#delirious me though my fridge had finally called it quits

[astrowell]

I woke up and there were the horrors (really loud tow truck outside)

[starshipsofstarlord]

God is With You, Even as You’re Sinning

Pairing | Sam Winchester x reader

Summary | it was your first time not killing a monster, and in its place, taking the life of one of your own. Guilt entraps you, and it is up to Sam to break you out of your pitiful hypnosis.

Warnings | mentions of death, blood, angst, guilt, some smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of murder

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Fuck God. This was all his fault, everything was to be fair. He had left the world to continue on its own accord, the apocalypse threatening to spill over the planet and destroy it and all beauty that was lingering through the existence of humans.

They killed each other, and the creator of all could care less. It was his smallest problem, he didn’t mind that the murderer was succumbed to guilt, or how many restless nights that he or she endured. God was cruel, even if he held up a facade of being your ally, and trying his hardest as he supposed, to be your friend.

Your hands shook as you remembered the entailment of your mistake. It was a slip up, a vast and surreal experience that people usually learned from. But what were you supposed to do, not kill a human again? Yeah you had gotten that, after all, the initial deed had not at all been intentional.

There was the victim’s blood dried upon the outer layer of your skin, casting you in the perfect image of murderous intent. However, you had no thirst to kill, instead, your hunting of monsters, alike to many others partaking in a similar lifestyle, executed the mythical beasts to protect the human population.

It pained you truly, to know that you had killed a person. You hadn’t even spared the familiar body a second glance, and out of panic, you fled the scene, leaving the body of the city cleaner in the gutter, laying in the remnants of his friends’ and family’s waste, burying him in their crude excrement.

The thought alone, and the sight that was engrained in the peripheral of your mind had you feeling sick. Slowly, you plodded down the steps of the bunker’s entrance, surely leaving footprints trademarked in all kinds of grotesque evidence.

Without much care for what lay heavily inside, you dropped your duffel from your shoulder, allowing it to fall on the ground with a disgruntled clatter. Nothing meant anything anymore, not if you were indeed a real killer. Whilst some monsters had weaselled their way into society, ending their pathetic attempts at normality was different than taking away the life of an innocent and mortal bystander.

Often, with the darker and crueler species, there were reasons as to why they pretended to be of human birth. Mostly, it was so that they could feed from the naive flock, or kill for their own amusement. Either way, none of their reasons were good.

But now, you thought of yourself as no different than them. A creature that needed to be put down for their crimes. Filing, you breathed in, only inhaling the various moulds of putridity that was weaved into your hair, and stuck to your skin like a face mask.

“Should I call you Cassie now?” At the joke, a laugh from the speaker was triggered. He was quite amused with the sight of you, and thus, you sneered at the tall man, hating him a little bit more than usual.

“Your pop culture references aren’t appreciated Winchester, it’s more Dean’s street.” Shoving past him, his high shoulder floundered back at the harsh and ignorant impact, an expression of offence covering his stupid face. Like a fawn, he tumbled after you, watching as you walked sullenly into the kitchen, yanking the door to the fridge open, and extracting one of his brother’s store bought beers.

“I’m going to guess the hunt went bad.” Sam speculated, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and staring expectedly down at where you popped the cap off the bottle recklessly with your teeth. He almost winced at the sight, but he wished to keep this arrogant demeanour up with you, it was a natural desire to piss you off, and he’d be pissed at himself if he let it slip out of simple pity.

“Guess correct. Well done, you’ve won a trip to Hawaii.” You waved your free hand mockingly in the air, as the other raised the liquor to your mouth, allowing you to wilfully gulp the bitter liquid down. At his presence that remained nursing over you, you cocked a brow, leaning forwards as you expectedly looked back at the moose. “Just leave me alone Sam, I’m not in the mood for putting up with your bullshit.”

He, however, seemed not to be phased by you wanting to be left alone, and instead, quickly snatched the poison out of your hand, leaving you throughly prepared to keep him right in the balls. “What the fuck?” You all but screamed at the not so jolly giant. In turn, he crossed his arms across his chest, placing the bottle down on the island.

“I could ask you the same y/n.” His tone was dominantly serious, causing you to cower back into your shroud of guilty conscience. “Tell me what happened on that hunt, of which i told you that you shouldn’t have went on alone, since you wouldn’t have been able to handle it solo.”

You felt demeaned by his words, they sparked an anger out from the firm pit of your stomach. But you knew deep down, he was getting through to you, which was something that you had not managed to even do by yourself. Air heavily passed through and out of your nostrils, as acidic tears pooled in your eyes; a crack was falling down your walls, and out of all people, it was Sam Winchester whom had caused it.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone alone, but you know what, I thought of what a Winchester would do. And then I remembered, I am sure as hell not a Winchester and I don’t have a brother anymore! Not now, he didn’t even know who I was earlier, didn’t even recognise a single genetically identical hair on my head as he watched me parade through the town, the very one that I ran away from when he was a baby and I was seven, wanting to hunt a monster. Yet, i didn’t kill a damn monster Sam, I murdered my brother because you’ve been right all along, I’m not fit for this job. I am a mess, so congratulations, you finally have got me to admit the one thing that you keep reminding me of.”

“Y/n...” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, he felt the waves of shock ripple through his body. Never so freely had you been vulnerable around him, and here you were now, with very visible tears cascading down your utterly torn face. He understood it was an accident, and the times that he and Dean had tried to kill each other under supernatural circumstances had him wondering what if.

Shaking your grime tethered head at the sound of his cracked voice, you stormed past him, and immediately raced towards the shower room, finding to your luck, which had been non existent during the rest of the day, the halls were barren of life. Walking through the door, you tore your ruined clothes off, chucking them upon the floor without much acknowledgement, before you went under the warm spray of the shower head, trying to calm yourself.

To rid your skin of its evidential accessories, you had to scrub your skin until it was immediately raw. Everything within you ached, as you flicked back to the memory of the clueless expression that had been worn by your blood brother. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t know who you were, or else, he’d have known that his own sister murdered him due to her incompetence to listen to others.

Now, you were not even sure what were your tears, and what droplets of water belonged to the shower itself. For over an hour, you basked int eh warmth that seemed unable to cure your cold blooded system, turning the spritz off, and covering your body in a fluffy towel, that you were sure belonged to someone else, but right now, you could care less about who owned what.

As you reached the door to your bedroom, you found it to be preached slightly open, and as you pushed it the rest of the way, you saw Sam sat on the corner of your bed. You held your arms around yourself, insecure on the fact that beneath the stolen towel, you were nothing more than you. A wolf in sheep’s skin.

“Can I help you?” You bitterly asked, your eyes still burning from your own faulted loss. Sam breathed in, his eyes trailing up to your face, that was naked from any gruesome cosmetics or make up. The bareness to your completion illustrated an aura of innocence, and evidence that you were the same as him - human.

“That’s my towel.” The male hunter laughed, in hopes of changing the previous and well wounded subjected to ensure that you felt better. But what was he kidding, nothing could fill the void that you had dug in your own heart, nothing was closer than the bond between siblings, even if you were considered as strangers.

“Take it back then.” Too exhausted from your gruelling day, you dropped the material, your confident action making his eyes go wide, as he tried to look away from your exposed skin to respect your boundaries. It was impossible though not to allow his hazel hues to slip up the trunks of your thighs, up to- no, that was wrong, very wrong.

You had just lost your brother, not to mention, by your own hand, and he was prone to checking out your freelancing body, taking in every curve and twisted scar that was prominent to his speculating eyes. His eyes dropped to the discarded towel, which he had purposely left on the heating rail for later use, and then, they switched back towards you.

He stood, walking behind you as you looked through comfort clothes within your dresser. A light touch of his hand brushed your hair away from your neck, as he breathed a sweet hoax of hot air upon your scare. Sam was relieved that you didn’t reject the contact, and instead, pressed his lips upon the flesh, finding succession whence you hummed deliriously to yourself.

This interaction had been inevitable for a long time, but now no longer were the suspected intentions for such an exchange to be to release well endorsed frustrations. No, he was going to clear your mind for some sensual moments, and make your pretty little head forget for a moment that you had pained yourself in the worst of ways.

Turning, you laced your hands through his chocolate locks, massaging his scalp as you pulled him closer so that your lips could endure a rougher clasp against his. There was no passion, behind each contribution there was a spur of hunger, he grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up to be sat upon the top of your heavy dresser.

Obliging his command, you spread your legs so that he could stand between their partition, his hands now running up the windows of your thighs. For a while, the pair of you did nothing more than make out, and cup a feel here and there, but soon after, Sam dropped to his lanky knees, leaving kisses in the wake of his descent.

His thumb and forefinger spread your fluttering folds, watching as your slit squirmed for attention. Sam licked his lips at the sight, running his middle finger up the expanse, until he came to your yearning entrance. Slowly, after making sure you were wet enough, Sam slipped his digit inside, you wiggling your hips to adjust to the thrust of his one finger.

To add to the sensations that were overriding your body, he moved his mouth to closer proximity, smelling the divine aroma that pulsed out of you. It was far too addictive to not get a taste, and thus,he pulled his finger out, sucking off your juices contently.

But that small sample just wasn’t enough, which encouraged him to dive face first into your pussy - literally. His long tongue teased your folds, slurping at the lips, and then switching to your clit to heighten the stimulation. He kept up a rhythm, using it as a pattern to push you closer to that edge, and he was surely certain that you were enjoying his oral work as you ground your face against him, moaning at his succulent administrations.

“Sam.” Oh god, was it pleasant to hear his own name fall out your mouth in such an erotic manner. It was far different from the way that you usually used it to snide at him, though, the thought of your regular treatment of him aided only to spur his lustful actions on. He wanted you to cum, for your juices to run down his face in waterfalls, looking as though someone had tried to drown him.

His work would not be complete until you found it difficult to even pronounce his short name. Digging his tongue in the hood of your clit, tracing around the protective area, his fingers returned to their earlier placement, and he quickened their pace until he could hear a satisfying squelch in the air.

Rapid sounds of parted moans raked from your mouth, your chest sticking out as you breasts heaved with your heavy breathing. It was noticeable that you were close, not just from that, but you were squeezing the circulation out of his fingers. “Fuck.” Left you in the form of a squeal, as you pussy wept its juices.

Sam was quick to lap everything that left you up, once more, tasting those that clung to his fingers. He went back in for another taste, but you tightly grouped his hair, pulling him away from your sopping cunt. “Need you to fuck me Sam, now.”

In an instant, the hunter stood, working precariously on undoing the buckle of his belt, and pushing all material that covered his lower half to the bottom of his thighs. He read already hard, and oozing precum. You swept your finger across the tip of his dick, bringing it to your lips to taste his foreshadowing seed.

Sam huffed at the sight,picking his prick up in one hand, and jerking himself a couple of times. And then, he aligned himself with you, rubbing his cock around your wet crevice a couple of times, slapping his tip teasingly against your puffy clit.

“Want my cock baby?” He asked, smirking as he watched you nod your head repeatedly. With that being all the confirmation that he needed, he pushed into you,feeling even more turned on as he heard you mewl, and watched the ecstatic expression cross your face as his dick fit inside of you all the way.

He grasped your hips, pulling out once before pushing in again. He repeated the action, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head at how tight you were. This would make you forget the cruel method of god, his story was not as epic as he though, for his characters were screwing against his will, basking in a distraction rather than the regretful pain that seethed in your trodden heart.

Another thrust had your nails clasping onto Sam’s covered back, biting onto his shoulder through the plaid, as you held back the tears that were trying to creep out of your blissful eyes. A few grunts left Sam, as his pace increased, and with every thrust, which only served to fuel him further, the dresser smashed into the wall behind it, most likely leaving a decent dent within the historical architecture.

“Gonna cum.” You told him, dragging him in for another tongue filled kiss as your cunt pooled around him, coating his cock in the honey from your delicious pot. He soon followed after, and for a moment, he remained against you, allowing you to bask in the comfort of his strange presence.

And then he pulled out, watching as his distraction dripped from your entrance, trailing down your thigh in a white streak. An orgasm smile was pulled onto your face, but it was certain to not last long for when you returned to the reality that laid waiting for you to return.

Sam stepped closer again, moving his fingers towards your cunt, and pushed his seed back inside of you, watching as your puffy pussy lips swallows any part of him that it could get. He would distract you for as long as he could, and then, deal with the inevitable.

[searchingwardrobes]

Self Promo Sunday

Here is another fic of mine from before Tumblr, so this is the first time it's been posted in its entirety here with a picset to go with it. I have honestly always been amazed at the reception this simple one shot has received. I recently also saw someone searching for a fic that takes place around this time in canon, so I thought it might be a good time to repost it. This story was written before Emma told Killian about the dream and the prophecy on the show, so it is now canon divergent.

Summary: As Emma traces the tattoo on Killian's wrist with her thumb, she's more sure than ever that she can't tell him her secret. Killian does something unique to assure Emma she doesn't need to fear the future. Set after 6x02.

Rating: T

Words: a little over 1,500

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​​ @teamhook​​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​ @spartanguard​​​​ @optomisticgirl​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​ @thislassishooked​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​​ @nikkiemms​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​  @profdanglaisstuff​​​​ @kday426​​​​ @distant-rose​​​ @carpedzem​​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​  @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​ @snidgetsafan​​​​ @vvbooklady1256​

The early morning rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the blinds, and Emma Swan blinked at the brightness in front of her eyelids. As she felt herself slowly emerge from the haze of sleep, the first thing that came into focus was the metal hook standing at attention on her nightstand, the curve of stainless steel glinting in the morning light. A sleepy smile filled Emma’s face as memories of the night before came rushing back. Finally – finally! – she and Killian had gotten some uninterrupted alone time, and despite the heavy burden Emma was hiding from him, it had been glorious.

Emma rolled over to face him in their king size bed, slightly surprised that he was still asleep. Her heart constricted as she watched the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. Unable to resist the temptation to be nearer to him, she slowly eased herself to his side, wriggled into the crook of his arm, and lay her head on his chest. Killian shifted in his sleep, but didn’t awaken. Emma was glad; she wanted to drink in the sight of him: his face relaxed in sleep, his dark hair sticking up adorably, and the sheets pooled at his waist. Emma reached up to trace first his jawline and then the scar on his cheek. Her hand stilled as Killian sighed and turned his face into her touch, but he still didn’t waken.

Killian’s vulnerability in sleep and the gentle thud of his heart beneath her cheek suddenly became overwhelming, and Emma turned over to face the nightstand again. Yet she didn’t pull away from his side. His right arm still lay loosely beneath her, and when she looked down, the tattoo at the end of his wrist was on perfect display by the light of the window. It had never bothered her, never made her jealous. She traced it lazily now with the pad of her thumb, over the letters that spelled Milah, the curves of the heart, the jagged edges of the dagger. Killian shifted again behind her. He rolled towards her, gathering her close to him with both arms. He mumbled a good morning against her neck, his breath and scruff tickling her skin.

Neither of them made a move to rise. The rise and fall of Killian’s chest against her bare back made Emma wonder if he had dozed off again. She still hadn’t let go of his right wrist, her thumb still playing over the colors tattooed there. She knew the whole story behind the tattoo now. There should have been no more questions.

“Killian?” Emma whispered.

