#crying wailing sobbing gnashing my teeth clawing at my face............

[pendraegon]

THE FIRST SNOW OF THE YEAR AND IM MISSING IT ☹️

[txemrn]

In your hc, did Brynn have any strong cravings or aversions during her pregnancy from the mother's day fic?? How did Sam handle that??? I hope he wasn't a dickhead like with the other pregnancy when he cheated and gave her an STD. 😒

I was just thinking 👉👈🥺😇 that might be a cute little story. 😉

Btw I really enjoy reading about them!!! I'd L💗VE more. HINT proposal??? WEDDING?????

Hey, there! *big ol' hugs* thank you so much for the ask and the "hints". 🤣😂🤣 I hope you enjoy my interpretation of your suggestion! And yes, there is more to come from Sam and Brynn. Enjoy! 🍨🍓🍨

Warning: NSFW 🍋 (tiny little squirts; don't get too excited); language; angst; pregnancy-related stuff

***

The sparkle of fresh winter snow gathers along the window sill. A hint of gingerbread and fresh spruce waltz in the air. Melting with the smokey notes of kindled embers, the fireplace crackles in the darkened master suite--the only lively room left in the penthouse for the evening.

It had been an exhausting Friday. With Christmas and Brynn’s birthday next week, the Dalton family spent their day tirelessly getting things prepared before a very special winter vacation. Brynn attended Mickey and Mason’s holiday party at school, bringing her famous cupcakes and oven-baked Chex Mix, not to mention presents for all the teachers and faculty.

Because of the school’s early release, Brynn and the boys met Sam for lunch, where they served the entire company a catered, bountiful holiday meal, complete with generous congratulatory swag for another successful third year.

Sam spent the afternoon on phone conferences, which gave him time to pack up to work remotely from home; he wouldn’t be returning until the 28th. By the late afternoon, they had completed the grocery shopping, tidied up their home, fixed and ate dinner.

But for Sam and Brynn, the jam-packed day was far from over. There was still one more very important task to complete: sex. And lots of it.

Seductive whispers, tender giggles and lustful moans penetrate the quiet suite. Their exposed bodies hungrily intertwine together as their movements are kept rhythmically in time with the subtle creaking of the bed.

Sam grips tightly to his wife’s supple breast, brushing his thumbs over her erect pink nipples. With her left hand, Brynn sinks her nails onto the top of his hand, squeezing together with him; her other hand holds tightly to the headboard, straddling her thighs on top of her husband’s hips.

“Oh, God! Sam!” she exhales with each thrust onto his swelling, hardened girth, her voice becoming louder, more raspy. “Almost--! Almost--!”

“Brynn--! I--!” With one final buck of his hips, Sam spills over into euphoria. His fingers quickly drop to her voluptuous assets. He clenches savagely to her curves, pushing her drenched, tightening center to his hilt. Sweat drips off his brow as indistinguishable groans wail from his throat.

Watching her husband come undone teases Brynn’s own release. Tossing her almond locks over her bare shoulders, she is taken captive by the sensations tickling her voracious desires. She rocks her hips against Sam’s buried length, stroking her throbbing clit through her incessant waves of reckless ecstasy. Thunderous moans of pleasure escape her mouth as she gasps for a drink of air.

Almost too terrified to disturb the perfect moment, the couple savors the quietness of them simply being together, their hearts beating in-time, connecting as one.

“I love you, baby,” Sam whispers, breaking the silence as he gently massages Brynn’s thighs. His hands intimately roam, carefully finding their way to stroke her fully-blossomed pregnant belly.

A bright smile effortlessly spreads across her face. “I love you, too, baby.” Her delicate fingers meet his. She lifts his hand to her lips, peppering his knuckles with kisses.

“Hopefully,” he chuckles, “that’ll do the trick.”

She cradles her abdomen. “I can only hope so,” she titters, her fingers caressing her abdomen as she talks to their unborn child. “That was another eviction notice, precious one--”

Brynn and Sam had a preterm labor scare at 33 weeks, which landed Brynn in the hospital for a week being pumped with various medications to stop her contractions. She was discharged home, with the instructions to “take it easy.” Though it isn’t ideal to have a baby this early, her team of doctors agreed they weren’t going to do anything to stop her labor if it were to happen again.

Tomorrow, Brynn will be 41 weeks. For the past two weeks, she has been trying every trick in the book to go into labor. Her lab technician Meaghan swore by spicy food; that only gave Brynn ungodly heartburn. Lydia, the Dalton’s downstairs neighbor, gifted Brynn a bottle of castor oil; she spent a solid two days with uncontrollable diarrhea and belly aches. Carter’s wife gave Brynn a special tea blend; she would contract, but nothing painful; she actually fell asleep because of the delicious steep.

Then, there was her mother's advice:

“You’ve gotta have sex, Brynny--”

“Mom--!”

“--and I’m not talking about the mediocre, ‘are you done yet?’ , making-your-shopping-list-in-your-head kind. You need to orgasm--”

“Jesus Christ, Mom--!”

“You need his semen--”

“I can’t believe this is happening right now--”

“And fondle your breasts. Better yet, let him do it! Now you might leak a little, so if you have him suckle--”

*click*

“Brynny? Brynny?”

