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blooming-violets · 2 years ago

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Creature Like Me || Chapter Three: All Kinds of Gray

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Three Warnings: disturbing depiction of young captured woman, forced female nudity, mention of torture, mention of a deceased father and older brother

[link to chapter index]

“Welcome to your new sanctuary.”

Peter carefully walked around the abandoned 70’s camper. It had sat parked in the depths of the forest about 5 miles from Aylin’s home off a dirt service road. The road hadn’t been used in years thanks to a few fallen trees. Her car was parked at the top of the road and the two of them had made the slow walk down the overgrown path in silence.

A creek trickled behind the forgotten vehicle and emptied out into a quiet pond. It was hot and stuffy inside, the air feeling muggy in her throat, and sweat beading up on her forehead. A gnat buzzed in her ear which she lazily swatted at.

“You can open the windows if you want,” she offered. “They don’t open up very wide but any air flow will be better than nothing.”

Peter nodded, giving her a timid look, “Is-uh-is this yours? I mean, is this where you live?”

Aylin smiled, finding his questions humorous, “No. This is not where I live. You are not allowed to be where I live. My poor mother would have a heart attack if she saw a werewolf enter our home.” She gave a sigh and slid into the moth eaten, yellow plaid dinette booth. She motioned for Peter to sit across the table from her. In another world, they would have resembled nothing more than two people on a camping trip. “My dad bought this camper for us when I turned 16. I think it was supposed to be my birthday present but also something for the family. We-” She hesitated, quickly adding. “-never ended up using it. I parked it here a few years ago and used it as my own personal getaway from everyone. No one but me knows that it’s here. It should be safe.”

“It smells like you in here,” he whispered.

Aylin frowned. All she could smell was the forest after a night of heavy rain wafting in through the open door. It was one of her favorite scents. It brought the comfort of home.

“Well, like I said, I’m the only person who ever uses it. There’s a bed in the back. It’s comfier than it looks. Pillows and blankets are there, too. You might want to give them a shake outside to scare off any spiders.” She thought about what else she could add to the conversation. “It no longer runs so don’t even try to get it started. Some mice moved into the engine and chewed up a bunch of stuff. But I like to sit in the passenger seat with the window down, stare out at the pond, and listen to the forest talk to me.”

Peter’s eyes drifted to the front of the camper, scanning through the dirt streaked windshield. A soft, peaceful smile rested on his lips.

“It’s perfect,” he sighed. “Anything is better than staring at a dark wall.”

“So, about that,” Aylin chewed on the calloused, hard skin around her thumbnail. “You’re not a prisoner here. I mean, technically you could leave at any point. I’m not going to chain you in or anything. But, if you do choose to sneak away, you better be careful. These forests are crawling with hunters. They will find you and it won’t be a pleasant death. You’re in their territory now. You saw the drive out here. There’s nothing around for miles apart from the Silver Colts. If you stay here, though, I can keep you safe. I can feed you and make sure no one heads out in this direction. You can live out the rest of your days in relative comfort, admiring the view, and eating nice food until I have what I need. I’d say it’s the better option of the two but that’s for you to decide.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter said as if it should have been obvious. He was sticking with her. His mind was made up.

She gave a steady nod, “Good. There’s no bathroom in here but you’re an uncivilized animal so I’m sure you’re used to going outside.” There was a sharp edge of prejudice to her tone.

Peter flinched at that but stayed silent with his eyes locked on the skinny table between them. He would not bite the hand that fed him.

“I have some books in the cabinet beside the bed you can read if you get bored. If you can even read. Uh, there’s an old rope hammock down by the pond. It’s always a gamble if it’ll still hold your weight or not but it's a nice spot to relax if the camper gets too hot. As of last year, there were no leeches in the water so feel free to use it as a way to clean yourself and cool down. I’ll bring you food once a day. Probably around the evening or early mornings. Whichever I can manage. Today you’ll have to go hungry because I know I won’t be able to leave tonight once I return back to the guild.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug, “Used to it.”

“And no making fires! That’s basically signaling to everyone around exactly where you are. Just stay calm, relax, sleep, go pick some wild blueberries, roll in the dirt…I don’t know what you dogs like to do. I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t wander too far.” She should probably attempt to be nicer so he’d be more likely to stay. “Please.”

He smirked at the grumble she made after. Like being kind to a werewolf was the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.

“I’ll be here,” he promised.

“Oh, thank the sun, you’ve returned!”

Her mother, Nesrin, leaped from her spot on the couch. She had been dozing off with a half knitted scarf in her lap. She would only ever knit when she needed to soothe an anxious mind. Her wooden knitting needles bounced off the hardwood floor and rolled after her as she ran towards her daughter. She hadn’t properly slept since Aylin left.

Seeing her beloved mother after everything she went through nearly brought her to her knees. Aylin crumbled into her warm embrace. She felt like she was five years old again and searching for her mother’s comfort after a scraped knee. The pressing defeat of failure in her task finally came crashing down around her. Without the heart, she had no proof of her kill. She wouldn’t be able to complete the ritual.

“I think I messed up,” she tried to hold the tears back but her voice was thick with sadness.“ I couldn’t get the heart. It all went wrong. There was no time. Sergei is going to be upset. I couldn’t finish what I started.”

“Hush,” Nesrin soothed her. “Don’t mind that now. None of that matters. All is well. You are alive. You are home and in my arms. Come in. Take off your jacket. Are you hurt?”

Aylin sniffled, reluctantly pulling back from the hug, and wiping her eyes, “No. I’m okay. I’m not hurt. Just a failure.”

“No child of mine is a failure,” Nesrin scolded.

They both knew once Sergei caught wind that she had returned, she would get no time to rest. Her mother, with her thick, long raven colored hair, the hair that Aylin knew so well, ushered her into the house. Not even time could steal the rich color from her locks. Aylin admired the way stray pieces flailed out behind her when she walked like she was creating her own breeze wherever she went. She was happy to finally be home.

“My lips are sealed, Linny. No one will get their hands on you until I’ve deemed it time. I’m going to draw you a bath. I’ll wash your hair just like I used to and you can tell me everything that happened. After that, I am going to tuck you into bed and you are going to nap. Only after that will I allow anyone to know of your return.” She gave her daughter a light swat against the bum, urging her towards the bathroom.

She couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to her mother to try and put Sergei in his place.

“Alright, alright,” Aylin laughed. Her mood was already changing. Nesrin had that effect on people. She was the sun to Aylin’s moon. “I’m going.” She turned around, walking backwards, with a glint of excitement in her eyes. “Guess what? I killed two wolves yesterday. Two of them! The whole pack unexpectedly showed up and tried to rip me apart but I got out. I survived. Even if I didn’t get what I went there for.”

Her mother gasped in horror, placing a hand over the golden sun pendant dangling on a delicate chain around her neck. It was an old Christmas gift from Aylin’s father. Nesrin never took it off.

“You are going to be the death of me, child. Come into the bathroom and tell me all about it.”

“Our mighty huntress has returned from her first solo battle!”

