#and i had a couple 'real horror fans' absolutely jump down my throat about it

[carfuckerlynch]

I completely understand why people who like other horror get annoyed by tma fans who think everything is just like tma. but also a. that is a show that is very explicitly about Everything It Is Possible To Be Scared Of and b. the one thing that I will unequivocally give that show is that is an amazing first horror story. like that show was the thing that made me realize I could even like horror in the first place!!! and a feature of people learning about a new genre is until they find ways to branch out, they're going to think about things in terms of the Other Story Like That They Know. which is annoying, but also, not forever

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (21) || atz

“Run!” Wooyoung grabs you by the arm and yanks you out of the room, but once you’re out of the door you see a squadron of armed guards making their way towards the commotion. They see the two of you from opposite the building.

“Get them!” The man you presume to be the leader shouts and you wince.

Wooyoung curses under his breath and yanks you back down the corridor, both of your feet thundering on the floorboards. Your heart is hammering in your chest like you’re about to die, which you do think you might, actually. Adrenaline speeds through your veins, setting your limbs on fire, and the two of you round the corner only to meet the two guards from the courtyard with swords drawn.

You and Wooyoung manage to unsheathe your cutlasses just in time to block the overhead swings and your joined hands tear apart.

Dodging the point of the guard’s sword, you kick him in the center of the chest, sending him sprawling back against the balustrade. He manages to knock your cutlass from your hands, sending it tumbling over the railing onto the ground below, but you don’t have the time to mourn its loss. You take the opportunity to side stamp his knee, immobilizing him with a broken leg and turn back to look at Wooyoung.

To your horror, he’s struggling with his guard, a massively built man with bulging muscles. The guard has Wooyoung pinned against the wall, and all the gunner can do is to keep the point of the sword from piercing his neck, arms trembling from the strain.

You don’t have time to think.

Dashing forward, you reach for your belt and draw the next most lethal thing you have, before jumping and clinging onto the man’s back with your arms around his neck. He roars in fury and tries to throw you off, but before he can, you raise the silver hairpin and jab it into the back of his neck.

The man screams in agony, crumpling to his knees, and Wooyoung takes a second to be impressed.

“Damn, that was not what I had in mind when I gave it to you.”

You give him an incredulous look as you shove the hairpin back in your belt. The other group of guards are getting closer and closer. Luckily for you, the hallway is rather narrow so it’s difficult for the guards to make their way through, but this isn’t going to hold them off for long. “This isn’t the time for that! Let’s go!”

He takes you by the hand again and the two of you continue your mad dash for safety. Then you hear the captain shout a command that freezes the blood in your veins.

“Fire!”

Wooyoung throws you to the side, diving for cover, but you’re not lucky enough. Shot slams into the pillar you and Wooyoung are crouched behind, but a musket ball smashes into your ankle.

In that single moment, you’re in hell. Pain shoots across your leg like raw fire licking at your skin, and for a second, you just wonder how on earth anything can hurt this bad. A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Chin Hae!” Wooyoung cries in horror, rushing over to help you, but the moment he sees your foot, his face goes ashen in worry. “Oh, mother of gods…”

You immediately stop yourself from looking at it lest you throw up at the sight.

Even through the blinding agony, you understand what needs to happen. Your leg is absolutely wrecked, and there is no way you’ll be able to run to the harbour, even if you did make it down the grappling rope somehow. If you remain with Wooyoung, you’ll only be a burden to him.

And this mess is all your fault.

You glare at him through the pain. “Go, idiot! Run!”

Wooyoung ignores you, slinging your arm over his shoulder as he pulls you upright, forcing himself to ignore your low cry of anguish. “Yeah, fat chance. If I get back to the ship without you, captain will shoot me himself anyway, so I might as well die here with you. At least the navy will kill me faster.”

You groan, both in pain and at his stupid sense of humor despite your near death experience. “This isn’t the time for your dumb jokes!”

He has the gall to look offended. “My jokes are greatly beloved by all people-”

“Approach cautiously, they might be armed!” You hear the captain call to his men, and in this second Wooyoung acts, tossing a soft cased smoke bomb to the ground.

The explosive detonates with a bang, sending the soldiers into a panicked frenzy. Wooyoung takes this opportunity to grab you and run, slamming the door to Mr Ludovico Robertt’s room shut and barring it with the heavy oak desk.

The man continues snoring despite the commotion.

“How are you going to get me down?” You demand furiously, completely unable to understand why Wooyoung just won’t leave you be. “Just go and tell Captain to get out of here!”

“Not happening.” Wooyoung unwinds the rope around his waist, doing tight knots around your shoulders and under your arms. Your eyes widen as you realise what he intends to do and terror claws at your throat, adrenaline swirling in your blood.

“Are you crazy? I’d rather get shot to death than fall to it!”

“You’ll be fine!” Wooyoung reassures you as he secures the rope to the official’s four poster bed. You hear the guards at the door, pounding on it when they realise that it can’t be opened. “Mr Robertt! Mr Robertt! Are you inside?”

The man sleeps like the dead.

Wooyoung then grabs you bridal style, arms hooking you beneath the knees as he grins breathlessly at you. “You know, you should really lose some weight, Chin Hae.” You baulk at his words, attempting to punch him in the shoulder. Suddenly, you realise the two of you are way too lighthearted, as if you aren’t really in trouble.

Yup, you’re probably completely drunk on fear.

“Don’t tell me how to live my life.” You grumble, then Wooyoung holds you over the window ledge. Your arms instinctively tighten around his neck as you look at the very painful, one way drop to the ground.

“Mr Robertt! We’re coming in!” You hear the captain outside shouting as they get ready to smash the door down. Your heart leaps into your chest.

The gunner smiles broadly at you, eyes twinkling, but when he speaks, his words are honest.

“Do you trust me?”

You’re almost comforted by the genuine determination in his eyes, and you remember his vow to protect you and keep you safe. This man, your friend, crewmate and partner in crime, won’t ever leave you behind. You somehow laugh even with a mutilated leg, hanging over certain death, and with less than zero prospects of survival.

“Not at all.”

Wooyoung laughs at your answer, grin turning slightly maniacal. “Good, because I don’t trust myself in the least either.”

With that, he drops you out of the window.

You manage to hold in your scream, but Wooyoung is careful to lower you slowly to the ground and you sink onto the stone cobbles without much issue, aside from the amount of blood you can feel trickling from the wound.

The gunner drops down onto the ground next to you lightly, and without another word, you hobble down the alley with your arm slung over his shoulder. But to the mounting fear growing in you, you hear the same captain shouting from behind you.

“Fan out and search! One of them is wounded, they can’t have gotten far.”

Wooyoung makes a choice.

Turning to one of the doors, he rams it open with his shoulder and pulls you inside, much to your surprise, before slamming the door shut behind you. Your mouth falls open in shock.

“I can’t believe you just broke into someone’s house.”

He gives you a flat look as he helps you over to a small chair in the room. The two of you seem to have forced your way into a small house, and from the way that there is two of everything in the small kitchen you are in, you assume that you are in a married couple’s house.

“You just broke into an official’s estate.”

You ignore his logic and sag against the wall in relief, your aching body and battered bones aching. But the real problem is your ankle. You can feel the adrenaline begin to fade away, leaving agonizing pain steadily growing in your left foot, and for a moment, you nearly keel over from the sensation of it. You can feel that the bone of your ankle was completely smashed upon the musket ball’s impact, but you don’t know the extent of the injury yet.

“How bad is it?” You ask Wooyoung. The gunner swallows as he takes in the wound.

“Not the worse I’ve seen?” He tries to supply unhelpfully.

You groan. Asking Wooyoung about your injury isn’t going to help at all, so you swallow the bile in your throat and glance at your foot.

And oh boy is it in terrible shape.

It isn’t as bad as it could have been. The musket ball must have merely glanced of your ankle, the force of it causing the bone of your ankle to smash into pieces, but at least the lead shot hasn’t punched through your leg, leaving a gaping hole there like in the stories San used to tell you.

What the ball has done, however, is to carve a bleeding gash across your ankle and foot, and if you don’t stop the bleeding and treat it now, it’ll definitely get infected like the first musket wound you had gotten when you’d been escaping from Raguza. You have no wish to repeat the process.

“Can you get me some water, some cloth and a piece of leather?”

Wooyoung seems confused by your last odd request, but then the two of you are interrupted by a little choking noise from the side.

You turn to see a young woman standing there, dressed in a white nightgown. She’s standing in the doorway that most likely leads from the kitchen to the rest of the house with a lamp in hand, and she looks terrified.

You and Wooyoung exchange glances, before you raise your hand in an attempt at a friendly wave.

Her eyes dilate in fear and you realise how the two of you must look. Two shady men dressed completely in black, with masks over their faces, casually sitting at her kitchen table. You don’t begrudge her when she finally lets out a scream and bolts in fear, calling for her husband.

“Well, shit.” Wooyoung sighs, shaking his head as he rises to his feet. “I wonder if I can charm her into letting us hiding here-”

“You can’t seduce a married woman!” You hiss under your breath, but then the woman returns, this time with a tall, lean man at the side, with an axe. There’s a soft click of Wooyoung’s musket being primed at your side, but you lay a hand over his, shaking your head urgently. You don’t want to hurt innocents who you’ve dragged into your mess.

To your surprise, the man looks completely calm, as if he’s used to dark, shady men bursting into his house at the crack of dawn. He hefts the ax in hand, a woodcutter’s ax, you realise, and levels it at the two of you. “Who are you?”

Wooyoung steps protectively in front of you, shielding you from the man’s sight with his own body. “I won’t let you touch my friend. Put the ax down and I’ll answer your questions.” His voice is completely even, not a trace of doubt in his words.

The young man snorts, keeping his eyes locked on Wooyoung’s. They look like they could be around the same age, you realise. “Don’t tell me what to do in my own house, intruder. Take off your mask, put down that gun you’re holding, then I’ll put down my ax and maybe listen to your high tales about how you ended up here doing something completely not illegal.”

The two are locked in tense silence for a moment. Then Wooyoung’s shoulders relax slightly.