“I, for one, am not minding this eviction process--”

“Samuel!” she playfully slaps against Sam’s broad chest. Blocking her hits and laughing, Sam finally grabs Brynn, pulling her body down next to his. He wraps his arms around her, brushing his lips against her temple. He rests his large hands on her gravid belly, nuzzling his nose into her neck.

“Are you okay, babe?”

“Mhmm--” Brynn snuggles into Sam’s embrace, closing her eyes. “Just perfect, babe. G’night.”

“Night, baby.”

The delightful pops of the fireplace lulls Sam to sleep; Brynn, however, started having trouble. She turned to her right side, but soon flipped to her left side. When that didn’t get her comfortable, she sat up on the side of the bed, massaging her back and her abdomen.

“Brynn baby,” yawns Sam, “you okay?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, babe.”

“It’s-k.” Sam fluffs his pillow under his head, keeping his eyes closed. “Contractions?” he slurs.

“Braxton Hicks. I’ll be fine. You go back to--”

Sam lets out a satisfied snore before Brynn can finish her sentence. Tickled, she tucks her husband into bed before she slips on a silk robe. Pulling out her exercise ball from the closet, she sits on top of it in hopes that rocking her hips will bring her some comfort.

She suddenly stops, clutching her chest. An all-too-familiar jolt of burning shoots through her belly leaving an unbearable sour sensation clawing at the back of her throat. Carefully balancing herself to a stand, she retreats to the bathroom for medicine. And to vomit.

“Brynn? Brynn?”

“I’m in here,” her pitiful voice echoes through the bathroom.

Sam slips on a pair of sweats, hurrying to her side in the water closet. Seeing his wife crumpled over the toilet, he drops to her side, pushing her hair behind her ears before rubbing her back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she whispers gravelly.

“No, you’re not,” he tenderly touches her clammy cheek. “What do you need, babe?”

Brynn leans back, sitting her rear on the cold tile. Embracing her body as another contraction subsides, she quietly states, “I need ice cream.”

Sam’s eyes widen with surprise at the request. “You want… ice cream?”

“Mhmm,” she nods. “That would feel so good against my throat.”

“Okay, baby,” he chuckles, brushing his thumb across swollen lips. “Is there a certain flavor--?”

“Strawberry,” she barks, “it needs to be strawberry.”

Sam kisses her forehead, and jogs to the kitchen in search of his wife’s favorite ice cream. Scooping up three massive balls into a bowl, he returns to the bathroom with two spoons.

“Strawberry ice cream, m’lady!” He sits on the floor with her, presenting the cold dessert like a trophy.

Brynn observes the creamy pink heap. She slowly takes the spoon, poking at the frozen treat. She watches her husband take a bite of it first before she reluctantly tries it.

“No,” she spits out her small bite, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Perplexed, Sam spoons another bite for himself. “Is there something wrong with it? Is it freezer burned or--?”

“No, no,” Brynn’s eyes begin to well with tears. “It’s just not strawberry enough,” she sniffles.

“Okay, babe, there’s no crying in ice cream,” he chuckles, wiping at her eyes.

“I think it’s because I want strawberry ice cream.”

“Honey, this is strawberry ice cream.”

“This is strawberries and cream.” She uses her spoon as a pointer, “See how there’s vanilla and strawberry with pieces of strawberry? I just," she sighs, "I need strawberry ice cream.”

Staring at the wall, Sam pretends to understand his wife’s request. “Of course, baby. I’ll go get, um--” he clears his throat to keep from laughing, “the strawberry ice cream.”

“Hey, Sam?”

“Mhmm?”

“I love you, baby.” She offers a toothy smile.

He chuckles. “Love you, too,” he shakes his head with a coy smile.

Sam returns with another heaping mound of strawberry ice cream. “Alright, baby, just what you asked for: strawberry ice cream.”

“Sam,” irritation saturates Brynn’s voice as it begins to tremble. “This has strawberry pieces in it.”

“It’s because it’s strawberry ice cream,” Sam bites his tongue, watching his words carefully as he gnashes his teeth. “It’s exactly what you asked for, sweetheart.”

Brynn hangs her head in her hands as she sobs. “I wanted strawberry ice cream, not strawberry with strawberries ice cream!”

“Babe, are you fucking kidding me right--?”

“Don’t yell at me!” Brynn begins to sob harder.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam sputters. He runs his hands down his face, letting out a sigh. He sits down next to his wife, taking her in his arms. “How can we fix this? Can you maybe eat around the strawberries?”

“It just,” her breath hangs tight in her throat as she tries to control her tears, “it doesn’t taste the same.”

“Of course, it doesn’t,” he mutters under his breath. He sighs heavily again. “What can I do, Brynn? Tell me what to do.”

“I just want strawberry ice cream--”

“No. What. Do. You. Want?” He grabs his cell phone. “Show me.”

She does a quick google search, pulling up a plain pink custard with strawberry flavoring--no pieces. “This. I need this. Please.”

“Brynn, we don’t have this here.”

“There’s a 7-11 two blocks away--”

“It’s eighteen degrees outside.” Sam shakes his head, as he walks back to bed. “No, this is getting fucking ridiculous.”

Brynn glares at the spot where her husband once stood, her eyebrows furrowing; warm streams of tears downpour on her cheeks. Red patches of skin grow across her neck and face as her breathing labors.