Sergei’s voice boomed out over the crowd. He stood on top of a wooden platform in the middle of their small town square. A large bonfire roared in front of him. Warm orange glowed over his face, creating a dance of shadows and light to give him a hellish, demonic look. He looked massive up there. Powerful. Almost godlike.

The guild members stood in a wide circle around the fire as they watched their fearless leader. Tables had been set up off to the side with drinks and food. The live band silenced their instruments to allow Sergei to speak. A party was always thrown after a trainees first hunt, if they survived, that is. It was a right of passage. A celebrated sacred honor. Their traditions date back centuries.

After her nap and a home cooked meal, Sergei was alerted to her return. He spent the rest of the afternoon one on one with her, going over every detail of her hunt. He wasn’t as disappointed as she thought he would be about the lack of heart. In fact, he seemed to be the complete opposite. Almost as if he was glad she failed. When she mentioned the whole pack suddenly showing up, he insisted that she had done the correct thing in getting out of there. She told him everything exactly how it happened…minus the existence of Peter. She had surveyed the camp, stalked Sierra down, severed her spine, watched her turn, then took her life. The sound of her gun shot must have alerted the pack to the danger. They came running. She had just enough time to get back to her car, killing another wolf as a distraction, and managed to escape. She spent the night at a motel to get some sleep before returning home. That was it. The entire story. Most of it, anyway.

“Did you manage to see anything else while you were there?” He had asked. “Did you find any of their secrets? Did you have time to look around? What did you find?” His questions were backed with an impassioned, deliberate intent. She thought of Peter and wondered if Sergei knew more than he was letting on.

“No,” she lied. “Nothing at all. There was nothing else there. It was just an old camp.”

Sergei had clasped his heavy hand on her back and gave a booming laugh. It had a hollow sound to it and she got the impression he was putting on a show to mask his disappointment. He had expected her to find something important at Eagle Peak.

Or someone.

He gave her two hours to herself before the party would begin. During that time, Nesrin had plaited a thick, single fishtail braid down her daughters back and tied a black bow to the end. She tugged out a few strands in the front, giving them a loose curl to help frame her face. Aylin chose to wear a simple, black midi dress that hung down to her mid calf and sat snuggly around her waist. She paired it with a gray cardigan and her favorite chunky, black platform boots. They made her seem taller and helped downplay the outfit to be more casual.

“I wish you’d try wearing some color for once,” Nesrin huffed as she looked over Aylin’s appearance. “The black darkens your beautiful eyes. It takes away some of their light.”

“I’m still in mourning,” she replied with a dull voice.

Her mother rolled her eyes, “That was five years ago, Lin. The dressing like you’re in mourning period is over. Are you sure you don’t want to borrow one of my sweaters? I have that beautiful deep red one. It would just pop against your skin. Or the yellow. Oh, you know how I love that yellow one.”

Aylin rubbed her fingers over her temple. The party was already giving her a headache and they hadn’t even left yet. She hated crowds. Even the idea of them was enough to bring one on.

“I’m positive.” She wondered what Peter was doing right now. She sort of missed his company. He was quiet. She enjoyed that quality about a person.

“I’ll bring the red one just in case you change your mind!”

Now, as Sergei stood on the stage, Aylin surveyed the crowd around her. Her mother, standing next to her, still clasped the red sweater tight in her arms as if her daughter would suddenly change her mind. She looked from face to face, person to person. These were the people she knew all her life. Their guild had their own school. She wasn’t allowed to attend a public one. They rarely ever went into the nearest town unless it was absolutely necessary. The more secretive their guild was, the easier their existence. Their job was to stay quiet, out of sight, and take care of the werewolves. If someone breaks the rules, they’re thrown out. Either their family disowns them or they disappear with them. The people who leave never return. If she was caught with Peter, she would be thrown out. Her mother would come with her, that she knew. Nesrin would never leave her daughter’s side. But the guilt of forcing her mother to leave their community would eat her alive. This was what they knew. These were their people. Their family.

Sergei was still speaking. He loved to hear himself talk.

“From the moment I welcomed Samuel as my second in command, I knew the Silver Colts were in for a successful year.”

Aylin’s stomach dropped at the mention of her father. Sergei rarely brought him up anymore. Her mother’s back straightened, her head held high, and her hand clasped around the necklace. She was trying to appear stronger than she felt.

“He proved time and time again to be a dedicated hunter and a loyal friend. My best friend. But, more than that, he was a dedicated and loyal husband and father.” Sergei turned to where they were standing to speak directly to them. He placed a hand over his heart and showed his sorrow on his face. Maybe it was the flickering of the bonfire messing with the lighting, or maybe she was still exhausted from her hunt, but Aylin swore his sadness didn’t reach his eyes. It felt more like he was putting on a show than speaking from the heart about his fallen friend. It was the same feeling she got when he was asking her about the hunt. Something felt off. “I know Samuel would have been so proud to be standing on this stage tonight to honor his daughter. I still remember how he held back tears the night he got to honor Emir. Both of them, gone too soon.”

Her cheek twitched as she locked her jaw. Her teeth ground together in annoyance. She glanced over at her mother who was now openly weeping. Five years and the pain still felt as raw as it ever had. They were still in mourning. No amount of time could change that. The mere mention of her father and brother could send Nesrin into hysterics. She hated that Sergei even brought them up. Her mother was trying to be strong in front of the crowd but Aylin could see her resolve starting to fail.

His eyes settled on Aylin. They bore into her with a strangely profound stare. She felt as if he was trying to peel back her tightly guarded layers and read her mind. His gaze made her uncomfortable like she was standing naked in front of a crowd. He knew something she didn’t.

“Tonight, in place of those we have lost, I will honor young Aylin as the newest huntress to the Silver Colt Guild!”

The people erupted into loud cheers. The sudden sound made her flinch. Her headache intensified. She felt dizzy. Her mother gave her a tiny shove, pushing her towards the stage. That was her cue to start moving. She took a deep breath and made her way up to stand next to Sergei. He completely dwarfed her when she stood beside him. It felt like every time she saw him, he got a little taller, and gained more muscle.

He grasped tightly onto her hand and held it up to more applause and hollers from the rowdy crowd. Sergei let the noise wash over them, basking in the cheers as if they were meant for only him, and then settled everyone back down

“Now, tonight’s ritual will go a little differently. When I spoke to Aylin this afternoon, she gave me a detailed report of what happened yesterday. To put it plainly, she was ambushed. Those vile creatures knew she was coming and they sacrificed one of their own for a chance to tear apart one of ours! As she was trying to cut out the heart from her slain foe, the pack surrounded her.”

A slew of horrified cries followed.

“Poor Aylin had unknowingly walked straight into their trap and we were the ones who sent her there! They have no morals. They do not care if one of their own must be sacrificed as long as they get to draw blood. Our blood! But, even though she was surrounded, Aylin did not fret, for she had her father’s blood running through her veins and no more of their families blood needed to be spilled at the hands of the beast!” His voice boomed. It echoed off the forest trees as his enthusiasm grew. He had everyone gripped by the throat and hanging on his every word. Everyone except one. “She fought her way out! She slaughtered two more of those foul creatures and managed to escape by a hair! Three slain wolves on her first hunt. She is the true definition of what we stand for! She is the true leader of our tomorrow!”