“Fair enough.” He pulls down the black scarf around his face, revealing his well defined features, before setting the gun down. “If you help treat my friend, I might even throw in an extra high tale about how he got shot. It’s a pretty interesting story.”

The man eyes you for a moment, but Wooyoung instinctively moves to protect you, shielding you from his sight. Then he lowers his ax, sighing with a reluctant smile on his lips. Your eyes widen as you realise that he’s missing two fingers on his left hand. “I hate this, but I doubt anyone so protective of his friend could be such a terrible person. Seohyun, you go back to bed for now, I’ll handle this.”

The young woman glances at her husband in worry. “Honey, will you be alright?”

He smiles at her reassuringly, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Of course. Now go back to bed, the baby needs their sleep.”

Your eyes widen with awe. “She’s pregnant?”

Seohyun’s eyes widen as you speak and a hand comes up to protect her belly, as if afraid you might somehow attack her. You raise your hands in surrender, peeling off your mask as well. “I’m sorry… I’m a healer but I’ve never seen anything to do with childbirth before so…”

The man gestures for her to leave and she does, padding lightly out of the room. You can still hear soldiers searching for you outside.

“What are your names?” The man seats himself at the opposite end of the room, ax still in hand. Wooyoung glances at you, and you nod at him.

Be honest. This man seems like a sharp one.

“I’m Wooyoung. This is Chin Hae.” Wooyoung answers, and he looks back at you in worry at the blood still seeping from your leg. “If you don’t mind postponing this little talk, do you mind letting me treat my friend first?”

The man nods. “Go ahead.” But then his eyes darken slightly. “But any funny business, and I’m chopping the two of you up.” The ease with which he wields the massive ax lets you know this is no joke.

You shiver a little, but Wooyoung moves to get water from the bucket in the corner of the kitchen and tears a strip of cloth from his cloak. He douses the cloth in water and kneels in front of you, passing you his glove. It is made from leather, after all.

“Will this do?”

You nod, opening your mouth.

Wooyoung frowns in confusion. “What do you want me to do?”

“Put it in my mouth so I don’t wake the whole town when you clean my wound.” You tell him and you can see the pain in his eyes at what you’re going to have to endure. Wooyoung gently places the glove in your mouth and you bite down hard on it.

“I’m sorry.” Wooyoung whispers, raising the rag to your wound. “I’ll be gentle.”

You simply press your face into his shoulder in consent.

The first drag of the cloth against your wound and you feel like you want to die. Your hands come up to grip Wooyoung’s forearms, squeezing so tightly you’re sure there will be finger shaped bruises on his skin. He doesn’t make a sound, however, intently swiping the wound clean as possible, and your tears soak into the sleeve of his shirt in silence.

Finally he pulls away, putting the bloodied rag aside and you slump against the wall, panting for air as the glove falls from your mouth. Your hair sticks to the back of your neck with the cold sweat, and Wooyoung bustles to wrap a strip of cloth around your ankle.

“That didn’t hurt at all.” You manage to croak out, your throat raw from screaming into the glove. You feel boneless, as frail and weak as a newborn baby. Wooyoung’s eyes are soft with worry and concern as he leans you against the wall in a more comfortable position.

“Are you alright?”

“I will be.” Your eyes are so heavy, as if you’re physically incapable of keeping them open. You can see the woodcutter watching the two of you quietly, respectfully not making a sound. “Wooyoung-hyung?”

“Yeah, Chin Hae?” He seats himself next to you, putting an arm around your shoulder for you to lean against. You settle against him, every muscle in your body sagging from complete exhaustion. He’s soft and warm, like a pillow. You snuggle into his side, too far gone to actually register what you’re doing.

“I’m sorry about the trouble I caused.” He stiffens at your words, before one hand comes to rest in your hair, gentle and warm.

“Don’t worry about it.” He whispers back, stroking your head. “Get some rest.”

That’s the last thing you hear before darkness swallows you.

When you do wake up, there’s something warm surrounding you.

You blink the sleep from your eyes. There’s a freshness to your limbs that wasn’t there the night before, and your back is cushioned on something soft that is definitely not the wall that you fell asleep against.

Something soft… that is moving?

Then you realise you’re sitting in a chair, not the bed that you normally sleep in, nor your hammock in the rigging that you’ve learned to sleep tangled in since Seonghwa chose to bed down in the sickbay. There’s something resting on your shoulder.

You turn your head.

The first thing you see is Wooyoung’s face, slack in sleep and breathing quietly through his mouth, which is lolling open just a little. Something about him softens in his sleep, the usual confidence in his face replaced with gentleness and warmth. He looks years younger than he really is, not a battle hardened pirate but just a boy, still in the process of growing up. He’s so close you can literally count every eyelash, feel the warm puff of his breath in the crook of your neck.

You stay that way for a moment, taking in every detail on his face and basking in the warmth of his hold, because when are you going to get an opportunity to have such an intimate moment with him?

Thank you, you want to breath. Thank you for not leaving me behind.

Then your eyes fly open as the memories of what happened last night flood through your mind. The book. The gunshot. The man with the ax.

You glance around the kitchen, but it’s empty except for the two of you.

“Wooyoung-hyung.” You shake his shoulder and he stirs just a little, mumbling into the back of your neck. You can feel the leather of his collar pressing into your skin, and you suddenly want to ask him why he wears it, but you suppose it will have to wait for another time.

“Five more minutes, San.” He rasps, voice still rough from sleep and the night before. You don’t know whether to be insulted by the fact that he’s just mistaken you for your master.

“Wooyoung-hyung, it’s me, Chin Hae.”

At that, Wooyoung straightens up blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes like a cat stretching after a nap.

“What’s going on?”

“Where’s the man from yesterday?” You ask, searching the room for him. It looks like it’s late morning already, from the way the living room is illuminated. Wooyoung blinks sleepily and for a moment, he looks like a lost child looking for his favorite stuffed toy.

“Ahh, him? We had a good talk yesterday and bonded over what it was like to run from the Royal Navy.” He yawns, running a hand through his hair. The chains of his shackles jingle a little. “Apparently when he was younger he had a run in with them and helped his friend escape them too, but he lost a couple of fingers in the process.”

Your eyebrows raise as Wooyoung untangles himself from you, moving over to pick up a plate of bread rolls on the table. “I can’t believe we were lucky enough to get the one person along this entire row of houses who wasn’t going to rat us out to the guards the second they saw us.”

“Such little faith you have in me.” Wooyoung sighs in mock disappointment, passing you a croissant. You dig into it hungrily, your stomach grumbling from lack of food. “You should know I seduced my way out of capture situation with Yunho before, but that’s a story for a different time.”

A sad smile crosses your face uncomfortably as you take another bite. “You’re really good at seducing women, huh? You seem to have a lot of female friends.”

Wooyoung’s face darkens just a second, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “Yeah… but I’ll never trust myself with any of them.”

Your heart breaks for a moment as you realise what that means for you. “Why?”

The gunner inhales a little as he sits on the kitchen table, head resting against the wall with a forlorn expression on his face. “Before I came to the Treasure, when I was younger… I was sold to women for such… pleasures. The only relationship I know how to share with them is one of lust, not one of friendship or actual love.”

You feel something heavy in your chest, like a stone sinking to the bottom of the sea. You can’t let the bond you’ve built with Wooyoung just break, simply because of this. No, how could anyone do this to Wooyoung as a child? How could they scar him like that?

You make your decision.

If you can keep Wooyoung, the one who was willing to risk his life for yours, as a friend, you don’t mind masquerading as a man for the rest of your life.

Wooyoung looks so lost in his past that you’re desperate to wrench him out of it.

“Hey, hyung?”

He snaps out of his little reverie to look at you in surprise. “Yeah?”

You undo the bandage he’s done around your leg, pointing at it. The wound has started to heal slightly, the scab over the wound having formed, but you know of a way to speed it up. You’ve been practicing again and again for days now, and San says you’ve gotten a pretty good hang of it already, but this is the first time you’re going to do it without your master at your side.

“Look.” You say.

You focus on your body, the blood that rushes through every vein, the energy that lives in every part of you, that gives you strength to move and live. You gather it and channel it down to your injury, and a gentle pulse runs down your leg.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen at the sight. “That’s so cool! I didn’t know you could do it too!”

You nod as you feel the pieces of bone moving and shifting, joining back to form one, single piece. The torn flesh weaves itself together and skin crawls over the wound, before the entire injury simply vanishes, as if it’s never existed.

What should have taken weeks to heal, done in a single minute.

Wooyoung frowns a little. “Won’t that have negative repercussions, though?”

“Yeah. I’ll probably sleep like the dead once we’re back on ship.” You tell him as you stand, testing out your foot. It still feels a little achy, but it’s better than yesterday. “Doing this with too severe wounds will drain you of too much stored energy and you might even die, so master told me to do this only with small wounds and in cases of great need.”

“Why didn’t you do it last night, then?” The gunner asks as he passes you the last bun. You take it gratefully.

“I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate enough with the pain. I probably would have exploded some small bit of me, and I really didn’t want that.”

Wooyoung is about to nod agreement, but then someone appears at the door.

“Wooyoung-ah.” It’s the man from yesterday and they’re already addressing each other informally. Your partner rises to incline his head.

“Thanks for the food and letting us stay the night.”

The man shakes his head. “No problem. It’s the least I could do for someone so dedicated to his friend.” He glances at you. “You have a good friend, Chin Hae. Do avoid getting shot sometime.”

Your cheeks flush a little, but you nod.

“I will.”

The man turns back to Wooyoung. “You two should leave now before the morning guard begins their patrol.”

The two of you exchange glances. You need to get back to captain and report what you’d found out. The man ushers you to the front door, holding it open for the two of you.

“I wish you the best of luck, mate. Anytime you need to invade the official’s building again, just drop by. But don’t make too much trouble for them. They’ve done this town good.”

Wooyoung turns to him as you leave the building into the busy street. “Thank you, Soobin.”

The man waves and the door shuts before him.

“Well, that was a pretty eventful night.” Wooyoung stretches his arms above his head, cracking his back as the two of you make your way back to ship. Soobin’s house is surprisingly close to where the Treasure is moored. You nod.

