whimpered.  There was a crackling sound, and Tyler was groaning again.

“Is not, the lights coming back on,” Savanah said. And Vivi saw it was true, the air and walls about them was brightening and Vivi could see Savanah pointing up. “Look!  The light’s working again.”

The light in the low ceiling gradually brightened, revealing a room restored, a small comfortable room with beige carpet and soft pastel walls.  And doors.

Once the two saw that the door was returned, they tore away from the abandoned Ouija board and smoking candles on the floor.  The two fought to reach the doorknob, and spent more time fighting over the door that it took a full minute before one of them, Vivi wasn’t sure who precisely, had ripped the door wide open and they tumbled out into the hall.  Their rapid footfalls clambered down the hall and soon the room was again subdued and quiet, and preferable.

Coughing, Arthur pokes his head up from the blanket and looked around.  “Vi. Vi.  You okay?”  She doesn’t answer Arthur, she’s watching where the two had barged out from.

As the door swung back towards its frame, Lewis is revealed leaning back into the wall behind the panel.  He reached a hand over to shut the entry the rest of the way, and holds up his hands as Vivi jumps to her feet.  “Don’t get those near me,” he says.

Vivi was about to argue, but forfeits that and just dumps the incense on the Ouija board.  “Did you do a session with them, without my permission?” she pried, as she… she tries to fix her damp pants.  It was a hopeless measure.  “Don’t tell me you’re gonna be giving those two good vibes for the rest of the day.”

Lewis smirked and shook his head.  “No.  It wasn’t my session you helped them close.”  He raised his arms anticipating an embrace as Vivi hurries at him, but instead sets her hands over his.

“I gather you have some things you need to tell us later,” she says.  “But first things first, we still don’t have a solution for our current problems.  We don’t know the first thing about these spirits, and scaring those two did not help.”  She stopped talking, when Lewis set a finger gently to her lips.

“Mi dulce arándano,” Lewis hummed.  “You saved those kids, and in the process got rid of those ‘spirits.’”  

Wait, no, that wasn’t what she was trying to do. Vivi took a step back from Lewis, conflicted by the whole ordeal and the repercussions undoubtedly unleashed.  She hadn’t done anything, hadn’t tried.  Not yet, she didn’t.  She gazed at him and squinted her eyes.  “Lew?  What did you do?”

Lewis frowns, and motions a hand to the neglected Ouija board behind Vivi.  “A candle for each spirit,” is all he’d say.

__

The hall clicked with the sharp footfalls of Beatrice Hirstein’s swift, calculated strides.  The words of her young teens boiled her blood, fueled the contorted fury that navigated her course of action.  She was a rational woman but she had limits, and they would NOT be tested.

When she reached the door of the guest room she brought her quick stride to an abrupt halt and reached out, her knuckles tapped gently on the door.  “Excuse me in there,” her voice projected.  She paused and listened, there was no response, no voices, but she could hear the muffled movement behind the door.  “Hello! I need to speak with you!”  She reached out and pounded on the door this time.

The panel heaved back from Brea’s fist and the blue manager of the investigative group stood before her.  Vivi blinked at the raised fist and focused past it, to the other woman. “Er… yes?  Oh, your kids.”  Vivi cast a backwards glance as she stepped forward and into the hall with Brea, she jerked the door shut behind her.  

“Yes, my kids!”  Brea harped.  She stiffened, squared her shoulders tightly as her face contorted as if struggling to compress the string of words that had backed up into her stewing rampant.  She finally found her words, and spat, “WHAT happened in there?  Your group is supposed to be protecting my family!  Your meddling has caused nothing but trouble, and you – YOU have taken no action to remedy our plight!  I am attacked in my own kitchen, we hear voices all day and all night, then THIS! What am I even paying you for?!”

Vivi had her hands up in no large effort to calm the screaming woman, she could only wait until Brea had spent her breath and was ready for some feeble explanation (if she would allow it).  Once the woman had wheezed out her final sentence, Vivi offered a moment and ensured that no sudden surge of accusation would spring forth from the parched well.  The children in question were nowhere in sight.

“It was an experience,” Vivi starts.  Brea looked as if she was about ready to burst again.  “But harmless, I… promise.  The situation was under control, and dealt with accordingly.” The door popped open a crack at Vivi’s back and she twists around.  The marred Ouija board is shoved through the small opening from the side, when Vivi accepts the board from the opening, the door clicks shut.

“And this here,” Vivi announced, holding the board across to Brea.  “This might be the cause of your problems.”

Brea took the board and flipped it over, she spotted the burn mark on the center immediately and touched the edge of the black melted surface.  “What is this?”

Vivi weaved her fingers together and raised her elbows at her sides, in a kind of shrug.  “Whether you believe in it or not, these ‘game’ boards can be dangerous.” For the first time Brea noticed that Vivi was not dressed at all for the day, and her hair was very messy and stuck up in odd clumps.  Vivi resumed, nonchalant.  “I can’t confirm, and I doubt that your kids would admit it, but sometimes playing with tools such as this can awaken spirits from dormancy, or invite them in. Particularly, when the board is not closed properly.  I assure you, Mrs. Hersh— er, Hirsetin, that we have performed our required task and your poltergeist problem has been eliminated, as per your request.”

The door again snapped open, but this time there was additional shuffling and bumbling about.  Mystery dropped to his four legs and padded by the two, one of the provision bags carried in his teeth.  Brea returns her attention to the door as the yellow clad figure totters out, a few bags carried in one hand, a metal arm pinned in one of the bags slung over his only feasible shoulder.

“I told you not to pack up on your own,” Vivi protested, as she brushed by Brea in pursuit of Arthur.

Arthur shrugged the straps over his shoulder as he walked.  “No sweat, we didn’t nab everything.  Excuse me, Mr. Hirstein.”

Coming in from his morning walk, Mr. Hirstein held the door open for Arthur and Mystery as the two slipped out.  “Good afternoon,” he said to the visitors.  Mr. Hirstein was not very tall, not very young, and was hardly ever present during their investigation.  “Leaving already?”

“Probably?” Vivi uttered, as she and Brea caught up.

“Really?” Brea challenged.  She moved over to stand (tower) beside her husband, the offending Ouija board was placed upon a bookshelf beside the large front door.  “I want some proof that our home has been cleansed.  Don’t you laugh at me.”  Mr. Hirstein shields the side of his face with a hand as he shuts the front door behind Arthur and the dog.  He had to have a chuckle at his wife once in a while.

“And I want concrete proof about the paranormal being more than smoke and mirrors,” Vivi retorts.  “Our contacts will be in touch with you for a follow up within two to five weeks.  There’s an emergency contact, if you absolutely cannot wait.  Truthfully, I don’t think you’ll have any more problems with the house, now that this has been taken care of.”  Vivi nodded towards the Ouija board behind Brea.

“This is highly unorthodox,” Brea huffed.  “You can’t just abandon a family in need of your services.”  Mr. Hirstein shook his head as he walked away, leaving his wife to handle the matter.

“The paranormal is anything but a perfect science,” Vivi elaborates.  She wanted this done, before Arthur made efforts to load up all on his own.  “The cleansing ritual was as complete as we could manage, and the spirit seems to have departed for good.”  Vivi mentally rolled her eyes. “Listen, I have a small ritual you can follow that can help while we’re gone, but as you can see,” Vivi motioned her current state. “You sorta caught us at a bad time.”

At first Beatrice was reluctant to allow the exchange to end there, and was rearing up for another reason why these matters needed to be attended to, and NOW.  But as Vivi pointed out, she was not ready for the day, and this in Mrs. Hirstein’s book screamed the lack of discipline these people practiced.  She gave them their space, allowed them to work unimpeded, yet here they were smack dab on noon and neither of them looked ready for anything short of disappointing their parents, which wouldn’t surprise Brea.  For now Beatrice was willing to let Vivi off, in favor of attending to her kids and learning more from their side of the matter.

One quick shower later and Vivi was ready to tackle summary discussion.  Arthur saw her right on that task, in a hurry to get them off the hook as fast as she could manage.  He was helping in the way she forbade him to, but he really needed something to do while she renewed the ancient battle with Mrs. Hirstein.

“And what if I don’t?” Brea threatened.  She was at the end of the hall near the dining room doors, Vivi held out what he knew to be the clipboard with the dismissal form, and something else; not a pin.

Vivi’s voice was laced with irritation, Arthur could almost envision Lewis looming over her glaring hot holes into Mrs. Hirstein’s head. “I’ve already told you, this is standard procedure,” Vivi went on, teeth gritted.  “If your problems persist, then your case will be reopened and another group can handle it.  This is the extent of paranormal intervention, the same procedure would follow….” Vivi continued, saying whatever could be said to get Beatrice Hirstein to sign that damn form.  Arthur could tell Vivi was insincere about most of what she was saying, and wholly relied on the account that Lewis had offered to slip them on out of this place.  Lewis had seemed pretty shaken when Vivi had threatened to knock his skull clean off his shoulders, if they so much as got wind that the Hirstein’s were still having problems.  However, Lewis saving grave may have been former association with the overall nature of the Hirstein’s.

Mystery followed Arthur the whole time.  He frolicked through the snow on their way out to the open van, and pranced along with Arthur when he returned to the warm interior of the home.  The warmth was only a temporary relief.  Young Tyler had been seated on the lowest step for some time watching as Arthur and Mystery struggled in and out of the door with the few bags of supplies.