Her stomach ached. He was exaggerating the truth to make it sound more daring and risky than it had been. He made it seem like the wolves had planned the entire attack like they knew she was coming before she even arrived. It was a calculated move to push his guild’s hatred in the right direction and it was all a lie. He was lying straight to these people’s faces without a hint of fabrication in his voice. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like he had been doing it his entire life. She had never seen him from this angle before. She felt like she was getting a sneak peek at the slimy, barnacle ridden underside of a mighty ship. She kept her eyes staring straight ahead. She would not question him. Not here. Not now.

“Our traditions and rituals state that the successful hunter must toss the heart of their first kill into the blazes of the fire. But Aylin does not have what we need.” He paused, a smirk peeking out from under his untamed beard, as he held his breath for a dramatic beat. He was a showman putting on the performance of his life. “Luckily, I intend to make things right. She deserves to finish the ritual. She deserves to rip the heart from her slain beast!”

It was then that Aylin’s resolve fell. She looked up at Sergei with confusion. There was no way anyone would have been able to travel all the way to Eagle Peak Camp to retrieve Sierra. There was no way her body would still even be there. Surely, her pack would have moved her and Lorina by now. They never left them where they fell. They had their own rituals of dealing with their dead. There was a reason why the public never stumbled upon bodies of giant wolves.

Sergei gave her a wink, lowering his voice just for her, “Don’t look so frightened child. I have another wolf for you. Another heart to pry from its chest. Show these people you are Samuel’s daughter. Show them you are Emir’s sister. Show them what you are capable of.” He motioned behind him with a wide, swinging arm. “Calypso, my beautiful wife! Bring out the beast!”

Her heart leaped into her throat and she spun around to see where Sergei was pointing. Her eyes scanned through the dark, searching for the face of who she was terrified to see. Calypso pushed a tall metal cage on wheels out in front of the stage. It was covered with a thick blanket to hide whoever was inside. The cage was big enough to fit a human, not a werewolf. Whoever was in there was stuck in human form. She bet the bars were lined with silver to keep the prisoner from breaking free.

Her heart was racing. She could feel the panic rising. Had they found Peter? He was only five miles out. He was close enough that his capture could be possible. If they found him, if they knew she had brought him, she would be banished. Was this all a show to shame her in front of her family? She stared at the blanket covering the cage, trying to mentally will it to fall so she could see who was locked up, and dreading finding her friend on the other side.

They were not friends.

Calypso fanned out her wild, unruly mane of thick hair over her shoulders. Her bralette, made of a light tan werewolf pelt, hardly covered her large chest. Her tightly toned stomach was on display as her wide hips swayed with each step. She knew the men were all staring at her and she was soaking it up. She loved the attention as much as Sergei. Maybe even more.

“Cal, my love,” he motioned down to his wife. “Would you do the honors?”

She flashed him a dazzling white smile. Her teeth were sharper than average. Aylin often wondered if she filed them into points.

She gripped onto the blanket as Aylin held her breath, terrified of who she was going to see. With a flashy flick of his wrist, Calypso tossed the blanket aside. The crowd burst into angry, insulting jeers towards the unveiled prisoner.

Relief and horror flooded her all at once.

It wasn’t Peter.

He was safe. She was safe. They didn’t know about him.

In his place, however, was a young woman. Aylin hesitated to even refer to her as a woman. She looked no older than 19. She was stripped naked. Her dignity ripped from her body to leave her vulnerable like it was done with the sole intent to shame her. She was smaller in size and huddled up in the corner of the cage. Her eyes were filled with fear. Her body trembled in fright. She almost resembled Peter in weight, being severely malnourished. She held the same look, too. The one that screamed of someone who had been tortured for longer than their body could handle. Someone weak and broken. This girl was no threat to them. She would put up no fight.

Sergei did another one of his booming laughs as he soaked in the sights before him. Someone in the crowd threw a half empty beer bottle at the cage. It shattered, spraying glass and beer all over the poor girl.

That’s how Aylin viewed her. A girl. Not a wolf. Not an enemy. A scared, young girl. Aylin’s eyes sought out her mother in the crowd. Nesrin had vanished into a dark shadow under a tall pine tree. She was clutching onto her necklace, a frown etched into her wrinkled face, and shaking her head. She didn’t like this anymore than her daughter. Her mother wasn’t a hunter. She was just the widow of one.

Sergei slid a long dagger out from his belt loop. It was curved into the shape of a claw. He thrust it into Aylin’s hand and shoved her down the steps towards the caged girl. His hand stayed tightly on the back of her neck, keeping her from looking anywhere but at the cage.

“What do you say, Colts?” He addressed the crowd. “Are you ready to see how Aylin takes after her father? Are you ready to see if she has what it takes to be a leader?”

They cheered and whooped and hollered. The band was banging on their instruments. This was nothing more than entertainment to them. The noise was too much. Too loud. She felt sick.

“Who is she?” She whispered to Sergei. “Where did she come from? What did she do?”

He chuckled, “It doesn’t matter. She didn’t do anything. She’s a wolf and wolf’s deserve to have their hearts ripped from their chest! There is no humanity in her. She’s nothing but a repugnant beast. She has no soul. Go on! Show me that you belong here.”

He took a step back, joining the crowd circling around her and the cage. It occurred to her that they weren’t going to release the girl. She wasn’t going to get a fair fight. She wasn’t going to get a chance to defend herself. Aylin was meant to murder her through the bars. Human to human, not hunter to beast.

She slowly walked up to the cage and peered through the bars. From up close, the girl looked even worse. She had been a prisoner of someone, marks of torture speckled her skin as unspoken words of her time in captivity, and Aylin had a sinking feeling it wasn’t at the hands of another wolf.

“Who are you?” Aylin whispered to her.

The girl turned her head, glaring at her with whatever strength she could muster, and spit directly in her face. Her action only served to rile up the crowd further. They were calling for her death, begging for it to be drawn out slowly and painfully. They wanted to watch her suffer.

Aylin wiped the glob of saliva from her cheek. Unlike her peers, it did not anger her. It only made her sad. A cornered animal, with all her defenses ripped from her, using the only fighting tactic she had left to try and mask her fear. It could have so easily been Peter inside this cage. This was her punishment for lying to Sergei. A punishment for taking Peter. Whether or not he knew of her misdeeds, something had changed in the air. He knew more than he let on. He knew that she was weak.

The young girl’s emerald eyes faded into Peter’s soft, honey hues the longer Aylin stared at her.

The dagger fell from her hands.

She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t. Not like this. She refused to kill someone not in their wolf form.

Aylin turned on her heels, elbowing her way through the crowd, and making a direct line for her house on the outskirts of their town. She blocked out the sounds of the disappointed crowd. She blocked out the sounds of Sergei calling after her. She blocked out the screams of the girl as someone else finished what she couldn’t even start.

She blocked it all out as her swift gait eventually turned into a full sprint, forcing herself as quickly and as far, away from the caged girl as her body would allow.

“Peter?”

The camper was dark and quiet.