“Samuel!” When he doesn’t answer, she carefully balances herself from the ground and waddles into their room. “Samuel!”

“What?” his muffled words slur as he buries his head into a pillow. “I just need a little sleep.”

“Oh, you need a little sleep? You?” Brynn rips the duvet off of Sam, her small body shaking in anger. “I have given up my body for ten fucking months to grow a baby, an actual human being that will more than likely rip me to pieces just to,” she chuckles sarcastically, “look like you!”

“Brynn, I--”

“I’m not fucking done!” She breathes through another contraction, stepping closer to her terrified husband. “I have not complained once, and yet I have given up every ounce of my dignity. I can’t control my farts. I can't control my pee. I’m growing rolls and stretch marks in places that I never even knew a person could grow them!” She steps even closer, her eyes darkening. “I fuck you multiple times weekly--sometimes daily--where I hide the embarrassment that my hot, chiseled husband is staring at either my double chin or my fat, stretch-marked ass--”

“Baby, I don’t--”

Brynn holds up a finger. “I reverse cowgirl you until my legs cramp because you like it. I suck your dick off because you like it--”

“I thought that--”

“I just want some strawberry ice cream, Sam!” she sobs, “And then maybe you can get some sleep!” Brynn cradles her abdomen as another wave of discomfort grips around her belly.

Sam sits on the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Fine”

“And I need to come with you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam sarcastically scoffs. He slinks on a long-sleeve shirt before grabbing his coat. He turns back to his wife who is grabbing her coat. “Um, no,” he chuckles. “I need you stay here and just relax--”

“No, we’re going together.”

Frustrated with the conversation, Sam darts his eyes around the room, trying not to yell. “Why, Brynn?”

“Because--”

“‘Because’ why, Brynn?”

“Because my water just broke.”

***

@ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @forallthatitsworth @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @pixie88 @sfb123 @shannonsaid @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @secretaryunpaid @thefrenchiemama

[cloudninetonine]

if ur cool with angst what about Howie and MC as like the last two people alive (as far as they know) and trying to comfort/distract each other before their shelter is inevitably invaded by zombies

This is kinda late but seeing as it’s Halloween it’s fashionably late

You weren’t really scared.

Not anymore.

Just…..tired.

Tired of all this running, of all hiding, of the fighting, just-

Tired. Tired of everything.

So, when you were finally cornered into a little shack somewhere in Ohio, surrounded by a hoard of wailing zombies that clawed at the feeble wood of your abode, drawing closer with each passing second- you gave up. 

Poe and Tess were...gone. Tess had gone down fighting, like the kickass Texan she was, smiling tearfully but strong towards you all, shouting for you guys to “keep going!” as the van drove away from her, you screaming bloody murder while Howie held you and Poe drove, face stoic despite the tears that fell. He was next to go, sacrificed himself to blow up the van and kill the other hoard that was chasing you. Howie had reassured you that it was the only way, that Poe did it so that both of you could live, but you both knew it wasn’t the case. In your hearts, you both knew that he had time to escape, to get out, but he chose to stay, he chose to die fighting and join Tess in whatever happened after death. He missed her, it was obvious and now they were together.

Both of you would be joining them soon.

“Maybe, maybe…” Howie had been pacing ever since you had broken into the shack; you had to give it to him, he was determined to get the two of you out of here but you knew he was just trying to deny the inevitable, delaying the thought that this would be your last few moments together instead of accepting it.

You didn’t blame him, he was scared and you wished that you could take his fear away.

“The roof!” He slammed his hand down in his palm, face lighting up “We could escape using the roof! We’ll just climb to the trees nearby and-”

He was just grabbing at straws now.

The both of you knew that the shabby old roof wouldn’t be able to support the weight of one, forget about the both of you.

You hated not helping, not trying to give a solution but you saw no reason to get your hopes up for something that wouldn’t work.

“-then we’ll jump into the river nearby-”

It was time to end this charade of hope.

“Howie” You whispered, voice soft from crying and exhaustion.

Finally, he stopped, shoulders falling and expression fading away.

You held open your arms “Hold me?”

With a last, tired sigh, the gentle giant dragged himself over to the bed that you had sat yourself on, laying down on the rickety cot so that you could cuddle against him, ignoring the sounds of the raging hoard outside.

It was nice, Howie was really warm and despite the muscle, was comfy to cuddle against, especially the plush of his chest, just wonderful.

You really wished you cuddled him like this earlier, spent more time with him, met him before all this horror movie shit started, that this wasn’t happening-

The tears began to fall before you realised, sobs wracking through your body while Howie held you, face shoved into your hair and holding back his own tears. For so long, you had been strong for all of them, you had kept a grip on your hope during this while shitstorm, act as a rock for your group of friends and in that moment, you deserved to release everything, your stress, your fears, your sadness- he would be your rock in your last moments because that was all he could do for you now.

Another violent bang echoed through the shack, this time followed with a crack of broken wood.

They were finally breaking through.

And it finally set in.

The fear.

“Howie, I’m scared”

Howie’s hold on you tightened.

“I know, I know”

Something caught his eye on the bedside table and he reached for it, holding it between the two of you as you examined it.