“Mhm . . .” he responded sleepily, voice muffled against her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you get a tattoo when Milah was still alive?”

Killian chuckled, and she could tell by the sound of his voice that he was fully awake now. “I suppose because she wasn’t quite the romantic I was. She would have found such a gesture . . . sentimental.”

Emma fell silent, glad he couldn’t see her face. Thoughts tumbled in her brain, becoming so twisted up she feared she would never sort them out. The urge to stay here forever – lock the door and keep the rest of the world out – surged up inside her.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Killian began to trail kisses along her bare shoulder. In a teasing voice, he asked, “Are you trying to hint that you want me to get an Emma Swan tattoo?”

“No!”

The word burst from Emma’s throat like a bullet from a gun. She sprang from Killian’s embrace as if his touch burned her. With shaking hands she grabbed her bathrobe and pulled it tight around herself.

“No,” she muttered again, tucking her hair behind her ears and avoiding the hurt she was sure would be in Killian’s eyes. “That’s the last thing I want.”

Before Killian could say a word, she turned and fled from the bedroom. She went downstairs to the kitchen and began making coffee, slamming cabinet doors to try and release her frustrations with the universe. When she turned around, she wasn’t surprised to find Killian standing there.

“Have I done something, love? Something to upset you?”

It broke her heart that Killian assumed this was his fault. She sighed and wearily rubbed her temple. “No, babe, of course not.”

Killian narrowed his eyes, as if attempting to read her. “Are you sure?”

Emma felt her hand suddenly start to shake again. She clasped her hands together to mask it, and in her frustration, she snapped, “Yes, I’m sure!”

Emma saw the fire of his temper flare up in his eyes. “Then why did you respond the way you just did upstairs? As if the thought of a tattoo to symbolize my love for you was grotesque?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Does my tattoo bother you?”

“No!!”

“Then what?!”

“Because a tattoo would mean I’m dead!”

The look on Killian’s face went from anger and hurt to shock in a single moment. “Why would you . . .I don’t . . .” He shook his head in confusion, stepping towards her and taking her hands in his. “Are you ill?”

Emma shook her head, unable to stop the tears from spilling down her face. She couldn’t do this to him. She thought of Liam dying in his arms, of Gold crushing Milah’s heart right in front of him. She thought of the little lost boy with no parents. He had lost everyone. And now, even though he had come back from the dead, he would lose her too.

Emma squared her shoulders and wiped at her cheeks. Killian tried to hold her, but she stepped from his embrace and turned her back.

“I’ll tell you everything, Killian, but I can’t look at you while I do. It hurts too much.” And then it all came pouring out: the visions, what Hyde had said, the oracle in the woods.

“Emma-“ Killian began, his voice laced with comfort, but Emma cut him off.

“I have to get ready for work now.”

Killian didn’t attempt to press her for conversation as she showered and dressed. When she left for the station, he gave her a chaste good-bye kiss on the cheek. Emma avoided eye contact, so she wasn’t sure if he was respecting her space or pulling away to lessen the sting of inevitable loss. She herself was intimately familiar with the latter. She wouldn’t blame him.

He did try to call while she was at work. Only twice – he wasn’t the pushy type. Both times, Emma slid her thumb across the screen to reject his call, the weight of guilt pressing down between her shoulder blades.

That evening, she told her father that it was about time she organized the mess of files the dwarves had left behind while they were all in Camelot. David raised his eyebrows and asked if anything was wrong between her and Hook. Her nerves were so raw, she snapped a “no” in response that made her father visibly jerk. Which made it pretty obvious that things weren’t fine, but her father asked no more questions.

As Emma had planned, by the time she got home, the house was dark. The first thing she noticed when she walked through the front door was Henry’s book bag at the foot of the stairs. Her guilt intensified in realizing she had missed an evening with her son. On the kitchen table were two notes: one from each of her boys. Killian’s informed her in his flowery script that he had left a plate of dinner for her in the fridge. Henry’s, despite everything, brought a smile to her lips: “Mom! Killian helped me finish my homework early so we could have a movie night. Ask him what he thought of Han Solo! Love you, Henry”

Emma, not feeling the least bit hungry, bypassed the fridge and headed straight for the stairs. She tiptoed quietly so she wouldn’t wake anyone. In the master bedroom she found Killian asleep with a book still in his hand and the lamp still on. As her gaze swept over his bare torso, she noticed something on his left shoulder that hadn’t been there before. Easing herself as quietly as possible onto the mattress, she leaned over for a closer look. Sure enough, there on Killian’s left shoulder was a new tattoo, still covered in the sheen of ointment from the tattoo parlor.

Emma gasped softly when she saw what it was. A swan’s neck bending gracefully towards a curved hook to form a heart. The bed shifted, and Emma lifted her gaze to meet Killian’s bright blue eyes. He searched her face in a silent question, then smiled.

“You’ve never minded that I’m sentimental.”

And that was all Killian said as he caught one of Emma’s tears with his thumb. He could have said so many things, and most likely with perfect eloquence. He could have reminded her of Zeus, or all the times they had defied fate. He could have told her he had faith in her to defeat any foe. But he didn’t say any of those things.

He didn’t have to. The tattoo said it all.

[cuddletime-blog]

Lucien: Drunken Ares and Irritated MC

WARNING: Spoilers for Chapter 13, some angst, mild violence

It was 2:37 am and my phone was ringing. I turned on the lamp at my nightstand and grabbed my phone to check the caller ID. It was a phone call from Lucien…No, Ares. I stared at my phone with both a shocked and conflicted expression while letting it ring a few more times. My eyebrows were scrunched together so I rubbed the spot between my eyebrows and forehead, trying to think clearly. What could he possibly want to say to me at this time? I had already told him that he was my enemy and we weren’t on close speaking terms to be calling each other on the phone. I previously didn’t delete his number from my phone, but I never thought that I would be receiving a phone call from him at a time like this. I was scared and my heart beat faster.

Finally, when the phone rang for the fourth time, I picked up the call saying, “I think we no longer have any reason to be speaking to each other again,” but then I heard a different man’s voice replying, “Hello. Is this Ms. Elise? I’m very sorry to be disturbing you like this, but it is quite an urgent situation. I’m the owner of the Carmine Dahlia wine bar in Loveland and I have a young adult male customer passed out at our bar. He’s unconscious, but very feverish and I don’t know who else to call. There is no identification card on this customer. The bartender told me that he muttered your name a few times before passing out and I looked through his phone’s emergency contacts and your number was the only one that I found. I’m trying to close up the bar and I was wondering if you would be able to come pick him up soon if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” I thought about what I should do. Normally, wouldn’t he have been sent to the hospital or perhaps the owner could have called the police? I was thinking that in the worst case scenario, his fever could be life-threatening if he continued to remain unconscious without getting medical help. What if he became delirious and unable to control his Evol? Would other people around him be in danger? Why was he at the bar alone? Could there be anyone else from Black Swan lurking around him? After a little more deliberation, I told the bar owner, “I think I can be there in 30 minutes. Please keep an eye on him for me until I arrive.”

           When I arrived at the bar, Ares had been moved to a couch and was rolled over on his left side. He was still unconscious, but I could see that he was breathing fine. Seeing him drunk and passed out made me feel incredibly pissed. I paid the bar owner money, asking him and the bartender to please carry Ares into the taxi cab. There was no way that I would have been able to manage that alone. Then, I told the taxi cab driver to take me back to my apartment building and paid the driver more money as well so that he could help me carry Ares into the elevator up to my apartment floor.

Finally back inside my apartment, I carried Ares over to my bed and placed him on his left side. Thankfully, I had just changed the sheets on my bed earlier tonight so they were still new. I felt his forehead and placed a thermometer under his tongue. The thermometer’s reading was 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit. He was sweating so much. I got a cold ice pack wrapped in a wet face towel to place on his forehead. Then, I dug through a box in my closet, found one of my father’s old shirts that I hadn’t donated, and placed it on the bed. I said, “Don’t get any weird ideas tomorrow. I’m just trying to help bring your fever down.” I unbuttoned Ares’s white dress shirt, wiped all of the sweat from his face and upper body, and changed him into my father’s old shirt. I got a glass of water from the kitchen and 2 acetaminophen tablets. I didn’t have any better idea to wake him up so I decided to do what I had been itching to do earlier ever since I saw him lying down passed out and feverish at the bar. I slapped him hard enough on one cheek to wake him up so that I could get him to swallow the water and the pills. Thankfully, Ares opened his eyes for me to give him the medication properly. I stared straight into his eyes while placing the pills into his mouth without looking away because I couldn’t afford to show him any fear. After swallowing the medication, he fell asleep. I thought that with his excellent memory and intelligence, he still might remember that slap tomorrow and the fact that I undressed him. It was already too late and I was too tired to worry any longer.

I took out a futon and placed it in my bedroom. I monitored him for an hour, making sure that his fever had improved and then fell asleep on my futon. I had to go to work in the morning so I quickly cooked a small pot of porridge with ground pork and green onions. Then, I also made some rice for my lunch with some steamed egg and tomato, a little bit of stir fry chicken, and bok choy. I put a cup of warm tea and a glass of water with a bottle of acetaminophen tablets on the kitchen table and quickly wrote a sticky note, which read: “Eat the porridge for breakfast and take the medication. There is a cold pitcher of water in the fridge and some dishes I made for lunch.”

I came back home from work and I felt frustrated so I wanted to clean the apartment before starting dinner. Ares was sitting on the couch in the living room when I arrived home and it looked like he had been waiting for me. I wasn’t in the mood to talk much yet so I told him, “I need to clean and make dinner first. Whatever you have to say to me will have to wait until later. I paid for the taxi cab ride to come pick you up and bring you here to the apartment last night so please help me clean my apartment and prepare dinner. Fortunately, you had already paid for your drinks at the bar beforehand so it’s just the cost of the taxi ride. I’ll consider it even if you help me today and you won’t owe me anymore. Vacuum and dust the living room and help me make a spinach soup for dinner.”

Ares helped me clean like I asked him to and I made a quick dinner consisting of stir fry chicken with mixed veggies and white rice. Then, I cleaned the kitchen counter and was about to start doing the dishes, but he already moved over to the sink and grabbed the dishwashing gloves away from me. With nothing else to do, I brewed a pot of tea for the both of us and went to sit on the living room couch. Ares sat down on a couch opposite from me and I grabbed the opportunity to speak first, saying “Thank you for your help earlier. More importantly, what were you doing or thinking that you got so drunk and passed out? You didn’t even know that you were running a fever? You drank so heavily even though you were sick. What if you did something while you were drunk and lost control of your Evol?” I didn’t know why I was so heated and felt like lecturing him.

He said, “That is my own matter. It does not concern you.” Then I replied, “Oh really? Then why have I been having recurring dreams in the past week about you drinking alone in another place in some dark corner while listening to some heartbroken song on your phone? If it was Lucien, he would have told me if he missed me. If it was Lucien, he wouldn’t be hiding from me and trying to keep everything to himself. That’s nothing like the Lucien I know. That’s a man who can’t even pull himself together and would rather suffer alone in silence. That’s not love. If you love someone, you should be able to trust them enough to let them know if you’re feeling sad, lonely, scared…everything. I can’t love someone who loves me half-heartedly and won’t even communicate with me properly.”

Ares walked over to the kitchen and didn’t say anything. I got up and followed after him into the kitchen, wanting to hear a proper explanation. Then, he suddenly pushed me against the kitchen wall, slipped one hand under the bottom left corner of my shirt, and caressed the area on my side slightly above my hip. Next, Ares lowered his head with his warm breath over my shoulder, bit the area between my neck and shoulder close to where my bra strap runs across my shoulder, and licked it slightly. He said, “The color on your face when you’re so angry looks ravishing too.” I was upset that I had let him be way too forward with me and intended to raise my hand to slap him across the cheek (I felt that he very much deserved this slap now), but he moved quicker than me, grabbed my hand, and kissed the top of it. Ares turned towards the door and walked away saying goodbye to me as he left. I locked the door after he left.

My thoughts were all heated, stormy, and jumbled in a mess. I tossed and turned that night in bed, unable to sleep so I got up and walked over to look outside my window. There was a full moon tonight and the night was beautiful and cold, almost like any other night this month. I walked over to my piano and started playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata over and over again with dedicated fervor before feeling sleepy enough to return to bed.

My alarm rang and I woke up, realizing that the events of the past 2 days were all just one night’s dream.

[maraudersandlily20]

A Nightmare

It was cold. The air was heavy and the sky was black. The small village on the edge of the wood was silent, almost as if it were holding its breath.

It was. Lurking in the shadows, hiding behind trunks, were creatures of volatile and dangerous nature. The whispers of their arrival had haunted the village all day. The small town folk who thought they only existed in campfire tales were suddenly face with the reality that they were very real.

It had been a wizard who warned them. The only one living in the area. He pleaded for them to flee, to get to safety, but they weren’t sure if they should believe him. When he vanished into thin air, they paid a little more attention. They heard the howls, they felt the chill.

Remus was sitting by the fire, holing Ellison's hand tightly in his own. Ellison was only a few years younger, but Remus cared for him greatly.

He had been left at the Fairchild’s while his mother was being treated and his father was on business. They didn’t want him alone in their home, so they sent him off. It was something they would regret for the rest of their lives.

Remus knew about magic. He had started showing talent with spells last year, when he was nine, and so his parents began teaching him about the magical world, how he fit into it. And while a lot of the knowledge was exciting, they had to warn him against the darkness that he could face as well. They warned him of dark wizards and dangerous magical creatures, one of those being werewolves.

The stories of werewolves scared him the most. The fact that any one with a pulse could turn frightened him greatly. But, his parents tried to comfort him by saying that it would never happen, he would never have to deal with that situation.

But they were wrong. Here he sat, holding his best friend’s hand, listening with strained ears as the other villages tried to be as silent as possible.

Then the screaming started. It started from the north of the village. The Fairchild’s shared a terrified look before they grabbed the closest things to weapons they hand in their houses and charged out. It would be the last time Remus or Ellison would ever see them. They waited, knuckles white from the pressure of holding on to each other.

The door slammed opened and a man, if you could call him that, stood with eyes red as blood. If there was ever a man who looked like a wolf, it was him. Remus felt his blood run cold as he stared at him. He knew this man. He knew exactly who he was.

Fenrir Greyback. One of the major pack leaders that his father hated. His father hunted werewolves, spoke against them publicly. His work made Remus feel slightly secure in his life, but his father wasn’t there. It was only Remus, his muggle friend, and a werewolf.

“There he is.” the raspy voice said. Fenrir smiled, showing off a pair of fangs that glistened in the firelight. “I’ve been looking for you, little Lupin. What are the chances that we would discover you were hiding in this little town.” Remus stood, standing protectively in front of Ellison. He was terrified, but was trying to be brave. Ellison clung to him desperately.

“You know, I almost wish that Lupin didn’t have a child. We would have gone after his beautiful wife if you didn’t exist, little one. But it’s just too easy. He leaves you alone, ours for the taking, and expects us not to come find you. However, we werewolves are pretty persistent. And I knew we’d get to you eventually.”