“You don’t even have a film crew,” Tyler said. Yeah, Arthur was very much ready for those long nights on the open road.

Conversation prickled forth from the dining room, most likely moved there when the setting of the current subject had.  Arthur stuck his hand in his pocket as he walked, Mystery padded along beside him with a slow stride.  Vivi was still at it, trying to chip through the mile deep of impervious empathy.

“Burn the sage by the food,” Vivi was saying.  “It doesn’t need to be exclusive breakfast, it can even be something simple.  A bowl of soup.”  

“Is this all even necessary for the… process?” Beatrice sounded disgusted by the idea of leaving food out to sit for any length of time.  “Won’t it draw them back?”

“That’s never happened,” Vivi said, voice flat.  “It’s only meant to be a courtesy to the spirit, something about subsiding energies and offering a sort of peace.  It’s a custom that’s been handed down through the centuries, and though we still don’t understand its origins it’s still practiced.” Vivi looked back as Arthur and Mystery entered the dining room, the clipboard was held behind her back as she spoke.  By the dining table across from Vivi’s posture stood Brea, a plate with a sage bundle on it sat at the table’s center.

“Try leaving out a bhut jolokia,” Arthur mentioned, as he stepped through the double doors.  “That’d do the tick.”  Vivi gave him this vacant stare for s splint second, before she turned back to Brea. As she looked away Arthur stumbled forward, nearly falling to the floor.  Mystery yelped and ducked aside, possibly making ready to duck under Arthur if he fell the whole way.

“You okay?” Vivi yelped.  She sprang over to Arthur as he regained his balance, Arthur flashed his wide eyes around the room as Vivi caught him by the shoulders.  “Art?  Look at me.”

“Was he pushed?” Beatrice hollered, from where she stood.  She hadn’t moved an inch.

Arthur gently pushed Vivi away.  He raised his foot to the floor and tapped his toe behind him.  “Naw. I just… old shoes.”  He put his hand on his shoulder and gave Vivi a thin smile.  “I’m about ready for some brunch.”

To top it all off the van wouldn’t start.  The day just overall sucked.

Arthur hummed to himself as he tried to crank the engine over, yet again.  It was just on the edge, he could feel it, but it just wouldn’t ignite.  He slid out from the driver side and checked the cable connections on the battery in the cab, checked the cables on the spare battery that was sitting upon a dirty work towel placed on the road.  Maybe it was the spare, he hadn’t tested it to see if it had power before he brought it over.  He doubted it in the first place and considered just disconnecting the spare, either way, it was work but he had some hope that there would be enough charge to kick the van engine up.    

Mystery hopped out of the middle seat when Arthur returned, in the back Vivi shuffled around organizing the supplies Arthur and him had dumped in.  Arthur had been in too much of a hurry to do that sort of detail work, but Vivi didn’t really do it either until….  Anyway, he figured he’d be occupied with the battery for a bit.  The engine ‘rrred’ at him as he tried the key again, and Arthur hummed a little louder to himself.

Branches wound their gnarled fingers up the and down the walls, the chipped wallpaper was splint over the deformed knots.  The deeper he ran through the gloomy halls, the snugger the walls wound about him.  It felt like the tangles of branches were closing in over his head, Arthur stooped forward as he ran in a breathless panic, seeking the smallest chip in the twilight that would deliver him from the suffocation.  Heat burned up his lungs and through his chest, his eyes watered. He wanted to scream for help, call out for his friends.  The only sound he could manage was a thick gurgle as he spiraled down and down.

Arthur felt his hand trembling at the steering wheel. He couldn’t feel his arm.  It was a hellish sensation, too familiar.  He coughed a bit on the soreness and leaned back into the car seat.  The seat beside him was empty, there had been something like comfort in the vacant space. Then it was filled up with a dark shape, colors, the sudden contrast slammed into the white backdrop of the snow filled lawn.  Arthur jerked in his seat and scooted away.

“Jeez, Lew,” Arthur gasped.  He brought his hand to his eyes and rubbed away the spots.  “I’m gonna tie a bell to you, I swear.”  The radio crackled with sounds, one of the stations they had been listening to before Arthur had to shut it off.  He could have changed the radio station, but that hadn’t occurred to him when they had been driving.  He just wanted the noise gone.

Lewis began to say something, at least that distorted rattle had arisen like a living person taking a short breath before words came. Vivi cut him off with a sharp cry, “Did you shove him!”  Lewis winced and jerked about in his seat, what little of his living appearance he had dragged on quickly rolled off like beads of water on a hot skillet.  Lewis had already begun to tuck down more toward the floorboard of the van, his skull dipped into the top edge of his suit collar. As for Vivi, she towered over the seats back and glowered down her nose onto the shrinking ghost below.  “You be honest with me!  I won’t tolerate this!”

“Vi!” Lewis squealed.  “You’re taking this the—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Lewis!”

“Would you not?” Arthur snapped.  He twisted around in his seat to more or less face Vivi down, or tried, for all Arthur’s crippling intimidation could manage.  “I tripped, I told you!  That iz what happened.  What, you think I’m lying?  WHY?  Why don’t you believe me?”  He couldn’t keep their eyes locked, Arthur had to spin away and go back at the engine. “Accidents happen,” he sputtered, as he fumbled around the steering wheels base. “And you can’t always just blame someone.  Hold on, gimmie a sec.” He tried the key again, gave it a little twist of his wrist and the engine blared to life, strong and proud, a guttural snarl of fossil fuels surging through its pipes.  “See! There, got it!”  Arthur slung out of his seat and hurried to the vans front, nearly slipping on the ice as he went.

Vivi sighed.  She watched Arthur’s shape flash out of sight beyond the raised hood of the van. Lewis remained pinned where he was at the floorboard, his dark eye sockets stare up at her imploringly.  “Tell me why,” Vivi murmurs.

The faint lights in Lewis’ skull flash.  “I… didn’t.  He— he’ll need help with that battery.”  Vivi pushed him down by his shoulder when Lewis tried to rise up, and used Lewis as leverage to swing over the bench seat.

“They’re probably watching,” she snarled.  This was probably more than true.  “Just stay here and out of trouble.”  She aimed a hard stare and a finger back at Lewis’, as she backpedaled around the front of the van to join Arthur.  

The hood cracked down, the whole van shaking with the force and Vivi talking over the sound of the engines rumble.  She was grumbling about Arthur doing too much, overworking himself or something and an arm.  While it was all clear Lewis pulled himself up over the backseat and lowered into the vans back.  Mystery was there, paws on his ears and eyes perked up toward Lewis as the ghost settled down.

“Um…” Lewis began, skull raising an inch out of his suit collar.  “I’ll just… wait over here.”  Mystery didn’t question it.  Simultaneously, the two look to the vans back when the doors tore open.

“You’re just gonna rest a’while and I’ll drive first! Move Mystery,” Vivi shot.  She waved a hand Mystery’s way, and the dog relocated himself to corner of the van opposite to Lewis’ current occupation.  “Thank you.”  Vivi fumbled one handed for the floor latch imbedded in the carpet, and heaved up the hidden panel in the floor.  “No!  I don’t need your help.  You’ve done enough helping!  You’ve helped enough to cover for the next five thousand years!”

Lewis slinked back into his corner and shared a glance with Mystery.  While Vivi loaded in the heavy battery, Arthur climbed up into the van on the driver side.

“I am capable of driving,” Arthur mumbled.  “For the first few—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Vivi cut in.  She punctuated with the slamming of the floor compartment, and the shutting of the back doors.  Her voice continued, as it tracked along the side of the van towards the driver side.  “I need something to get my mind of this insult to our trade, or I might just… UGH! Lemme get inside!  Scoot!  Scoot over!” Arthur complied, fearful of the tone in Vivi’s voice.  He shut the passenger door and Vivi hauled the driver side door shut.  The engine still grumbled its moody hum, and fog spewed along the side of the windshield.  Vivi gave a shrill cry and beat at the steering wheel with her fists.

Lewis raised his head up and exchanged a fearful look with Arthur.  Poor-poor Arthur, pinned by the passenger door, unable to work door handles when he was in a state of panic.  Lewis almost felt sorry for him.

“Are… you okay?” Arthur mumbled.

“Those… PEOPLE!” Vivi fumed, still smacking at that poor steering wheel.  Arthur wanted to remind her that he had barely gotten the engine started, but he wasn’t ready to become the next target of her wrath.  If he remained small and helpless, Arthur would be safe. In theory, that is.  

Mystery pulled himself up on his front paws and looked Arthur’s way, but the dog seemed to snicker at the scene instead.

“I take it after all that heart-to-heart, you two never saw eye-to-eye?” Arthur chanced, barely above a whisper.  He regretted it immediately when he spoke, and hoped Vivi didn’t hear that.

“WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CLUE?”

She heard.

[werezmastarbucks]

Soothsayer [5]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

Word count: 1850

Warnings: language, messing with Bucky’s head. Bucky’s pov

Genre / Pairing: Bucky x Reader. kisses! back home.