A revolver, your revolver, if you wanted to be precise. You had grabbed it earlier on you journey, just before Cleveland, you guys had driven past a gun shop while on your journey and after sharing a look between the four of you, you swerved around and scavenged the shop. It was pretty much empty, which was in no surprise, but you had found some weapons in the back, not the best, a bunch of melees and a few older guns, but you didn’t need anything special. Tess, like her, picked a shotgun, an axe for Howie, baseball bat for Poe and for you, the old revolver. Call yourself old fashioned, but it just seemed fitting for some reason.

Though now, you wished you had picked something better.

Howie clicked open the cylinder and frowned.

“One bullet left, I was hoping there would be more….” He left it open, but you knew what he was getting at.

He wished there was more so you could die peacefully, instead of torn to shreds by the hands of the undead.

It was a morbid thought but it sounded so much better than the latter.

“You should-”

“No” Howie dismissed your idea before you could even finish, handing you the gun with a look of fierce determination in his eyes “You should”

“Howie-”

“No, (Name)-”

“Please-”

“You can't change my mind about this, (Name)”

One look in his eyes proved his point: you couldn't change his mind, he would not budge and this was final.

The last bullet was yours and yours alone.

But you were stubborn.

Grabbing the gun, you placed it back onto the table, lying back down in the cot but turning away from him, knowing that one look at him would make you falter, and eventually, accept his wishes.

“We’ll just die together, then”

“(Name), you can't-” You brushed his hand away when it grabbed your shoulder, curling deeper into yourself as you reminded yourself that ‘you were not gonna let him die alone, especially a slow, painful death.

“Just get back down here, Howie”

“Would you just listen-”

“No-”

“(NAME)!” Howie grabbed you by the shoulders roughly, something you would have never expected him to do and tugged your back up to meet him, tears running down his cheeks and face filled with an abundance of fear, anxiety, exhaustion and love. You were tense in his arms as he shook you slightly, not from fear, but from pure heartache at how broken he looked, despite the hope he had displayed to you for so long.

Though, you guessed you shouldn’t have been surprised, even you had your breaking point when it came to hoping in this situation.

“Please” His voice cracked along with his plead, tears once again filling your eyes and making your lip wobble as you realised just how strong he felt about this, about sheltering you from the torture of been ripped apart by broken hands and gnashing teeth. “Please, just do it….do it for me, please?”

Softly, Howie’s forehead came to press against yours as he continued to beg “I don’t want you to suffer”

You were right, seeing his face would make you hesitate, would make you cave.

“And what if I don’t want you to suffer, huh?” You squeaked, holding his cheeks “What if I don’t want you to die alone and in pain? Huh? Does my opinion not matter?”

He stroked your own cheek “Of course it does and I know you’re scared for me...but it’ll be okay. I’ll be okay, you gotta trust me on this”

“But you won’t” You insisted “You’ll be torn apart by zombies! How is that gonna be okay?”

Despite the situation, despite the fear and everything else that only made you feel worse, Howie sent you one of the breathtaking smiles he knew you loved and somehow, it made you feel better. “Because I’ll know that you won’t be suffering alongside me”

Howie was adamant, that was what you knew to be true and finally, after it finally slapped you hard in the face, you accepted that you could not change his mind.

Not a single bit.

“Okay”

His face brightened “Okay?”

“Okay,” You repeated, smiling with wet eyes “I’ll...do it. I’ll take the last bullet”

In a moment of pure relief, on his side anyway, he tugged you closer and kissed you, hard. It almost felt bruising, but it felt so good to feel his lips against yours, to feel him against you and you kissed Howie back with the same ferocity that he gave you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” The man whispered on repeat, once again pressing his forehead against your own. “Thank you, (Name), thank you so much”

Why did Douglas have to make that fucking wish?

You hoped he was on the other side of death, so you could slam your fist right into his nose.

Though, you were positive Tess and Poe were already way ahead of you on that.

The gun glinted in Howie’s hand and you realised that while in your head, he had grabbed it for you.

“If it weren’t for our situation, I would be offended by your insistence” You joked, grabbing the gun from his hand after sharing a short laugh with him.

A click sounded in your ears when you cocked the revolver.

You flinched.

“It’s okay” He brushed some of your hair back before cupping your cheek “It’ll be quick and you won’t feel a thing”

You hoped so.

“Can….can you turn away?” You squeezed his hand “I-...I don’t want you to see this”

Howie nodded, finally releasing you and moving back, his body turning to show you his back.

Howie trusted you.

You were so glad he did.

Swallowing harshly, you leaned against the gentle giant and grabbed his hand, feeling his warmth radiate.

You wanted it to be the last thing on your mind.

“Howie?”

The man rolled his shoulders “Yeah?”

The gun clinked when you readied for the shot.

“I love you….and I’m sorry”

You missed his smile. “I love you too, (Nam-”

A gunshot echoed through the shack, loud and frightening despite the groans, wails and screams of the zombies outside. The bullet made contact with flesh, the sound of it tearing through was sickening but the feeling of warm, thick blood flying in the air and hitting skin.

You felt Howie’s body hunch backwards, the hole from the bullet gushing blood onto your clothes and staining the red as you finally began to cry, moving your hand from his now limp one to hold him, moving his body to lay beside you in the bed.