Remus swallowed hard, trying to fight the tears gathering in his eyes. Fenrir looked at him, almost admiringly. “You have courage, little Lupin. I respect you for that. But, I’m afraid that courage won’t save you. At least, not today. I hope you survive, I really do. I think you’d make an interesting addition to our pack.” And then he lunged.

Remus couldn’t tell if it was him or Ellison screaming, but it didn’t matter. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as a pair of teeth sunk in. And then his body was on fire. Every inch of his skin was burning as if it was being scorched. Then, it felt like it was slowly being torn apart. Remus screamed. His entire body was seizing in pain and all he wanted was for it to stop.

And then it did. As quickly as the pain had come, it disappeared. But Remus didn’t feel the same. He felt heightened, sensitive. The light hurt his eyes and the noise hurt his ears. He quivered, the feel of his skin making him twitch.

“Remus?” A quiet voice came into his focus.

His head snapped up, making Ellison wince. Remus knew, in some part of his brain that he knew this person. But he couldn’t quite make sense of the feeling. It didn’t exactly belong. He cocked his head to one side, studying the human creature, and then he heard the race of his pulse and snarled. A dark chuckle sounded behind him but Remus paid no mind. He twitched, calculating the best way to lunge.

“Tell your father, little Lupin, that our debts are repaid.” Fenrir said before disappearing out of the front door. Remus snarled, looking at his prey deliriously. Ellison shrunk back in fear, holding his hands up in a pleading gesture.

“Remus.” He whispered, trying to get his friend to recognize him. It did nothing. The eyes that just moments before had been a warm, chocolate brown were now a deep blood red. And they didn’t belong to Remus anymore. They belonged to the wolf. He smiled, his newly grown fangs gleaming in the fire light, and then he simply lunged.

“NO!” Remus bolted upright, cold sweat dripping down his face as he saw images flash in his mind from that night. The worst night of his life. He gasped, clutching at his chest as he attempted to calm his breathing. He thrashed around before freeing himself from the bedsheets and landing on the floor hard. He paid no mind to the sleeping figure on the other side of the bed who was barely stirring. Remus shook his head, desperately trying to forget. He stood and staggered his way into the dark kitchen. He knew, if he looked in the mirror, his eyes would be red. It was an unfortunate addition to his curse. The redness only came back when Remus thought about human blood. It stimulated the feral side of his mind that usually remained dormant.

He stood in front of the sink, grasping the sides as if they were the only thing keeping him grounded. He couldn’t move, fearing the memories that were plaguing his thoughts. He hated it. He hated what he was and who had made him that way and what they had allowed him to do.

When the tears came, he didn’t stop them. He just let them come. Out of frustration, he slammed his hand against his forehead over and over. He just wanted the memories to be gone, to have a moment of peace, to not have to think about what he was or what he had done. He hated it. He just wanted it to stop.

“Remus?” A quiet voice sounded behind him. Remus shut his eyes. He didn’t want to talk right now. He didn’t even turn around.

“I’m alright, Sirius. Just go to bed.”

Sirius didn’t listen, but he never did. He walked toward his boyfriend, crossing his arms over his bare chest and leaned against the counter right beside Remus. “I’m not going anywhere, Remus. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing, really. Just… A bad dream. I’ll be fine, just go back to bed.”

This was rather unconvincing and Sirius raised his eyebrows at the attempt. After a moment, Remus still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Remus, why won’t you look at me?”

A shuddering breath left his shoulders before he opened his eyes to look at Sirius. His irises, normally dark brown, were blood red, though it appeared they were slowly returning to their normal color. Sirius was surprised. He knew what that meant.

“What… what happened?”

Remus wiped his nose with his arm and focused once more on the porcelain of the sink. “I had a bad dream, I told you.”

“Not good enough.”

“Sirius, let it go.”

“I won’t,” Sirius retorted. “Whatever happened made you like this, and I’m not going anywhere or changing any subject until you talk about it.”

Remus’ movement was so quick it startled Sirius. He turned to face his boyfriend, backed him up suddenly against the fridge, placing an arm against this throat. Sirius’ eyes widened in shock at the threatening move. He swallowed hard. Remus rarely showed this kind of anger toward Sirius, but he was still gripped by the dreams and the memories. He stared into Sirius’ eyes, the look there hardening. Sirius tried to breath normally, so as not to agitate him. He raised both hands in surrender. After a second with Remus’ labored, angry breath blowing in Sirius’ face, he reiterated and said “Let. It. Go.”

Sirius nodded. Remus released him and turned away, stalking off toward the living room. Silently, Sirius followed him, though he knew it wasn’t what his boyfriend wanted. It was what he needed. He watched him head to the window, shoulders stiff, before sitting on the sill and resting his head against the glass.The silence in the room was overwhelming, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to say anything, not when Remus was this angry. So he waited, hoping things would calm down. When his shoulders loosened, Sirius finally ventured into the room.

“Remus?” He tried again. “What’s going on?”

Nothing. The silence was thick with unanswered questions, but finally, not moving his head, Remus opened his mouth. “Tomorrow is the anniversary.”

“Anniversary of what?”

A heavy sight left his lips. “The anniversary of the day I got turned.”

Sirius made a noise of understanding before heading to the window, resting his back against the wall. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Not really.”

“Will you anyway?”

Remus shot him a glare. Seeing that his boyfriend wasn’t going to relent, he sighed. “I was ten. My father, the acclaimed Lyall Lupin, had made some very public remarks about werewolves and their… evil nature. He got a lot of recognition for his work against them, and the story was gathering some steam. His prejudice against werewolves was evident. It angered some. Like Fenrir Greyback.”

“The death eater?” Remus nodded.

“He hated my father and wanted revenge. There were documented threats against my family for weeks. Unknown people following my parents everywhere they went. No one did anything. But Fenrir wasn’t having much success in the terms of revenge. And then, he found out that I existed and made it his goal to get to me. I didn’t know that, of course. Neither did my father. While my mother was in the hospital, he went away on business and left me in a small town with my friend Ellison Fairchild. The… the wolves attacked and almost everyone in that town died. Fenrir found me, turned me, and left me to follow.”

Sirius was stunned. He hadn’t known the exact details of what had happened to Remus, but this was a nightmare made real. He couldn’t imagine how horrible it was.

“Fenrir did it to make my father understand. To have to look at his beloved child and see the monster he had become. The killer. The wolf. And it worked. After what happened in that village, when they found me, I was barely recognizable. When I finally gained some sense, some control, the damage had already been done. What I had done in that village…” Remus shook his head, his despair evident. “It changed everything. My father could barely even look at me. I had become the exact thing he preached against. Lyall Lupin suddenly became the father to a monster. We went under ground, the three of us. My father quit his job, my mother could no longer afford medication, and every month I turned into a savage creature that had to be chained down so it wouldn’t attack people without reason.” Remus picked his head up from the glass, staring down into the darkened street, his eyes clouded over with memories from his childhood. “There was nothing anyone could do.”

Sirius placed a reassuring hand on Remus’ hand, but his boyfriend did not look at him. “Remus, it’s okay.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not. It’s not okay Sirius. I became everything I never wanted to be. I became the thing my father hated most. He couldn’t look me in the eyes. In response to that, I broke or covered every mirror in the house. It tore my family apart. Everything was ruined. All because of what I was. And that’s not okay.”

Remus looked over at his boyfriend, tears in his eyes. “I killed him, Sirius. I killed him without a thought or a feeling of remorse. He was my friend, but I couldn’t stop myself. My dad found his body, practically torn to shreds. And I was hardly recognizable. Covered and blood, shaking. It was too late. I was turned. And I killed him.” He ran his hands through his hair before crossing them securely over his chest, staring once more out of the window. And every year, around this time I close my eyes and I see him. I see that look of terror in his eyes and a part of me dies.”

“Why did you never tell me?” Sirius whispered, his heart aching for the boy he loved.

“How could I? You knew what I was, you knew what I was capable of. But if I put it into words, it made it real. It made everything I had ever done, every action that I ever committed unwillingly real. It would make me the monster I always tried to hide from.”

“Yeah, but Remus, why would you keep this locked up for so long? We’re in a relationship, we’re supposed to be in this thing together, share everything, even the hard parts. This is a hard part.” He sighed in exasperation. “I just… I wish you would have told me.”

He shrugged in reply. “I’ve never told anyone. Ignoring it makes it feel… easier.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t easy Remus. And holding it in has obviously made things worse. You should have said something before this. So we could work through it together. We’ve done that with so much of my past. I just want to be able to do the same with you.”

Remus couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Slowly, he sank to the ground, balling himself up. Sirius followed.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, Sirius. I don’t know what to do. How to be this. I’m so tired of… being me. I can’t,” he whimpered and Siris wrapped his arms around his boyfriend.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Remus. I’m here. I promise. I promise, I’m here.”

And he just held him. The two let themselves feel the brokenness of their lives and their relationship encircle them. It was hard and scary, but they were together. And that’s what mattered.

[ghost-chance]

A New Lease on Life 2: Death Was Only the Beginning

A quick note regarding dialogue and odd words: Symbols at the end of a word or statement mark vocabulary terms or references defined at the end. If a word is followed by a dash or ellipses, it's translated or defined at the end of the chapter. I try to define most of the stuff that's really odd, heavily altered due to pronunciation, and local slang that non-local readers might not pick up. If you see a - or ~ at the end of a SENTENCE, it means the sentence or paragraph has been 'explained' in the same way; this will become necessary once Amber starts letting her oddities (and going through crisis-induced 'relapse' speech which is heavily brogued) but the relapses aren't really a frequent occurrence until the end of Part I.

This chapter dedicated to Volunteers. You put your life on hold to bring life to others, all without any thought of compensation. My old community is one of countless forever changed by volunteers, from search and rescue to donations to rebuilding. Thank you…our debt to you can never be repaid enough. Also dedicated to the real-life inspiration for 'Aaron,' whom I owe my very life to.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS! Including but not limited to Tornadoes, Severe weather, Town destroyed by tornadoes and severe weather, shock, graphic imagery, corpses, violent death, mentions of religion.

Suggested Listening: Linkin Park "Iridescent"          

2: Death Was Only the Beginning                  

             Willsdale, Missouri, Sunday May 8th, 2011          

The sound of violent retching woke Amber with a start; sometime during the night she'd apparently fallen off the sofa and now lay sprawled on the carpet in a pile. As sleepy disorientation faded into exhausted annoyance, she glanced off to her right. Sure enough, the bathroom door hung wide open spilling bright light out into the cramped hallway. "Good thing ya got short hair, Willis," she muttered, crawling back on the lumpy sofa. "I ain't gotta feel guilty 'bout not holdin' it back for ya."

"Fuck you, O'Brien—" her friend's guttural retort was interrupted by another round of heaving.

"I told ya that whisky'd kill ya," she reminded matter-of-factly as she swiped a long brown braid back over her shoulder. "Yer usual beer's water compared to Scotch whisky; smells like goat piss, too." Clutching her stiff back, she stumbled off the sofa and limped into the tiny kitchen seeking coffee. A note tacked to the fridge told her their host had already headed to work, and the bitter perfume of coffee filled the dog-scented air. As she dug through the cabinet for a mug a tiny, half-blind and completely neurotic black and tan Chihuahua danced at the back door, growling and barking at her. "Quiet, Nina—Uncle Aaron's hungover." Not surprisingly the dog simply snapped and growled again, then scattered when Amber came to open the back door.

"Let the damn thing out!" Aaron groaned into the toilet. "My head's KILLING ME!"

"Again, not my fault - I tried'a warn ya." Since Nina wouldn't willingly come within several yards of anyone but Ma Willis, Amber propped the back door open and returned to the coffee maker, grinning when the neurotic dog rocketed out the back door like the vet was on her heels. The door shut and her mug set up, she took a cup of water and a bottle of Mtn Dew in for Aaron. "Why on Earth your cousin thought gettin' you drunk was a GOOD idea, I'll never know."

"Oh, come'ere you sweet, beautiful bitch!" Aaron rasped; knowing he didn't mean her, Amber shoved the soda at him and left, laughing under her breath. Some things never changed, and his Mtn Dew addiction was among those things. So too, she contemplated with a crooked grin, was the way the three best friends got along by harassing one another.

The Terrible Trio started with Amber O'Brien, only daughter of a Scottish immigrant and completely unable to fit in with the locals even after she took on their twang. It quickly became a duo with the inclusion of Mercy Ross, a bristly beauty with an affinity for cows and a horrible homelife. Then in High School the two odd friends met Aaron Willis - a son of a local and the very definition of a Country Bumpkin. Years went by and the three friends only grew closer, grew more obnoxious toward one another, and grew into a fixture in town. Even after Aaron's family left Willsdale for nearby Glenville after Graduation, they still kept close contact until he moved into a double-wide trailer near Amber's home.

Supposedly Aaron Willis was completely disinterested in love, sex, and the like - he'd never shown any interest in anyone and spent years oblivious to Amber's puppy love crush on him - but deep in her heart Amber was sure he'd never be attracted to her even if he weren't apparently asexual. That ship, after all, had long sailed...she wasn't the sort to pine after someone who couldn't return her feelings and it became clear in time that they would have been horribly suited. Still, even if romance was an option, Amber was sure she wasn't Aaron's 'type' - she was plain, barely 5'3, and morbidly overweight. Her brown hair started going grey in her teen years—supposedly a hereditary thing—and she couldn't walk a straight line if she was paid to. Love had never been in the cards for her, and ever since she was hit by a van during college, neither had meaningful work.

'God almighty, quitcher whinin' O'Brine!'- she reminded herself fiercely. 'I'm alive, I'm not dyin' in an RCF, I've gotta roof over my head, food in my cabinets, an' two kickarse friends. Things could be so much worse than monthly booty calls, sexual frustration, an' an end-table ass.' Mid-rant Aaron collapsed at the rickety wooden table, burying his head in his arms.

"Please tell me Ma left donuts," he mumbled.

"Nope, just pizza," she grinned, poking his springy blond curls. "Your favorite…but it's got pickles on it."

"Sacrilege!" he spat rushing to the fridge. "She didn't—she wouldn't!" A moment later he slanted a suspicious glare at her over the rims of his glasses, his off-kilter blue eyes narrowed. "Quit pickin' on the hungover person. Pickles on pizza…you need yer head checked."

"We a'ready know that, Sugar," she grinned, snagging an éclair from the box. "Thanks for the YouTube footage, by the way: 'Drunkard milks bull,' sure to be a hit."

"I WHAT?!" he squawked. "Oh, HELL NAW! You post that an' I'll piss in your garden! On your roses!" The two friends bickered good-naturedly for the rest of the morning, never realizing that their world had changed forever.

Hours later Amber's beat up Red Civic pulled up to an empty driveway…a driveway with no standing building behind it.

Once Aaron's hangover had abated they'd returned to Willsdale, blasting Quiet Riot and Black Sabbath the whole way. As they crept over the city limits, though, the now silent car deafened the occupants stunned by their surroundings. It wasn't quite sinking in…how could so much have happened in one weekend?

The once-bustling small town was nearly gone, and what was left in its place could only be described as a war zone. Vacant cars lay crumpled along the road between downed utility poles. Fallen, splintered trees littered the landscape. There was debris everywhere—hanging in trees, pinned under fallen structures, blowing along the ground—Amber never even noticed tears streaming from her eyes or murmured reassurances from Aaron. Every structure they passed was demolished, every landmark they knew was erased. The power station, the cemetery, the house always surrounded by suicidal free-range guinea hens...all that remained was rubble-strewn dirt and asphalt. She knew what she'd find there, and she hated to see it, but before she knew it, she'd pulled into her own driveway.