“I can’t wait to take a long, long nap.”

The gangplank creaks under your feet like a welcome home, your footsteps echoing together. It’s surprisingly quiet, peaceful and you don’t hear the normal ruckus you usually would this late in the morning. You frown. Are they that tired today?

Wooyoung detects it too and pauses, sniffing the air. Then he turns to look at you in worry.

“Something isn’t quite right-”

“Seize them!”

You jerk around in horror, only to be caught around the middle by an arm. You struggle but it’s useless, the man holding you is simply too strong for you to fight off. The first thing you see is Wooyoung being torn from you by two guards as they strip him of his weapons, forcing him to his knees.

The next thing you feel is the cold steel of a musket being pressed against your temple and a smirk against your ear.

“Got you.”

[cocastyle]

Change - Ch. 2 | F O U R

Pairing - Bill Denbrough x reader

Word Count - 5,290

A/N - it’s been so long and I am so sorry for that, but here is the next chapter for Change!! I’ve been super busy the past couple of weeks with AP exams, a college class my school is letting me take early, and I’ve had a tiny bit of writer’s block. but I’m back and hope to be writing more updates really soon! let me know what you all think so far and I’m sorry in advance for the tears this chapter :((

if you would like to be added to the tag list for this series let me know!

C H A N G E

Change Series Masterlist

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

F O U R - Unwanted Answers

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

An inhuman like sob escaped Y/N's lips as she stared at the paper shaking her head. Before anyone could even blink, she was stumbling up out of her chair, almost knocking her chair over by her clumsy movements. The woman continued to shake her head while Bill quickly reached out to steady her, but the girl shook in his grasp.

"I can't breath. I can't breath," Y/N gasped, tears falling down faster now as it felt like her throat was closing. "This isn't happening. There's no fucking way this is happening."

"Y/N," Bill firmly said, his voice being enough to have the girl's eyes snap over to look at him while he grabbed her arms and held her steady. He gave her a look and subtly glanced over at Grayson who was staring at the papers with tear filled eyes and Y/N flinched. "You need to keep it together," Bill whispered.

Y/N knew he was right, but how could she when her cousin's life was on the line? All she could think about was how she had left him behind. She should've stayed. She should've gone to his house and checked on him before It could do anything.

But then there was Grayson. Her son who had spent his whole life growing up with her and Stan watching over him. Stan, the one who always bought new puzzles for the two to work on. Stan, the one who would bring Grayson to the book store before the two would spend hours reading together.

Stan may have been her cousin and best friend, but he was Grayson's Uncle Stanley and right now he didn't understand what was going on. Y/N needed to be there for him, even if she was terrified more than ever.

Numbly nodding to Bill, Y/N gently shook out of his grasp before going over to Grayson and placing a hand on his shoulder. Grayson instantly leaned into her touch, his eyes still focused on the papers before he looked up at his mother and then the rest of the group in panic.

"Why does it say Stanley?" Eddie finally asked, breaking the tense silence that had fallen upon the group. No one responded and Eddie clenched his jaw before looking around with wide eyes full of panic. "Someone else fucking answer me!"

Before anyone could, the whole table shook. "Holy shit," Eddie muttered before the table jerked again. Grayson was up on his feet in no time, Y/N wrapping an arm around him as they slowly began to back away while Bill inched in front of them to block them from whatever was coming.

"What the fuck," Grayson whispered as soon as his eyes locked on the bowl of fortune cookies that were all trembling. Y/N inhaled sharply, the arm in front of Grayson pushing him back a bit more as a fortune cookie flew out of the bowl and landed on the table in front of them.

Beverly let out a small yelp while Y/N took another step back. She had a really bad feeling about this and it seemed she was right because at that moment the fortune cookie broke a bit to reveal some sort of creature coming out of the cookie as if it were an egg.

Everyone jumped back and Richie stared at the thing with wide eyes of disbelief before saying, "What the fuck is that, man?"

The fortune cookie broke some more as a creature crawled out. Y/N barely even had time to process what the hell the thing was before it let out a cry that sounded a lot like a baby. In fact, the head of creature looked like the head of a baby, its body a different creature that Y/N could not decipher at the moment due to her own fear.

"Woah. Woah."

"What the fuck?"

And if things couldn't get anymore creepier, the baby insect looking thing grew wings. Grayson was gripping onto his mother's arms in pure fright now, everyone jumping back again as the creature began to run across the table.

"Shit!" Richie muttered, more fortune cookies falling onto the table and opening up to reveal different creatures like an eye with tentacles. "Hey! Hey! That fortune cookie's looking at me!"

"Mom!" Grayson cried out as two fortune cookies broke open to reveal winged creatures resembling those of decaying birds. The Uris' didn't know what was happening to the others because before they could even blink the two demon birds flew straight towards them. Y/N and Grayson both yelled out in terror, the woman wrapping her arms around her son as she tried to shield him with her body while they stumbled back into a corner.

Y/N tried swatting at the creatures, but they only grew closer and closer until all she could do was bury her face into Grayson's shoulder as the two continued to yell and cry out.

It took a moment for the two creatures to finally fly away, but even then Y/N shouldn't have pulled her head away to look at what was happening. Her eyes widened in horror and Grayson was practically shaking in her arms, the two trying to come to terms that some burning goo was devouring the table while floating heads and blood filled the fish tanks around them.

"It's not real!" Mike exclaimed, but it was hard to believe him when everything looked pretty real to them.

"Y/N, watch out!" Beverly exclaimed before the flying creatures came back at them again.

Y/N screamed and Grayson had started to cry as they ducked further into the corner, Mike beginning to hit the table with a chair as he cried out, "It's not real! It's not real!"

"Everything alright?" a soft voice ask and all at once it was like everything had stopped.

Grayson was still shaking in his mother's grasp, the woman not quite better than him as she looked up with a tear stained face. The creatures, goo, and fortune cookies were all gone. In fact, the room looked completely normal except for the fact that a few things on the table were broken from Mike having whacked them with his chair.

By the doorway stood their waitress for the evening and she looked around at the group with wide eyes while Grayson let out a small sob and hugged his mother, muttering, "What the fuck? What the fuck?"

Richie glanced over at the young boy, his eyes softening as he realized Greyson was now exposed to the horrors Richie wished he could forget. Swallowing thickly, he looked to the waitress and tried to act natural as he said, "Yeah. Yeah. Could we get the check?"

The waitress hesitantly nodded before walking out, leaving the group to their stunned silence. It was only when Y/N and Bill locked eyes that the girl broke the silence with a gasp, her eyes wide as she whispered out.

"Stanley."

- - -

"This is what Pennywise does, right? He fucks with us," Eddie muttered as the group hurriedly walked towards the exit of Jade of the Orient. "Stanley's probably fine."

Waiting for the check had given them all enough time to calm down enough to where they were more just hyper aware of everything around them instead of shaking and crying.

In fact, the adults were pissed. Whether that was because of Mike or Pennywise was still unclear.

Grayson was disturbingly quiet, his eyes on the floor while he stuck by his mother's side. He had never been this clingy before, but Y/N couldn't blame him. After all, that's why she was practically riding the heels of her friends as they hurried out of there.

Y/N's thoughts were consumed with Pennywise and Stan. She needed to call her cousin as soon as they got out of there. She needed to know he was okay. He may as well be. After all, It did like to mess with them. Stan could be absolutely fine and on his way here right now for all they know. There was no use panicking until she heard confirmation that something had happened.

"Eddie's right," Y/N said, her voice soft but hopeful as it had to be. "I'll. . .I'll call Stanley. Uh. . .Gray, could I borrow your phone? I left mine at home."

Grayson didn't even respond, just handed his phone over to his mother who stared at him for a moment before glancing at Bill. The two both shared a look before Bill reached out and placed a hand on Grayson’s shoulder. The boy flinched almost instantly, but relaxed once his eyes locked with Bill's and gently leaned into his touch as much as he did his mother's.

"Hey, Richie!" a young voice called out causing everyone to freeze before turning to see a young boy around the age Georgie Denbrough had been when he died. His curly hair fell in front of his eyes, but he didn't seem to care as he looked up at the man.

"How'd you uh. . .how'd you know my name?" Richie asked, growing a little tense while both Eddie and Y/N rushed to stand on either side of the man. Richie relaxed a bit with the two by his side, but kept staring at the boy warily.

"The fun's just beginning," the little boy said, his words making Y/N's eyes widen as she gently reached out and grabbed onto Richie's arm. The little boy grinned up at them. "Right?"

Richie took a step closer to the boy and before Y/N could go with him, Eddie had grabbed ahold of the girl and pulled her back, a panicked look on his face as the two desperately tried to calm themselves down.

"Listen. You think this is funny?" Richie asked. "Alright, you think this is some sort of game? Huh?" He grabbed ahold of the boy's shoulder and pointed at him. "Well fuck you, alright! Fuck you! I'm not afraid of you!"

The little boy stared at Richie, his face contorting in confusion as he hesitatingly leaned back. "The fun's just beginning? The line from your act, dude. I'm a fan," the little boy said and instantly the group all relaxed.

"Oh my," Y/N whispered, not being able to stop herself from letting out a soft chuckle while Eddie lightly whacked her in a way of telling her to be quiet. She shot him a look and Eddie in turn shot her a sheepish smile before the two looked at Richie whose face had fallen in guilt.

"Are those your parents?" Richie asked as he pointed towards a couple who was walking towards them with angry expressions and a young girl by their side.

"Yeah," the boy said and Richie stared at him blankly before asking, "Do you want a picture?"

"I think I'm good," the boy told him before turning and hurrying over to his parents' side while they glared at Richie.

"Okay, cool," Richie muttered before looking at the parents and smiling nervously. "Good kid." The family walked away and Richie turned to his friends who were all looking at him in disbelief.

"Jesus, Rich," Ben said making Richie sigh in frustration. "You don't remember a line from your own show?"

"I don't write my own material," Richie mumbled as the group began to head towards the door, Y/N dialing Stan's number into Grayson's phone as fast as her shaking hands allowed her. Eddie's eyes widened and he let out an almost victorious laugh at Richie's words.