“I’m sorry, Howie” Moving the man to his back, you softly dragged your hand over his face to close his eyes, ignoring the other hole centred in his forehead. Kissing his stained lips one last time, you cuddled into him, closing your eyes. “I love you”

More cracks echoed through the room, one, two, three, four-light flooded in and hands appeared through the gaps, waving violently in your direction.

“I love you”

---

From your spot in the van, you snapped up, breathing heavily and on the brink of a panic attack.

“Where-” Your eyes scanned your surroundings, completely missing your setting in favour of finding the only thing on your mind right now.

Howie.

“H-Howie-” You heaved, grabbing at your chest when you couldn’t find him. “Ho-”

There was a rustle from the front, a familiar mop of blonde hair popping from the front seat.

“Geez” Tess joked, the zombie rubbing her eye “I know I’m undead and all but I’d still appreciate a nap once in a while-”

The Texan’s playful smile dropped at the look of your tearful expression, curling into yourself with your hurried breaths coming out short and wheezy. Tess didn’t hesitate to jump over the seat, pulling you close and shushing you softly, ignoring when you whacked her in a panic only to finally collapse against her in a mess of sobs.

“You’re alright, (Name)” She reassured, patting your back to comfort you “You’re okay, don’t worry”

Your face was buried into her neck, clutching her desperately “Tess- I- Where’s- Where’s Howie- He’s not-”

“He and Poe just went to take a leak” Tess laughed, hoping that the laughter would speed up the episode you were having and calm you down “He’s fine- they’re both fine”

It didn’t completely calm down until the boys had returned, laughing at a joke one of them had shared until you had practically tackled them, holding them close and crying harshly. Tess responded with a shrug when they sent her a look and joined the huddle, the four of you holding one another close until your sobs finally subsided and your breath had returned to you.

“(Name), what- mffphhhh-” You shut Howie up with a deep kiss, holding softly onto his cheek and closing your eyes while he leaned into it, buff arms wrapping around your waist and kissing you back just as deeply. Tess whistled, Poe coughed and you eventually pulled away, pressing your foreheads against each other.

“I love you” You didn’t care it was the first time you said it, not after such a horrid dream.

Howie choked.

“I….I love you too”

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #27: Chocolate is love.

Words: ca. 2100 Setting: canon Lemon: no CW: Borderline insanity, helplessness, regret, angst

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

I lurch upright up to the harsh sound of pounding on my wooden door.

Door pounding. Head pounding. Heart pounding.

The steady pitter-patter of rain calms me to think. I slow my thoughts trailing with fleeting tails of dreams.

I let out a held breath and grip the bedsheets below me, my current lifeline to reality. The faint sound of thunder mocks my dreariness from afar.

My mind is swirling in subconsciously concocted memories from another existence, one where I relive the daunting past endlessly. In all my omnividence of every dream, I saw no way to avoid the inevitable. I hurt her.

Fear overwhelms me in every dream. Fear that I could not control my powers, I told myself. (Cursed with these powers—I lied to whom?) 

But I know the truth. Truly, it was frightening, envisioning an event where I could not control—my powers. Myself. Fear that I would make a mistake. Fear that I would hurt Anna.

But I know Anna loves me.

I dream of the past, a harmful, distressing past. I wake up to the present, secluded as to not relive history. But I avert my gaze from the future.

Sleep never was easy and never lasted long. Insomnia, the books called it; writers made it sound like a disease, something I could cure. Can you cure one who inflicts pain upon themself?

Initially, I attempted to prevent nights like these: Keeping the room fully lit. Asking Kai to wake me at the slightest stir. Resting my head on a stack of pillows. Being so tightly wound in furs—and fears—that I could not release myself. But sincerely, I knew that these physical actions would not be a remedy.

And, like every night, the familiar realization hits, bittersweet, like the final note of a perfectly played piano composition.

Awake or asleep, I can never escape the nightmares. 

A muffled sniff, and then repressed sob. As always, the dismal sounds originated from the figure outside the door.

Why does she come to me? I rarely spoke to her, and if ever, I drive her away. This girl lacks discouragement.

Does she know Elsa loves her?

Because I truly do. With all my heart. Not once have I stopped loving her. But how would she know?

Why do I look forward to her visits? Because I know Anna loves me. Thunderstorms, cloud, snow, and a slight drizzle—my migraine grows with my ambivalence towards allowing myself to love Anna.

She cries outside my door time after time, so often that it has always felt peculiarly familiar. And yet my dreams always manage to reflect my current state of mind, like a warped mirror would display its host in a cloudy, grotesque light. But I took it for truth. What else could I do, other than hurt people? What else could I be, other than—

The room flickered with lightning, and thunder followed—the inevitable boom and rumble, louder than the last. When lightning strikes, thunder follows. No power of man can stop this action of nature. The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside my mind, my heart. The rain, indifferent to the turmoil, poured harder, attempting to drown out the cracking noise of its older brother, thunder. Her crying continued. 

The queen, stoic, impassive, erudite, didn’t not care. I really did care, and believe I still do care. But my act must remain phlegmatic as ever, to stay strong. I shed not a single tear. Fear would lead to fragility, and I could never, would never face the shattering impact. I absolutely cannot give in. If I were to make that single mistake, consequences would follow with terrifying repercussions. Papa, is there no other way?

Conceal.