Her house, the tiny shotgun shack she'd lived in for years, was reduced to a pile of timber and siding, her struggling garden buried under a ton of shattered brick and shingle.

"Amber," Aaron called repeatedly as she wandered from her car to what was once the front step. "Amber, wait!" She shook her head deliriously as she dug frantically through the debris pile over the porch; in her shock-addled mind, all she could think of was getting inside and curling up on the sagging plaid couch. It never even registered that not only was the sofa probably ruined, the house itself was no longer standing. Cursing, Aaron scrambled over fallen timber and fractured supports to tear Amber away from the ruins.

"No!" she cried frantically, fighting to get free. "It's my home! I've gotta—"

"AMBER!" he shouted, framing her face in callused hands. "Amber, it's gone! You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep this up!" Memories flashed before her eyes, blocking out the familiar blue eyes staring into her own. Without warning, dry, chapped lips met hers fiercely as strong arms held her like she was about to be ripped out of them. When he finally let go, she buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing brokenly as they slid to the sodden ground. As if mocking them, the clouds broke open anew; thunder rolled, lightning flashed, and torrents of rain mingled with hopeless tears.

             Sunday, May 15th, 2011          

Over a week later, Amber and Aaron were still sheltered at City Hall with countless other refugees. Neither had a home to go to, now, and Aaron wasn't able to get word out to his mother with the phone lines and cell towers down. Though he didn't understand, Amber wouldn't contact her family - her mother and father, or even the cherished and gruff grandparent she affectionately called "Gran'Da," insisting it was pointless. With every tearful story and gut-wrenching news report on the radio, the truth became clearer. The night after they drove up to visit his mother an EF 5 tornado spawned outside of town. By the time it fizzled out, it had destroyed much of the town, many of the outlying farms and homes, and left hundreds dead or homeless. Amber's home was gone, Aaron's home was gone, and no one could get ahold of Mercy Ross; Aaron worried what this might mean, and heaved a weary sigh.

Search and rescue teams descended on the ruined town with a vengeance early on, working their way through it with military precision. Everywhere, codes had been spray painted on crumbled structures and vehicles. How many survivors, how many dead, what hazards were present…just overnight, Amber's life had become an endless parade of neon x's, scribbled codes, and body bags, interspersed with canned soup and crying children. Every hour of every day it rained more and more, and Amber sat in a quiet corner staring blankly at the wall.

Aaron Willis watched her forlornly as he helped hand out bottled water. She'd been afraid of storms longer than he'd known her and he was used to witnessing anxiety attacks over the smallest rainstorm. Now, though, now she seemed almost empty and never spoke. Something was dreadfully wrong with his friend, but he had no idea what he could do. It was heart-rending to see her so dull and lifeless. Worst of all, he'd kissed her—finally given in to his years-old hidden crush and kissed her—but for whatever reason, she didn't realize the significance. She probably thought he was just trying to comfort her, he reasoned darkly, absent-mindedly crushing an empty bottle into nothing. Frustrated and helpless, he threw himself into making himself useful in any way he could and making call after call that never went through. When the rain finally let up that afternoon, unbeknownst to the rest, Amber left her corner and slipped away.

At first, she just wandered aimlessly, hopelessly lost in the town she'd spent her whole life in but following some lure only she saw. Everything was changed, everything was gone, but she felt nothing at all. Surely she should be feeling something, she thought blandly as she walked past a bloodstained, crumpled truck wrapped around a tree. Surely the horrors around her and the circling vultures should be jarring at the very least.

A battered wooden sign came into view as she crested the hill. Though most of the letters had been stripped off by rain and grit and the building behind was half-toppled, she knew without a doubt where she was. After all, she spent the last several years scrubbing the school from top to bottom every weeknight; she'd know it with her eyes closed. She drifted through the shattered glass doors in a daze, scanning the trashed hallways without notice. Her feet led her to the library and a familiar shelf she'd spent her teen years reading top to bottom. Debris was brushed aside halfheartedly until she found her target.

Dark of the Moon. It was a poetry volume long out of print and rarely found outside of libraries, and while she was a student, the book spent more time in her backpack than on its shelf. Such a shame for such a wondrous book to be lost forever, she thought hollowly as she gently leafed through now fragile pages.

Movement out the window caught her eye; thunder rolled, clouds menaced and a jagged grey tear loomed overhead. Off to the southwest was the monster she'd feared most of her life, and it was heading her way. The numb woman watched the horizon in disinterest, uncaring of the strange disembodied ticking sound or the sudden feeling of calm that washed over her. Rain pelted the cracked glass windows and wind howled, kicking up clouds of debris from the already battered landscape. A deafening, grinding roar like a fork in a disposal shattered the air as the tornado drew nearer. Amber stared it down never flinching as her ears ached from the pressure.

Perhaps...perhaps this was her only choice - the only way she'd ever find peace. If she was in her right mind, she would be horrified by the thought...but she wasn't in her right mind at all. That foul monster stole her home, stole her town, stole her very life, but there was one thing it would never steal…

Heedless of the broken glass underfoot she dropped to her scarred, aching knees. Head bowed, she prayed—prayed for the safety of her friends and family, prayed for the souls of those touched by the tornadoes' destruction, and prayed for peace in the afterlife. The window exploded inward and shattered glass rained over her head but her only regret was that she'd never found a love worth living for.

A bedraggled team searched the school for survivors. "HEY!" shouted the tall black man as he clambered toward the woman kneeling before the shattered windows. He checked Amber's neck but recoiled at the bloody wound at her forehead; the body was long grown stiff and she had no pulse. "Why on earth did you come here?" he wondered aloud. "Why didn't you seek shelter?"

A block of cloudy green glass lay nearby, the corner stained with blood - a glass brick. Her cold corpse told a vile story of a woman in shock who was taken by surprise and died from head injury, and showed plainly what happened when humans pitted themselves against nature. At least, the man considered with a grimace, it was likely quick - she died on her knees, possibly praying for her life, but at least she didn't suffer.

His brown-haired companion noticed the book cradled in her arms and wrenched it free, wincing at the way the body fell to the floor from the motion. The book's title wasn't ringing any bells. "It's a shame," the first-responder remarked as they eased the stiff body into a black bag and zipped it closed. Someone would come by later on and cart her to the morgue with the storms' other casualties for identification. "This book clearly meant something to her, though - she thought it was worth dying for. It'd be a pity to leave it behind when the building will just wind up razed." Moments later the team had moved on, a neon orange code on the tiles of the front entryway Amber's only memorial.

             A vast, dark place somewhere beyond Time

            'Wha…where am I?' Amber thought distractedly as she scanned her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was a book…what book? Oh, right; Dark of the Moon, that poetry anthology that she'd coveted for years. Why did she covet it, though? Was it not hers? No matter how she tried, the details of her life were slipping away like grains of sand through her fingers.  

   She existed in a vast expanse of bleak, black nothingness, her only company the incessant ticking of a legion of unseen clocks. How did she get here? She couldn't recall—everything was a blur! Confused, she wracked her brain for answers that continued to evade her. In a deeply engrained stress habit, she reached to pull one of her twin braids over her shoulder, intent on tugging at the loose tuft at the end.  

   Nothing happened. Though she knew she'd moved and her brain had sent the proper signals, she had no braids—no hands—no body! 'What's happened to me?!' she thought frantically. 'Did I…no, it can't be…I didn't…die…?' She trailed off, her uncertainty solidifying into begrudging realization. 'I'm dead. I'm farkin' dead. Well, this sucks. But if I'm dead, why'm I so alone? This place is dead even for the Afterlife. Unless…' Not for the first time, she wondered if her beliefs hadn't been rightly placed. If there was no God, no Heaven or Hell, then where was she? Of course, she reasoned, if that was true, why was she even conscious that she existed? Without a body of her own, how could she exist?

Unbidden, familiar words filled her memory in between ticks and tocks.

This is the vestibule to Hell, where those who would make no choices in life are condemned. Neither warm nor cold, believers nor blasphemers—you see them in the hills. They chase a banner they will never catch.

'Of course,' she realized bitterly. 'Inferno—Niven and Pournelle's take on Dante's Divine Comedy. I read that danged book to tatters, an' it never e'en occurred to me. I must be in the vestibule in a lil' bronze jar. Great….at least my fat arse finally fits in a 'one size fits all' container.'* But if I'm in a jar, that means I can get out!' Focusing with all her strength, she repeated the phrase that had been Allen Carpenter's saving grace. 'Fer the love'a God, get me out'a here!'  

   If she hadn't been stuck in a little bronze jar in Hell, she'd have heard crickets; instead, she only heard the maddening ticking sounds. Amber winced, going over the phrase again in case she'd misspoken; maybe her would-be rescuer had passed her by over rudeness? 'Um…please?'  

   Her tiny empty world was sucked into oblivion as she hoped against hope that she wouldn't wake up at the feet of Benito Mussolini.** 

Translations

- "Quitcher whinin' O'Brine!" - 'Quit your whining, O'Brien!'

Up next: "One Life Ends, Another Begins"

                     Notes:        

*Amber calling herself fat is a self-defense mechanism—an unhealthy one. It's always much easier to call yourself fat and insult your own behind, for example, than to hear someone say the same thing about you. Remember, real beauty isn't dependent on your waist, your hips, your butt, or any other impermanent BS like that.

**Waking up at the feet of Benito Mussolini. This is a reference to Niven and Pournelle's book Inferno. When Carpenter found himself out of his little brass bottle, he woke up at Benito's feet staring at his own navel, convinced it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. You really should read the book regardless of that scene—it's a hoot!

[lilixloveswriting]

Prompt: Delirium

Summary: Peter decides Monster is a good replacement for his ADHD meds.

Characters: Peter Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Charles Xavier, Jubilation Lee (mentioned), Wanda Maximoff (mentioned)

TW: angst, hallucinations sort of? Caffeine overdose

Word Count: 2,031

Peter tossed his fifth energy drink in the trash can, barely making it in the basket. He swiftly popped open another, taking a swig. He knew his stomach would hate him for it later, but it was hard staying up for 48 hours straight and the caffeine helped him to focus. And god, did Peter need to focus. 

His grades were slipping. Badly. The professor had informed him that if he couldn’t get them up in two weeks, then they’d have to call his mom. Peter, being Peter, put everything off, and now it was 2 am on the Friday of the second week and he was panicking. He’d locked himself up in his room for the past two days, only emerging to sneak Jubilee’s energy drinks from the fridge. Now he was staring down at a blank piece of paper, trying to figure out how to write two five-paragraph essays before 8 am. 

He looked at the clock. 2:03 am.

A groan escaped his lips. Time seemed to move so slowly when he was doing school work, and yet somehow he still didn’t have enough. Peter picked up his pencil, fully intending to write at least a few words, but as soon as the lead touched the paper, his letters looked though they’d been through an earthquake. The speed at which his hands were shaking made him feel as though he was vibrating. It made him feel sick, but he took another sip. He had to get his grades up, no matter what. Or at least convince the professor not to call his mother. She had enough to worry about, not including Peter’s grades.

Peter’s mom was always concerned about him; whether or not he was eating enough, if he was getting enough sunlight, the state of his mental health. She dedicated her entire life to Peter and his sister, and boy, he did not make it easy for her. He knew this, and he didn’t want to make her worry about him now that he was out of the house. It wasn’t fair.

But concentrating was so. Hard. The surplus of caffeine in his system was the only thing keeping him from getting distracted, but that didn’t mean he was thinking clearly. He was tired, oh so tired, and it didn’t help that he’d run out of his meds two days ago. His eyes felt like they would slam shut if he didn’t hold them wide open all the time. Peter bounced his leg to keep himself awake, this, in turn, caused pretty much everything in his room to vibrate and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d burned a hole in the carpet with his shoe. He just hoped he wasn’t bothering any of the other students.

Peter lifted his pencil from the paper. “According to.”

Lovely.

He looked at the clock again. 2:14 am

Peter sighed loudly, throwing his pencil down. Maybe he just needed something to eat. Yeah, that was it.

He stood up quickly, and the entire world spun. The ground tilted under his feet and he stumbled back into his chair. He briefly saw the ceiling fan spinning and wondered when he had turned it on before his head hit the floor.

When Peter came to, he had no idea where he was. The room was bright, the glow searing pain into his eyes. He couldn’t move a muscle, feeling as though he was chained down by bricks, but at the same time, he felt light, like he was floating. 

A feminine voice rang in his ears. It was soft and gentle, a bit concerned, maybe. His eyes rolled around in his skull, searching for the owner.

“Wanda…?” Peter mumbled, his eyelids fluttering rapidly. The muttering that he had been hearing stopped, replaced by soft footsteps. 

“Good morning, Peter.” A different voice said. Peter recognized it, but he just couldn’t place who it was. Where was he?

Peter didn’t respond, unable to make his mouth move.

“Can you hear me?” The voice asked, and Peter twitched his nose, eyes still shut.

The next thing he knew, he was being blinded by what he just assumed was the sun; he couldn’t think of anything else that would be that bright.

“Your pupils are responding well.” Peter heard clattering before the voice spoke again. “I can’t tell if you’re cognitively responsive or not, but on the off chance that you are, your dopamine levels are extremely low.” Something cold ran over his head and he shivered, “No fever, that’s good.”

He continued to talk, but Peter couldn’t comprehend any of it. He still didn’t know who was talking to him, or where he was, and he felt as though he was spinning on a carousel. So in other words, he felt sick.

“Stop…” He mumbled out.

The voice laughed a little. “Stop talking? You sound like Charles. Who I should call, by the way. Maybe he can do something about the state that you’re in.” 

Peter pinched his eyebrows. He felt as though his consciousness was floating around in his mind, unable to ground itself to anything.

“Where…?” He tried to form a sentence, but nothing was working.

“Where is what, Peter?”

This was all too surreal. The floaty feeling, the blinding light, the disembodied voice. He must be dead. He must have overdosed on caffeine or something. How stupid he was...this would kill his mother. “Where...Wanda…”

“I’ll be right back, alright?” The voice said, slowly fading away.