"I fucking knew it! I fucking knew it!"

- - -

For a long as Y/N could remember, it had always been her and Stan. It was her and Stan who had been bird watching in the early morning since they were younger, having woken up way before their parents every morning and sneaking out to the back yard as the sun began to rise. It was her and Stan riding on his bike through town, Y/N's arms out in the air as she yelled out in pure joy while Stan chuckled as he looked back at her.

It was her and Stan on their nights when they were at their lowest like when Y/N's parents got their divorce or when Stan got yelled at by his father for walking out on his bar mitzvah. From little moments such as eating breakfast together in the morning to big moments like when Y/N first had Grayson, the two had been by each other's side.

There was no way they could ever forget about each other like they had with the others simply for the reason that they were two halves of a whole and had been for their whole lives. Everyone knew that, especially the Losers who had seen the way Y/N and Stan interacted with each other when they were younger.

So the moment Grayson's phone slipped from Y/N's hand, the device hitting the ground so hard that she was lucky to not have cracked it and a heartbroken wail leaving her mouth as she began to fall to the ground, everyone knew what had happened.

Y/N couldn't breath, her hands clawing at her throat as her sobs wracked her whole body. She couldn't keep herself standing, her legs giving out as she began to fall down to the ground. Bill was there to catch her, his arms instantly wrapping around the girl and helping her to softly reach the ground as she desperately tried to grab onto something to keep her steady.

Not even Bill was able to help her for it still felt like the world was being ripped from underneath her feet as she fell further and further down a black hole, the crushing realization that her cousin, her best friend, her Stanley, was gone hitting her so hard she swore she saw stars.

Stanley Uris was dead.

Y/N couldn't stop herself from sobbing long enough to explain what was going on, so Beverly was the one to move forward and pick up the phone before shakily putting it to her ear.

"Hello? Uh, Mrs. Uris, my name's Beverly Marsh. I'm an old friend of your husband's," Beverly said. There was a silence as the red head listened on the other end of the line before her eyes widened and she glanced at Grayson.

Grayson stared back at her, his eyes beginning to fill with tears as he shook his head. Beverly just gave him a sad look and that was when the boy broke down. He let out a heartbroken sob much like his mother and Ben was quick to go over to the boy and hug him, Grayson holding back onto him almost desperately as he cried.

"When did it happen?" Beverly's voice rang through the air, but neither Grayson nor Y/N could focus on what she was saying as they cried. "In the bathtub," Beverly whispered in unison with Party as if she knew about the incident before it happened.

Those words were enough to make Y/N sob harder, her cries loud and haunting as Bill tried to keep her steady while fighting his own tears. It felt like a part of Y/N had died and everything felt so unreal that she could barely think straight and didn't even notice Beverly had hung up the phone.

Y/N had never felt more defeated in her life and the moment she noticed Grayson crying against Ben's chest as the older man hugged him, she felt even worse.

"Stanley," Eddie finally said once Y/N's sobs had quieted down enough that they could speak. "Pennywise knew. He knew before we did."

"We have to stop him. I have a plan," Mike announced as he pat his hand against a book, but his words were enough to snap Y/N out of her misery long enough to stand up in pure anger and disbelief.

"You're kidding, right? Tell me that you're fucking kidding right now, Mike," Y/N insisted, tears rolling down her face as she stared at her friend with red eyes. She was shaking in pain and anger, her body on the verge of another breakdown.

Bill was back up on his feet behind her and he placed a hand on her shoulder, the girl turning and looking at him with a totally defeated look on her face as more tears fell. It took all of Bill not to break down at the sight of her. He was already upset about the death of his friend, but something about seeing Y/N look so lost and broken pushed him towards the edge.

"I got a plan. Get the fuck out of dodge before this ends worse than one of Bill's books. Who's with me?" Richie asked before him, Eddie, and Y/N all raised their hands.

"We made a promise to each other," Mike reminded them, his voice desperate.

"So then let's. . .unmake the promise!" Richie suggested.

"Richie, other people are going to die," Ben told them, both Y/N and Grayson flinching at his statement while Ben continued to keep a comforting arm around the young Uris boy.

"Other people die every day, man!" Richie exclaimed and Y/N hated to say it, but he was right. Stan's death had hit her when she least expected it. She couldn't bare to lose her son or the Losers because they were stupid enough to try and fight the clown who had been terrorizing them since they were kids. "We don't owe this town shit! Plus I just remembered I grew up here like two hours ago, so I'm fucking leaving. Fuck this!"

Richie turned and began to storm off while Eddie turned to leave as well. "Sorry, man. I'm. . .I'm with, Richie," Eddie said while Y/N walked over to where Ben and Grayson were.

"Y/N," Ben whispered, but she could only give the boy a teary eyed stare and a sad look before she glanced at her son.

"Come on, Gray," she whispered and her son instantly went to her side, sobbing a little harder as he held his mother. Y/N's lip began to tremble, but she somehow managed to stop herself from breaking down again as she wrapped an arm around her son and began to walk after Richie and Eddie.

"Guys, please," Mike said as he hurried after Eddie, Y/N, and Grayson.

"Listen. What? We stay. We die. That's it? I'm gonna go back to the inn. I'm gonna back up my shit and I'm gonna drive to my home. I'm sorry, man. Good luck," Eddie said as he patted Mike's arms before glancing at Y/N. The two shared a look and he whispered, "I'll see you at the inn, okay?"

Y/N numbly nodded before Eddie gave her a short nod and began to walk away. "Eddie, please. Please, Eddie!" Mike called out, but the man had already reached his car. Mike instantly turned to Y/N and hurried over to her. "Y/N, you can't leave. Please. You know we have to do this together."

The woman sighed and looked to the ground before glancing back up at her friend with tear filled eyes. "I can't," she whispered. "I'm not fucking doing this, Mike. I have a kid to worry about and I'm not about to bring him to a fight I don't even know we'll win. I can't lose anyone else, Mike." Her voice cracked and she had to take a moment to let in a shaky breath before she began to back away while shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

"Y/N," Mike pleaded, but the woman didn't stop backing up. Her eyes flickered over her friends that remained—Mike who was staring at her desperately, Beverly who sat on the ground smoking a cigarette with tears rolling down her cheeks, Ben who was giving her an almost as pleading look as Mike but with a hint of sadness hidden within, and finally Bill who had tears rolling down his face as he just stared right back at her.

Her eyes remained locked with Bill as she whispered, "I can't." Bill didn't say anything back and Y/N quickly turned before grabbing onto Grayson's arm and walking away as fast as she could.

Mike called after her, but Y/N ignored it. She knew she was in the verge of another breakdown by the way her breathing rate increased and she had to choke back her sobs. Tears blurred her vision and she kept her hand wrapped tightly around Grayson's wrist as she blindly stumbled towards her car.

Y/N let go of Grayson in order to try and unlock the car, but she failed to notice the way her son stood by her with his eyes glued to her face. "Damn it!" Y/N yelled as she struggled to open the car door. She slammed her hand against the roof of her car, a sob escaping her lips as she shakily continued to try and get her key to work.

"Mom," Grayson whispered as he hurried to her side. "Mom, stop. Just stop." His hands grabbing ahold of hers were enough to make her freeze, her head hanging low as another sob wracked through her body. Y/N lifted her head and her heart broke at the sight of Grayson staring back at her with red rimmed eyes full of tears and so much pain.

"Oh, baby. I'm so sorry," Y/N choked out, her words making Grayson break down as he fell against hers. His arms wrapped around her almost instantly as he cried against her chest and Y/N was quick to hug her son back, cradling his head as she broke down too.

The two let it all out in the parking lot that night, their anguish and heartache having them holding onto each other so tight like they were afraid they were going to lose each other. Stan Uris, Y/N's best friend and Grayson's uncle, was dead and there was nothing they could do about it. Being the type of people they were, this killed them both. It felt like another dagger to the heart and only the hug they had was enough to keep them standing up.

They cried for what seemed like forever, hidden away from the view of anyone who happened to walk by. Grayson was the first to calm down and he just held his mother for as long as she needed, knowing that she was feeling ten times the amount of pain and sadness he felt.

He had never seen any pair as close as Y/N and Stan were. Since he was little, it had always been his mother and his uncle there for him, always the pair showing up to every important event of his. Grayson had always wanted a friendship like theirs and he knew that, to his mother, losing Stan was like losing a part of herself.

Y/N eventually calmed down enough to pull out of the hug, but she kept one hand on Grayson's arm as she wiped away her tears. "Mom," Grayson said, his voice soft. Y/N hummed in response and the boy stared at her a moment before whispering, "What's It?"

Y/N tensed almost instantly, her face paling as she looked at her son with wide eyes. She was quick to shake her fear away and forced on a shaky smile as she said, "Nothing you need to worry about. We're going home and you'll never have to hear about this ever again."

Before Grayson could say anymore, Y/N managed to get her car door open and began to get in. It was time for her to push aside her sadness and mourn Stan later. Grayson was her number one priority right now and she needed to get him out of here as quick as possible before It could reach them.

"Mom, come on," Grayson tried to say, but Y/N just ignored him and climbed into the car. "Mom." She went to close the door, but Grayson was suddenly grabbing the door and forcing it open, his hand gripping onto the metal tightly as he exclaimed, "Mom!"

Y/N instantly froze before letting her gaze flicker up to her son who was standing there staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. "Gray, honey, we need to leave," she insisted, but Grayson only let out a sigh and shook his head.

"We can't go."

Y/N blinked in surprised before giving her son a confused look. "Why not?" she asked, curious as to why he didn't want to leave after the horrors he just witnessed.

"I've never seen you as happy as you were in the restaurant," Grayson admitted, his shoulders relaxing as he gave his mother a sincere look. "I've never seen you care about people that much other than me, Uncle Stan, and Aunt Patty."

Y/N flinched at Stan's name and Grayson hesitated for a moment before kneeling down before her, his knees on the road while Y/N still sat in the car with her head lowered and her gaze on the steering wheel.

"I'm upset too and I know it's different for you, but Stan was my uncle and I know he wouldn't want you to just walk away. He took what he believed to be the easy way out, but he would never want you to just give up," Grayson said. "And quite frankly, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if someone else got hurt because you ran away scared."