“Elsa… I’m scared,” came a trembling voice from the door—nonetheless, a voice sweet as honey, but tainted with fear. A voice as heartwarming as the fire of a blazing furnace, capable of warming an entire castle. But tonight, the fire faltered.

My sister was frightened. Presumably because of the storm. But why come to me of all people? Because we are biologically related and supposed to comfort each other?

“Please, Elsa, just let me in…”

I didn’t budge. I never did. But yet this charmingly frowzy-haired, stubborn girl was almost, dare I think, adorable. But in time, she would make her way back up to her room, undoubtedly hurt by her older sister. When lightning strikes, thunder follows.

Yet I always considered that one forbidden possibility…

I can’t. She would be even more hurt if I opened that door.

Did she want in to comfort me? Did she think I was frightened? Are her motives of selflessness, while I wanted her in out of selfishness?

But I know Anna loves me.

Head pounding. Heart pounding. Door pounding.

Anna was furious or in terrible distress. Rarely did she ever pulverize my door as she did now. My concern rose as swiftly as my ice spread across the room.

And with a resounding crack, I heard her sweet voice, corrupted with insanity.

“—this goddamn door! Elsa! Let me in!”

My concern turned into terror. Anna never resorted to such violence, not even with a slab of wood. Was something wrong? Is Anna (physically) hurt? Have I done something (unusually) wrong?

I wait. Hold my breath. Count to ten. Pray that Hell or Heaven lets me in.

I briskly stood up due to the lack of noise on the opposite side. Why is she so irrational today? My heart—bursting through my chest; my head—imploding due to my overwhelming thoughts. Please be okay, Anna.

I took a few steps away from my bed.

Head pounding. Heart pounding. Yet the door remains silent!

I quickened my pace. She needs me.

Suddenly, the most wretched sound reached my ears. Disturbed my mind. A whisper of a broken, fractured, wounded, “…please…”

And I stumbled. Inadvertently, I had tripped over my own fears and hit the ground hard. And the world darkened. Thunder chuckled.

And fear took the liberty to enter my head.

It’s hard to mask the pain.

Acting as a queen is not easy.

I push it away.

Pain.

I’m content, am I not?

The floor inflicts pain.

My head is topped with pain.

A flurry of emotions.

My thoughts bring pain.

My heart twists with…agony.

Shallow breaths. I know Anna loves me.

Days in the snow.

Memories.

Sledding over a mound.

Clarity.

The fjord where we snuck off to skate.

Slippery.

She giggles. The laugh is soft, squishy.

My feeble hands yank at my hair.

Why must I feel misery?

I desperately claw at the floor. 

Why do I partake in a horrifying state of mind?

Teeth gnashing. Breaths shallow.

Suffering.

Why do I speak when my words are blood?

I am vile.

Why do I think when all my thoughts bring pain?

Make it stop. Stop.

Why do I breathe when my breaths are knives, in my lungs, in my heart?

I beg for numbness.

Why do I live?

All I feel is anguish. I can’t take it.

Why do I love?

Screaming,

they can’t get to me,

they can’t get to me.

They can get to her through me.

It really does hurt.

Does she bring hurt?

She likes warm hugs.

I like warm hugs.

I push her away because I don’t like warm hugs.

No.

I push her away because I hate

myself.

Distress.

And a deep, choking gasp. But I know Anna loves me.

Separation 

Conceal. 

is agony.

Loneliness

Get up.

is agony.

Self-hatred 

Don’t feel. 

is agony.

Chocolate

No.

is

AGON—

No!

The eye of the storm. I splintered, wrecked, like a chandelier of ice crashing on the ground.

Tears streamed down my face. Depressingly pudding on the floor, like a storm that would not cease its melancholic precipitation. Eyes tightly closed, jaw clenched shut. My pathetic form writhed on the floor.

I did not shriek. I did not wail.

I silently shattered. I could not let her know I was suffering. Nonetheless, I needed to feel warmth from an embrace. From Anna. Do I really know Anna loves me?

For the first time in my life, I was cold.

I longed for the feel of her arms around me. I shivered. Wrapping my arms around me I shook. With the cold, with fear, with sorrow. Getting up is difficult.

“Elsa… I’m sorry for anything. Whatever I did, please forgive me.”

I speak, in my mind. If only I could tell her. You’re not hurting me. You’re the only thing keeping me grounded to the world. I’m only still living because I believe Anna loves me.

Her voice cracking, “I-I know you don’t even care about me—” a sniff, “—or if you’re even listening to what I’m saying right now.”

Anna… you couldn’t be more wrong. I care about you because…I know Anna loves me…?

“I came tonight as my last chance. To see if I was wrong.” A depressing chuckle, as twisted as a deliberately wound rope.

Her final plea at Gethsemane.

“I wasn’t.”

A long sigh. The turmoil of rain slowed, softened.

“I want the best for you. Don’t…don’t worry about me…” a sob. “I want you to live your life. Leave yourprison of a room. If you won’t see your own sister, at least…please…”

She slowed her breath, calmed herself, and controlled her thoughts and words.

“If I leave your life, will you be happy?”

No. I’m not hiding from you. I’m hiding myself from you… I know Anna loves me, right?

Selfish as it was, I needed her to say it.

“I-I know I’m a burden, and I just want you to be happy.” A breath as sharp as a knife—I hear it tainted, corrupted. “You’ll never have to see me again. Ever. Kristoff will take me somewhere far.