ZACK HEMSEY - I CAN GET IT BACK

Bucky Barnes was having the strangest dream. He was back in Brooklyn, him and his heavy body, immovable and very stealthy at the same time: ambiguous, like everything else he felt nowadays. His chin was itching, and he scratched it with his left hand, feeling metal fingers soothing the skin. He brushed away the hair from his face and took a deep breath. He was still wearing his navy blue vest and the belt around his torso, which he quickly took off, the buttons clicking. It smelt like jasmine, dust and water; the Brooklyn Bridge was not far away. The house was still pale white, and the sun was standing high, giving the blind spots, hiding the details from his eyes. He felt old. He felt usual. There was dirt on his right palm, and he tried to scrub it off, puzzled to the edge of possibility.

Aren’t I stupid. Getting really really old. Go figure it out, Barnes, said the voice inside his head.

A minute ago he was standing next to Steve, and all his body felt light like a feather, but weird. For a mere second there he got chills because he thought he was falling apart. He’s fallen apart million times before, but this one it was literal. The feet gave way, and then his arm crumbled, and then he suddenly couldn’t stand, collapsing on the ground. The last thing he saw, Y/N, blowing up the clouds of the old leaves with her feet, and how small she looked next to Steve. Why such faces? What happened?

Bucky looked up and put a palm to his forehead, looking at the windows of his house. That’s right, it’s home. There, Rebecca’s room window, with the pale blue curtains they nearly killed each other over at the market last season. So expensive. He couldn’t remember that earlier, but now it was pretty clear. In fact, everything was clear, so right and simple, and he couldn’t understand why it’s been such a big issue to come to terms with his memory.

The window opened, and Rebecca’s head appeared in between the sills.

“Hey, dirty head!”

Her long black hair was like a fox tail, glistening in the sun.

“How many times’ve I told ya not to shove yourself outta window like that!” Bucky barked and paused, startled. He got back his young voice. He hasn’t spoken in that tone for many, many years.

Rebecca yelled something back. He didn’t listen. He looked at her once again, not afraid she’d disappear, not nervous, or confused. He found the situation amusing.

“I’m comin’ up, open the door”, he shouted. Becca grimaced at him, and vanished inside the room.

 He entered the house.

The blackness wouldn’t go away. He walked, and walked, and walked, and his footsteps only echoed harder. Finally, a pale blue light shone somewhere far in front, and he swore in disappointment. Couldn’t you give me five minutes with my sister? He had no idea to whom he was speaking. Howbeit, no one answered. He walked on, and his face started freezing. He became soft back there in Wakanda. It was a magical place. Good climate, nice, tactful people, the amazing nature, calm nights. He mended goats, for god’s sake. He drank water from the current, and ate fruit that he gathered himself, climbing up the trees like a big monkey. He watched sunrises like it was a TV show. But better. Much better. He seemed to have forgotten a little bit what it’s like when the freezing wind thrusts its icy fangs in skin. And slaps. And slaps. Trying to pendulum him the fuck off the cliff.

He reached out for the gun, but realized he literally just threw it away in Brooklyn. Since he decided to accept everything as it comes, he just went on, averting his face from the wind. Soon his feet were producing no more sound because he was ankles deep in snow. The huge maw of a cave opened agape, letting him out, and he could figure out the station down below in the snowy valley. A tingling feeling of alarm woke up his senses, and he made out, in the wind, the voices. As if somebody licked on his neck under the left ear, he turned exactly when a bullet whistled past him and danged on a rocky wall. He bent. A man was walking towards him, tall and broad-shouldered, and Bucky grouped, ready for the blow. But then, another voice came,

“Stop, wait!”

Bucky raised his head like a squirrel. Steve came out of the whirlwind of the snow, and attacked him with a bear hug.

“Steve?” he heard himself mumble.

Steve was wearing that light blue uniform he had back in forties. His face was alight, innocent and infinitely stupid-looking in this helmet with feathers on the sides.

“Hey, what the hell is going on?” Bucky cried, trying to outhowl the wind. Steve moved closer to him, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you dressed like this? Why are you at my station?”

Dum Dum stepped from behind his back, and Bucky greeted him with the wave of the hand.

“Hey, Sarge. Sorry for shooting at you. I thought you were one of these Nazi folks”.

Bucky could see his own breath leaving his lips and dispersing violently in the air right after. So, none of them was confused to see him here, the way he looked? Guess, we’re good with that as well?

Steve was smiling at him, his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I know, it’s darn confusing here”, he nodded with understanding. “But you’ll cope. I think they’re coming for you. Just don’t get on the pan”.

“Where – here?”

The wind was going mad. Bucky could feel it push him in the back. He realized Steve was standing dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.

Steve lifted his hand and touched his temple with the index finger.

“It’s quite a mash-up. Don’t get on the pan, pal. Don’t let them fry you, or there’ll be nothing to recover”.

The Commandos passed them by ceremonially, swaying in the wind like a set of train cars.

“Can I come with you?”

Steve shook his head negatively.

“Nah, Bucky. Not today”.

He was left there, watching his friend slowly vanishing in the white. Barnes could feel his face go hard like ice, and didn’t care. He suddenly felt so heart-broken, and the feeling stroke him so deep he gasped in surprise. The pain, so clear, like the main note of a symphony, moaning high and sharp, tensing his whole body. The heartbreak. He felt so alive he wanted to scream, yell until the snow plugs his throat and suffocates him, and if there had been some fun to standing below the windows of his house in Brooklyn, this strange sensation perished as quickly as it came.

Bucky opened his mouth and growled, with all his wolf might, wishing he could wake up.

He screamed.

And wake up he did.

The sun was stinging his eyes, and he slapped his stupid face, giggling to himself for no reason at all. He was warm, and naked, and the air from the open window brought the scent of summer in New York. He could smell concrete, grass, and flowers. He could smell his own skin, warmed up by the intense sunshine – it must be past noon already. He got fried after all, despite Steve’s warning.

He could smell something else – very familiar. Sweet fragrance that always hit his nose when the long-haired Y/N was close. He took away his hand and opened his eyes, lifting himself on his left elbow. Happiness flooded his mind when he saw her hair spread and caught underneath his metal arm.

She yelped in pain.

“I’m sorry”, he laughed, “I’m sorry”.

She opened her face like she’s just been created a second ago, even after her hair has been laid out in the bed.

He reached out to her with his good hand, grabbing her skin and found he’s clutching on her ribs.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. Y/N pulled her face closer, burying her head in the puffed pillow.

“No, only scalped. Why?”

“I thought you’ve been stabbed, little one”.

Her hands traced the lines of his back, and he felt shivers jumping joyfully on his shoulder blades. He laid back on his side, pulling his left arm under her pillow, and sighed contentedly.

“You must’ve dreamt that. I’m sure I’d notice if I’d been stabbed”.

Her voice was like a very slow chorus of a church bell, going straight to his brain and soothing it into sleep. He couldn’t see half of her face and was growing wary of it. Bucky lifted himself up again and caught her in his arms, flipping her over so that she’d face the window. Her fingers clutched his skin like she was falling. That was the best feeling. He’d recalled that first time he covered her up because she would be so forgetful of the things around her in the field. Shoot me, I don’t even care. The feeling of her hanging on to him, grabbing his sides like she was drowning, like he was her only way to survival, had never left him, even when he lost the memory of her voice. When she disappeared for two years he was bringing back that moment, and holding on to it, ironically, like his life depended on it.

She was stroking his face gently, like she was forbidden to actually touch him. Like he could say no to her, or push her away. With all his will and strength gathered, Barnes considered it hard. No one has touched him this way for nearly eighty years. He traced her body down her thigh and then up again, counting her ribs. One was missing.

“Maybe you’ll be the one to tell me where I am”.

Y/N was lying next to him like a mermaid, her skin taking in the light from the window. Bucky saw the room behind her, but couldn’t pay much attention.

“Where do you think you are?”

“Not in Wakanda”.

She shook her head slowly, caressing his neck.

“Not home”.

Another negative.

“Not in Siberia”.

“M-hm”.

“But this is not real either”.

“How do you know?”

“The real Y/N wouldn’t let me in”.

She went sore.

“It’s too good to be true”, Bucky went on indifferently, ignoring the light shivers between his bones. His affection boiled bright pink in his throat, and he barely could hear himself speak behind the sound of wanting to open her mouth with his fingers and put his tongue inside. While he could. He didn’t have time to reach Rebecca. And the snowstorm didn’t let him change Steve’s mind. Something told him he wouldn’t have time to cover those six inches between them.

“You know I always try to take care of you”, Y/N said.

“Uh-huh”.

“How are you feeling?”

Bucky sighed and forced himself to look into her eyes.

“Alive. But hurt. It’s good, I guess. It’s different now”.

“Why are you- ” 

He felt the bed pushed away from beneath him before she could finish. He bumped his head on the floor hard, like he was falling for a very long time. He clutched his fists and felt something soft and wet in his palms. Bucky grunted angrily, breathing like an animal, and sunk his teeth into his lip, almost tearing it. Enough!

taglist: @shelbyyychristian

@csigeoblue

@theshortegg

@wickidlady

@hades-raven

@sammysgirl1997

[wishingforatypewriter]

A Taste of Commitment

Summary: Chapter 6 of On Casual Commitments (as close to real fluff as I can currently get with Erina’s character). 

Despite all that had happened over the past few weeks, Erina was more convinced than she had been in a long time that there was still some good left in the world.