Flying, spinning, tumbling through empty space. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t call for help. It was dark and cold, just like how it felt before. Except for this time, he was alone. All alone, all alone.

~~~

Peter slowly opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. It was different this time, not so bright, just fuzzy. He rolled his eyes, desperately trying to get them to focus. 

“I’ve got something.” More voices. It wasn’t so echoey anymore, just British.

British? The professor!

Peter blinked rapidly and rolled onto his side, still unseeing. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t do that to his mother.

“Die…” He breathed shutting his eyes closed again, squeezing them this time. “Don’t…! Can’t…”

“Peter.” 

No. The ringing. It was like he was in a tunnel again. He had to get out. He had to. He just...needed something. Something to ground himself. Something to pull him back.

“Peter!”

Peter inhaled sharply, his eyes flew open and his body went shooting upwards. He screamed and shook, his eyes still unfocused, but he was here. He could feel.

“There you are, there you are.” The voice came again, much clearer this time. Peter looked to his right to see the professor, leaning forward in his chair with one hand squeezing his own, the other on Peter’s back. Human contact seemed to be enough to bring him back. “You’re alright. Just breathe.”

His body shook uncontrollably, and he balled his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms, just to make sure he was really there.

“Where...where am I?” He panted as his eyes finally began to focus properly.

“You’re in the nurse’s office.” The professor said, rubbing his hand reassuringly on Peter’s back.

Hank grumbled and pulled up to them. “I’m not a nurse.” He said, shining a small light into Peter’s eyes. The boy jerked away, lifting a hand up to shield them. 

“Well, you’re the closest thing we’ve got.” The professor said.

“That still doesn’t make me one. I’m a doctor of biological sciences, Charles. I don’t specialize in medical-”

“Hank.”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

Hank sighed and unwrapped the velcro that he had strapped around Peter’s arm. “Your blood pressure is spiked. I’m assuming it’s from all the energy drinks.”

“Uh…” Peter blinked, flashing back to all of the Monsters lying in his trash can. “I only had like...a couple.”

“Of course,” Hank said, jotting down something on a piece of paper. “That must be why there was so much caffeine detected in your blood samples.” 

“You...took blood samples?” Peter asked. “Am I dying?”

Hank chuckled a bit. “No, you’re not dying. Sleep-deprived and high on sugars, but not dying.” He turned back to Peter. “When was the last time you slept?”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh...Wednesday?” He guessed, then nodded. “Morning.”

“Jesus Christ.” The professor coughed.

“What happened?” Peter asked.

“Jubilee found you passed out on the floor,” Hank explained. “She said you weren’t waking up, so she dragged you here.”

“You were delirious.” The professor added. “Hank said you were talking in your sleep.”

“You kept mentioning a ‘Wanda.’ Who is that?” Hank asked.

Everything was still a bit blurred, but Peter heard that question quite clearly. His heart, which had been pounding violently suddenly seemed to stop and the sickening taste of bile climbed up his throat. “What?”

“You said-”

“No one.” Peter interrupted, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know.” His voice shook and he looked away, praying that the professor wouldn’t try to dive into his subconscious. “Did you call my mom?”

“Not yet-”

“Don’t,” Peter said, earning a surprised look from both of his elders. “Please. I don’t want to worry her.” He added, fiddling with his thumbs.

The professor looked at Hank who gave him a little nod and ended up wheeling out of the room before the doctor turned back to Peter. He sighed, he was definitely calling his mom.

“Well, how are you feeling now?”

“Fine,” Peter answered quickly. “Just tired.”

“That’s to be expected, considering you haven’t slept properly in the last 50 hours. Your dopamine levels are also dramatically low. Any idea why?” Hank asked and Peter blinked.

“I...don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s a neurotransmitter or a chemical in your brain which sends signals to the nerve cells in your muscles.” Peter scrunched up his face in confusion and Hank sighed. “It’s a large component of your motor function, it basically makes sure you can move properly.”

“Are you sure you’re not a nurse?” Peter asked and Hanks placed his fingers on his temples.

“Peter.”

“Yeah, no. I don’t know why they’d be low.” He shrugged.

"Nothing?" Hanks rested his elbows on his knees. "This is a safe space, Peter. You won't get into any trouble."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking if I do drugs?"

Hank pressed his lips together. "...Do you?"

"No." He smirked slightly. "I don't."

Hank nodded, satisfied. 

"Well," Peter placed a hand on his chin and Hank snapped his head back in his direction. "I take Adderall. It's a prescription."

"Ah. And when was the last time you took it?"

"Uhhh, I don't know. Like the other day?"

"What day?" Hank asked.

"Ugh, um…" Peter thought back in the week. His brain was mush and all he could remember was the studying that he had done. "T-Tuesday?"

Hank nodded. "That would do it." He picked up his pencil and began to scribble something down. "Any other withdrawal symptoms?"

"I dunno. What are the symptoms?"

"Fatigue, nausea, depression, etc." Hank listed off a few and Peter looked to the side. 

"Uhh…anxiety? But that's sorta normal."

"Okay," He clicked his pen. "I'll have to call your mother to order more for you. You can't quit cold turkey, like that, it's not healthy."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm not an addict or anything."

"Doesn't matter," Hank said, placing his clipboard down. "Your body is used to having it in your system, that's why your brain isn't producing enough dopamine." He tilted his head. "Also because you haven't slept since Wednesday."

"Yeah, yeah." Peter hung his head.

"You'll be fine, you just need to sleep. And continue to take your Adderall."

Peter groaned. "But…I have to finish my homework or else-"

"I'm sure we can figure something out." Hank gave him a small smile. "Get some sleep, Peter. And don't come back to class for at least 24 hours." 

Peter sighed and stood up, making his way toward the door. 

"Oh and," Hank started, "Watch out for Jubilee. She was going to kick your butt for stealing her drinks before she saw your lifeless body."

Peter laughed and shook his head. "Roger that."

[jimlingss]

Student Council Prez [10]

Episode 9 - Episode 10 - Episode 11 Words: 5.1k Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life, High School!Au

Just ask him.

UGH! No! In what world do you think he’s going to say yes? He’ll probably laugh at you. You’ll be embarrassed for the rest of your life!

Since when have you ever had any shame Y/N?! Just ask! Jesus Christ! It’s not that difficult just do it!

NO!

YES!

“Are you alright?” Yoongi perks his head up from the couch, watching as you’re deliriously shaking your head at nothing. You sigh, one huge long breath that takes up twenty seconds before you slowly turn to him.

At Sohyun’s kindergarten, they were having a field day on Saturday; one where there were snacks and games, participation ribbons and where parents were suppose to join. Being in the situation that you were in, you were going instead and thankfully Sohyun really didn’t mind or feel embarrassed. If anything she was even thrilled. Sungjae on the other hand, wasn’t all that excited and already had plans to go to his friend’s house, though you suspect that he arranged it to overlap so he didn’t have to go (that sly brat). So instead, Sohyun begged you and begged you to invite Yoongi, calling his name over and over again before you went to bed, when you came home from school and during dinner. With her on her knees and the colorful invitation stuck to the fridge, you couldn’t help but make a promise.

A promise that was currently empty.

“...so...do you want to go?” You finished your whole speel, mop motionless in your hand.

Yoongi stares at you for a long moment before a grin expands across his lips, cheeks rising. “Is that what you wanted to ask me?” He smiles, falling back onto the couch and disappearing from your sight. “I’d love to.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to mopping the floors. “You’re unbelievable. Even when a little girl begs you to go and you have to rejec-...wait….what?!”

You can hear his laugh rebounding into your ears. “I said I’d love to.”

“Wait……...you actually want to go?”

“Why not?” He sounds casual. “It sounds fun.”

“It’s hot...and sunny...and a lot of exercise.”

“And?”

“Last time I checked, you hate exercise.”

“I do.” He agrees. “But if I lay on the couch all day, I’ll die early. Or is that what you want?”

You scoff. “I never once wanted you to die.” You mumble underneath your breath, sloshing the mop back into the bucket. “ I just wanted you to suffer, that’s all.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” You muse with a perfect smile.

You sigh again, continuing to scrub down his house in silence. By the time you make it to the kitchen, his words are still playing back in your head and a genuine, tiny smile creeps up your lips. You glance at him quickly - he’s still laying on the couch with his arm over his eyes.

“Thanks Yoongi.” You whisper silently.

But he catches your words, and grins from ear to ear in secret. “You’re welcome.” He mumbles back as he listens to your quiet humming.

//

The skies are a bright azure blue with the blazing sunshine. You can already hear the children’s laughter and the whistles being blown, kids running at your feet. You look down at Sohyun who has high pigtails and a smile so full of joy that you think her cheeks might burst. The smile that creeps up your lips stay and even Yoongi has a twinkle in his eyes when he turns to you. The three of you are wearing vibrant green shirts with ducks printed at the front, given to you by the kindergarten teachers. The event is bustling with a good amount of people, twenty five children in total and each with either one parent or the entire family.

“Thanks Yoongi.” You grin at him, supposing that since it was such a cheerful day, you’d try to be more pleasant to him.

He scoffs. “How many times are you going to thank me? I really don’t mind, Y/N.”

You’re startled when he says your name, surprised since he doesn’t do it much, calling you ‘slave’ or ‘hey you!’ more often than not.

You let your gaze linger a bit too long on his dazzling, gummy grin.

But it doesn’t last when Sohyun grabs his hand and drags him to the flyer table.

“Hey don’t leave me behind!” You run up to them and Sohyun sticks out her tongue at you. You pout and Yoongi laughs.

//

“Ready?”

“Get set!”

“Go!”

The whistle blows and you lurch forward running at full speed. Some people hesitate, staying behind while others charge like you. You dive for the soft balls, making Yoongi’s eyes grow as wide as saucers and he steps back. He even falls to the ground when you launch it near his legs but unfortunately misses. “You’re going down!” You shout at him and he chuckles, getting to his feet.

It was dodgeball between all the adults, the kids on the outside and able to throw the balls to whomever they wanted to; whether to get them out or help them by passing it. A few people were already out, groaning and plunging to the ground. Their kids whimper sadly before passing the balls to their other parent who was still in the game, others deviously giggle if they were purposely targeting their parents.

You’re glaring right into Yoongi’s eyes, dipping your head down when another ball swoops your way. It’s completely natural for you to swing your arm back and thrust the ball forward towards him at an inhumane speed. Adrenaline fills your veins and you giggle at the sight of him, a deer in headlights and absolutely terrified of you. It’s finally time for your revenge.

“Sohyun!” You clap your hands together, motioning for her to toss the ball over when she catches one in her hands.

She looks at you for only a second before turning to Yoongi and tossing it towards him. He catches it flawlessly then turns to you, pointing and laughing. “I can’t believe my own family would betray me!” You shout, hurling another towards him but he dodges it with the one Sohyun gave him.

“Eat this slave!” He smiles, eyes turning into half-moons as he fires the ball but you dodge with ease. The other parents around glance at you, laughing at the odd nickname and you cry out with the utmost frustration.

The next ball you pick up, you lob it with all your strength and he jumps, shrieking. “What the h-” He doesn’t finish his curse, realizing that there are kids and babies around. “Are you trying to kill me?!”

“Why-” He screams as you chuck another “-are. you. so. mad?”

“Because I hate you!” You throw another.

He laughs, dogging. “We both know that’s not true!” He sing-songs, voice ringing.

There are a million curses on the tip of your tongue, ready to roll off but being unable to spit them out, you scream in fury.

That only seems to attract even more attention.

There were only a few people left on the field, some really athletic men and women. But from your rage, the children around laugh hysterically and decide...to focus all their attention on you.

“Are. you. serious?” You shout out as the children are collecting handfuls of balls, hurling them at you while giggling. You’re running out of breath, barely managing to dodge and jump. Some adults around even clap and cheer how you’re so agile.

Sohyun continues to supply Yoongi with balls. And in the moment that you’re caught off guard, he finally hits you in the legs. “Yoongi!” You huff out tiredly but he only smirks.

The referee blows his whistle and points at you. Out.

With built up wrath, you pick up the ball and throw it at Yoongi as hard as you can. It hits him right in the chest, knocking out all the wind in his lungs and he stumbles to the ground. You immediately walk forward, calling his name and feeling guilty but then he bursts out into a fit of laughter. You sigh, walking off the field.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t count since you’re already out.

The children are cheering and you finally ease up, especially when Yoongi legitimately gets hit a second later after you left. He comes back grumbling but with a slight smirk, feeling proud of getting you out. You scoff, only smiling again at Sohyun’s bright beam. She’s in between the two of you, holding each of your hands and looking happy as ever.

The game ends two minutes later. Your team’s victory.

//

Sitting on the sidelines and sharing a water bottle with Yoongi, since there was a shortage, you watch Sohyun in the egg race while cheering her on. When you turn to Yoongi, he doesn’t notice but there’s a certain fondness in his gaze, softened eyes that somehow creates a lump in your throat.

“Do you like kids?” You ask.

He hums, thinking. “Not particularly.”

You frown. “Then why do you like my sister so much? I mean it’s not a bad thing....” You defensively raise your hands, voice trailing off. “…you didn’t have to come today but you did. You helped her when she got lost. You even let her decorate your cast thing with stickers and you left it on…. ”

He smiles. “She’s cute. She kind of reminds me of you too.” He turns with a tilted head, gazing at you the exact same way except a little different and you can’t quite put your finger on what that difference is. “She’s like you except nicer and kinder.”

You scoff, turning away from his stare. “I feel like you’re just brainwashing her so she’ll become your perfect minion.”

He laughs. “An entire generation of the L/N’s are indebted to me as my slaves and servants. I’m just training her earlier so she won’t be so disobedient like someone.”

You roll your eyes. “The only person indebted to you is me.”

Yoongi leans over, grazing your shoulder and from your peripheral vision, you can see him still looking at you. “I’m glad you know that.”

You scrunch your face up, clicking your tongue in annoyance and he smiles, turning to watch your sister again. “Actually I wasn’t nearly as gentle or cute as Sohyun is now.” You confess.

“Then what were you like?”

“I beat up a lot of the bullies.”

“So you were a bully?”

“No! I used to beat up the older kids that picked on my class….I had a lot of friends back then but a lot of them were scared of me.”

“I bet.” He laughs.

“What about you?”

“Me? Normal.”

You scoff. “Well obviously. ”

“Like I am now.” He says.

“So...mean?”

Yoongi snickers. “A little bit but I was on the quieter side. My mother enrolled me into a whole bunch of things, like tennis and piano. So, I was always busy but none of them really stuck...aside from music.”

“Oh.” You nod. “You should play for me sometime.”

“Maybe if you’re good.” He snides and you roll your eyes yet again.

Just then, Sohyun comes running over with a dirt stained face, jumping on Yoongi’s back. “Did you see me?” She whispers quietly and you nod, wiping away the stains with your thumb.

“I saw.”

Yoongi sways from side to side, moving her around with him as she laughs. “You were really good. Much better than your sister who runs so slowly.”

“Hey!”

Sohyun laughs again, wrapping an arm around your neck and bonking your head with Yoongi’s. “Ow!” You glare at her but she takes off running to the colouring station. With a sigh, standing up and holding your hand out to Yoongi’s, he takes it and gets up. The both of you follow her.

-

You’re doodling attentively on paper, drawing a rainbow on a hill while Yoongi draws a rainy day, using greys and blacks. When you glance over at Sohyun’s, she has a house with four stick people wearing big smiles. One of them you already recognize as yourself, another as herself and the other as Sungjae.

“Who’s that?” You point to the fourth figure standing next to you. “Is that uncle?”

Sohyun twists her face in disgust, shaking her head furiously. Then she points straight at Yoongi and smiles. “It’s Yoongi?”