She had run home but knew that she could not stay. Sergei would surely follow. Her mother would be asking questions. They would each demand a different kind of answer and she had none to give them. She couldn’t stare her inevitable failure in the face. Running was easier. Hiding was simple. She packed a bag and left on foot. Cars were for people who didn’t let down their entire family. Failures deserved to walk the five miles through the dense forest, in the pitch black, to her sanctuary.

The only safe place she knew of that still felt like home.

She pushed her way into the back room, anticipating Peter to be asleep on the bed, only to find it empty and untouched.

Her heart sank.

He wasn’t here. The camper was empty.

Of course he wasn’t here.

Why would she ever expect him to stay?

He had lied to her. Everyone lies. Herself, included. Everything is one big show. A giant performance to better achieve one’s own desires.

She had freed him from his chains, brought him to safety, and he had told her what she wanted to hear until he was left alone. Why would she ever believe that he would sit around and let her kill him after she was done interrogating him? She was a fool to believe such a thing. Werewolves couldn’t be trusted but, she was finding, neither could her guild. Sergei had set her up. She wasn’t entirely sure how but he knew there was supposed to be something in that camp. Something he wanted to get his hands on.

And the only thing she saw of value was Peter. Who was now gone.

She wondered if Sergei knew the pact would be close by. She wondered if he really had willingly sent her into a trap or if he even expected her to come back alive. “They have no morals. They do not care if one of their own must be sacrificed as long as they get to draw blood.” That was what he said about the wolves but she now wondered if he was referring to something else. She had the strangest sense that she had been used as bait.

She was starting to ask a lot of questions. Questions she had no answers to. Questions that only lead to more questions.

Aylin kicked open the camper door more violently than she intended. She stalked out into the night, filling her lungs with the familiar forest air. Her chest felt tight. Anger, anxiety, annoyance, and confusion all gripped at her throat.

But it was the disappointment tinged with sadness that worried her the most.

The absence of Peter caused her more inner turmoil than what had happened at her “party”. She shouldn’t be this upset to lose a werewolf. She should be relieved that he was no longer in her care. He wouldn’t have to be something to worry about anymore.

And, still, she felt the weight of his absence like a sinking stone of sadness.

She followed the creek down to the pond. She was hoping to see the moon shining through the canopy and reflecting off the still water. It was one of her favorite sights. The moon and her forest brought her a comfort that not even her mother could compete with. Seeing the moon would make her feel better.

As she pushed her way between two overgrown bushes, she stopped short. Instead of the moon, she saw something else.

There, fast asleep on the old rope hammock, was Peter.

She was afraid to blink, terrified that if she let him out of her sight for even just a second, he would disappear from her life again. She didn’t want him to disappear. She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want him dead.

There was something about him that endeared to her closed off heart. He had a tender soul. A quiet softness. Like a light, summer breeze on a lazily evening. It was silly to think such things about a werewolf but it was how she felt. Seeing that young girl in the cage was too much. Her entire life she believed she was on the right side of history. She was helping to save the public. A silent protector of the world. But murdering a defenseless, naked teenager locked in a cage was not right. It was not a heroic act. Killing her would have saved no one.

Aylin was no hero. Not a mighty huntress or a future leader.

She was scared and sad and confused. She craved the wisdom of her father, the strength of her brother, and the safety of her mother. She craved whatever strange comfort Peter was starting to bring. She wanted to understand him, to unravel him like a mystery, until she found all the answers she sought out.

She wanted to be his friend.

That was it.

That was all that she wanted. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Friends.

He hadn’t left her. He hadn’t lied. She felt she could trust someone she met hours ago, someone who was supposed to be her enemy, more than the person she had known her entire life.

As she moved closer, she could see streaks of dried tears carving a path down his cheeks. His long lashes were wet and clumped together. He breathed quietly through parted lips. His arm rested under his head as a makeshift pillow. She could make out the strength of his muscles under his skin. Not even nearly starving to death could steal them away, it seemed. The mystery of the wolves clouded her thoughts. They were the Silver Colts sworn enemies and, yet, they hardly knew anything about them.

Despite his dried tears, Peter looked peaceful as he slept.

He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a man. Just like the wolf in the cage only looked like a scared girl.

Maybe they were wrong. Maybe werewolves weren’t as terrible as they thought.

And then she remembered her father and brother.

They had been torn apart by a wolf on a hunt. Their bodies had been so mutilated, Sergei refused to let her mother and her see them. They died at the hands of someone like Peter.

She didn’t know what to think anymore. Two days ago her world was black and white. Good and bad. Heroes and villains. Today, it was all kinds of gray.

Aylin took a step back away from Peter, hoping to let him rest without bothering him, when her boot crunched down on a stick. The snapping of wood caused Peter’s eyes to shoot open, wide with fear. He sat up too suddenly. The hammock rocked violently under him. He tried to catch his balance but it was too late. The hammock flipped over and he was thrown onto the ground. His sleepy body splayed out over the dirt, bits of leaves clinging to messy hair.

She tried not to laugh. She really did. But she couldn’t stop it.

Her laughter filled the quiet, night air. It lightened the chaos of her mind and soothed her anxious soul.

Peter scrambled to his feet, his face blushed scarlet, and shook the leaves from his hair.

“Why are you here?” He asked, voice caked with sleep. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She steadied her laughter with a deep breath, “I brought you some food.”

“You said you wouldn’t be able to until tomorrow.” He looked up at the sky, the moon telling him it was only around midnight. “Why are you out so late?”

Most of the humor she had still tumbling around inside of her dried up at the memories of earlier. She swallowed, giving a shrug, “Couldn’t sleep. Come inside. I brought dolmas.” She made her way back to the camper with Peter falling in step behind her.

“What’s that?”

She raised her brows in shock and glanced over her shoulder to look at him, “You’ve been missing out, wolfboy. This one is a mixture of rice, meat, and herbs stuffed into a grape leaf. You’ll love it. My mom made them this afternoon. She’s the best cook in our guild.”

She wondered what her mother was thinking right now. She had left without seeing her. Without saying goodbye. It wasn’t the first time she had run away without leaving a note. Nesrin was probably used to it.

Aylin held the door open for Peter, “After you.”

He gave her a gentle smile, nodding his head in thanks.

“I also brought you some clothes. Clothes and food. See? I’m a wonderful host.”

Her brother’s old clothes. It wasn’t like he would need them anymore.

She slid into the seat across from him and pulled a tupperware of food out the bag she left on the table. She happily watched as Peter ripped it open and carefully examined the contents. He only lasted a few seconds before digging in. His eyes widened and then closed, savoring his mouthful. It was strange to watch a werewolf enjoy her mother’s cooking. She felt a sense of pride. She wondered if her mom would like Peter as much as she was starting to.

Aylin had no clue what tomorrow would hold for her. Sergei wouldn’t be pleased. Her mother would have questions. She was witnessed refusing to kill a wolf in front of her entire guild. It wasn’t going to be easy. She didn’t want to think about it. Instead, she would focus on tonight.

Tonight, she would watch Peter eat his fill of dolmas.

Then, she would try to sleep.

Today, right now, this is what she chose to focus on. That was all that mattered.

Tomorrow was tomorrow for a reason.