She now had her own personalized letterhead and got to sign all her correspondences as Chairwoman Nakiri. The title of director just wasn't her style.

The Totsuki students, faculty, and staff had sent over 3,000 get well soon cards to her grandfather, and being the kind of man that he was, Nakiri Senzaemon had somehow responded to each of them individually.

She had helped Hisako pick out a gorgeous wedding dress, even though the date was still undecided. Their original plan to have a secret ceremony had kind of backfired after Alice went ahead and told everyone she knew.

Alice, now ten weeks pregnant and just beginning to show, had her first ultrasound a few days ago. Erina had followed the appointment religiously via Kurokiba's insanely famous Instagram; according to Alice, he was the second coming of Salt Bae. The baby was growing nicely and her little niece or nephew—second cousin just didn't sound as intimate—was due to arrive in January.

By the great powers of caffeine and compartmentalization, Erina's own baby, Canvas, was still set to open in less than a month. Although Yukihira had been on five different continents in the past two weeks, he still managed to get all the remote work done. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Honestly, if she could function on as little sleep as he did, Erina would run for prime minister.

A small, involuntary smile grew across her face as she heard a key turn in the door a few minutes later. Considering who they were and where they had started, it was nothing short of absurd that two weeks felt like such a long time.

Souma came in wearing an easy grin and bearing a couple of those food truck tacos Erina couldn't believe she liked as much as she did. "Sup, Nakiri?" he asked, handing her the food. "I can't believe this place is open so early. It's only like 7:30."

Erina shook her head at him, chuckling a little. The time zones had really fucked him up this time. "PM, Yukihira," she pointed out, more than content with her food.

"Right." He sighed, running a hand over the length of his face. "Forgot that was a thing."

Erina watched him sit next to her on the couch and reset all his schedule apps to Pacific Standard Time, surprised and mildly annoyed at the fact that they weren't going at each other yet. It has been four whole minutes already and she was wearing a damn g-string.

He glanced at her, bruise-like circles under his golden eyes. "Today's the 25th, right?"

"Twenty-seventh," she corrected. "Of June, in case you were wondering."

Erina had expected to draw some banter out of him with that line, and subsequently some much-needed physical attention, but it seemed as though he barely heard her. After fighting down the urge to snap—she had never taken well to being ignored, especially by him—she noticed that he looked kind of feverish.

"You alright?" she asked, unconsciously leaning a bit closer to him.

"Yeah," he said, waving her off. "Just a headache."

Now, Erina's bullshit detector worked pretty similarly to her god tongue. Whenever it went off, it was like a splendid beachside holiday in her mind was interrupted by an unexpected storm. And according to her near infallible B.S. barometer, this had to be somewhere between a nor'easter and a fucking typhoon.

Wordlessly, she walked back to the bedroom and changed her underwear. She knew she wouldn't be getting what she wanted anytime soon. Then, dressed only leggings and a white camisole, she made her way to her tea cabinet in the kitchen.

At her restaurant franchise, Doctor's Orders, Hisako had always served a myriad of original tea blends with various health benefits. A year or so ago, Hayama had convinced her to start packaging her medicinal blends and selling them in stores (yes, friends, this was what happened when a Harvard PhD had a longstanding romance with a Cambridge MBA). And naturally, Erina had supported her best friend by buying a box of every blend in her collection.

She brewed a cup of the elder and ginger root cold-killer tea that the medicinal chef swore by, then stirred in some honey and brought the mug out to Yukihira, who seemed to be dozing off on the couch.

Erina rested her palm on his forehead, frowning a little when she felt how warm he was. And of course, because the universe was a cruel master, he had to open his eyes just then.

"Nakiri, what are you doing?"

Erina recoiled instinctively, and all of a sudden it was like they were third years at Tōtsuki again, her tripping over her feelings and him wholly oblivious to them.

"I um...just shut up and drink this!"

"Thanks, Nakiri." Souma smirked as he took the tea from her. "You know, it's been awhile since this side of you came out."

"Excuse me? What side? What's that supposed to mean, Yukihira?" Erina's voice rose an octave with each question.

"Nothing," he said, wincing at her sharp increase in volume. "It's cute. Stop yelling."

"Oh...sorry." Erina's eyes then shifted to the document he had been working on. The title was 'Your Brain on Arato.' She smirked a little. If nothing else, his toast would be interesting.

She never had the heart to tell him that the main reason he had been chosen as the best man over Kurokiba was that she was definitively the maid of honor, and in Hisako's words, they were kind of a package deal at this point. She had been told that Hayama's exact words on the matter were, 'They're both alright, I guess.'

"Maybe don't work on that while you're half-delirious," she suggested. "You're bad enough with speeches on a normal day."

"That's not true," he countered. "The entrance ceremony back in high school went pretty well."

Erina felt her right eye starting to twitch a little bit. "If you'd make that argument, you must be even more out of it than I thought," she said. "But seriously, you should lie down or something. If you get any sicker than this, the opening schedule will probably get messed up."

At this, Souma gave her a look that was half teasing and half confused. "You make a good point," he admitted before taking her advice and lying down...on the couch...with his head in her lap.

"Hey, that's not what I..." She sighed. "Whatever." On some subterranean level of her consciousness, Erina knew taking care of her was at least half the reason he was this exhausted. She guessed it wouldn't kill her to be his pillow for a little while.

Then, before Erina could fully process what she was doing, her traitorous fingers were running through his red hair. Her eyes turned skyward as she willed the universe to grant her strength and restraint. What was happening to her?

They stayed in that position for a few hours, Erina getting done whatever she could with his stupid red head pinning her down—mostly nibbling on her tacos and texting Hisako about the wedding.

Sometime during the third episode of Platinum Weddings she'd downloaded on her phone—strictly for research purposes, of course—she noticed that Souma's fever had spiked again. After trying unsuccessfully to free her thighs without waking him, Erina shook his shoulder lightly.

"Yukihira," she said, poking his side when he still didn't budge. On any other day she would have just whacked him with one of the couch cushions. "Get off me so I can bring you some aspirin," she said when he finally opened his eyes.

"When's the last time you ate something?" Erina asked, as she tried to rub the pins and needles out of her left leg, which had fallen asleep at one point.

"On the plane, probably," he replied, his voice hoarser than she remembered it being.

Erina stared at him incredulously. "So you brought food for me but not for yourself?"

He shrugged. "Wasn't hungry."

"Wha...then why did you even go over there?"

"That's how this girlfriend shit works, right?"

Erina just blinked for a moment, sure that her brain must've short-circuited. Did he just say...

She shook her head. He was burning up; he probably wouldn't even remember it come morning. Overtaken by a rare burst of affection, Erina pressed a kiss against his forehead.

"I'll make you something." And while she did, she tested the word on her tongue—this tentative answer to the question life had been asking her for years now. She had to admit, she didn't quite mind the taste of it.

[riverchester]

Desperate Times - Desperate Measures

Prologue / Chapter 1

also read on ao3  

Summary: He does everything to not think of the night that got him into this. No, he won’t think of a mop of dark hair or piercing blue eyes. He won’t think of a gravelly voice or the clinking of glasses. And most definitely, he won’t think of that intoxicating smell or the feeling of his Baby’s leather backseat under his sweaty palms.When Dean Winchester breaks the one rule he swore to never break, he has to bear consequences he never wanted to deal with, and needs to get creative to solve the problem.

Rating:  Explicit No Warnings Category: M/M Fandom: Supernatural Relationship: Castiel / Dean Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; One Night Stands; Angst; Fluff; Mpreg;  Language: English

Dean stares into the sink. His arms tremble under his weight and his breathe comes out harsh and uneven, but he still stares. As if staring could magically erase this stupid second line. If he’d believe in god, he’d be looking up now, screaming, asking why the hell this is happening to him. Or maybe he’d pray. Maybe he’d plead for a damn miracle. But then again, Dean’s not a religious man, so instead he looks up into the face of the only person responsible for the shit he’s in right now.

His skin looks pale in the mirror. It could be the light, dazzling in the windowless restroom, but Dean knows it isn’t just the light that makes him look like a ghost. It’s his damn screwed-up life. He stares at his reflection for what feels like an eternity, taking in all those hateful features. The hair that doesn’t only look like it hasn’t been washed in days, the skin he’d love nothing better than to scratch from his face right now, and the eyes he can see getting wet.

Dean’s body tenses when he screams at his own face and punches the mirror. He wants to break it, wants to see his reflection shatter into a billion pieces, but it isn’t even glass that his fist hits. It’s just a mirror foil on a wooden board, and the pain shoots through him like a bullet.

At first it feels good, the sharpness and throbbing erase all thoughts for a moment, but of course it doesn’t last. Of course, Dean ends up with an aching hand and still no solution to his problem.

He grabs the pregnancy test and throws it across the room where it hits the ground. Trembling, Dean collapses against the wall and slowly sinks down until he’s curled up next to the trash can, his arms clasping his knees.

Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.

Resting his forehead on his knees, he closes his eyes. He wants to cry. If there’d ever been a situation where Dean Winchester would’ve allowed himself to cry, it’d be now. But he can’t, the tears won’t come. So instead, he focuses on his breathing and concentrates on the throbbing in his possibly broken hand. He does everything to not think of the night that got him into this. No, he won’t think of a mop of dark hair or piercing blue eyes. He won’t think of a gravelly voice or the clinking of glasses. And most definitely, he won’t think of that intoxicating smell or the feeling of his Baby’s leather backseat under his sweaty palms.