Y/N was silent and Grayson let his eyes flicker over her face before falling into her hands which were shaking in her lap. Sighing, Grayson reached up to hug her, the action making Y/N shake more as she went to hug him back.

"You don't understand, Gray," she whispered, her voice shaking almost as much as her body. "This thing—"

"Then tell me. Help me to understand," Grayson told her as he pulled away to look her in the eye. He kept his hands on her arms while Y/N stared at him for a moment.

"You shouldn't have to deal with this," Y/N finally said, a haunted look in her eyes. "No kid should."

"Mom, we're a team, remember?" Grayson reminded her, his voice steady as he gave her arms a gentle squeeze. "You've done so much for me. Let me help you this one time."

Y/N isn't sure what had her doing it, but something about the look in Grayson's eyes and his pure determination to help her and the Losers stick together was enough to have her explaining everything that happened during the summer of 1989. She told him about meeting the Losers. She told him about the missing kids and Bill's brother. She told him about the Well House, It, the fears that came to life that summer, and the promise they had made. Everything that happened that summer, she told him about.

Grayson took it all in without saying a single word. He just listened and in that moment, that was all Y/N needed. Grayson just sat there running a finger along the scar on her hand as she talked, his eyes flickering up to her every once in a while.

It wasn't long before she had told him everything, minus the parts about Bill of course since she still couldn't figure out how to tell him. A silence fell among them when she stopped talking and Y/N kept her eyes on Grayson while she felt as if she could practically see the gears shifting in his head as he tried to make sense of everything.

"Well, then I guess it seems like you know what you have to do," Grayson finally said, his eyes flickering up to meet his mother's while she gave him a confused look. "You wouldn't have made that promise all of those years ago if you don't intend on coming back. You knew that you would have to come back and protect the kids who couldn't help themselves—to prevent them from having to go through the same things you did. And that was all when you were only thirteen!"

Grayson got up onto his feet and reached down to wipe the gravel from his knees before saying, "That leaves us with only one option—stay and fight."

Y/N shook her head lightly and looked down at the scar on her hand. She was silent for a moment before whispering, "I don't know how I'm supposed to do this without Stanley."

Last time she had fought It, her cousin had been by her side every step of the way. Even when they were fighting with the others, she still had Stan. What would she do now that he was gone?

Grayson stared at his mother for a moment before reaching out and gently taking ahold of her hand with the scar so that she was forced to look up at him. He gave her a small smile before whispering, "We'll get through it how we always do—together."

Y/N squeezed her son's hand in response, a small smile appearing on her face as she felt a little bit of hope coursing through her veins. Grayson always had been able to do that, give her hope when no one else could. It was one of the things she loved most about her son.

Grayson let go of her hand and walked around the car before getting in on the other side. Before long the doors were closed and Y/N began driving towards the inn where the Losers would no doubt be trying to leave as fast as she could. Y/N knew they couldn't leave and it was going to be partially up to her to get them to stay.

Knowing this, the car ride was quiet as Y/N tried to plan her next move. However, there was a sadness looming over the car caused by Stan's death, but Y/N tried to ignore it the best she could. That was. . .until Grayson spoke up.

"Uncle Stan loved you so much, you know that?"

Y/N faltered, her eyes filling with tears once again as her heart ached. Swallowing thickly, Y/N glanced at her son to find him staring back at her with a small smile on his face and tears in his eyes.

"I know. He loved you too," she whispered back as she gently took her son's hand in her own and looked back out at the road. Grayson held her hand tight, not even caring that he was too old to still be holding onto his mother's hand.

Wiping away his tears with his free hand, Grayson smiled a bit more and whispered, "I know."

The rest of the ride was even quieter than before as they both sat there silently mourning Stan's death. However, with their hands still linked together, Y/N and Grayson knew that all this pain they felt would get better as long as they had each other by their side.

They knew that Stan would always be with them and Y/N couldn't help but be reminded of something Stan had said all those years ago.

"I know I'm a loser. And no matter what, I always fucking will be."

Even in death, Stan would still be with them. He would forever be a Loser and Y/N's best friend.

And Y/N planned to make him proud.

* * *

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[xyztrio721]

Heads up, if the topic of smoking or body horror makes you uncomfortable, you probably shouldn’t read this post.

I know this is sudden, but I want to rant about a certain anti-smoking campaign that’s been around for a couple years now.

It’s the “The Real Cost” campaign.

I hate this campaign so much.

I am sick of seeing their ads. They keep showing up when I least expect it, and that wouldn’t be a problem if some of the ads didn’t SCARE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME!

Seriously, why are these ads so god damn terrifying? Why does the FDA insist on using that sort of imagery to teach kids/teenagers the dangers of smoking/vaping? I get wanting to teach kids/teenagers about the dangers of smoking/vaping (it’s a message that I support with every fiber of my being), but do they have to scare the shit out of people to get that message out to their target audience?

And I know that people have been scared by their ads before, because a few years ago, when they were doing the “#RunLikeHell” campaign, a user on this site had to warn people about a specific ad from that campaign because it would jump scare you with no warning whatsoever!

If people have to warn each other about an ad because it had a jump scare in it, I don’t think the ad did its job correctly! You’re supposed to draw people in and send a message to them, not scare them away from it!

And don’t even get me STARTED on the trailer for One Leaves! For those of you who don’t know, One Leaves is a survival horror game for the Xbox Series X/S, Xbox One, and PC that centers around you trying to escape a maze that is meant to serve as a metaphor for nicotine addiction. It has some graphic imagery in it, such as a pair of tarred lungs that cough, and a mouth that’s clearly been fucked up by cigarettes (which is NOT mentioned by the ESRB’s description of the game’s content. All is say is “Tobacco Reference”. Huh, you DON’T FUCKING SAY!)

But you know what’s even more horrifying than that? The game’s TRAILER. I hate it with a burning passion. The imagery is absolutely horrifying!

I mean, for fuck’s sake, one shot showcases a teen walking into a hospital room, only to find herself on a hospital bed with a hole burning through her throat! And in another shot, another teen walks into a room that is only lit up by a red light, and she sees herself in a tub of tar coughing her fucking lungs up! Oh, and also, BOTH OF THOSE GIRLS GET TRAPPED IN THE ROOMS THEY WALKED INTO, MEANING THEY HAVE TO LOOK AT THEIR FUTURE SELVES FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY!

By the way, none of that shit is in the final game, and according to some reviews, One Leaves isn’t that good of a game to begin with!

And yes, this game is sponsored by The Real Cost! It literally shows the logo for the campaign in the game!

You see why I hate this shit now?! I hate it! I hate it all! I WANT IT TO STOP!

You want to see an anti-smoking/anti-vaping campaign that ISN’T horrifying as shit? Look at Truth! They’re not using scare tactics in order to get their message across, and it’s working out well for them!

Maybe scare tactics are helpful in getting kids/teenagers to stay away from tobacco products, but to me, the ads for the “The Real Cost” campaign are nightmare-inducing at worst, and a nuisance at best (and I’m being serious about the “nightmare-inducing at worst” part. I’ve had actual nightmares because of this campaign, and I have a bad feeling that I might have one tonight).

Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go and look at some fan art of my boys Shulk and Young Cricket to try and banish this disgusting shit from my brain before I go to bed.

P.S. I am not a smoker, nor do I vape, and that is one of the reasons why I hate these ads. I already know the dangers of tobacco, now stop cramming this shit down my throat.

[fanaticwritings]

Fanfiction Shenanigans [Steve Rogers x Reader]

Requested by: @luxdxvine (I can’t tag you for some reason??) :: The avengers bring the reader and Steve together through fanfictions written for just them.

A/N: I couldn’t stop writing this fic and it’s kinda dragged and veryyyy long, therefore brace yourself. I apologise in advance and thank you for bearing with me. (Criticism welcome.)

Tony Stark strutted into the common room of the avengers, a place where they all hungout when nobody was on a mission. His patent smirk was plastered on his face as he sauntered into the midst of the other avengers, with the exception of you and Steve Rogers.

“What you got up your sleeve, man?” Sam asked, noticing Tony and his grin.

Bucky, Natasha, Clint and Vision looked up at the philanthropist while Wanda busily dealt cards to everyone.

“What I’m going to tell you is more fun than any game of cards you’ve played,” Tony declared, whipping out his phone.

“Please, Stark, we aren’t interested in the new tech you’ve come up with,” Natasha commented.

“It’s not tech, although that would be something. Anyway, it’s about Capsicle and Y/N,” Tony divulged.

“..Really? The fact that they’re attracted to each other? Old news, Grandma,” Natasha said casually.

Bucky looked at Natatsha in horror. “WHat?”

“Ol’ Buck doesn’t know,” Sam interjected.

“Everyone knew? Why didn’t I?” Bucky questioned.

Everyone shrugged at the soldier who looked a little angry.

Tony cleared his throat and continued,”Well it is obvious they’re in love but they’re not doing anything about it and it’s making me crazy. I decided that we must take matters into our own hands.”

“We’re listening,” Nat and Wanda said in unison.

“That’s the spirit,” Tony said, a wider smirk playing at his lips.

**

You entered the room to find the avengers sitting huddled around Tony who was talking. Your eyes automatically started to look for a particular avenger but you shook your head. You had to stop.

You walked to the huddle and everyone whirled to look at you, a grin on most of their faces. Your forehead furrowed in confusion. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” Tony blurted quickly, starting to put the phone he’d been reading from into his pocket.

Just then Steve entered the room and you stiffened. Why he had this effect on you, you’d never know. But one look at him, his perfect greek-god like built, his kind blue eyes and perfect lips and you were a goner.

You turned your focus to Tony, trying to no think about Steve who walked over to stand beside you. That wasn’t helping.

“I want to know! What were you guys reading?” you demanded.

“It’s nothing, Y/N,” Bucky said, sounding unconvincing.

“Do you want me to use my power to take it from you, Tony?” you commanded.

“Alright alright,” he deadpanned. Steve looked at him questioningly. It was very unlike Tony Stark to give into commands so easily.