[Chapter Four]

🌒A reblog will automatically put you onto the chapter four tag list. If you enjoyed what you read, please leave a comment! It would make this writer very happy and more likely to continue writing.🌔

Tag List: @raindropstearsandtea @liz-allyn @sincericida @moonyslove78 @leleleea @wanderlustaflame @fav-fanficssss @perfumedays

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hockeymusicmore · 1 year ago

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https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/17606-NE-77th-Ave-Battle-Ground-WA-98604/23319449_zpid/

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6706-NW-209th-St-Ridgefield-WA-98642/23317587_zpid/

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1014-NW-106th-Cir-Vancouver-WA-98685/23295841_zpid/

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/300-SW-7th-Ave-UNIT-505-Battle-Ground-WA-98604/23333605_zpid/

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/300-SW-7th-Ave-UNIT-108-Battle-Ground-WA-98604/23333540_zpid/

#homes #rvs #truck camper

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theysayitscrazy · 3 years ago

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Motel El Royale || Fan Fic Friday

Clay Spenser x Reader

Reader x Sonny Quinn Sister

A/N: Shout out to @bravo-four-seal-team and her goat series for the lovely conversation taking place in this.

Taglist: @rebelwrites @rebelreblogs @heathermann200 @bravo-four-seal-team

Warnings: Pillow talk, annoying brother antics, one bed...oops.

~*~

Rain slashed against the Nova’s windshield. The wiper blades whipped back and forth, unable to keep up. After the second time the tires hydroplaned on the interstate, Clay swore. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbled.

You rolled your eyes and continued staring out the passenger window. This trip was such a bad idea. Sonny was stranded in the middle of nowhere, another bad idea, and needed a ride. Only when you went to start your car, it wouldn’t start.

You cursed the POS silently for the 100th time that night.

You’d been at the bulkhead with the guys when Sonny had called you. Your brother was on his usual post-Davis-break-up bullshit, and you were annoyed when his face popped up on your phone. Not only had you gave him shit over the phone while sitting at the bar with the rest of Bravo, but you had called him back when your POS car wouldn’t start to give him more shit. Your car had worked fine on the way to the bar.

Sonny had called Clay, who and walked out of the bar while on the phone with him and motioned toward the Nova. After he hung up with your brother you sighed and walked over. “Why don’t you jump in?” Clay called across the parking lot.

“Because that sounds like a horrible idea,” you grumbled under your breath. Two hours trapped in the car with pretty boy was the last thing you wanted to that evening.

“We can go get him together,” Clay added, seeing your hesitation.

“Alright,” you called back to him. “Fuck my life,” you grumbled under your breath and grab your hoodie and purse off the passenger seat and headed toward Clay.

The drive had been relatively quiet. You’d taken over the radio as soon as Clay hit the interstate and headed out to the hills where Sonny had taken up residence.

The rain was icing on the cake, and you were exhausted when Clay pulled into, “Motel El Royle,” you grumble as you read the blinking Vacancy sign out by the highway.

“Looks like something out of Norman Bates movie,” Clay sighed. “There’s nothing else around,” he added as he pulled into the parking lot.

“If Chris Hemsworth comes stumbling in from the rain, I call dibs,” you murmur as he parks the nova in front of the office.

Clay shoots you a grin and nods once. “So, I get Dakota Johnson?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. “You can have Jeff Bridges.”

His laugh rumbles out of his chest, filling the quiet Nova, startling you.

You glance at him and wish you didn’t. Those pearly whites were flashing in the dim lighting from the motel building. His smile was infectious, and you found your lips tugging upwards. It was hard to be indifferent around him when all you wanted was to wrap your arms around him and pull his hard body against yours.

You couldn’t though. He was your brother’s best friend. There were bro codes about that. Shit you and brother had a bro-code about that.

“You alright?” Clay asks, catching you staring.

You snap out of it quickly and smirk, “Just imagining you looking like a drowned rat when you return from getting us a room.”

His grin falls and you smirk.

“Go be a gentleman and get us a couple rooms,” you say as rain beats down on the hood and roof of the Nova.

He shakes his head in disbelief but turns to get out of the car.

Once he’s out of the car and making the mad dash to the front door, you sigh. “Come on, Y/N, get your shit together already.”

Why did he have to be so God damn gorgeous? You watched him through the window, talking to the guy at the front desk. You needed a cold shower after the last two hours in the car with him. Something about the man and his sexy ass car made you hot. Fuck, everything about that man made you hot.

You watched as he grabbed the key from the front desk guy, before he headed toward the door and stopped, looking out. He was already soaking wet from his short walk inside. His grey t-shirt was clinging to his body more than it usually did.

He rolled those muscular shoulders back and braced himself for opening the door.

You grinned broadly at him and waved.

He sent a glower your way.

You blew him a flirt kiss and watched as a smirk pulled across his lips. Oooh baby boy was looking cocky as fuck as he strolled out of the motel and into the rain.

Only he didn’t walk to the driver’s side…he leisurely strolled around the Nova to the passenger side and pulled the door open before you could even think of locking it. “What are you doing?” you ask dumbly, as he reaches for your hand and pulls you out of the car.

Its pouring buckets. Too dangerous to drive, and this man is pulling you out into it. “Fuck Clay!” You shout as the piercing rain hammers down on you. “It hurts!”

He laughs and spins you out and away from the car, holding your hand. When he pulls you back and you spin into him, you gasp. Is he dancing in the rain with you?

You look up at him confused as he grins down at you.

There’s no music, but he wraps an arm around your waist, sliding his hand to the small of your back, and pulls you against him. “What are you doing?” you question, even though your hand slides up his bicep to rest on his shoulder.

“Just go with it,” he grins down at you. He squeezes the hand he’s still holding and begins to lead.

“Fuck,” you think to yourself as you let him guide you around in a small circle in the parking lot.

You can’t take your eyes off him. Those blue eyes are dark with desire and he’s watching you just as closely. There’s something magical about the moment and you suddenly don’t care that your soaking wet, clothes clinging to you, and freezing your ass off.

Clay’s gaze on you is all at that matters. His hand in yours. Your body pressed against his.

A ringing cell phone breaks the moment, and you jump back, startled.

Clay looks annoyed but pulls out the cell from his pocket and flashes you the screen so you can see that its Sonny. You nod once, and Clay walks around the car to the driver’s side as he answers the phone. You slide into the front seat and close the door behind you, shivering as you drip onto the leather seats.

“Yeah man,” Clay says, speaking over the roar of the rain on the roof of the car. “Nah, we had to pull over. The roads are flooding. We found a motel for the night. You gonna be good till morning?”

“Yeah brother,” Sonny’s voice was loud and clear in the Nova. “Don’t be gettin’ any ideas about my sister.”

“Sorry man, you’re breaking up! Storms loud! I’ll you in the morning,” Clay answered and hung up on Sonny.

You look over at Clay with a confused grin on your face.

He shrugs a shoulder and smiles. “Let’s go find our room.”

You’re suddenly nervous as Clay starts the car and heads around the building to the back. Once parked, you realize you don’t have anything. No clothes to change into. You’re soaking wet and freezing cold.

Clay parks the car and you both run out into the rain again, to get under the overhang. Clay unlocks the door quickly and you stumble through, only to stop dead when you see the one bed in the room. “Fuck,” you groan.