I’m so fucking stupid.

  Two weeks  earlier  

 It's a good spot. Away from the hustle and bustle, a bit in the shadow, but still with a good view over the room. Dean watches people gathering in groups around the tables, loudly talking and laughing. He watches some others alone at the bar, flirting with the extremely hot barkeeper, who flutters her eyelashes in return. Dean snorts and shakes his head. Those newbies, only recently escaped from their sheltered homes, have no clue that she's playing them like a fiddle. And instead of music, she brings out tip after tip. This could turn into a great night for making money.

Downing the rest of his drink, Dean stands up and makes his way over to a group that drew his attention a while ago. The three young men caught his eye right away when they entered the bar. Tall, loud, overconfident. Alpha was practically written on their foreheads. The tallest of them, a guy using way too much styling gel and obviously the leader of their little group, made it especially easy to be labeled this night's victim No.1. Dean named him "small-size". With how loudly and detailed the guy bragged about all the chicks he pretends to have banged on a trip through Europe, he definitely has something to compensate for.

So, when small-size and his two friends approach the pool table, Dean takes the chance.

"Hey, can I join in?" he asks, heartily patting one of them on the back.

The trio turns to him, not even trying to hide their scoff about his ragged appearance, and start laughing. "Eh, sorry, I think we're fine," small-size answers.

"Oh, come on," Dean says, this time louder and more slurred, "Just one game." He rummages through his pockets and slams a crumpled bill on the edge of the pool table. "Fifty bucks, classic eight-ball. Whatcha say?”

But despite this – in his opinion – very convincing demonstration, the three guys still eye him warily and exchange glances.

Damn, I guess I've got to bring in the big guns

"Come on," he tries again, leaning closer to small-size, "don’t think you can handle playing against an omega?" Dean lays his arm around the guy’s shoulders while he slurs, making sure the alpha is close enough to scent him. It takes a moment, in which the tall man stares right back into Dean’s eyes and his nostrils twitch, but eventually, he can see the guy's expression shift. Bingo. Playing the omega card always works.

Dean usually puts a lot of effort into hiding his secondary gender. Scent neutralizing soap lets him pass as a Beta easily, and thanks to suppressants from the blackmarket, he hasn't been in heat in over two years. They're expensive as fuck, and probably full of shit that'll kill him sooner or later, but as long as they work, he doesn't care.

"Grab yourself a cue." Small-size says, grinning in this disgustingly superior way. God, Dean hates this overconfident alpha-demeanor and he would love nothing more than to punch the guy. But he's got to earn money, so he plays his part.

"You serious, Brad?" one of the other two proles asks.

Dean has to hold back a laugh. Of course his name is Brad.

He sets up the balls, takes the break shot and starts playing this idiot.  Like ninety-nine percent of the freshmen jocks he usually cleans out, Brad isn’t bad at pool, but definitely not even half as good as he thinks he is. The trap is set up and he walks right into it.

This first game is always nearly as much fun as winning in the end, when Dean can see the poor idiot’s ego boost with every shot. Over the years he kind of perfectionated this part. Failing without being too obvious. Turns out, Dean can be a damn good actor if he wants to be.

"Fuck," Dean yells when the eight sinks into the pocket, "okay, you win."

Brad calls out triumphantly and high fives his buddies before grabbing for the hundred dollars.

"Whoa, stop," Dean shouts, effectively stopping the alpha dead in his track, "come on, I call return game." He dramatically digs into every of his jeans' and jacket's pockets, pulling out another crumpled bill. "All or nothing."

The alpha and his friends look down at the additional fifty bucks and start laughing. "Why are male omegas just so damn stupid?"

“Hey, you wanna talk or play?”

Brad winks and pulls his wallet out again, but before he has a chance to place down his money, someone clearing their throat catches his and Dean’s attention. The interrupter is a dark-haired guy, maybe an inch or two smaller than himself, with insanely blue eyes, confidently looking between the two of them.

Dean chuckles. Who would ever consider wearing a suit in a college bar?

“You want anything?” Brad asks the guy.

“Do you find it acceptable to take advantage of a drunken omega?” Mr. Dark-hair answers.

Dean can’t believe this guy’s nerve. “Excuse me?” he starts, but this suited up alpha apparently isn’t finished yet and continues without as much as looking at Dean.

“I watched this game for quite some time now and I came to the conclusion that you unfairly play on this man. You should never have agreed to a game with a drunken person, even less with someone from the weaker sex. I’m afraid I can’t let you continue this.”

He might have admired the guys bravery to go against three bigger alphas, but in this moment, Dean is nothing but pissed off. “What the hell?” he yells and shoves the guy away. “Mind your own business!”

Obviously startled, Mr. Dark-hair takes a step back, but keeps his posture. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t a fair game.”

Shut the fuck up! Dean starts getting angry. If this guy doesn’t stop interrupting, he might ruin this whole evening. And Dean needs the money.

“Who cares? I wanna have fun and I don’t need a baby sitter.” He locks eyes with the man and breathes heavily.

After a moment, Dean hears Brad laughing to his right. “Whatcha say to that guys? Looks like we have a real feisty omega here.” The alpha turns to the dark-haired guy and straightens to show off his full height. “I’d say it’s time for you to back off now. Go and find someone else to lecture.”

Dean sighs in relief when the guy takes one last glance at him but then finally turns around. That was close.

“Come on, you set up,” Brad says, “One game, but only ‘cause I like you.” He winks and Dean has the urge to puke.

The alpha puts his money down and adds another fifty-dollar bill. “I’m a generous man.”

Thank god this guy’s ego is as huge as the Chrysler building.

Sometimes, Dean wishes he could record this. The moment when people like Brad realize it’s not going to be an easy game. When they start to make an effort, and especially when they catch on with the inevitable fact of losing. Against an omega. Confusion, disbelief, anger; he’s seen it all, and he basks in it. Unfortunately, Dean basks in the victory too much at times and forgets that his counterpart is an alpha, a group of people not exactly known for handling it well to lose.

“Ha! Pay up, sucker!” Dean immediately grabs the money and puts it in his back pocket, all the while keeping his eyes on Brad and his buddies. Their shocked expressions are just too good to look away.

He is about to place the cue back on the rack, when both of his wrists are being grabbed tightly. Dean saw this coming, but the immense strength of three angry alphas is still too much. His head knocks against the wall, effectively making his ears ring and his vision blur.

“Who do you think you are, huh?” Brad hisses, closer than Dean would’ve liked.

Shit, I should’ve been more careful.

“Come on, Brad. Don’t be a bad loser. I bet your daddy gives you your money back,” he huffs. It doesn’t come out half as confidently as he intended.

The grip around his wrists tightens, shooting a nagging pain up his arms. Brad’s reek fills the air and Dean has to cough. This isn’t good.

He expects the first punch to go to his face and already closes his eyes, but it goes to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. Dean doubles over, feeling his muscles close up. He doesn’t even have time to take a shaky breath before the pain of a second punch shoots through him. And there it is, right on the jaw.

Shit, this won’t help with making money the next days.

His instinct screams at him to fight back, his mind does too, but Dean is trapped, hurting, and he can do nothing but wait for the third punch.

Which doesn’t come.

“Let him go,” says a strong, deep voice. Dean opens his eyes again and watches the dark-haired alpha from earlier coming his way with long, determined steps. Well, he’s kind of glad to see this guy now.

Brad and his fellows of dickheads actually loosen their grip on Dean’s arms, who slumps to the ground and watches the whole scenery from below. He wishes the guy good luck and hopes he can somehow escape in the upcoming turmoil.

“I already told you once to mind your own – ” Brad didn’t see the fist coming that quite effectively stopped his speech, but in his defense, neither did Dean.

Ooh, right on the button. He has to admit that he’d never thought this suited-up guy had the guts or the strength to pull a stunt like that. But the gratification of seeing Brad’s bleeding nose doesn’t last for long. The bouncer clears out the trouble within minutes, seizing all of them by the collar and throwing them out. For a moment, Dean thinks Brad and his friends might try to go on at him again, so he broads his stance, but the three alphas seem to have enough and drive off in a ridiculous sports car.

Just then does Dean realize how cold it is. He freezes in his light Henley. And with the adrenaline slowly fading from his body, the pain in his arms, his stomach and jaw become more prominent.

“Shit,” he sighs while collapsing against the brick wall of the bar. His leather jacket isn’t warm enough to shield him from the ice-cold wind. He breathes in and rests his head on the wall, closing his eyes. This was not planned, not at all. With a swift grasp into his back pocket, he makes sure that the money is still save there, then starts to laugh. Not planned, but highly profitable.

“Are you cold?”

Dean opens his eyes again and looks at two shining blue orbs staring at him through the dim light of the street lamp. The dark-haired guy presses one hand to his chest while the other holds a coat in Dean’s direction. Seriously? What’s the matter with this guy? He shakes his head, but keeps his glance focused.

They stay like this for another moment, before a gust of wind makes Dean shiver. He clasps his arms around his upper body, searching for any way to keep warm, but the movement makes him flinch in pain. He needs to get to his car. He probably has a hoody somewhere that doesn’t reek yet.