“We were reading Captain America into Psych fanfiction,” Tony admitted.

Your jaw dropped. Did Wanda tell everyone? Only she knew about your little crush on Steve. So this is what it felt like, being stabbed in the back with a knife.

“What’s a fanfiction?” Steve queried, his brows knitting in confusion.

“Well..it’s something people or rather fans write. They write fictious stories about people or events that they would like to happen,” Natasha explained.

Steve still looked puzzled. Meanwhile you were sure you were going to drown in embarrasment.

“We were reading fanficition about you and Y/N,” Sam added.

You almost expected Steve to start laughing at this absolute stupidity but all he said was,”They want me and Y/N to happen?”

Where was the nearest balcony? You ought to jump off one.

“Yeah well,”Tony said, trying to keep fom smiling.

Steve glanced at you and judging you by your neutral expression he said, “Well it’s not like it’s real or anything.”

Whoever said about words not harming anyone. What he said made your heart clench with sadness, you always hoped he’d like you back but here was the truth, waving at you in your face.

Hurt, you managed to croak,”Yeah, keep reading Stark, this should be fun.”

That’s right, hurt yourself more.

Tony, obviously enjoying this, obligied immediately. The other avengers sat themselves around him, while you found a place next to Wanda and Steve squeezed himself between Bucky and Clint.

Clearing his throat, Tony continued where he’d left off, “Y/N lay in Steve’s arms, as the soldier whispered silent prayers into the night. Y/N was barely breathing. Steve brushed her hair off her face and caressed her cheek. ‘Please, don’t die,’ the avenger said. ‘Please, Y/N, I love you.”

Tony paused for a second and you wanted to strangle him. Steve glanced at you and you looked back, his face, unreadable.

Why were they doing this? Was this a joke to them? Steve clearly didn’t know and didn’t share the same feelings. It was merely a passtime for him. But hearing everything you wanted to happen aloud, was humiliating. But you were brave, you couldn’t let Steve know.

“Why are you reading soapy, dramatic stuff? Isn’t there anything that’s fun?” You asked, putting on an impassive face.

“Ooh the lady wants fun,” Clint said, grinning at you. You smiled back at him, hoping nobody could hear your heart thudding against your chest.

“Here’s something fun. Do you want me to read smut?” Tony questioned, his eyebrows arched and mocking.

Bucky, Sam and Clint burst out laughing, Nat following in a second later.

Congratulations, you played yourself.

“What’s smut?” Steve asked, earning a groan from everyone.

“It’s sexual intercourse and everything​related in writing, Mr. Rogers,” Vision piped and Steve’s eyes widened at the mention of the word. His ears redened and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Nor could you look at him.

“Not​ that. Go on to something else,” Steve muttered.

“C'mon Capsicle,” Tony urged and before waiting for an answer, started to read. “Lust and love blazed in Steve’s eyes as Y/N stood before him, dressed in satin lingerie.” That earned some giggles. Your head was going to burst, you thought.

“Pining Y/N against the wall, Steve planted small kisses on her neck and moved onto her jaw, illiciting a moan from the beautiful maiden. Y/N pushed herself against the soldier, her hands grasping at his hair. Steve slid his hand up her thigh and Y/N shuddered at his touch.”

Wild fantasies involving the blonde soldier were storming in your brain one after one and if anyone read your mind they’d take you to be christined immediately.

Just when you thought​ things couldn’t get worse, Steve said,“ That’s not how I’d do it.”

Everything went dead still. You looked at the avenger and blinked. He wasn’t looking at you.

And then the other avengers started to scoff, Bucky whistling and Natasha winking at Steve.

You chuckled a little but your mind was already racing with the thoughts of what he would do and you hated yourself for it.

“Wanna write your own fic as to how it would go, Stevie?” Tony teased.

“No thanks,” Steve said, blushing.

You tried to gather yourself for what was yet to come.

“Y/N ripped the shirt off the Captain, and drank in the god-like built of her lover. She pulled him closer, biting at his lower lip. Steve slipped the satin straps off Y/N’s shoulder, his touch burning her skin. Steve trailed kisses down her neck and moved to her bre-”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “That’s enough,” you said through gritted teeth.

Steve looked at you, he looked a little humiliated too…and was that sorry written on his face?

Tony looked scared for a second and then joked, “Atleast the fictious Steve’s getting some action.”

Steve’s face redened. You almost laughed but caught yourself…the others however, not so much.

“Steve, c'mon man, there’s got to be someone you like,” Sam asked, punching him playfully.

Steve remained silent. So the others, obviously moved on to the next victim, you.

“And you, Y/N?”

Of course there was someone. Of course you wanted to be with him. And obviously you couldn't​ ever have that.

“Yeah, there is someone,” you muttered.

Steve looked at you, a puzzled look on his face. You glanced at him and saw something like jealousy flash over his face. You blinked. All this fanfiction reading was playing with your mind.

Bucky scooted over to you. “Is it anyone we know?”

“Uhuh.” Why were you answering?

“Is it anyone in this room?” Clint piqued.

They all knew. Traitors.

“Uhuh.” you breathed, not looking up.

You managed to glance at Steve. He was absolutely still and watching you carefully.

As if noticing your glance at the Captain, Natasha plodded, “Is it our beloved Steve?”

You were going to die. “N-no.”

You could swear Steve looked crest-fallen. He cleared his throat and said, “I just remembered, I have some work to do.”

He stood up and left, heading to the balcony.

As soon as he left, Wanda scrambled over to you and exclaimed, “What are you doing?!”

“Go talk to him you stupid thing!” Bucky cried.

All of them were talking over each other, asking you to go confront Steve. Tired, you stood up and reluctantly followed Steve outside.

“Can we talk?” you called after the broad soldier.

He turned around and squinted at you. He nodded and beckoned you over.

Without thinking about the consequences or anything you marched upto him and began, “Listen, you’ve been a great confidante and friend. But everything I said back there was true except for the fact that.. that it is you, Rogers. I’ve been hopelessly in love with you for sometime now and I understand if this is not the case for you but all this,”-you gestured vaguely- “just made me want to tell you everything. I’m sorry if this is too awkward for you.. I just had to do it.”

Steve looked taken aback for a second. He blinked a couple of times before his beautiful blue eyes crinkled as he smiled down at you.

“I was heart broken when you said no to what Nat said and couldn’t take it anymore that’s why I had to walk out. The truth is Y/N…I’ve been in love with you for quite some time now too,” he confided.

You couldn’t believe your ears. The man of you dreams was actually in love with you too? You could almost cry. You, however, hugged him instead, burying your face in his hard, warm chest.

“FINALLY!” you heard Bucky scream from the door to the veranda. You heard a roar of laughter and giggles errupt from his side.

“Oh give us a moment​, you guys!” Steve hollered but he was smiling.

Just as Steve leaned down to kiss you, Nat yelled, “I think I’ll write a fanfiction about this!”

You smiled against his lips and kissed him.

[pitifulmagicalocs]

Flashback Chapter

Scene: Kyle Trauma Flashback

Characters: Kyle Hausman (Age 11), Peter Hausman, Theresa (Minor)

Words: 4590

Status: First Draft.

Comments: I feel like boiled crap right now. So I’m gonna lift my spirits by sharing this lovely horror scene. (Some feedback would make my life.)

WARNING: Gore, violence on a minor, cussing.

“Forty-four Willowmead Road.”

Kyle repeated the address for the hundredth time, all the while staring back at the grisly and peeling home that bore a rusted sign that boldly echoed his words.

‘44 Willowmead Rd’

Kyle swallowed hard. He’d never been to this part of the community before. Sure, his first home was quite close to the edge of the community, but this neighborhood was quite literally on the edge. He could actually see the community wall off in the distance, but close enough to walk to.

But this was it. This was where his father was living now. His dad had promised to show it to him at some point, but he never got the chance. Or, rather, Kyle’s mother never gave him the chance. At this point, he truly wished he had a guide.

But he was alone. He’d made the decision to go alone. He wasn’t going to turn back, wait for the next bus, go home to a tongue-lashing and permanent grounding from his mother until he saw his father, if only for a few minutes.

So he swallowed a second time, shifted his backpack up his shoulder and started up the walkway.

“You lost, sweetness?”

The voice was warm and gentle, but it nearly gave Kyle a heart-attack. He pressed a hand to his chest and spun around.

An older woman, whom Kyle would guess to be in her mid-to-late-60s, stood by the end of the walkway in a grey track-suit, her sweet smile not at all hiding the way she eyed Kyle up and down.

“Um, no, I,” Kyle stammered, motioning over his shoulder towards the house.

“Oh! Don’t you have a sweet face! You’re Kyle, aren’t you?”

Kyle dropped his brow. “Do I know you, Ma’am?”

The woman laughed and waved a hand over her head. “Sorry, hon. I’m Theresa. My son and I helped your father move in. Pictures of you were the first thing he wanted put up. I remember faces.”

Kyle felt himself smile a little at that. “Really?” He stepped back towards Theresa and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Theresa. I’m Kyle Hausman.”

“Oh, very polite!” Theresa beamed, shaking his hand.

“Is my dad home? Do you know?” Kyle pointed to the driveway. “His car’s out front, so…”

“Oh.” Theresa sighed. “I don’t doubt it. I haven’t seen him go anywhere in—“she shrugged. “—months? I saw him in the yard a couple nights ago, though.”

“Yeah, my—“Kyle shifted his weight. “Nobody’s heard much from him, so I’m visiting.”

Theresa lifted a brow. “And your mother’s okay with this?”

“Oh yeah,” Kyle lied.

Theresa looked from him, to the house and back.

“How old are you, sweetness?”

“I’ll be eleven in a couple weeks,” he answered. “September twentieth.”

“Alright, well—“Theresa started to move along at a slow pace. “I live right next door. House number forty-five. Come over if you need anything.”

“Absolutely! Much appreciated, Theresa!” Kyle waved her off, and then headed back towards the house again.

“Didn’t think old ladies actually called kids ‘sweetness’ in real life,” he whispered to himself as he walked. “Unsettling.”