“What’s wrong?” Clay asks.

“There’s only one bed,” you mutter, pointing to the thing like it offended you.

“It was the last room they had,” Clay’s voice was soft behind you.

You sigh and walk further into the room and set down your purse. “Any chance you have clothes in your car?” you ask him over your shoulder.

“Uh… actually,” he says and nods once.

You glance at him.

“I might. Let me check.” He heads back out into the rain, and you move to the window to watch.

He uses his keys to open the trunk and you grin when he pulls out his ‘Go bag’.

A moment later he’s back in the room, dripping water all over the floor, bag slung over his shoulder. “You’re in luck. I just did laundry,” he grins as tosses the bag on the dinette table under the window.

Something about the table has you glancing around the motel room, taking it in again. 70’s wallpaper. Weird divider by the door. “Does this look like something the Winchester’s would stay in?” you ask, glancing around.

Clay chuckles but looks around too. “Alright, that’s a little creepy,” he admits.

You nod, but motion to the bag. “Think you got a pair of shorts and shirt in there I can wear? I’m gonna hit the shower.”

Clay nods and starts digging. A moment later he’s passing you a pair of drawstring shorts and a Navy t-shirt. You murmur a thanks and head into the bathroom.

You take your time in the bathroom, savoring the heat of the spray from the shower head. That little dance in the rain chilled you to the bone and you have no desire to head back out into the main room. That one bed, though a king size, was not going to do well for your poor attempts at staying away from your brother’s best friend.

Neither were his hairbrained ideas for dancing in the rain…and why would Sonny choose that moment to warn his buddy away? Was there something going on?

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. “You drowning in there?” Clay’s voice sounded amused on the other side.

“I’ll be right out,” you call back and sigh. “Fuck my life,” you grumble to yourself.

After you dry off and change into his much larger, but dry clothes, you wrap the towel around your hair on top of your head to dry, and head out into the main room.

Clay’s standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, dripping everywhere.

“Shit, you must be freezing,” you admonish and move out of the way. “Go!” you point toward the bathroom.

He nods and grabs a bundle of clothes off the bed.

While he’s showering you make quick work of hanging your wet clothes from the curtain rods and crank the heat up, praying your clothes would be dry by morning. Then you dig in your purse for a brush and hair tie, before you brush out your hair and pull it back into ponytail.

You glance around and realize its late. It’s past midnight, so you pick your side of the bed and crawl in, setting your phone on the nightstand. You shut the light off, and leave the one on, on the other side of the bed.

Your heart races when you hear the water shut off in the bathroom. You think about closing your eyes, but you’re too wired, and what’s the point. He’d know you wouldn’t be sleeping yet… and thank God you didn’t.

Clay walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a pair of boxers, carrying his wet clothes. He glances at you to see you watching him and then heads to the curtains to hang his own wet clothes next to yours, above the heater.

“You cool with sharing?” he asks you, hovering next to the side of the bed.

You glance over your shoulder at him and nod.

Then he’s sliding into bed and the large king size, suddenly feels small. His large body takes up so much space, you know if you roll over from your little square that you claimed, you’d be touching him.

A moment later, the room descends into darkness as he shuts off the light. You let out a yawn and try to get comfortable but find that you’re still too wired to sleep. You turn onto your back and stare up at the dark ceiling.

��You alright over there?” Clay’s voice is soft in the dark.

“Mmm,” you respond, not sure what to say.

“What kind of trouble you think Sonny got up to this time?” Clay asks.

You let out small laugh and shrug in the dark. “Knowing him, something ridiculous.”

Clay’s rumbling laugh shakes the bed, and you grin. God sometimes your brother could find the most ridiculous situations to end up in. “Like the Goats?” Clay asked.

You bust out laughing hysterically. “From the Goat dealer?”

Clay answering laugh shakes the bed again.

“Then the cats?” You bring up, remembering when your brother tried to get rid of the goats.

“Blackburn was so pissed!” Clay laughed.

“But then you dumbasses had to take on a bull,” you smirk at him in the dark, rolling onto your side to face him. There was just enough light peaking through the curtains for you to make out the outline of his face.

Clay laughed again. “To be fair, I thought as long as I outran Sonny, I’d be fine.”

You laugh and hit his shoulder. “Oh, great best friend you are.”

“At least I didn’t leave Butt-head in Blackburn’s car,” Clay chuckled and rolled on his side to face you.

You shake your head at him. “I swear you guys are a bunch of overgrown man children,” you chuckle.

Clay grins at you and props up on an elbow and rests his head against his fist, watching you.

As the conversation lulls, you think about Clay’s conversation with Sonny earlier. “Hey Clay?” you murmur.

“Yeah Y/N,” he responds softly.

Your heart flutters at hearing your name in the dark, from the blond God. “Why did Sonny tell you not to get any ideas about me?” You bite your lower lip, wondering why you even bothered asking.

Clay’s quiet a moment before he slides closer to you. His hand reaches out in the dark and finds your body. His hand slides down your side and around your back, before he’s pulling you against him. “I thought by now, that’d be obvious,” he murmurs, his face inches from your own.

Your breathing is ragged as your heartbeat ticks up. Is this really happening?

You reach your hand up between your bodies to run your fingers through his scruffy beard. “And what’s obvious?” you ask.

He pulls your body even closer and then his hand slides up your back to the back of your head. He tilts your head to the side with his large hand and pulls you to him as he captures your lips in a searing kiss.

You slide your fingers into his hair and pull him toward you.

You lay there, making out for a while before he pulls back and hovers over you. “Obvious enough?” he asks.

“Mm, no,” you smirk up at him. “I think you’re gonna have to spell it out for me.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Go out with me,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oohh, getting a little demanding over there.”

He chuckles and leans down, claiming your lips in another breathtaking kiss.

“Mmm,” you moan into the kiss.

“Yes?” he mumbles when he comes up for air.

You roll your eyes and pull him on top of you. “Yes, you blonde idiot,” you answer, and kiss him again.

#Seal Team #Seal Team Fan Fic #Seal Team Imagine #Seal Team x Reader #Clay Spenser x Reader #Clay Spenser Fan Fic #Clay Spenser Imagine #Sonny Quinn x Reader Sister #Goat Fics #Shout out to B4 #Pillow Talk Convo talks about B4's fic #FanFic Friday #Fan Fic Friday

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zumpfireplace · 3 years ago

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Lookiteeee.....

Currently on track for mah final fireplace, cuz this is too good a deal to leave, dude’s willing to deliver AND I’m gonna slightly re-conceive my front porch to be ever moar cabin-y:

We have a Preway woodstove....and, for the moment, it will easily live on my front porch (concrete base, flame is not open, no venting issues, cuz outside!

Now, my original plan was to find (somedaaayyyy) an electric wall fireplace, preferably early American style....

Cuz I have 70′s “early American” furniture on my front porch....

I’m now gonna shift to this and lean harrrddd into the cabin effect for it....(which I pretty much already have everything, so easy enough!)

I’ll move a hutch thing I have down to the front garden “deck” with the dinette set there (yes, really) and use it as a potting table....