"And if somewhere deep inside, you do care about me…don’t feel bad for me. At least you won’t have to be hurt…”

A pound of a heart.

“…when I’m away from you.”

No. She wouldn’t leave me. I need to know if Anna loves me.

It was a struggle. Like starting a fire on wet lumber. I manage to pathetically whisper, “Please…say it…out loud.”

She didn’t hear. I need to know. I need to know before anything. 

I know—

“Know I loved you Elsa.”

A strike to my heart.

Her tears fell to the floor like blood dripping from a fresh wound. Dripping, dripping…

A pause on her end. She was waiting for something, for anything, a sign that I even heard her.

And I would not respond. What could I do? Open the door and destroy everything I had struggled to attain, nested in this room for years for?

Her footsteps receded into the vast expanse of the castle. She was a tiny speck in Arendelle. She believed she was a minute portion of worthless life in the entire world. Because of me.

And realization hit for the second time tonight. My eyes snapped open with absolute terror. For once in my life, I had to look to the future. If I didn’t act, Anna would not be there to love me. She wouldn’t come back to my room door, and I would truly be alone.

But I couldn’t move. My body was frozen. My mind was numb. 

She wouldn’t. I know Anna loves me.

Awake or asleep, I can never escape the nightmares. 

I call out, “…Anna,” but my voice yields barely a whisper. I manage to sit up. My breaths grow faster. I slowly stand up, wobbling, and manage to stumble over to the door.

“Anna.”

I know Anna loves me. A breath. I frantically jerk the door handle trying to get it open. Shove my feeble stature against the door. 

“Anna!”

I know Anna loves me. A gasp. My sister is on the other side. She’s going away. I need this door open, open please, please, please. I begin to pound on the door, desperately trying to get it open. My deranged state leaves me helpless, as Anna’s departure does. My powers fail to get past my frenzied emotions and dissipate.

“Anna!”

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

Anna’s ears were invaded by the pounding on Elsa’s door. She would never forget that sound. Head pounding, heart wounded, tears streaming down Anna’s eyes, she ran. Ran from the desperate cries of her sister who knew Anna loved her—and she didn’t look back.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

The rain ceased to fall. Lightning did not strike. Thunder did not follow.

Elsa, Queen of Arendelle, was alone. Doused in pain. Cursed to suffer. Internally screaming. Frozen by distress. 

The sweet treat tastes bitter. Where there once was love, now rests…

Agony.

Door silent. Head silent. Heart collapsed.

[wordsbysarah]

Holy Ground - a WIP teaser

I remember exactly where I was when it all started. The first thing I noticed was the groaning, the screeching, the gnashing teeth. I heard it out of my bedroom window, and was sure that it was my imagination. Oh, if only, if only. Then came the banging at our front door. How the dead knew which wall was a door and not solid brick, I never understood. Maybe there was a little humanity left in them, I don’t know. But they knocked and knocked at the door until my mother foolishly opened it.

The reaction was immediate when the creature stumbled inside and went straight for my mother’s neck. She’d always opened the door without looking through the peephole, and we always joked that it would be her downfall. Of course, she wasn’t prepared to defend herself, and you could hardly say she knew that she was fighting off a dead person instead of a regular man high on some sort of drug. You could hardly say she knew that either he died or she did.

I heard her screams echo throughout the house. As I sprinted out of my room to see what was wrong, I caught a glimpse of the devastation in her eyes. Probably because she thought I was next. She waved her hand away and managed to choke out, “Run,” through the blood flooding her throat.

I turned back down the hall and opened my parents’ bedroom door to see my dad laying in bed, listening to an audiobook through headphones. I waved my arms to get his attention and he slid them down around his neck.

“We have to get out of the house,” I whispered. “Mom opened the door and someone attacked her.” Tears were welling up in my frantic eyes as my brain tried to process what I’d just seen, even though I knew there was no time for that right now.

“What? Are you serious? Don’t joke like that, Seph,” my dad whispered back, getting up and crossing the room.

“Yes I’m serious, she said to run, we have to go out the back now.”

“Not in my house, they don’t,” he whispered, seemingly to himself. He reached down and unlocked the safe, taking out a pistol. “Get in the bathroom,” he commanded me, striding down the hall.

“No, dad, please,” I whispered, but it was too late. I rapidly locked myself in the hall bathroom where there were no windows and only one door. I kept the light off and slid down the wall to sit in the corner and wait for my dad to return.

Bang. Bang. Lots of groaning. A scream, followed by a body hitting the floor. Even though it could have been the intruder, I felt this awful sickness welling up in my body. I covered my mouth to stifle the hyperventilation consuming me, tears rolling down from my tightly shut eyes.

Knock, knock, knock. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t dare make a sound, in the event that the intruder was waiting for me on the other side of the door. Knock, knock, knock. I tried to be as silent and still as possible. “Seph, open up. It’s me,” came my father’s voice from the other side.

Rapid tears flowed down my face as I lept to my feet and threw open the door. As soon as I was faced with my dad, I flung myself into his arms. “I thought I’d never see you alive again,” I wailed. I was so relieved that it took me a while to notice something hot and sticky pressed into my side. “W-what is that? Are you hurt?” I asked frantically.