He jumped up the steps, avoiding a couple that looked less than trustworthy. Although the ones he did put his weight on still sunk threateningly under it.

“What a dump,” he mumbled, approaching the front door, which luckily seemed to be fashioned from a sturdier wood. He knocked.

“Dad!” he shouted at the door. He counted thirty seconds of silence, eying house forty-five out the corner of his eye. Theresa was still lingering on her front step, watching him with both hands on her hips.

He stood on his tip-toes and put his mouth less than an inch away from the dusty stained-glass window that decorated the door.

“Dad!— I know you’re home! Your car is in the driveway!” He hollered. “Your neighbor said you’re home. Open up!”

How long had it been since his father had seen him? Had his voice changed? He was growing pretty fast. He pushed a hand against his throat and hummed. Did the vibrations seem—deeper? Maybe his father didn’t believe it was really him? It’d make sense to be cautious in this kind of neighborhood.

“Dad! It’s Kyle!” He shouted. “You know; your son? Open up!”

Kyle dropped back down onto his heels and he looked back to where Theresa stood. She waved to him and then beckoned for him to come over.

“Come on, Kyle! You can use my phone! Call your mum!”

Kyle shook his head. “Nah! I’ve got it handled! Thank you!”

He leapt the entirety of the stairs back down, and then he swung down, hand on the railing, until he was kneeling beside the rickety steps. He held his breath, braced himself, and then reached his arm underneath the steps, cringing at the sticky sensation of ancient cobwebs.

When his fingers brushed against something dry and plastic, he smirked and bit down on his lip.

“Maybe my voice changed—” he grunted, pulling the old peanut can out from underneath the steps and popping it open, dumping a silver key from the inside onto his open palm. “—But you sure haven’t, Dad. You’re practically begging for an intrusion.”

He stood back up and rushed up the steps, this time forgetting to be cautious, but luckily taking no spills.

“I found the spare key!” he announced to Theresa, who shielded her eyes from the sun.

“You’re too smart for him!” she called back.

“Guess so!”

He unlocked the door and pocketed the key.

“Dad?” he called as he cracked the door open. He gave one last wave to Theresa, who hesitated and then waved back, and he popped inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Ugh!” he grunted, putting his forearm over his nose. What was that smell? He couldn’t quite pinpoint anything to compare it to, but it made the inside of his nose burn.

“Repulsive,” he sighed, kicking his shoes off. “Just nasty.”

He looked down at the rug, and smiled at his sudden discovery. A dirty old pair of work boots as familiar to him as own name.

“Found your boots, Dad! I know you’re here!”

He sat in silence for a moment, listening for something, anything. But the only sound that could be heard was the clanging of what sounded like a basement furnace, which suddenly made him realize how hot it was in there. Why would he have the furnace on in early September?

Kyle fanned his neck and stepped further into the house.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Kyle skidded past the open basement door. He may have been grown, but a bizarre noise from the basement was still something to be avoided.

He slid past the cluttered living area, and into the cluttered kitchen. Just as Theresa had said, there were plenty of pictures hung up. Most without frames and therefore sloppily taped to the walls or stuck to the fridge, but hung up nonetheless. Kyle leaned in for a peek at one of the photos; himself during his first year of hockey. Next to that, his seventh birthday, when his mother had done her best to shape his birthday cake to look like an astronaut.  He didn’t remember it looking that terrible.

Kyle smiled warmly, and then swept his eyes over the rest of the photographs, school awards and souvenirs. His dad really needed an update. Most of them were old. Although he did have last year’s school picture, and a recent photograph of Kyle and his mother on the wall by the cabinets, although the latter appeared to be printed out on plain white paper.

“Dad?” Kyle called as he crept his fingers along the countertops, pushing aside newspapers and folded-up cereal boxes. “You gotta do the recycling!”

A sudden ringing sound sent him jumping a couple inches into the air. He spun around and glanced around the room with wide eyes until the ringing sounded a second time, and drew his eye to an ancient-looking phone and answering machine, sitting on top of even more paper.

He cautiously approached, as if it would jump out at him, and he read the number on the tiny, illuminated number.

“Crap. Mom.”

Kyle shifted his eyes around the room, and pressed down on the ‘transfer to voicemail’ button.

There was a moment of silence, and then a loud beep, followed by a male’s droning voice.

“Hello, you have reached Peter Hausman— I am away at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone. If you are calling about a service, please leave your name and number and I will get back to you as soon as I can.”

Beep.

Although it was expected, his mother’s panicked voice still made his chest tighten.

“Peter? Peter. It’s Janet. I don’t know what to do here. Ines just called. Kyle hasn’t shown up to her house yet. The boys say he got on a different bus. I— I don’t know where he is, Peter! I don’t know where our boy is! Our baby! Please just, tell me he’s with you. Please pick up. Tell me you know where he is! Just… please. I don’t know what to do.”

Click.

Kyle rolled his eyes to the ceiling and he hovered his finger over the ‘delete button’.

“I’m fine, mother,” he huffed. “You need a lesson in overbearing.”

‘You have ten new messages.’

The answering machine’s electronic voice gave Kyle a second jolt. He pulled his finger away and squinted.

“What? Weird.”

Without thinking, Kyle’s finger slid to the ‘play’ button, and pressed down.

‘Message: One’

Another beep, and then an older woman’s voice began to speak.

“Hello Mr. Hausman. This is Anette calling from Doctor Bedi’s office. I’m calling to inform you of a missed appointment you had scheduled at the office on the third of July. Since you’ve only missed one, we’re not going to fine you, but I am warning you that there is a small fee should you miss another appointment with us. Thank you.”

‘Message: Two’

A man’s voice.

“Hey. I’m calling because you came by to fix the lighting in our basement last week and—it’s really not any better. I don’t know if you even did anything down there. It just—“

Kyle tapped ‘next’. He had no interest in customer complaints.

‘Message: Three’

“Hello Mr. Hausman. This is Anette. I’m calling from Doctor Bedi’s office to inform you of a missed appoi—“

Skip. He also had no interest in hearing the glitch old machine play the same message twice.

‘Message: Four’

“Hey! Petey! Buddy! It’s Isaac. Remember me? Uh, I don’t know if your cell is busted or you’re just being dramatic, but… errrr… fuckin’ uhhh… Right! Brent and I are going down to… fuck! I’ve forgotten what we were doing, man. I am half in the fucking bag right now… I--“

Skip. Plus a quick glance around the room to make sure his father hadn’t picked up all those f-bombs.

‘Message: Five’

““Hello Mr. Hausman. This is Anette. I’m calling—“

Skip.

“What the--?” Kyle whispered.

‘Message: Six’

“Hello Peter. This is Doctor Bedi—“

Kyle dropped his brow and leaned on the counter.

“— I’m calling because I’m a bit worried about you. You’ve missed three scheduled appointments and the last time we spoke you said some things that caused me some concern. My receptionist also says that she has made numerous attempts to reach you and hasn’t been able to. If you’d no longer like to receive treatment, please inform us. I’m not going to fine you. But I do believe you should continue treatment for your own best interest. You can contact me at the usual number. Take care of yourself, Peter.”

Kyle thinned his lips and huffed out through his nose.

“You said you’d keep going—“he whispered. “You promised Mom, asshole.”

‘Message: Seven’

Kyle shook his head, and he pressed ‘stop’. The machine barely had the time to let out the first syllable from a female voice before falling silent.

“No! God dammit!” A man’s voice hollered from below his feet, and Kyle sucked in a breath.

“Dad?” Kyle called.

No answer. But Kyle knew he’d heard his father. He was in the basement. A slow smile crept across his face.

“I heard you!” he shouted with laughter in his voice. He stepped around the counter and made his way back down the hall.  He skidded to a stop in from of the basement door and looked down at the steep, wooden stairs, lined with tools and stockpiled laundry detergent that turned and disappeared around a corner into darkness.

“Uh… Dad?”

Clang. Clang. Clang. The furnace’s banging and sputtering was the only answer he received.

“Dad! Are you mad I’m here? I just wanted to see you. You said you wanted to see me, right? On the phone?”

Clang. Clang. Clang.

“I’ll tell Mom it was all my idea.” Kyle leaned in the doorway, peering down into the darkness. He reached overhead and yanked the cord for the light bulb overhead. It flashed and died instantly. Kyle grunted and grabbed hold of the door frame again. He sucked in his gut and hollered.

“Dad! Don’t ignore me! Or I’ll just go and— then you won’t see me at all, Dad!”

A long silence, more clanging, and then finally— a voice.

“Kyle?”

Kyle beamed, and he took a couple hasty steps down.

“The one and only!” he called. “Well, not only. There’s about ten Kyles in the community, but—“

“Where are you?”

Kyle tilted his head. “On… the stairs? The light bulb’s busted. Want me to grab a new one?”

“Come here.”

Uh oh. He was definitely angry. Oh well. His father was rarely angry at him, and when he was, it lasted mere seconds.

“Alright. I’m comin’.”

As he descended the stairs, the rattling and clanging grew louder and louder, until he had to hold his hands over his ears.

When he reached the basement, and stepped down onto the cold concrete, he was happy to see that it was at least dimly lit by a few more light bulbs overhead, yellowing and aged as they were.

He was happiest, however, to see the back of the man standing by the furnace. He was scrawnier than before, and his hair was disheveled and growing over his ears. But it was his father. He almost called out to him, but his attention was grabbed by another loud pop, like a gunshot, coming from the furnace. He examined it further and his mouth dropped open to see the machine had been half disassembled. Pipes and nails strewn around it as it hissed out steam and strained trying to do its purpose. A monkey wrench hung limply in his father’s hand.

“That’s not—even the right tool. Dad, what are you doing?” Kyle took a few steps forward, hands still over his ears.

His father’s head perked, and Kyle watched with squinted eyes as Peter glanced over his shoulder, and then slowly turned, placing upon him two murky, yellow eyes.

For a moment, it felt as though Kyle’s brain was malfunctioning. It refused to turn what he was seeing into a coherent thought. Even as his father stared back at him with those telltale eyes, shirt stained with rot, and skin etched with fat, black veins, his mind would not put the pieces together.