The porch has been a bit crowded and this will free up space, again lean into the cabin effect, etc....

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123goth · 3 years ago

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The syndicated man

“Oh, I swear to God, if you don’t start spinning this goddamn instant, I’m gonna smash your glass in and make the toaster watch.” Gripping the edges of my microwave, tightly enough to feel its corners digging into my palms, I growled and gave it a hearty shake. This animalistic roar echoed off my kitchen’s green floors, and another mighty peal of thunder sounded outside.

A flash of lightning painted the room a strange shade of white-olive, the tile catching the glint, and all at once, I felt as though I were the god of storms, speaking my almighty willpower into the microwave that night.

The appliance whirred. It bent to me. And dully, the light came on. The timer blinked. And the leftover pizza began to twirl. And that was that. I sighed, deeply, slumping back against the countertop as the sky finally opened.

The patter of rain filled the building.

This routine could not have come from a sane man, I realized. Sane men did not anthropomorphize their microwaves. They did not threaten to kill their microwaves. They did not inflict psychological torture on their toasters.

Crash!

I jolted. It was that special time of night when the dude in the apartment above seemed to trip and knock everything over. Clank. Bang. Thud! Kaboom! I winced. Was he okay?

“Shut up!” My voice was hoarse. With a long-practiced motion, I pulled the broom from the nearby wall and gave the ceiling four good thumps. And then silence.

I caught my reflection in the oven door. There I stood, armed with a broom, with my shoulders hunched like the world’s worst action figure. I came with a super-hydraulic striped bathrobe, patchy facial hair, and a crooked lip, which healed badly after some guy clocked me in high school.

The microwave beeped. And leaning the broom against the wall, I tugged it open with a grunt to pull out the bubbling grease sponge I was going to eat that night.

I grimaced, knocking the microwave closed with my hip, flicking off the light, and dragging myself into the living room, where I dropped down on the sofa in front of the TV.

The sofa was old, covered in faded brown flowers, and in truth, the television was not much newer. I got them both at the same thrift store—although the attendant would not give me a deal. I wrote them a pretty nasty review that night.

But placing the plate on the cushion to my left, I scooped up the slice in one hand and shoved it into my mouth. My nostrils flared at the sour sensation on my tongue, my taste buds screaming: “No, no, not like this. Anything but this. Just drink actual poison or something.”

I dropped the pizza back onto the plate with a grunt. So much for dinner. I would starve to death.

Michael had been the cook. That night, two years ago, when I sunk into a chair at our kitchen table, my tie already undone, something was boiling on the stove. He had even arranged the alphabet magnets on the fridge to say cutesy shit like, ‘bake the world a better place.’

He did that a lot. I thought it was stupid and told him so, but he was good with words. And I wasn’t.

The little television on the counter was playing a Password rerun.

I should have said something that night. I should have said that whatever was boiling smelled great, or looked good, or that he had worked hard on it. But I didn’t.

“The prick finally did it, Mikey,” I mumbled instead. “He fired me.”

“Oh…oh, it’s okay! We’ll figure it out. You’re good at so many things. You’ll land on your feet.” And he draped two arms over my shoulders, squeezing them tight. But we did not figure it out, and I was not good at anything. And I realize now those were the only two times Michael had ever lied to me.

But screw him. And screw that job. And screw that fridge. And screw the fancy cheeses he kept in it. And screw how much rent that place was asking. And screw me for taking it out on him.

I sighed again. All I did these days was starve and sigh and fight with the microwave. And it was my damn fault. So, I would sit here and feel sorry for myself and mourn for the rest of my life.

Leaning forward, my bones creaking, I manually clicked on the television. Another flash of lightning sparked outside, and the screen came to life in a flurry of static and snow.

Click.

I moved through the channels, one hand on the dial and one on the antenna, twisting it left and right.

Click.

“Romance. The new fragrance….”

Click.

“Italia right in your microwave! New pizza from….”

Click.

“Welcome back to our 24-hour Buzzwords! marathon!”

I could barely see the picture through the fuzz, but the program was some game show from the 70s, complete with a mustached host in a plaid suit.

He dragged around a narrow, wired microphone and made his way through a bright studio, shimmering orange, utterly, sickeningly orange, while a young woman with a sparkling smile, the fabulous Carla, showed off a deluxe dinette set.

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms as I slumped back into the cushion.

And all at once came another mighty crash of thunder, a rumbling noise punctuated by dude upstairs, who dropped another pot, perhaps as startled as I had been by the sound.

The rain reached a climax as if it might break the windows. Something bright darted across the darkened sky, an airplane maybe. I wonder if it had been struck by lightning. And I cried out as, with a mighty surge, the television screen flashed and sputtered out, fried.

“Oh, Christ!” I growled, throwing back my head. The microwave did this, I decided. It had gotten all its little technology buddies to act out.

I slammed the thing with my palm, once, twice, three times, each responding with only a hollow thud. And when this scientific effort failed, I climbed to my feet and dropped to all-fours to crawl around the television’s rear. The frayed carpet dug into my knees as I tugged the extension cord from the wall.

Well, at least it wasn’t smoking, I mused, something of a crude smirk finding its way to my face. Because this was funny. In a sad tragicomic kind of way, this was funny.

Even now, I could find humor in how utterly pathetic I looked, crawling around on my knees with my boxers hanging out, all because I wanted to watch lesser-known game show reruns.

“Work or I’m gonna go back in that kitchen and throw your commander out the window, you hear me?” Leaning backward and sitting on my legs, I waved the cord deliberately before the television screen. And with that, I ducked back down and plugged it into the wall.

I blinked. And all I saw was light, a strange, fluorescent glow that consumed every inch of my vision.

Oh my God, I thought. I’m dead.

I electrocuted myself, and I’m dead.

My feet were planted on the ground. I was standing. I had crawled around to plug the television into the wall, but somehow, I was now standing. And I could not remember getting up.

“Welcome back to Buzzwords!”

I blinked again, and at that moment. I realized the blinding light was not white at all, but utterly, sickeningly orange. And there I was, like a moron, standing at a podium with a smile plastered across my face.

In truth, I wanted to scowl or grimace or something, but I couldn’t. My muscles ignored me. And on their own, my hands came up to applaud.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m your host, Buddy Guy. And we have a great show for you tonight.”

The hell?

“Let’s meet our contestants and get the game underway.” Buddy smiled broadly and walked in my direction.

I found my mouth opening of its own accord.

“Hi, Buddy! My name is John Smith. I’m from Columbus, Ohio, and I want to say hello to my wife, Betty.” These words spilled from me as if rehearsed, without my input, as though I were a passenger in my head (or, as it turned out, someone else’s).

And the absolute worst was that I could not cringe. I could not roll my eyes. I could not grunt or groan at just how saccharine I sounded, nor at the fact that my name was John Smith.

“Welcome, John. Good to have you.” Buddy Guy moved past me like an automaton, introducing a waitress from New York and a wannabe actor, who lived with his beloved roommate William of five years in Los Angeles.

And if I had to choose someone to be from this panel, it probably would have been him, because then at least I would not have a wife named Betty.