“Wow!” He shifts his chair closer, taking a good look at his squiggled self. “Since when did I become so handsome?”

You roll your eyes. “Can I have this?” He asks her and she nods.

“When I’m done.” Sohyun whispers and you’re amazed at how easily she’s willing to communicate with Yoongi.

Enthusiastically, she stands up and begins swiping the paper with her crayons, creating more clouds with a few strokes and more hair on Sungjae like she’s Picasso working on his latest painting in a stroke of ingenuity. “Done!” She chimes happily and slides it over to him, cheeks bursting with a grin.

“It’s beautiful!” He smiles and she leaps up, hugging him.

You can’t help but feel like you’re the third wheel of a date.

The teachers begin moving a white table out to the pavement from the school, slicing watermelons and handing out bubbles to the kids. You sit with Yoongi at the colouring station as the children begin gathering around, Sohyun included. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi turns to you confused. “About what?”

“I mean your wrist.” You hold your own hand up. “Does it hurt? You’ve been using it a lot and she’s practically been jumping on you the entire day.”

“It’s fine.” He assures with a sly smirk. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m not…” Your voice draws out completely into a quiet whisper and he chuckles.

From the corner of your eye, a lady approaches and you turn your head, immediately recognizing her as Sohyun’s kindergarten teacher; someone Sohyun favours particularly and looks up to.

“Good afternoon Miss L/N!” She shakes your hand before taking a seat next to you. There’s sweat on her forehead and she looks absolutely exhausted from playing with the kids. “I just wanted to let you know that Sohyun’s been doing amazing lately. Her improvement and willingness to speak has increased dramatically. It’s really amazing how far she’s gone!”

It feels like there’s an entire weight lifted off your chest and you take a sigh of relief. “That’s great to hear. I’ve been trying my best.”

Sohyun’s teacher nods. “Your efforts haven’t gone without results.” Her eyes slowly trail off you towards Yoongi and she grins. “Oh...is this your boyfriend?”

You shake your head frantically while Yoongi nervously laughs. “No, no! He’s just a friend.”

“Ah.” She nods her head. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, I wasn’t really sure since you two seemed really close, especially during the dodgeball game.”

“Haha….is that so?” Yoongi glances at you, feeling his ears tingle red.

-

Meanwhile Sohyun is bouncing around, watermelon seeds still on her face while she blows bubbles from the wand enthusiastically, watching as they float off into the sky.

Someone taps her shoulder. “Uh...you have something...right there…” Joonhyung points to her mouth but she tilts her head curiously to the side with furrowed brows. He sighs and with hesitance lightly grazes her skin with his paint stained fingers, swiping them off. “There.”

She smiles at him.

He frowns and then turns to where you and Yoongi are. “Who is he?” Joonhyung asks, blinking twice. “Is he your dad?”

Sohyun shakes her head. “That’s not your brother, right?” She shakes her head again in response to his question.

“Sister’s.” She murmurs and his eyes widen in shock, slowly maneuvering to stare at her. Like a robot, his neck practically creaks at the slow pace.

“You just talked!” He recoils. “You just talked!”

She huffs out, skipping off to chase the bubbles. “Wait! Sohyun wait!”

//

“Why is it that we’re always stuck together?” Yoongi groans, biting his lips together to try to repress the wide smile creeping up.

“Shut up.” You hush out, still pulling him along with both your hands intertwined tight.

You were connected with a paper link around both your wrists and once broken, you were out. It was a sort of hide and seek tag game for the children and you knew that the kids would have no mercy towards you, especially when you had been carrying the team and drawing unnecessary attention all day. On the other hand, you and Yoongi both had strong ambitions of winning and being the longest standing team.

At first you were too exhausted and Yoongi was too lethargic, wanting to find an easy spot to be found right away. But after being provoked by some older grey-haired aunts, you discovered a newfound determination.

They said that you were the youngest duo and if you didn’t win, it would be ‘absolutely unbelievable, a disgrace’.

So now, you and Yoongi were hand in hand, trying to hide to the best of your abilities from the rambunctious kids who would probably mob you if they got the chance.

“Are you sure we can hide inside the school?” You question as he quickly pulls open the door.

“They said anywhere on the premise.” He smirks, dragging you inside before the children finish counting.

You pop your head into a few classrooms, scanning the area but unable to find a good location. You’d be seen instantly if you hid behind the curtains, under the desks weren’t even an option and the gap between the filing cabinet and wall was too small.

Just then the distant sound of a whistle blowing pierces through the quiet and you sigh. The sigh lasts barely two seconds before it’s replaced by a yelp, getting yanked in the opposite direction as Yoongi pulls hard on your hand. “What the hell?!”

“In here!” He growls quietly, shutting the door.

“The janitor’s closet?!”

“Just shush!” He clicks his tongue in annoyance, covering your mouth with his other hand but you swat it away with a glare; unseen by him since it’s pitch black.

There are shelves on each side of the closet, a mop and a bucket in one corner, barely digging into your legs and so, you’re pulled up right against Yoongi. Your hand is still interlaced with his, palm a bit sweaty and fingers weaved together. But it’s not only your palm that feels sweaty, maybe it’s from running or being trapped in a tiny room without ventilation on a warm day but your entire face feels hot, like your cheeks are on fire. You can feel his breath fan over your lips and hear his every nervous swallow. His clothes even rustle against yours with each movement.

“So….you couldn’t pick any other spot?” You whisper, breaking the heavy silence.

“...sorry.” His husky voice drops down a pitch when he murmurs. It vibrates against your ear and you hope he doesn’t notice how you reflexively shudder.

“No. It’s fine.” You breathe out, trying to relax. “It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

There’s a slight soft chuckle that escapes his lips and you smile at the sound. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’ve been handcuffed to each other for over an entire day and we’ve shared the same bed for a few weeks.” You mutter with a smile and a sigh. “We’ve been through alot together.”

“That’s true.” He quips. “Don’t forget about that time we jumped off a bridge.”

You laugh. “I think I would’ve gone crazy if it was anyone else.”

“Oh really?” He quirks an eyebrow.

You scoff. “I mean you’re already driving me crazy...but not to the point where I would kill you….yet.”

“I’m honoured.” He exaggerates, like you’ve saved his life. You laugh again and then it becomes silent, your voice rebounding off the tiny walls and back into his ears.

He grips your hand tighter and you wince slightly when you suddenly feel his other hand cup your cheek. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears and you wonder if he can hear. You swallow nervously, feeling the strands of his hair brush along your forehead as he tilts his head, noses and lips purely a few millimeters away.

You close your eyes despite being in darkness and you halt your breath as all thoughts free from your mind. Yoongi breathes in, a tiny smile on his mouth as he leans closer to finally, after all these months, do what he’s been thinking about for the past few weeks; kis-

“Are they in here?!” A loud voice suddenly shatters the silence and the both of you halt immediately. “Sohyun! I don’t think they’re here! No one’s here!”

There’s loud padding footsteps, reaching closer and closer.

The both of you slowly crane your necks over, like robbers being caught in a stranger’s house. Before you can even blink, the doorknob rotates and the door swings open, making you blinded with the sudden light.

Yoongi drops his hand immediately and you shift away. The little boy’s face lights up and his mouth draws open. “Sohyun!” She comes running over and with a giant grin, destroys the paper chain link connected at both your wrists. You don’t even resist and neither does Yoongi, both too dazed.

“Got you!” She squeals out before running along with her friend, Joonhyung.

You step out of the closet, Yoongi following behind and you both don’t speak, slightly mortified and the other half embarrassed. None of you talk about it as you go outside again. Your brain is on fire, frantically constructing for reasons; what happened in that closet or rather, what was about to happen.  

It was the heat.

OF COURSE! It was the heat of the day that got to your head and you were simply imagining things! Thank goodness!

With a sigh of relief of how satisfied you are with your reasoning and a shake of your head, you push it all aside without a mention. The day continues like it was all part of your imagination and you smile with ease.

Yoongi smiles too, reassuring you even further that it really was just your messed up mind going places it shouldn’t have.

Little did you know, Yoongi is kicking himself for messing up.

The next month rolls by without much of a hitch. The end of the semester nears and you don’t see much of Yoongi aside from cleaning his house regularly. But even then, he’s busy at the dinner table with sprawled out notes, either managing the year end events or studying for the exams. You leave right after, going home to your siblings and studying too.

The end of the year means numerous preparations for the graduating class and you can tell he’s swamped up to his chin in work, barely managing to have one full conversation with you. And even if he throws all his work aside and tries to talk to you, one way or another, he ends up falling asleep. So you wrap up his dinner and drape a blanket over him before leaving quietly.

It doesn’t last long since time passes by quickly and soon enough, everything’s all over.

“Do I still need to come over to clean?” You ask Yoongi, both of you leaning back in your chairs with feet propped up on the table.

It’s fairly messy with Taehyung and Jungkook’s leftover snacks and empty chip bags. The blackboard is also filled with Jungkook’s odd doodles of the members and Jimin’s math practice questions, furiously scribbled on, a sign of his rage and frustration.

Yoongi scoffs. “Yes. Just because it’s summer break doesn’t mean you get to slack off.”

You roll your eyes. “Won’t your dad be home?”

Yoongi sighs. “He’s going to some fancy convention for a month.” You nod your head, not saying much else as the doors open and the rest of the members stream in.

“Oh! It’s Y/N!” Jimin exclaims with a gentle grin and Yoongi automatically frowns. By now they’re not really surprised that you’re here. It’s almost like you’ve become a member yourself.

“Hey Jimin.”

Jin draws out, “You two look like gangsters. Are we part of the mafia? Get your feet off the table!”

Yoongi clicks his tongue but the both of you comply. “And you two clean up this mess!” Jin drags Taehyung and Jungkook over to the table. “We can’t have it like this all the way over summer! It’ll attract rats!”

“Okay, okay.” Jungkook mumbles, quickly collecting the bags while Taehyung simply opens a new chip bag and begins munching while giggling.

“Are you doing anything over summer Y/N?” Hoseok plops down in a seat across from you with a dazzling grin.

“Not really. My brother’s going to camp for a few weeks. I might stay with my uncle for a couple days…” Your voice trails off in thought.

Taehyung’s eyes light up, practically jumping forward. “You have siblings? Younger or older?”

“Younger.”

“Oh~” He nods his head. “Are they cute?”

You frown, a bit suspicious. “...yes?”

His smile brightens. “You should bring them over some time! I love kids.” Taehyung cocks his head to one side and you nod.

You’re going to keep them far away from this school.

Especially Taehyung….knowing his wild antics.

The Student Council Members are a rather eccentric bunch and not as sparkling as everyone makes them out to be. It’s actually amusing to hear about all the tales surrounding them, making them seem elite and even princely, like they belong in their own world.

But as you watch Taehyung stand meters away, throwing food into Jungkook’s mouth and Jin scolding them both; Hoseok bothering Yoongi until he shouts and Jimin wailing like a dying bird out to Namjoon about the finals, it only makes you laugh.

What a way to end the school year.  

“Can I come over to your house?” Yoongi slings his backpack over his shoulder, closing the door and locking it up.

“Why?”

“Well I promised your sister and it’s been a while.” He smiles. “I’m a man of my words, slave.”

You scoff. “Fine. Let’s go. They’re probably home by now.”

The moment you open the door, no one greets you except the people laughing on the television. “Am I not a part of this family anymore? No acknowledging my presence?” You shout inside the one room, slipping off your shoes.

Sungjae doesn’t even pry his eyes off the screen as he deadpans. “Welcome back.”

“Yoongi’s here.” The second the words leave your mouth, both their heads dart back.

Sohyun, out of reflex, leaps up and runs into Yoongi’s arms.

“Hyung!” Sungjae grins, standing up.

“Since when did you call him hyung?”

They ignore you, instead having their own reunion like lovers separated for decades. You sigh, wondering how it got to the point where your own siblings loved him more than their own biological sister, you.

When you start preparing for dinner, Yoongi helps you in the kitchen; poorly chopping the vegetables and nearly cutting off his finger at one point and even though you kicked him off, he was too stubborn to stop until he’s finished the job.

Sohyun’s always liked her carrots thinly sliced, whining in every other way but apparently has no complaints when Yoongi does it.

As the entire family gathers around the table, Sungjae goes off on a long tangent, catching Yoongi up to his life without sparring a single detail. “Can we sleepover at your house?” He asks after the long conversation.

Sohyun’s eyes light up immediately. “Can we?”

You frown. “We have a house of our own. Stop invading in his.”

“Please?” She begs, looking between you and Yoongi. “Please. Please. Please.”

“Sohyun.”

“Please?” She whines out, slumping to the ground and thrashing her limbs. “Please?”

You look over at Yoongi but he only has an endeared expression, eyes softening and he smiles at you. “If it’s okay with you…”

“We can?!” Sungjae bursts in a grin and Sohyun sits up.

You sigh, long and exaggeratedly while feeling everyone’s stares. “Fine.”

The three children (yes, three) cheer happily. You’ll never understand why Sohyun is so insistent with going over to his house.

She’ll never tell you that it’s simply because you look so much happier being with him.

//

The summer continues slowly but surely. Sungjae goes off to his camp, thankfully not getting into fights and spending a marvelous time; something he tells you about for days and days when he gets back. Sohyun constantly drags you out to go to the park, chasing after puppies and making you run after her. You pick up a part-time job as a waitress, the owner lenient with your temper and you don’t get thrown out like the numerous jobs before. Upon your siblings’ heavy protests, you only visit your uncle without staying for long. Sungjae especially running for the hills before you can even say a ‘goodbye’.

You’re not sure what the other student council members are up to. You heard that Taehyung was at a farm (for reasons you don’t know), Jin over at Hawaii, Jimin enrolled into some sort of overseas program, Jungkook at his villa; Namjoon was taking an internship and Hoseok was around the city, hanging out (and occasionally bothering Yoongi).

Yoongi, you don’t see much of him either aside from your regular visits as his housemaid. He follows you around when you’re over, claiming that he needed to monitor if you were doing a thorough job or not. Sometimes for whatever reason, you catch him staring at you and you wonder if there’s something on your face. Upon asking, he simply scoffs and turns away.

Every so often when you’re at home or at the grocery store, he calls. At times he tells you something completely irrelevant or that he ran out of milk. Everything in between, he hangs up after a long silence and you would think it was an accident but sometimes you are so sure that you can hear his breathing on the other line. He apologizes after you call his name numerous times and he hangs up, leaving the static of the dead line on your phone.

Whether it’s him that’s going crazy or you, you’re not so sure.

Maybe it’s the both of you.

Summer rolls around and you find yourself looking forward to going back to school. Education is important but more so to see that demon more often. You wonder if you really have a few loose screws or maybe you’ve gotten used to his torture. But you sort of miss him.

Yoongi misses you too.

[nyx-ships]

Stand By Me (Part One)