“Dad?” Kyle breathed. It was more like a squeak.

“K-kkk-k!” Peter choked, dropping the wrench to the floor with a bang that was drowned out by the sound of the furnace. A splatter of ink gushed past his lips and onto the concrete below, creating a puddle that he then stepped into as he began to stagger towards Kyle.

Move! He screamed to his own legs. Move! But the best they could do was carry him a couple of staggering steps back. It didn’t stop his father from closing the distance between them, so as his father’s cold hand clamped down on his upper arm, Kyle could only scream.

He screamed as hard as he could, until Peter pressed a clammy, rot-slick hand to his mouth. He continued to scream against Peter’s palm, and struggle weakly against his grip, until he ran out of breath and had to reduce to a muffled groan. The smell of decay burned in his nose and sent bile to the back of his throat.

“Shhh,” Peter hushed, a few flecks of rot spraying from his gritted teeth. Kyle shuddered and struggled to draw in breaths despite the paralyzing fear in his chest. Peter dipped down until his face was inches away from Kyle’s, those sickening eyes examining his face up close.

Kyle squeaked into Peter’s palm, and he tried to jerk away, but his father held him there with a vice-grip on his arm.

“Kyle,” Peter croaked, slowly dropping his hand from Kyle’s mouth. Kyle opened his mouth and tried to scream again, but all that came out was a squeaking hiss. “You f-found me.”

So instead, he sobbed. He bared his teeth and squinted his eyes, trying to hold it back, but still he sobbed.

“Kyle,” Peter repeated, tilting his head and looking him over in confusion. “Shh.”

He pulled Kyle closer by the arm and brushed a hand over his hair. Kyle winced and sniveled.

“Shh,” Peter soothed in a rasping voice. “It’s—alright… I’m here.”

“P-Please— Don’t hurt… me.” Kyle didn’t urge those words to come. They just crept out past his trembling lips.

Peter’s brows dropped and he stared back in silence for a while before he stood, joints crackling, and he began to lead Kyle back towards the furnace by the arm.  

“Wha- What?” Kyle sputtered, digging his heels into the floor, but his socks provided no grip.

“No!” he screamed, pulling back. Peter dug his grip in harder, crushing his thumb into Kyle’s arm. “No! No!”

“Kyle. I have to work,” Peter grunted. “I have to—watch you.”

“Let go!” Kyle screamed. “Let go, you’re hurting me! Dad!” His knee buckled underneath him, and he twisted and strained and squirmed to no avail. Still Peter yanked him one step at a time towards the spitting heat of the furnace.

“Stop!” Peter barked.

Kyle screamed louder, his throat burned, but not nearly as much as his arm, which had started to go numb.

“Stop!” Peter shouted a second time, halting and giving Kyle a firm shake.

“Let go!” Kyle howled again, yanking all of his weight back.

At first, Kyle didn’t realize when he’d been struck. He just felt his head fly back, felt his neck crack and saw the room spin. It wasn’t until he was hanging limply by the arm, and a throbbing, stinging pain spread all throughout the left half of his face, that he realized his father had punched him.

“What is your problem!?” Peter screamed by his head, adding a sting in the ear to his list of things that hurt. This, his voice dropped. “Just like your mother; you know that?”

Kyle could only spit out nonsense syllables.

“Come,” his father demanded. This time, Kyle had no choice but to go along. He let Peter drag him across the floor, away from the furnace this time, and lift him into the air with both arms before dropping him down on something hard. Kyle rolled his head down and saw that he had been seated on an old crate.

“Stay here,” Peter ordered. Kyle sat silently, but it didn’t seem like Peter wanted a real answer. He immediately turned and shuffled back to the furnace. Kyle strained his vision trying to see only one of him, but a blurry double sat unmoving on the right side.

Kyle curled in on himself atop the crate, cradling his aching cheek tenderly in his palm and trying to take some of the weight off of his stinging neck. His skin was hot and swollen against his hands, which he noisily wept into.

“I need to fix this damn thing,” Peter grumbled, picking the wrench back up off the ground. “Broken.”

He swung the wrench up over his head and it came clanging down against the side of the furnace. Kyle flinched at the sound and sobbed out loud.

Peter froze, and then he slowly spun around again. Kyle yelped and shrunk in on himself further, trying to be small.

“Don’t cry,” Peter demanded more than eased.

Kyle shuttered, and tried to blink away some of the blurriness.

“Please,” he begged. “Please let me go.”

Peter took a hard step forward. “You want to leave me?!” he shouted, dead magic hissing on the surface of his skin.

“No!” Kyle screamed, pushing himself back against the wall. “No! No! Please don’t!”

“You can’t leave me!” Peter continued approaching. “I can’t lose you too!”

“I won’t!” Kyle sobbed. “I won’t! I won’t! I promise!”

Peter stopped moving, and he stood a couple feet away from Kyle, chest heaving with wetted breaths, hissing magic calming to gentle whisps around his fingertips.

“My boy,” Peter mumbled, a second dribble of rot falling from his bottom lip.

Kyle held his breath and waited. But soon enough, Peter turned back around and returned to the furnace.

Peter hammered against the metal for a while longer, occasionally pulling a broken piece away and throwing it to the floor. Kyle sat in silence, save for his shaky breathing, which he couldn’t control if he tried. His eyes stayed glued to his father, only taking a break to glance at the storm cellar door. Safety could be just outside those doors. But he couldn’t be brave enough. He couldn’t even bring himself to unwrap his body from the fetal position as he sat atop the crate, listening to his witched father spit out cuss words as he tried to fix a machine he was actively destroying.

“I want my mom,” he whispered helplessly to himself as he tried to replay the message she’d left on the answering machine in his head. Was that the last time he’d ever hear her voice? The idea made him whine out into his arms. “I want my mom!”

He imagined his mother at work, panicked, calling everyone in the town. He should have just gotten off the bus and gone straight to Ines’ house, like he was supposed to.

“God dammit!” Peter hollered as he pulled away another pipe and tossed it to the ground. The clanging sound abruptly ceased, but the sputtering noise remained.

Kyle’s eyes popped back up to the storm-cellar door. He mentally wished for the power of teleportation. But his only chance to get out, to live, to see his mother again, would be to run.

He clenched his eyes shut. Well, the one that wasn’t already swelling shut on its own. He silently willed himself to be brave. As brave as he could be. Then he spoke:

“Dad..?”

Peter banged the wrench against a pipe.

“Dad!” Kyle cleared his throat of tears and saliva. “Dad! Can I help?”

Peter still didn’t answer. Kyle swallowed hard, let out another shuttering sob, and he lowered his feet onto the floor, forcing his unsteady hands out in front of himself.

“C’mon,” he whispered to himself. “You can do it.”

Gradually, he pushed physical magic along his arms. It crackled underneath his fingernails and put a ruby glow in his veins. But his hands still shook, and he couldn’t aim, no matter how he tensed his muscles, or how firmly he planted his feet on the ground.  So he gave up on that plan, and instead just turned and ran.

Peter let out an infuriated roar, and Kyle felt adrenaline shoot through his legs as he bolted for the cellar door. It was so close, yet it seemed to be moving further away from him. Still, he ran as fast as he could, feet slipping over the cold flooring.

He’d almost made it, almost brushed against the bottom step, when the sound of energy crackled in the air and something sharp struck his spine. Dead magic tore through his body like an electric shock and sent him crashing to the ground, landing on his one uninjured arm.  

“No!” he screamed breathlessly as Peter’s hand dug into his shoulder and roughly tossed him over onto his back, slamming him back down against the floor and knocking what little breath he had left out of him.

“Please!” he pleaded. “I’m sorry! Please! Don’t hurt me!”

Peter brought his hand down to Kyle’s leg, and he clamped down on his calf with full strength. Kyle squawked out and tried to jerk away, but he was in another vice-grip.

His father’s face was inhumanly bestial. He snarled with grey teeth and his eyes were intense with anger, the black veins in them pulsating as he slowly lifted the wrench up in his free hand.

“No!” Kyle squealed. “Please! I don’t wanna die, Dad! Please! Please, I’m scared! Stop!”

Peter looked him dead in the eye, nostrils flaring and chest heaving.

“You’ll never leave me again!” he growled-- and brought the wrench down hard on Kyle’s ankle.

This pain didn’t lie, or wait to arrive like the blow to the face. This pain was sudden, and unlike anything he’d ever thought possible. It ripped a scream from his breathless lungs. It twisted his spine and threw him back, convulsing against the floor. It erased all the pleading he had yet to speak from his memory. It even took the fear of dying away. For a while, it was just white noise and the unimaginable pain.

When the searing agony eventually dulled to an unbearable ache, clarity slowly began to return to Kyle’s mind. He choked on tears and opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with Peter once again, still wearing that murderous expression. The wrench clattered to the floor, and Peter grabbed hold of Kyle by the neck, not squeezing, but still far too rough. Kyle was helpless, unable to beg anymore. Only able to sob and whimper as he was lifted painfully into the air, balancing on the toes of his one uninjured foot. The other foot hung uselessly, feeling like glass shards piercing up into his leg. He grabbed hold of his father’s wrist, trying with that little strength he could muster to relieve some of the strain on his neck and shoulders, but he couldn’t struggle. Not only did he lack the energy, but each movement beckoned that searing pain back up his leg and into his whole body.

He couldn’t breathe. But couldn’t do anything about it but cry pathetically as he watched his father watching him, eyes still wild, teeth still bared.

“Da-Dad…” he choked out. His last feeble attempt at survival.

Peter stiffened, his grip tightening and then loosening, and then tightening again. The anger melted from his facial expression and was replaced with a pained grimace.

“Kyle,” he croaked, stumbling to the side with Kyle dangling limply from his grasp. Rot bubbled at the corners of his mouth, the words he spoke gurgling out.  His free hand rose and clumsily brushed down Kyle’s injured cheek.

“You’ll be— alright…”

With those final words, Kyle was flung through the storm cellar doors. He crashed through the wood and directly into something solid on the other side. Another sharp pain ripped through his arm and a second pounded into his skull, both mixing in with the fire in his leg. But it only lasted a moment before darkness swallowed up his consciousness.