“Here, take at least this.” The alpha carefully throws a soft scarf around Dean’s neck. It’s still warm from body heat and Dean indulges in the comfort. He should say thank you. Not only for the scarf, but also for saving him from Brad and the others. He knows he should, but on the other hand, he didn’t ask for help, he didn’t ask this weird guy to bust in and behave like a damn knight in shining armor.

“Thanks, but I’m gonna go now,” he murmurs barely audible, hands the comforter back and turns around to follow a dark alley to where he parked his baby. After a few steps, he notices that he’s still not alone and turns around. “What’s your problem?”

The dark-haired guy stops dead in his track and stares at Dean for a long moment before he answers. “You shouldn’t walk around alone at this time.”

“Says who?” Really, who does this guy think he is?

“It’s not safe outside for an unmated omega. Especially not at night.”

Dean is really starting to see red. “You follow me because I’m an omega? Fuck off.”

But the guy doesn’t leave him alone. Dean tries for one last time, or he will punch the hell out of him. “What is your plan, huh?” he says and steps closer, using the one or two inches separating them in height to look down at the alpha, “Are you some sort of morals enforcer? Keeping an eye on the ‘weak’ ones? Because you as an alpha are so much better than the rest of the world?”

He can see the other man swallow, noticeably impressed by Dean’s demonstration. “Let me tell you one thing: I didn’t need a savior in there, and I don’t need a watchdog out here, capisce?” With that he steps back.

“I just wanted to make sure these guys don’t take advantage of you. You were apparently drunk and easily manipulable.”

Dean laughs out loud. “Are you serious? It was me who played those guys! It’s called hustling pool!”

The guy looks confused. “You… you acted like you’re drunk? To win money?”

“Oh my god,” Dean shakes his head, “seriously, how naïve are you? You sure you shouldn’t be at home with mommy by now?”

Mr. Dark-hair just tilts his head to the side.

“I can’t believe this,” Dean mutters. “But you know what? I don’t care. Just leave me alone. Or maybe I should write it down for you?” He flinches, the yelling strains his already aching jaw.

“You’re hurt,” the guy says and steps forward to cup Dean’s jaw carefully.

“What the hell, dude?”

“Sorry,” he apologizes and backs away. “You should probably cool this.”

“Yeah, you don’t look exactly peachy yourself,” Dean answers and points to the guy’s hand.

“Yes, that was unfortunate, but necessary.”

“This is unbelievable. Walking around in a suit in a college bar, interrupting people playing pool, because you find it necessary to act as a guardian for random omegas, or what? What kind of guy are you?”

“My name is Castiel. I’m a law student.” He offers his hand.

Dean cracks up with laughter. Can this evening get more bizarre? “You’re definitely a guy who takes things to literal.” But he still takes the hand to shake it. Castiel flinches at the contact. “Okay, you should ice that too. Nice right hook by the way.”

“Ehm, thank you?” Castiel answers.

Dean sighs. He needs to get rid of this guy, but he also need to get back to his car as soon as possible. “Come on, I’ve got an ice pack in my cooler.”

He doesn’t like this, not at all. This guy is an alpha and Dean hates alphas. Castiel is also a bit creepy, with all the staring and the trench coat and everything, but he also kind of helped Dean in an emergency, so it would be fair to at least let him cool his injured hand for a bit. If it comes to the worst, Dean thinks he could still overpower him with the crowbar in his trunk.

They walk side by side for the remaining minute or two that it takes them to reach the little shed where his Impala is parked. Dean opens the trunk and pulls out two ice packets from the cooler.

“Here,” he says when offering one to Castiel.

“Thank you.”

For a few minutes they just stand there, leaning against the car and cooling their wounds. Dean drinks another beer and uses it to down some pain killers that hopefully haven’t expired yet.

“You do that often?” Castiel asks after a while.

“Do what often?”

“Hustling pool, getting into fights.”

Dean snorts when taking a sip. “Yes, and more often than I like to.”

“You’re not a student.”

“I’m not.”

They fall back into silence until their ice packs warm up and begin to soften. Dean puts them away and tentatively touches his jaw. It still hurts like a bitch and will be black and blue for days, but he’d had worse. “You okay?” he asks Castiel, who flexes his right hand.

“Yes, it doesn’t seem like something is broken.”

“Well, good then. If you don’t mind stepping back, I’m gonna get out of here now.” Dean searches his pockets for his car keys, when he realizes that Castiel hasn’t moved a bit. “Anything else?”

The man stares yet again for a moment before he answers, his eyes not leaving Dean’s. “I think you shouldn’t continue ‘hustling pool’. You’re apparently not very good at it, if these men figured it out that fast.”

Did he just used air quotes? And why the hell am I still talking to him?

“Boy, you really have no verbal filter at all, do you?” Castiel tilts his head at that again and Dean’s starting to get annoyed. “Just for your information, it would’ve all turned out good if you didn’t came waltzing in trying to “save” me.”

“Oh, so you say that it was my fault that these alphas beat you up?”

“Ehm, in a way, yes,” Dean says. He is turned to Castiel again, who has his back against the car. “It put me off my stride. I could’ve concentrated more on being careful with them if you hadn’t interrupted.”

Castiel snorts. Did he really do that just now? “I think it’s because you try to come across tougher than you are. You seem to be very focused on fighting against your natural instinct, against your omega personality.”

That’s it. Dean sees red, grabs Castiel and shoves him hard against the wall. Their heads are so close now that he can feel Castiel’s breath against his face. “So that’s what you are, huh? Some bigoted son of a bitch with a stick far up your ass. You probably think that alphas should rule the world, that omegas are nothing but baby machines and should stay at home to obey their mates. Is that what you think? Do you walk around and search for omegas who don’t follow your outdated rules?”

Dean can see the anger in Castiel’s eyes, he can feel the rapid pulse under his fingertips, where the alpha’s wrist is trapped. And he can smell it. In fact, it’s the first time that Dean takes the time to take in the other man’s scent. He can smell irritation, rage probably, but also something else.

“I just wanted to help,” Castiel rasps in this deep gravelly voice, “I do have traditional views on gender roles, but I will not let you insult me. I don’t think omegas are worth less, I simply got taught that an alpha should always help an omega in distress. And that is what I did.”

They are still close, very close to be honest. At some point, Dean must’ve stepped that last inch forward and pressed his body against Castiel’s. To show dominance, to show strength. “Then why are you still here? You saved your omega in distress.” He doesn’t have to speak loudly, they can probably hear each other’s whispers by now. Castiel doesn’t answer, just swallows and nervously twitches with his lips. He breathes heavily, and Dean finally understands what is going on, finally recognizes the smell. Castiel is aroused.

“Oh, so that’s your plan? You thought that you’re gonna save an omega and then what? I would show my gratitude by letting you fuck me?”

Castiel shakes his head vigorously, but his lust-blown eyes give it away. “You thought that following me down this dark alley would help?”

Dean starts having fun with this. He can feel the alpha squirm, tremble even, like he’s holding back with all strength. Time to torture him a bit more. “Do you like my scent? Do I make you hard?” He gets his answer when he presses one thigh against Castiel’s crotch. “Oh, I do,” he grins.

The alpha gets beet red and hesitantly opens his mouth again. “No, I… I didn’t mean to… I just… I never met someone like you and I…”

Dean smiles. He rubs his face against Castiel’s and laughs at the ragged sigh it evokes from the alpha. It’s a risky game. Dean knows well that alphas can develop immense strength when they get teased or irritated, which could end up with Castiel simply taking what he wants. But so far, it’s just too much fun to see him twist with the attempt to hold back. The power Dean feels right now is intoxicating and he doesn’t intend on letting go just yet. “You never met an omega who speaks for themselves? Someone who fights back against the big bad alpha? Is it fascinating to be pressed into a wall by someone the society considers as weak?”

Castiel nods and tries to free his hands, but Dean holds them in place. “I never met a male omega,” the alpha brings out after a few breaths.

“Oh, so that’s the thing here. Your family doesn’t only have outdated view for alphas and omegas, they’re homophobic too.” With a mischievous grin, Dean whispers into the man’s ear. “Tell me Castiel, do mommy and daddy know that their little boy likes dick? Do they know that you’d like to feel stubble against your face?” He emphasizes his speech with rubbing his jaw against Castiel’s and intensifying the pressure of his thigh on the man’s crotch. “Do they know you want strong muscles instead of soft curves?”

“No,” the alpha says, barely more than a shaky breath.

He’s about to snap any minute now, Dean can see it. And for a short moment, he thinks about giving into it, riding this poor bastard into oblivion. He has to admit that the alpha’s scent doesn’t even disgust him, quite the opposite actually. At some point, he started burying his nose in the other man’s neck, deeply breathing in. But this is wrong, so absolutely wrong. Dean doesn’t sleep with alphas, that’s his number one rule. He had his fun, tortured this guy a bit and demonstrated power, but that’s it. Or so he thinks.

Before Dean can as much as step an inch away, Castiel kisses him hard. It’s sloppy, clashing teeth and everything. The alpha acts like he suffocates and Dean’s mouth is the only source of oxygen around. To his utter surprise, Dean doesn’t recoil. He should stop this, should shove the alpha away and get into his car, but he doesn’t. No, he even opens his mouth to let Castiel in and the rest is just a huge mixup of moaning, grasping hands, and lots of saliva.