“I don’t know what that guy was on, but I think I’m going to need stitches. He literally bit me,” my dad heaved a heavy breath.

“I’ll call 911, you put some pressure on that,” I insisted. Speaking of 911… I turned down the hall and, stepping over the intruder’s corpse, ran to my mother’s side. “Oh, mom… What did that lunatic do to you?” I cried. She must have bled out within moments, because she was going cold. I stifled a sob, remembering that my father might’ve bled out as well if I lost myself. I walked back to my room and picked up my phone. Dialing 911, I waited. And waited. But there was nothing but ringing and ringing and ringing.

I hung up and tried again. More and more ringing. “So unprofessional,” I whispered.

“Honey?” I heard my dad say down the hallway.

That doesn’t make any sense. I felt her, there was no pulse, I thought.

Then I heard the screeching, the growling.

“Ahh!” came my dad’s voice, and then a heavy thump to the ground. I ran out to the hallway to see her crawling on top of him, a dead gloss over her eyes, gnashing her teeth in a mouth that was spilling out blood onto his chest. I watched in horror as she went straight for his throat, ripping out his vocal cords and swallowing them with ease. Why she wanted to literally eat her husband, I didn’t know, but I rapidly shut myself back in the bathroom.

I had to listen to his attempted screams for a couple of minutes before either he’d bled out or she’d consumed so much of him that his body was in complete shock. Which one it was, I couldn’t tell you. All I knew was that my life had gone to hell in a handbasket in the last fifteen minutes, and I had no idea why. I knew that I was now completely alone in the world. No siblings, no family that lived nearby. Just me.

I knew that there were at least two literal zombies roaming around my house right on the other side of the door I was pressed against, and I had no weapons to my name.

Well, I supposed I could use a curling iron as a blunt weapon. Assessing the situation, that seemed the most likely way to survive. You’re supposed to hit zombies in the head, right? Damage the brain, stop the body. If there were ever going to be a time to mourn my parents, it was exactly right now. At the risk of being too loud and attracting the dead to my location, I cried. I cried so hard that I thought I would throw up, but at least I had a toilet in that case. I had no idea how long I was in that room. Could have been minutes, or I could have been crying for hours. I figured I had time, because the longer I waited, the more likely that my… parents… would be gone.

Finally, I stood and gripped the curling iron tightly in my right fist, my knuckles turning white in the pale nightlight’s glow. I listened at the crack in the door for any shuffling, and they seemed to have dissipated for the moment. Cautiously, I opened the door, and unfortunately it creaked. Towards the kitchen I heard a groan and my heart shot up into my throat. I flattened myself against the wall, slowly making my way down the hall.

A groan came from directly behind me just then. I whipped around to see my father, eyes bloodshot and glossy, throwing himself towards me. I struggled to push him back, his hands clawing at my arms, presumably to get a good shot at my neck. His nails began to dig into my arm, and the pain fueled me to press forward and bring the curling iron into a heavy contact with his head. I’m so sorry, I thought, repeatedly bashing his head in. Each strike was harder as the tears increasingly rolled down my face. I love you, but please die. Eventually, he slumped to the ground, hopefully dead for good. There were blood spatters all over my face, and I tried to remember not to wipe my eyes, nose, or mouth. I had heard before that the scratches of the undead can also turn you, but since my parents were freshly dead I didn’t know if that would hold up.

I had no time to stand there in shock, rattled to my bones, because then it was on to my next problem: my mother, shambling around the kitchen. I thought I could sneak up on her, but evidently they could smell me, because she turned right around and lunged for me. They didn’t seem to be particularly fast, but also not slow. More like human speed, when someone has no particular place to be.

I learned my lesson; this time I wound up like a hitter in a baseball game and cracked her across the side of the head, throwing her body onto the table to my left. I took a good shot and brought the curling iron down onto her head like a guillotine, smashing her brains all over the kitchen floor.

She dropped dead to the ground, and my heart pounded in my brain and ears. Not daring to set down my weapon here, I quickly walked back to the bathroom and roared the faucet to life. Closing the door, I stripped naked and washed as much of the blood off as I could. I used toilet paper to dry my free-flowing tears, not daring to touch my eyes with my hands. I supposed there was no way to clean my clothes, so I just returned to my room, gripping my weapon like my life depended on it, and found the most durable clothing I could. A black tank top with silver lining and long blue jeans would do the trick. Although it was a hot Tennessee day, I’d heard once that denim was really hard to bite through, so that seemed like it would benefit me.

My body was going through the motions without a brain steering it. My mind was in so much shock that I was calm -- what could I do but move forward? Sit here and wait to die? I pulled on some hiking boots with gel insoles and walked back to the living room, where my dad had set down the pistol. I have no idea how to tell how many bullets are in this, I thought, but it’s better than nothing. I grabbed a backpack and my dad’s holster from his room. I shoved the curling iron into the backpack, along with some changes of clothes and some food items. I didn’t know how long I would be out of the house, but I had to get to McKenzie’s home and make sure she was still alive. That was more important to me than my own survival. At least I had my learner’s permit, so I grabbed the keys off of the keyring and, steeling my nerves, walked outside and jumped in the car. I could see more of the dead wandering through various parts of the street, so as soon as I started up the car I started booking it. Stay alive a little longer, McKenzie. I’m comin’ for ya.