But this could not be happening; it certainly was not happening. I was not miming the motions of John Smith from Ohio. It was not 1970-whatever. And so, I truly must have been dead.

This whole illusion was that thing, that thing where synapses fire because your brain is pissed about non-existence. And if I could turn my head, which I could not, I would have peered into the audience to look for departed relatives.

But John stared forward, and so did I.

“Tonight, our contestants are competing for a stunning new kitchen set. Tell them all about it, Jack.”

An announcer from offstage began singing the praises of the sparkling refrigerator, oven range, and microwave that appeared from behind a velvet curtain. The audience lightning-sparkedooo’d and ahh’d.

And by now, Carla had emerged to point at everything, but I barely saw her. Even from this vantage point, unable to move on my own, I could catch my reflection in the oven door.

John Smith was, well, a man, yes, but in a strange, overly generic way. He, and by extension, I, had an average build, brown hair, brown eyes, and a decidedly uncrooked lip, one nobody had ever socked in.

He was the sort of person you might see in a department store catalog, I thought, or in a stock photograph of an office: unassuming and smiley.

But I could not look long.

My head was turning as the unflappable Buddy Guy made his way once again in my direction.

“Let’s reveal our first puzzle,” the host smiled, and taking this cue, Carla pulled out a marker, as if from nowhere, and drew a crude approximation of a gallows on the refrigerator door.

Spinning in a little circle, red gown flashing, she then tugged open the microwave to allow a multicolored pile of alphabet magnets to spill forth from within.

It was just goddamn Hangman, I realized. And I didn’t even get to spin a wheel or anything.

“How about a letter, John?”

“V!” I cried against my will.

Oh great. John sucked at this game.

“Sorry. No ‘V’s.’”

And so, it went.

The waitress guessed a “Y,” and scored a few points. Fishing the letters from the microwave pile, Carla stuck the magnets to the fridge. The actor guessed a number in the form of a question.

I unironically said the phrase “Oh, gee!” when there were no “X’s.”

And at this rate, it took us two whole commercial breaks to get to the unimpressive:

Y_ _ M_D_ Y_ _ R B _ D. N_W LI_ IN I_

By now, the hanging man was missing only his feet.

This was hell, I thought. I had died, and I had gone to hell.

And I would be terrible at this word game forever, and that was my punishment for being mean to the dude in the apartment upstairs.

And writing that bad review of the thrift store.

And for Michael, who had only ever lied to me twice.

“I’d like to solve it, Buddy!” I grinned.

“Go ahead, John.”

“You made your bed. Now lie in it!”

There were buzzers and bells, and the audience cheered.

“That’s right, John. You made your bed. Now you’re lying in it.”

Buddy smiled at me, and for a moment, a crack appeared, something sharp and sinister behind his cheery expression. His lip twitched, and a flicking tongue, snakelike, nipped the lower part of his mustache.

“I deserve to lie in it, Buddy!”

And somehow, this was pretty goddamn funny. If I could, I would have laughed.

“Onto our next puzzle,” Buddy cut in as Carla knocked down all the letters, leaving them on the floor. She used her bare hand to smudge off the marker.

“Can I have a ‘Y,’ Buddy?”

Jesus Christ, John. How about an actual letter or something? Whatever happened to “A?”

I sighed internally. But to my surprise, Carla reached into the microwave and retrieved the red letter, placing it on the refrigerator door. John did it. He got one. I felt excited for him.

I squeezed the podium. My hands were working, I realized, and so, overcome, I squeezed, just as tightly as I had the microwave that night, finding again the sensation of willpower.

But by now, Buddy was busy with the waitress and the actor, the former somehow earning a double penalty, which made Carla draw both a head and a body on the gallows.

But when play returned to me, I was able to speak up.

“What the hell is going on?”

The host narrowed his eyes, sniffing the air.

“Guess a letter, John.”

“I don’t know. An ‘A!’”

Sifting through the alphabet pile, Carla placed two magnet letters on the fridge, but she too was giving up her pretense. There was no pointing and smiling. She stared at me with a dour, annoyed expression, as if she could not believe my gall.

“It’s ‘Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here,’” I said.

Which was a cliché, but I was realizing now that if kitsch was going to be my hell, I could at the very least lean into it.

“Well, all right. Thank you for tuning in, ladies and gentlemen. After this important message, John will be moving to the bonus round,”

Buddy said to the camera. “Are we at commercial?”

No one responded. He marched over to me, twirling the microphone cord around his hand. I looked at it and realized it may very well have been the noose with which the poor loser might be strung up.

“You’re not playing by the rules, John,” he said nonchalantly, beginning to use the wire to bind my hands together, tighter and tighter, around my wrists, his grip surprisingly firm.

“Hey! Hey!” I retorted, trying to pull away.

“Don’t be a jerk. You’ll make this harder if you resist.”

“But that’s my problem. I’m here because I’m a jerk. You can’t damn people and expect them not to be jerks.”

“Do you think you deserve to be damned, John?” the host asked me. He cocked his head to one side.

“I think your show is stupid. But I’m finding that making fun of it and John’s wife Betty probably won’t help me win it.”

“You can’t win it, John. The outcome’s already set. This marathon’s just reruns. Your life is just rerun. The same thing over and over forever. Wake up. Eat. Sleep. And you lose every time. So why should this be different, hm?” Buddy dropped his voice low, but all at once, the studio lights flared, and he spun around to face the audience. “And we’re back!”

The soundstage went dark. The cheers stopped, and it was just me and Buddy, caught in a silent spotlight. Another lamp, mounted on a ceiling somewhere in the expanse of shadows above us, shined straight down, casting the refrigerator, the microwave, and the letters, in its fluorescent glow.

“It’s just us now, John. This is the bonus round. You get four letters. You have one chance to go up and complete the puzzle. And that’s it.”

_ F _ R _ _ _ _ M _ S _ _ _

I cast my gaze at Buddy, wavering a moment, before stepping uncertainly forward into the expanse. Although I could not see the floor beneath my feet, just deep darkness, I felt its steady weight as I moved to stare at the blanks.

An eternity passed as I stared. And maybe it had. At this moment, in this place, seconds and minutes and moments, they seemed to mean so little.

I forfeit my soul.

That was it. That was the joke.

I had already done it, I knew. I had become so wrapped in the misery of my own making that I had forfeited my very self to it. And willingly.

Choice. That was it, wasn’t it? I, willpower personified, exerting it in every wrong direction. And so, moving for the pile of letters, hands still bound, I pulled them out the microwave one at a time.

I stuck the magnets in place, whispering the words aloud as they appeared on the refrigerator. And only then, with a definitive nod, did I step back to see my handiwork.

I FORGIVE MYSELF

I awoke on the floor beneath the TV with a sudden, painful gasp.

The dude upstairs dropped something. I stared a good few seconds at the ceiling. And with that, I pressed back onto the carpet and laughed, a full hearty noise, the television set’s extension cord wrapped around my fingers.

Wrestling them free, I checked my reflection on Paula sparked the screen to be safe.

And taking a few more steadying breaths, I moved for my apartment door. I tugged it open to poke my head into the hallway, craning it up the stairwell to the sole unit above mine.

“Hey, pal? Do you need help up there?”

#science fiction

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