Dean’s mind keeps struggling with the whole story. His mouth gasps when Castiel sucks a hickey behind his ear, but in his head he screams “No!”. His arms circle the alphas surprisingly strong torso and his hands clutch at the man’s back muscles, but his brain want’s him to stop. Dean is inwardly reluctant until they somehow manage to get into the backseat of his car and he straddles Castiel’s hips. Their combined smell fogs around them in the closed space and time seems to slow down.

Fuck it! What’s a rule without an exception?

They claw at each other’s clothes, desperate to get them out of the way as soon as possible. With the first contact of their naked chests, there’s no going back. Dean tries to be quick with opening Castiel’s fly, but the alpha doesn’t seem to be on the same page right now. He starts kissing Dean’s neck again, soft and lingering, and makes his way down with his mouth to nibble and lick at skin. Dean feels tingly everywhere; his whole body is like under electricity.

This is not how it’s supposed to be, this should be angry sex, not sweet, not gentle. Deep down inside, Dean struggles against it, but it also feels so good. He arches his back and rests his head on the backrest of the front seats. Just one moment. Closing his eyes, Dean concentrates on feeling. Sweat and heat under his fingertips, the throbbing of his heart, and the chill when Castiel blows over his skin. It all builds up to an experience so new and so frightening, that Dean puts a stop to it. Opening his eyes, he leans forward and pats the alphas hands away. “Stay still,” he orders and Castiel complies, noticeably holding his breath.

Dean makes quick work of the other man’s pants, shoving them down his thighs just enough to have access to what he wants now. His own jeans are way more complicated to get rid of, but this is the backseat of an American muscle car, not some modern subcompact, and once again, Dean is grateful for his Baby.

His boxer briefs are already soaked with slick when he tears them down. God, when did I become so needy? But there is no time to think about this now. Maybe there is, but Dean doesn’t want to. He swiftly positions himself over Castiel sinks down. The alpha moans and pants, but Dean doesn’t pay attention. He closes his eyes and blocks out that he’s riding an alpha at a brutal pace and that he loves it.

The Impala fills up with fog, a mixture of their combined breathing and sweat. Dean just goes at it with all he has, still not opening his eyes. But he can feel his orgasm building up and his rhythm starts to falter. Castiel seems to notice it because suddenly, a hand closes around his dick and starts stroking. Dean almost jumps up at the feeling and quickly bats the other man’s hand away. No, this is too much for him, so he replaces the alphas hand with his own.

They chase their releases and Dean almost thinks he found it when a sensation explodes inside of him that has him screaming. It takes him a second to realize that it was Castiel, who came and who is now buried deep inside of him. With his knot.

For one moment, Dean wants to get up and separate them forcefully, but out of instinct, he knows that wouldn’t do any good. They’re bound together for some time now, so he does the only useful thing now and speeds up his strokes. His orgasm shoots through him like a bullet and only after he comes down from the high, Dean opens his eyes.

The sight lets him swallow. Castiel looks done, completely wrecked with tousled hair, dripping with sweat and his head thrown back. They stay like this for a few moments, but eventually the alpha says in his sexy gravely voice, “So, what’s your name?”

   Dean turns up the heat in his car. Fortunately, the diner’s wifi is strong enough to cover the parking lot, so he can do this in private. He never thought he’d have to search for an abortion clinic anyway. The pregnancy test lies on the passenger seat, like a punishment for not sticking to his rules. Right next to his package of birth control pills. If he’ll ever see the guy again who sold him those placebos, he’s going to say thank you with his fists.

Scrolling through the FAQ and information page of the nearest clinic makes his heart sink. What the fuck?!

He opens the next page. Luckily, he’s in Chicago and not in the middle of nowhere, so there is more than one option. The result, however, is the same. No, no, no, this can’t be true.

But it is, and Dean actually shouldn’t be surprised. With how conservative and outdated the opinion of an omega’s role is in this country, he should’ve known that getting rid of a baby wouldn’t be easy. But that he needs a statement of agreement from “his alpha” is just insane. He’s not mated, so that means that his father is officially still responsible for him in this case. That’s not an option. Not for all the money in the world would he ever go back to this bastard, let alone ask him to sign this shit. No, there has to be another way.

Dean spends three days getting the address. Of course there is an unofficial way of getting an abortion, because people like making money with the distress of omegas. The neighborhood is dubious, the building even more, but what else can he do? With the hope of finally solving this problem, Dean enters the so-called doctor’s office.

His hopes get shattered quickly, when a skinny woman explains the procedure and casually mentions the price.

“Ehm, sorry, did you just say five grands?” he asks bewildered.

“Yes,” the woman answers, keeping a straight face.

“As in… five thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

Dean slumps into the faux leather chair and sighs. “I don’t have five thousand dollars. I would need months do get that much money. If I’m lucky.”

The skinny woman closes the file in front of her and puts it away. “Well, I fear I’ve got to ask you to leave in that case.”

“But, you don’t understand,” Dean starts, desperate, “this thing has to disappear, I can’t be pregnant.”

“I’m sorry, if you don’t have the money, we can’t help you.”

The room around him starts to swim, his knees get weak and then he’s falling, crashing down onto the wooden floor. His head hurts and his ears ring, there’s not one muscle in his whole body that doesn’t tremble now. He notices that someone pulls him up, some bulky guy in a black hoody, but Dean doesn’t really react. It’s like his legs just follow the movement of being dragged out of the building, until he collapses against a brick wall outside, vomiting.

That’s how Dean finds himself, again, in a dirty bathroom of some edge of town diner. And this time he’s crying. He’s crying because he was stupid and careless and dump, and now he has a problem he can’t solve. For a long time, he just sits in the corner of this room, the guy coming in to take a piss somewhere in between doesn’t even care.

What should I do? What should I do? “What should I do,” he asks himself through the sobbing.

On his way out, he swipes the burger and fries that wait on the counter to be picked up by a waitress. Back in the Impala, he curls up on the front seat and turns up the heater. Maybe he can just fall asleep and when he wakes up again, it was all just a bad dream. Searching through the glove box for some booze to help with the process of falling asleep, his eyes land on a piece of paper. He unfolds it.

Thank you for the night, Dean (is that what people say in a situation like this?). Call me if you need anything. Castiel.

Under the neat handwriting is a phone number. Dean remembers Castiel giving him the paper, but he never even unfolded it, blocking out the night of their meeting.

This creepy, nerdy, sexy alpha, with his hair and his eyes and his voice. For a long time, their night together seemed just like a foggy dream, but now Dean has to bear the consequences.

“Why me?” he shouts against the roof of his car.

A thought strikes him. This guy seemed fancy, with the suit and the vocabulary and everything. A law student. Maybe…

Maybe this Castiel has five grands lying around.

[sheepydraws]

And So They Lived (1/6)

Part 1:

There were rumors about Kadic Academy. Schools attract rumors like young starlets, or sudden deaths. Not quite as well as the sudden deaths of young starlets, but schools built out in the suburbs of France can come close. If you ask some people about it they’ll haul out their psychology textbooks. They’ll talk about innocence and fear and transgression. They’ll point out the seemingly endless list of spooky stories surrounding the various Disneyland parks. They’ll mention liminal space and that the human brain isn’t finished developing until one’s early twenties.

Some people will ask those scientists, or realists, or whatever name they use that they think sounds smartest, why it is that the stories all share the same threads. These aren’t your standard, ‘a girl committed suicide there and now her spirt haunts the bathroom’ schoolyard yarns, or the tall tales spun around architectural quirks. Something mind altering went on at Kadic Academy. Something that brought on psychic dreams and deja vu. Both quite common in their own right, but psychic dreams in tandem? Dreams that were exact tellings of the future, but then something would go horribly wrong, something that wouldn’t really happen? Deja vu that wasn’t the run of the mill thought skip, where the past and present seem to merge, tripping over each other for a second, nor the just as regular, ‘I have written three hundred essays in my life and this one feels no different’. No, the deja vu at Kadic Academy was legendary. 

You would be minding your own business, walking into the courtyard, say, and it would hit you in a wave that rooted you to the ground. For a moment you would become unstuck in time as you mind replayed the moment as it happened. As though someone had rewound you.

How do you explain that?

A bunch of kids living together, eating the same food together, studying the same things at the same times…Why wouldn’t they have similar psyches? Why wouldn’t some days feel like an endless refrain?

Then why did it stop?

No warning, no concrete ending. They all noticed, but not together. Every one of them looking up individually and saying ‘oh.’ before their world carried on exactly as it had before. Life was normal, and then, suddenly, it was more normal.  

This was the reason the creepypasta enthusiasts and horror story connoisseurs remembered Kadic Academy. Not for what happened there, but for the fact that it stopped. There was a mystery there. This wasn’t one class getting infected with mass hysteria. This wasn’t a simple haunting, your everyday paranormal activity. Something happened at Kadic. Something with a distinct beginning, middle, and end.

Perhaps some stranded aliens set up camp there, and they were finally rescued. 

Perhaps someone cursed the place, and the curse was broken. (No one would believe that the curse broke itself. A four year curse wasn’t properly auspicious).

Maybe a group of teenagers sacrificed their hearts, minds, and bodies keeping the earth safe from an overly advanced A.I. bent on world domination. 