Title: Stand By Me Pairing: Delitoonz Rating: T Word Count: 3285 A/N: @fantasyeuphoriaandlace made the mistake of telling me that anything written to the Florence + The Machine version of "Stand By Me" would make her cry. >:) This is part one of a two part fic. -------------------------------------------- He knew. He knew the second Luke came home, smelling like sex and alcohol. He could put two and two together. But he never, never in his mind, thought that his boyfriend, his true love, would do this to him. Never in a millions years did he ever think Luke would pull the ultimate betrayal. Was he bored with him. Was Jon not enough for him? Was Jon doing something wrong in the relationship? There had to be a reason. Whatever it was that drove the older to cheating, it didn't make the situation any less agonizing. Of course, Jon had known for quite some time. He was just waiting for the biggest piece of evidence, the thing that would truly cement his fate. And it had just shown itself. "Get out." His words were harsh and demanding, covering his broken heart. "What?" His words were clipped and confused, as if he didn't know the reason why. "You heard me," Jon looked up from his spot on the couch, eyes digging into Luke's own, "Get. Out." Luke had no reason to act so shocked about his words, they had been arguing for two hours, over the text Luke received. He had been in the kitchen at the time, and Jon was on the couch watching tv, snuggled under a pile of blankets, momentarily forgetting his suspicions to enjoy his night, when he glanced over at the new message on Luke's phone, from an unnamed contact, which the older had mistakenly left on the arm of the couch. *You left your jacket here, swing by later for it and maybe a quickie?* That was all the evidence Jon needed. Two hours of yelling and things being thrown across the room, and Jon was tired. But he was also done. Done with the lies, the secrecy, done with Luke. He loved that man more than life itself, but he couldn't stand by and pretend that he wasn't hurt, broken. He couldn't just let it go. He wanted, needed, Luke out of his house. Not out of his life, though. He still needed Luke as a friend, but obviously a relationship wasn't in order for the two. But right now, he was angry and upset, and he really wanted Luke away from him. He couldn't stand to sleep in the same bed as him, let alone the same house. Not while knowing his body had been touched by another. Jon stared at the wall, voice rough and quiet as he almost begged for Luke to go. "Please, get out. Just-just take your stuff and leave." Luke was quiet for a few moments before he finally moved, grabbing his phone and going to their shared bedroom, where he stayed for a good half hour, presumably packing his things. Jon stayed in his spot on the couch, a couple tears slipping from his eyes, but he willed them to stop while he wrapped himself in a blanket and sipped on the tea he had made himself prior to the argument. He stared at the tv, not really paying attention to what was on, more so using the colors and noise as a distraction. He really thought Luke loved him. He really thought Luke was the one, the man to stand by his side and keep him sane. What a mistake. But, in his defense, in all the years Jon had known the bearded man, he had never once done this to any of his significant others. So what made him do it now? Jon had no idea, and as he listened to the undeniable sound of Luke hitting the wall in the next room, he still couldn't figure it out. When Luke came out of the room, he had a couple suitcases packed with all of his stuff, save his guns and some of his shoes. He had his phone in his back pocket, and it buzzed with a new message, but he didn't bother answering it. He cleared his throat as he stood by the door, hand on the knob as he spoke. "I'll be back later to grab the rest of my stuff..." Jon gave a small nod, head down as he stared at his drink, taking note of his reflection, a question coming into his brain. The question he so badly wanted an answer to. He swallowed harshly, and just as Luke was opening the door, his voice filled the silence. "Who is it." Luke stayed silent, not knowing how to tell the younger male who he had been sleeping with, who he had been going to on occasion. Jon sighed, eyes closing and hands tightening on the mug in his hands, voice a little louder, a little less inviting. "I just wanna know who it is." A few more minutes of tense silence before Luke answered, pushing Jon further into his pit of despair. "Evan." If his heart hadn't broke all the way before, it sure as hell did now. His best friend. Jon didn't speak after that. He just bit his lip and stared at his tea, a sick feeling in his gut as he waited. Not until he heard the door closing and the starting of a car did he let himself cry. At that moment, he really let himself go, placing his tea on the coffee table and curled his legs to his chest, eyes releasing tear after tear as he let out the sobs he had been so carefully holding back. He cried, and he cried hard. Probably harder than he ever had, but it was understandable. Why wouldn't it be. And he didn't feel ashamed, no, he deserved to let the tears fall, he had just been through a Hell like no other. But, at least it couldn't get worse than this, right? Wrong. His phone went off, the ringtone painful to hear. *So darling, darling, stand by me It was their song. Oh, stand by me* His favorite song that Luke would sing to him when he was upset. How ironic it was now. He picked up the phone with shaking hands and a heavy heart, willing the tears to stop and his voice to sound normal, to end the song and start a conversation. "Hello?" "Hey, Jon. I tried to message you but you weren't answering." Ryan. He always called at the worst times, didn't he? "Oh, sorry, haha. I was takin' a nap, whas'up?" He heard the soft breathing of the male on the other line, as if he wasn't sure of what to say. "I was just wondering if you wanted to record in a little while-are you alright? You sound upset." He could always see through Jon's fake happiness. Jon put him on mute for a second while he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and answering with a more joyful tone. "Yeah, I'm fine dude. S'prolly 'cause I just woke up, haha." He could feel the reluctance on Ryan's side, could feel the worry radiating off his friend. "You sure?" "Positive," he paused for effect, "what game did ya have in mind, man?" He could hear Ryan sighing, and knew the older one wasn't going let it go. He was going to push Jon to tell him the issue. But Jon didn't want to share this issue. "I was thinking we could do some Battleship. I would pick Deceit, but Bryce is asleep and Luke isn't answering his phone-listen, are you sure there's nothing you wanna talk about?" The sharp inhale after he mentioned Luke must've given Jon away. And at this point, Jon was on the verge of bawling again. He knew he wouldn't last long before he broke down. So, he took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat, and spoke. "I'm not in a good place right now..." He heard a noise that must've been Ryan opening his fridge. "What happened, Delirious?" The heartbroken man closed his eyes at the nickname and the concern in Ryan's voice. He exhaled shakily and bit his lip, finally tearing down his walls and bursting out his secret. "Luke cheated on me..." The words were harsh and abrupt, with a hint of pain, and Ryan stayed silent on the other line, frozen in place at the news. He was confused, completely caught by surprise. This wasn't likely to be a joke, but he half hoped it was. Luke wouldn't possibly do that, would he? 30 seconds of Ryan thinking later, and he could hear Jon crying. It wasn't a sound he was accustomed to, it was one he had hoped he'd never hear. But the fact that Luke was the reason for those heartbreaking cries is what made it ten times worse. Ryan could only manage two words at the moment. "Oh, Jon...." Jon hated the way he said it. It was filled with pity, and he absolutely hated being pitied. So he stopped his tears for a moment to speak to his friend, hoping for some type of empathy. "I don't know what to do, Ry. I really don't know what to do. For fuck's sake, I loved him, I still do love him. But I can't look at him the same..." He heard Ryan sigh and shift before he got an actual response. "Jesus, I don't know, Jon. This shit is rough. Does he know you know?" Jon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, then realized he wasn't face to face with Ryan, and spoke. "I kicked him out, man. I could barely look at him. Just a little bit ago." He could feel Ryan's reluctance to ask, but he pressured him anyways, Jon was an open book now that would be read, whether he wanted to or not. "What is it, Ryan?" "....with who?" Jonathan should've known this question would pop up, but it didn't make it any easier. He could feel the tears flowing haphazardly down his face, and his voice was shaky as he answered. "Fucking Evan. He was sleeping with Evan, Ohm." The sudden use of his nickname surprised Ryan, but not as much as Luke's infidelity. Out of all the people in the world, he never thought Luke and Evan would agree to something like this. It was a slap in the face to him, he could only imagine how Jonathan felt. This explained Luke's absence in calls. He could hear Jonathan sniffling, and it hurt him that he couldn't hug his poor friend. He hated it when any of his friends were upset, and this situation was no exception. "...I'm so sorry, Jon. Listen, if you ever need to talk about it more, or just want someone to listen, you know I'm always down." Jon's hollow laugh filled Ryan's ears, and he shivered at the lack of warmth in it. But his words were emotional and thankful, so Ryan was okay with it. "I know...thanks, Ryan." --------------------------------------------- Three days. Three days and Jon hadn't heard from Luke. It was the longest they had gone without any type of communication. He was so tempted to ask Evan, but that thought quickly left his mind as his stomach dropped and he set down his groceries. He wanted to know that Luke was doing okay, that he wasn't overworking himself or doing dumb shit because of their breakup. But he was also reluctant to try and call him. A part of him wanted to run into Luke's arms and cry with him, hoping for a different ending, one that wouldn't leave him so broken. But another part of him didn't want anything to do with Luke at the moment. He wanted space and time to himself, to really tell himself this wasn't his fault. Ultimately, Jon chose to let things be. --------------------------------------------- A week. Before he knew it, a week had gone by and he still hadn't heard from Luke, from his ex. By this time, Jon was actually starting to get a little worried, and he instantly assumed the worst. What if Luke had locked himself up in a room and shut himself out from everyone? He shook that thought off though, instead opting for grabbing his phone and texting both Bryce and Ryan, asking if they had heard from Luke, or had any idea what he was up to. It was an instant reply from both boys, and one that disappointed Jon slightly. Both responses were a negative, and Jon had to stop himself from having a mini panic attack. It wasn't like Luke to just not talk to him, he would always try something. It wasn't like him to just never call or text again. And it definitely wasn't like Luke to abandon the rest of his friends over a relationship. Jon clenched the Xbox controller in his hands, the game on the screen doing nothing to distract him from his thoughts. He had died too many times to count already, and wasn't having any fun, it just kept reminding him of playing with Luke, and that was the last thing he wanted. So, with a huff and a quick grab for the remote, he thoughtlessly switched to cable tv and flipped through the channels randomly, stopping on the news to see what horrible shit had happened today, and what unlucky person had to deal with it. He listened haphazardly to the news that wasn't so new at all. It was all the same thing, all the same issues. Some burglary, some bomb threat, another Trump fuck up, nothing new. He listened to the people's voices as they described the recent news, and surprisingly, it was actually a bit calming, the lady's voice was gentle and sweet, as if she wasn't reading off a cue card and instead whispering into his ear. It was the one thing that was distracting him, and he appreciated it. He needed this. Jon was about to fall asleep when the news lady's words caught his ears, something familiar and alarming in them, and he instantly perked up, sitting straight, eyes on the screen. She spoke a little louder, looking directly into the camera "....10 people killed in a mass shooting at WalMart last week, news on the victims are now being publicly released." Something about this was off, something didn't sit well with Jonathan, and he felt like he needed to keep watching, keep listening as he learned more of the event. He paid attention for once, waiting for the names and pictures to show up on the screen.  His stomach was twisting in knots, and his eyes held the reflection of crime tape and a mass amount of blood. He waited and waited, for what seemed like an eternity, before names were listed off, pictures of the victims accompanying them. ".....Paul Anderson" "....Amelia Crause...." ".....Leah Damon..." He listened and listened, his stomach getting tighter and tighter as the names came closer to number ten. His brain was telling him what he already knew, but his heart had refused to even acknowledge it. "...Corinne Gibson..." "...Ashley Hewitt..." "...Jordan Holmes..." He tried to steady his breath, but he found himself shaking, and when his phone rang, he ignored it, too invested in the victims of this crime, too scared to answer. "...Tara Moore...." "...Christopher Moore..." "...James Nicholson..." He was silently hoping, praying that that last picture and name wouldn't belong to someone he knew. The alphabetical order of the names wasn't helping him much, and the furrowing of brows and a small frown on the lady's face made everything seem slower, worse. He couldn't stand the anticipation, the lady pausing for a moment to read the last name. Jon held his hands together, throat dry and eyes glistening as a picture finally showed up with an accompanying name. A picture and a name that was all too familiar, all too heartbreaking. In the reflection of watery blue orbs, you could just barely make out a pair of sunglasses and a beard. "......and Luke Patterson. Since the murders, the suspect has been caught, Mr....." Jonathan stopped listening at that point, he stopped holding his hands together, his body was weak, he was frozen in place, waiting for the lady to say it was a joke, to say that everyone was fine. He waited for there to be a mistake, some sort of wishful thinking that he knew wasn't at all realistic. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, only cry, and as tears streamed down his face, he stared at the picture of his Luke on the screen. It was a picture he had taken, a selfie that had both men in it. He was smiling widely, arms around Jon in a warm, possessive embrace that had Jon feeling the ghosting touch of at that moment. He began to shake violently, and it wasn't long until he was throwing his remote at the screen, the small object hitting the giant flat screen with a small thud, landing on the carpeted floor with little sound. He brought his knees to his chest and watched as the tv powered down, due to a connection error, but he didn't care. He couldn't stand to look at the news anyways. Jon felt his entire world crashing down, everything burning and smoking before him, leaving him amongst ashes of a once happy life. Everything suddenly made sense. A week ago, Luke had been murdered. That's why he hadn't called. That's why he hadn't texted, hadn't had any type of contact. Everything suddenly became hard. Jon found himself unable to walk or function, and the only thing he could do was shake and cry as he came to the realization that Luke Patterson, Cartoonz, his only love, was no longer living. He was dead and gone, lost to a bullet, and Jon couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. Luke didn't take any of his guns when he left, nothing. Everything was still at Jon's house, including his concealed carry on, the one thing Luke always had with him. But, in the heat of the moment, he must've forgotten to take it with him. Jon sobbed out words of nonsense, his head hitting the back of the couch as he did so, tears wetting his blankets and clothes, but that didn't matter to him in the least. He let himself completely break down, cries ripping from his throat in a way that would break anyone's heart, and he found himself longing for Luke's hugs, the soft embrace that would always keep him sane. But now? He was completely crazy, crazy with anger and lies, sadness and despair, far worse than Luke's initial betrayal. Luke had cheated on him, yes, but Jon didn't wish death on the man, he couldn't possibly live without the bearded man in his life. *Now he had to. When the night has come And the land is dark And the moon is the only light we'll see* Jonathan felt his heart break a little bit more, and his sanity fade further. How dare the world do this to him. How dare his phone ring, tone that of his song that instantly brought thoughts of his dead one. He couldn't pick it up, couldn't bring himself to answer the damn thing. He just stayed on the couch, with his knees to his chest, rocking and crying as the song played and played, the person calling not willing to give up. He stayed like that, his blankets covering his form, letting the song make its way into his ears, drowning him in memories and an overwhelming emotional pain that he hoped he'd never experience. Once upon a time, that song used to be his savior Now, it was nothing but his torturer.

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

A New Lease on Life - 2: Death Was Only the Beginning

A quick note regarding dialogue and odd words: Symbols at the end of a word or statement mark vocabulary terms or references defined at the end. If a word is followed by a dash or ellipses, it’s translated or defined at the end of the chapter. I try to define most of the stuff that’s really odd, heavily altered due to pronunciation, and local slang that non-local readers might not pick up. If you see a - or ~ at the end of a SENTENCE, it means the sentence or paragraph has been ‘explained’ in the same way; this will become necessary once Amber starts letting her oddities (and going through crisis-induced 'relapse’ speech which is heavily brogued) but the relapses aren’t really a frequent occurrence until the end of Part I.

This chapter dedicated to Volunteers. You put your life on hold to bring life to others, all without any thought of compensation. My old community is one of countless forever changed by volunteers, from search and rescue to donations to rebuilding. Thank you…our debt to you can never be repaid enough. Also dedicated to the real-life inspiration for 'Aaron,’ whom I owe my very life to.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS! Including but not limited to Tornadoes, Severe weather, Town destroyed by tornadoes and severe weather, shock, graphic imagery, corpses, violent death, mentions of religion.