Odd Della Robbia checked his phone for the third time that minute. He forgot his pop rocks in the room and now he had to wait out his sexile in the library with no high fructose corn syrup to keep him company. Ulrich swore he would text as soon as he and Yumi were finished and decent again, and that they would not fall asleep like they had last time. 

He was staring out the window at the rapidly darkening sky when his phone buzzed, and his heart jumped into his throat. Adrenaline shot through him and then drained away, leaving him flushed and dizzy. 

U kn com bk now. 

It didn’t say XANA. It never does anymore. Now all his phone screen ever tells him is: You are a normal teenager, Odd Della Robbia. We’re sorry for any inconvenience that war over the entire planet might have caused you. Please get back to your regularly scheduled programming of being a dork with roommate problems.

Another message popped up on his screen, a real one:

Buy twinkies.

They defeated XANA two months ago, and last week Ulrich and Yumi finally got together. Odd had been kind of expecting it now that William had straight up skipped town. He was in class with them last year, but summer break had come and gone, and he hadn’t come back. He wrote Jeremie an e-mail, promising he wouldn’t tell anyone about Lyoko. Actually, all I want to do is forget.

At first they had worried, but William assured them he was fine, and that he wasn’t involved in XANA’s plans. Which was good, since last semester XANA went nuts. A constant onslaught of attacks as Jeremie whittled down Aelita’s code, till he finally realized that it wasn’t Aelita who was encrypted.

Or something like that. Odd hadn’t been able to understand whatever epiphany Jeremie had been having over his speaker while lasers were burning through his own skin. 

The five of them stayed at school all summer, or at the factory more like, jumping into Lyoko every time Aelita felt the slightest vibration. Jeremie worked double and then triple time at the supercomputer. Days slid into days. Not in the soft, warm way summer vacation was supposed to, but the overlap that happens when your day has three breakfasts and two dinners because you still haven’t gone to sleep.

And then it was over.

Odd felt like a train that had run out of track. His momentum kept him sliding forward, sending up sparks and scoring lines into the earth, but he was no longer going anywhere.

Odd paused just outside his dorm and took a deep breath. There is a quality to the air in autumn, as though you could hit it with a tuning fork and it would sing. He tried to focus on it, tired to banish the sense that he was utterly lost in a foreign city. A slow rise of panic that you try desperately to hold down, because there is nothing you can do if you panic-no one you know you can go to for help-which only makes the panic worse.

Honestly, it was probably just because he had been kicked out of his room with nowhere to go. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t have a girlfriend to canoodle now that he wasn’t fighting for his life. Unfortunately, most girls remembered him as that guy that they dated for like two weeks in the eighth grade, who dumped them after they kissed. His high school dating life couldn’t even boast the long term rivalry dripping with pining and sexual tension that at least Yumi and Ulrich had at one point.

Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz

Odd fished his phone out of his jacket pocket. He started to type, Got yr darn twinkies, before he registered what the text actually was.

Ulrich, I need to talk to you. I’m in my room. 

The name at the top of the screen: Sissi.

It took Odd another minute to figure out why Sissi’s phone number was even in his contact list to begin with. 

Sissi had always had Ulrich’s number, but last year, before all XANA broke loose, she began texting him all the time. Ulrich shared the messages with them, but he never replied. Which meant Sissi kept trying. I’ve got cookies-and-cream pocky, want some? Is this a cute cat or what? What was the Calc homework for tonight?

Odd had to admit, he admired her tenacity. 

Maybe that was why, a month later when XANA hacked their phones and they had to steal other people’s to communicate, Odd found himself with Sissi’s phone in it’s huge pink teddy bear case, and he happened to change Ulrich’s phone number to his in her contacts. Maybe it was because there was a fifty percent chance that they would Return To The Past and it wouldn’t stick. It was probably just cause he found it funny and Ulrich was getting ready to block her.

He wasn’t sure what his excuse was for slipping into the Kendrick dorm instead of Cohen. If Ulrich had actually received that text he wouldn’t have given a fuck. He might even have dragged Yumi down to Sissi’s room and explained to her in no uncertain terms who his girlfriend was. Odd, on the other hand, was probably looking forward to a night of getting a sugar high and crashing as he watched surrealist films. At least Sissi might prove entertaining.

Sissi was clearly taken aback when she realized it was Odd at her door. Odd was surprised: Did she actually believe that Ulrich would come when she called? After all the evidence to the contrary? Never mind the fact that he was here at all might be a little confusing.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, but her tone was flat, without the disgust Odd was expecting.

“Got your text.” Odd said, wiggling his phone in front of her, though it was a halfhearted wiggle at best. It was strange. He didn’t really have the energy to be cheeky, and she didn’t seem up to being a total brat. Maybe they were both coming down with something.

“I texted Ulrich.” She said, and her voice broke on his name.

It pissed Odd off. It wasn’t like they had been a couple and he had dumped her. As far as Odd knew Ulrich had never had genuine interest in Sissi, but here she was, acting like she was the victim in all this, and not the asshole who just spent his last ten bucks at a vending machine. 

“Yeah, well, as his fucking lackey, he sent me to tell you to leave him alone.”

Sissi’s nose wrinkled, but her grip on the frame of her door turned her knuckles white. “I don’t see why he couldn’t come tell me that himself.” 

Odd shrugged, “I guess he didn’t feel like pulling out of Yumi long enough to come down.” His stomach twisted, his anger folding in on itself. He wasn’t sure if he meant to upset Sissi or Ulrich with those words.

At least they got Sissi to recoil. “You’re disgusting. You all think you’re so tough, teasing people, doing god-knows-what in the woods all the time, but when you’re alone you’re just stupid kids.”

“Trust me, Sissi, you do not want to get into a fight with me.” But Odd leaned forward, got into her space. Dared her. 

“You’re the one who’s looking for a fight.” Sissi said, not leaning towards him, but holding her ground. “I just wanted to talk to Ulrich.”

“When are you going to understand that he doesn’t want to talk to you?”

“When are you going to understand-“ Sissi began, jabbing her pointer finger into Odd’s chest. He grabbed her wrist on reflex, so fast his skin made a slapping noise against hers.

She gasped, which he expected, and he almost laughed before the nails of her other hand tore down his cheek. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he felt his skin gave way to her manicure. It was just a scratch. One that drew blood, but a scratch nonetheless.

If they had had that stupid conversation the year before Odd would have shrugged it off, or threatened to tell her father, or, yeah, maybe he would have just given her one clean slap across the face and walked away. 

But that was last year when he more than knew the difference between life and death. This year all he knew was that adrenaline was coursing through him, his cheek throbbed, and he could feel his heartbeat in his ears for the first time in months. He didn’t stop to consider all his options. He slammed his fist knuckles first into the side of Sissi’s face. 

She staggered back in shock. Odd’s brain caught up with him, and began blaring kill bill sirens. 

“Fuck you!” Sissi screamed, “I don’t want your stupid boyfriend!”

“You nearly gouged my eye out for him!”

“You-you-“ Sissi’s hand trembled as she touched her cheek. Odd saw tears well up in her eyes, and the anger in him faded. This was fucked up. 

“I don’t want your stupid, fucking-“ She began to cry.

Odd stood in her doorway, guilt making him desperate to leave and unsure if he should. He wiped blood off his cheek and was surprised when he pulled his hand away. He had forgotten how vibrant it was, how it stained skin with thick, rusty streaks.

Sissi had curled in on herself, putting her head level with his stomach. It was strange being this close to her when she was crying her eyes out. He wanted to close the door and leave her alone, but he couldn’t abandon her. 

Odd heard the click of a door opening down the hall and Sissi stood up with a gasp. She grabbed the front of Odd’s jacket and hauled him into her room, closing the door behind him. 

Odd was overwhelmed by the scent of girly things. Shampoo and lotion and perfume, and who knew what else, fruit and floral and sweetness so strong he could taste artificial flavoring. It almost distracted him from the fact that this might be the first time he was in Sissi’s room with her permission.

Sissi pressed her ear to the door, still clutching the front of his shirt. Her hand shook as she listened, bumping against his chest. Odd pried her fingers off, but once he dropped her hand he made the mistake of looking at her. Tears continued to flow down her face though she seemed completely focused on straining her ears past the cheap plywood. Something about the image made Odd lean against the door too, just so he would have an excuse to close his eyes.  He heard someone knock at someone else’s room. He could make out voices, but not words. The other person’s door closed and there was silence. 

“Okay,” Sissi said, peeling herself off the door, her voice still thick. “I don’t think anyone’s going to come check.”   

Odd nodded as though conspiring with Sissi felt perfectly natural. 

Sissi opened her door a crack, but then turned back to Odd. “Tell Ulrich that the only reason I wanted to see him was because I don’t care about him anymore, and Yumi can stop glaring at me like she thinks I’m going to rip my clothes off every time I talk to him.” She flicked moisture from the corners of her eyes and and in a moment became the same cold, shiny Sissi Odd knew and understood. All poise and selfishness. 

“Kay.” Odd said, because this was good. The world has returned to order. He felt like he was on solid ground again after that sudden white-water rafting interval.

But the image of Sissi crying, her face as red and crumpled as any other person’s, continued to shake him as he walked back to his room, like he had been at sea for months and couldn’t adjust to the fact that the ground had stopped moving beneath his feet.

Part 2