Suggested Listening: Linkin Park “Iridescent”   

2: Death Was Only the Beginning                

Willsdale, Missouri, Sunday May 8th, 2011        

The sound of violent retching woke Amber with a start; sometime during the night she’d apparently fallen off the sofa and now lay sprawled on the carpet in a pile. As sleepy disorientation faded into exhausted annoyance, she glanced off to her right. Sure enough, the bathroom door hung wide open spilling bright light out into the cramped hallway. “Good thing ya got short hair, Willis,” she muttered, crawling back on the lumpy sofa. “I ain’t gotta feel guilty 'bout not holdin’ it back for ya.”

“Fuck you, O'Brien—” her friend’s guttural retort was interrupted by another round of heaving.

“I told ya that whisky’d kill ya,” she reminded matter-of-factly as she swiped a long brown braid back over her shoulder. “Yer usual beer’s water compared to Scotch whisky; smells like goat piss, too.” Clutching her stiff back, she stumbled off the sofa and limped into the tiny kitchen seeking coffee. A note tacked to the fridge told her their host had already headed to work, and the bitter perfume of coffee filled the dog-scented air. As she dug through the cabinet for a mug a tiny, half-blind and completely neurotic black and tan Chihuahua danced at the back door, growling and barking at her. “Quiet, Nina—Uncle Aaron’s hungover.” Not surprisingly the dog simply snapped and growled again, then scattered when Amber came to open the back door.

“Let the damn thing out!” Aaron groaned into the toilet. “My head’s KILLING ME!”

“Again, not my fault - I tried'a warn ya.” Since Nina wouldn’t willingly come within several yards of anyone but Ma Willis, Amber propped the back door open and returned to the coffee maker, grinning when the neurotic dog rocketed out the back door like the vet was on her heels. The door shut and her mug set up, she took a cup of water and a bottle of Mtn Dew in for Aaron. “Why on Earth your cousin thought gettin’ you drunk was a GOOD idea, I’ll never know.”

“Oh, come'ere you sweet, beautiful bitch!” Aaron rasped; knowing he didn’t mean her, Amber shoved the soda at him and left, laughing under her breath. Some things never changed, and his Mtn Dew addiction was among those things. So too, she contemplated with a crooked grin, was the way the three best friends got along by harassing one another.

The Terrible Trio started with Amber O'Brien, only daughter of a Scottish immigrant and completely unable to fit in with the locals even after she took on their twang. It quickly became a duo with the inclusion of Mercy Ross, a bristly beauty with an affinity for cows and a horrible homelife. Then in High School the two odd friends met Aaron Willis - a son of a local and the very definition of a Country Bumpkin. Years went by and the three friends only grew closer, grew more obnoxious toward one another, and grew into a fixture in town. Even after Aaron’s family left Willsdale for nearby Glenville after Graduation, they still kept close contact until he moved into a double-wide trailer near Amber’s home.

Supposedly Aaron Willis was completely disinterested in love, sex, and the like - he’d never shown any interest in anyone and spent years oblivious to Amber’s puppy love crush on him - but deep in her heart Amber was sure he’d never be attracted to her even if he weren’t apparently asexual. That ship, after all, had long sailed…she wasn’t the sort to pine after someone who couldn’t return her feelings and it became clear in time that they would have been horribly suited. Still, even if romance was an option, Amber was sure she wasn’t Aaron’s 'type’ - she was plain, barely 5'3, and morbidly overweight. Her brown hair started going grey in her teen years—supposedly a hereditary thing—and she couldn’t walk a straight line if she was paid to. Love had never been in the cards for her, and ever since she was hit by a van during college, neither had meaningful work.

'God almighty, quitcher whinin’ O'Brine!’- she reminded herself fiercely. 'I’m alive, I’m not dyin’ in an RCF, I’ve gotta roof over my head, food in my cabinets, an’ two kickarse friends. Things could be so much worse than monthly booty calls, sexual frustration, an’ an end-table ass.’ Mid-rant Aaron collapsed at the rickety wooden table, burying his head in his arms.

“Please tell me Ma left donuts,” he mumbled.

“Nope, just pizza,” she grinned, poking his springy blond curls. “Your favorite…but it’s got pickles on it.”

“Sacrilege!” he spat rushing to the fridge. “She didn’t—she wouldn’t!” A moment later he slanted a suspicious glare at her over the rims of his glasses, his off-kilter blue eyes narrowed. “Quit pickin’ on the hungover person. Pickles on pizza…you need yer head checked.”

“We a'ready know that, Sugar,” she grinned, snagging an éclair from the box. “Thanks for the YouTube footage, by the way: 'Drunkard milks bull,’ sure to be a hit.”

“I WHAT?!” he squawked. “Oh, HELL NAW! You post that an’ I’ll piss in your garden! On your roses!” The two friends bickered good-naturedly for the rest of the morning, never realizing that their world had changed forever.

Hours later Amber’s beat up Red Civic pulled up to an empty driveway…a driveway with no standing building behind it.

Once Aaron’s hangover had abated they’d returned to Willsdale, blasting Quiet Riot and Black Sabbath the whole way. As they crept over the city limits, though, the now silent car deafened the occupants stunned by their surroundings. It wasn’t quite sinking in…how could so much have happened in one weekend?

The once-bustling small town was nearly gone, and what was left in its place could only be described as a war zone. Vacant cars lay crumpled along the road between downed utility poles. Fallen, splintered trees littered the landscape. There was debris everywhere—hanging in trees, pinned under fallen structures, blowing along the ground—Amber never even noticed tears streaming from her eyes or murmured reassurances from Aaron. Every structure they passed was demolished, every landmark they knew was erased. The power station, the cemetery, the house always surrounded by suicidal free-range guinea hens…all that remained was rubble-strewn dirt and asphalt. She knew what she’d find there, and she hated to see it, but before she knew it, she’d pulled into her own driveway.

Her house, the tiny shotgun shack she’d lived in for years, was reduced to a pile of timber and siding, her struggling garden buried under a ton of shattered brick and shingle.

“Amber,” Aaron called repeatedly as she wandered from her car to what was once the front step. “Amber, wait!” She shook her head deliriously as she dug frantically through the debris pile over the porch; in her shock-addled mind, all she could think of was getting inside and curling up on the sagging plaid couch. It never even registered that not only was the sofa probably ruined, the house itself was no longer standing. Cursing, Aaron scrambled over fallen timber and fractured supports to tear Amber away from the ruins.

“No!” she cried frantically, fighting to get free. “It’s my home! I’ve gotta—”

“AMBER!” he shouted, framing her face in callused hands. “Amber, it’s gone! You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep this up!” Memories flashed before her eyes, blocking out the familiar blue eyes staring into her own. Without warning, dry, chapped lips met hers fiercely as strong arms held her like she was about to be ripped out of them. When he finally let go, she buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing brokenly as they slid to the sodden ground. As if mocking them, the clouds broke open anew; thunder rolled, lightning flashed, and torrents of rain mingled with hopeless tears.

            Sunday, May 15th, 2011          

Over a week later, Amber and Aaron were still sheltered at City Hall with countless other refugees. Neither had a home to go to, now, and Aaron wasn’t able to get word out to his mother with the phone lines and cell towers down. Though he didn’t understand, Amber wouldn’t contact her family - her mother and father, or even the cherished and gruff grandparent she affectionately called “Gran'Da,” insisting it was pointless. With every tearful story and gut-wrenching news report on the radio, the truth became clearer. The night after they drove up to visit his mother an EF 5 tornado spawned outside of town. By the time it fizzled out, it had destroyed much of the town, many of the outlying farms and homes, and left hundreds dead or homeless. Amber’s home was gone, Aaron’s home was gone, and no one could get ahold of Mercy Ross; Aaron worried what this might mean, and heaved a weary sigh.

Search and rescue teams descended on the ruined town with a vengeance early on, working their way through it with military precision. Everywhere, codes had been spray painted on crumbled structures and vehicles. How many survivors, how many dead, what hazards were present…just overnight, Amber’s life had become an endless parade of neon x’s, scribbled codes, and body bags, interspersed with canned soup and crying children. Every hour of every day it rained more and more, and Amber sat in a quiet corner staring blankly at the wall.

Aaron Willis watched her forlornly as he helped hand out bottled water. She’d been afraid of storms longer than he’d known her and he was used to witnessing anxiety attacks over the smallest rainstorm. Now, though, now she seemed almost empty and never spoke. Something was dreadfully wrong with his friend, but he had no idea what he could do. It was heart-rending to see her so dull and lifeless. Worst of all, he’d kissed her—finally given in to his years-old hidden crush and kissed her—but for whatever reason, she didn’t realize the significance. She probably thought he was just trying to comfort her, he reasoned darkly, absent-mindedly crushing an empty bottle into nothing. Frustrated and helpless, he threw himself into making himself useful in any way he could and making call after call that never went through. When the rain finally let up that afternoon, unbeknownst to the rest, Amber left her corner and slipped away.

At first, she just wandered aimlessly, hopelessly lost in the town she’d spent her whole life in but following some lure only she saw. Everything was changed, everything was gone, but she felt nothing at all. Surely she should be feeling something, she thought blandly as she walked past a bloodstained, crumpled truck wrapped around a tree. Surely the horrors around her and the circling vultures should be jarring at the very least.

A battered wooden sign came into view as she crested the hill. Though most of the letters had been stripped off by rain and grit and the building behind was half-toppled, she knew without a doubt where she was. After all, she spent the last several years scrubbing the school from top to bottom every weeknight; she’d know it with her eyes closed. She drifted through the shattered glass doors in a daze, scanning the trashed hallways without notice. Her feet led her to the library and a familiar shelf she’d spent her teen years reading top to bottom. Debris was brushed aside halfheartedly until she found her target.

Dark of the Moon. It was a poetry volume long out of print and rarely found outside of libraries, and while she was a student, the book spent more time in her backpack than on its shelf. Such a shame for such a wondrous book to be lost forever, she thought hollowly as she gently leafed through now fragile pages.

Movement out the window caught her eye; thunder rolled, clouds menaced and a jagged grey tear loomed overhead. Off to the southwest was the monster she’d feared most of her life, and it was heading her way. The numb woman watched the horizon in disinterest, uncaring of the strange disembodied ticking sound or the sudden feeling of calm that washed over her. Rain pelted the cracked glass windows and wind howled, kicking up clouds of debris from the already battered landscape. A deafening, grinding roar like a fork in a disposal shattered the air as the tornado drew nearer. Amber stared it down never flinching as her ears ached from the pressure.

Perhaps…perhaps this was her only choice - the only way she’d ever find peace. If she was in her right mind, she would be horrified by the thought…but she wasn’t in her right mind at all. That foul monster stole her home, stole her town, stole her very life, but there was one thing it would never steal…

Heedless of the broken glass underfoot she dropped to her scarred, aching knees. Head bowed, she prayed—prayed for the safety of her friends and family, prayed for the souls of those touched by the tornadoes’ destruction, and prayed for peace in the afterlife. The window exploded inward and shattered glass rained over her head but her only regret was that she’d never found a love worth living for.

A bedraggled team searched the school for survivors. “HEY!” shouted the tall black man as he clambered toward the woman kneeling before the shattered windows. He checked Amber’s neck but recoiled at the bloody wound at her forehead; the body was long grown stiff and she had no pulse. “Why on earth did you come here?” he wondered aloud. “Why didn’t you seek shelter?”

A block of cloudy green glass lay nearby, the corner stained with blood - a glass brick. Her cold corpse told a vile story of a woman in shock who was taken by surprise and died from head injury, and showed plainly what happened when humans pitted themselves against nature. At least, the man considered with a grimace, it was likely quick - she died on her knees, possibly praying for her life, but at least she didn’t suffer.

His brown-haired companion noticed the book cradled in her arms and wrenched it free, wincing at the way the body fell to the floor from the motion. The book’s title wasn’t ringing any bells. “It’s a shame,” the first-responder remarked as they eased the stiff body into a black bag and zipped it closed. Someone would come by later on and cart her to the morgue with the storms’ other casualties for identification. “This book clearly meant something to her, though - she thought it was worth dying for. It’d be a pity to leave it behind when the building will just wind up razed.” Moments later the team had moved on, a neon orange code on the tiles of the front entryway Amber’s only memorial.

            A vast, dark place somewhere beyond Time

           'Wha…where am I?’ Amber thought distractedly as she scanned her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was a book…what book? Oh, right; Dark of the Moon, that poetry anthology that she’d coveted for years. Why did she covet it, though? Was it not hers? No matter how she tried, the details of her life were slipping away like grains of sand through her fingers.  

   She existed in a vast expanse of bleak, black nothingness, her only company the incessant ticking of a legion of unseen clocks. How did she get here? She couldn’t recall—everything was a blur! Confused, she wracked her brain for answers that continued to evade her. In a deeply engrained stress habit, she reached to pull one of her twin braids over her shoulder, intent on tugging at the loose tuft at the end.  

   Nothing happened. Though she knew she’d moved and her brain had sent the proper signals, she had no braids—no hands—no body! 'What’s happened to me?!’ she thought frantically. 'Did I…no, it can’t be…I didn't…die…?’ She trailed off, her uncertainty solidifying into begrudging realization. 'I’m dead. I’m farkin’ dead. Well, this sucks. But if I’m dead, why’m I so alone? This place is dead even for the Afterlife. Unless…’ Not for the first time, she wondered if her beliefs hadn’t been rightly placed. If there was no God, no Heaven or Hell, then where was she? Of course, she reasoned, if that was true, why was she even conscious that she existed? Without a body of her own, how could she exist?

Unbidden, familiar words filled her memory in between ticks and tocks.

This is the vestibule to Hell, where those who would make no choices in life are condemned. Neither warm nor cold, believers nor blasphemers—you see them in the hills. They chase a banner they will never catch.

'Of course,’ she realized bitterly. ’Inferno—Niven and Pournelle’s take on Dante’s Divine Comedy. I read that danged book to tatters, an’ it never e'en occurred to me. I must be in the vestibule in a lil’ bronze jar. Great….at least my fat arse finally fits in a 'one size fits all’ container.’* But if I’m in a jar, that means I can get out!’ Focusing with all her strength, she repeated the phrase that had been Allen Carpenter’s saving grace. 'Fer the love'a God, get me out'a here!’  

   If she hadn’t been stuck in a little bronze jar in Hell, she’d have heard crickets; instead, she only heard the maddening ticking sounds. Amber winced, going over the phrase again in case she’d misspoken; maybe her would-be rescuer had passed her by over rudeness? 'Um…please?’  

   Her tiny empty world was sucked into oblivion as she hoped against hope that she wouldn’t wake up at the feet of Benito Mussolini.**

Translations

- “Quitcher whinin’ O'Brine!” - 'Quit your whining, O'Brien!’

Notes:        

*Amber calling herself fat is a self-defense mechanism—an unhealthy one. It’s always much easier to call yourself fat and insult your own behind, for example, than to hear someone say the same thing about you. Remember, real beauty isn’t dependent on your waist, your hips, your butt, or any other impermanent BS like that.

**Waking up at the feet of Benito Mussolini. This is a reference to Niven and Pournelle’s book Inferno. When Carpenter found himself out of his little brass bottle, he woke up at Benito’s feet staring at his own navel, convinced it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. You really should read the book regardless of that scene—it’s a hoot!

Up next: One Life Ends, Another Begins

Chapter List

[searchingwardrobes]

Self-Promo Sunday: Everyone Needs a Mother

I was inspired to write this story after reading a novel called No Other Will Do by Karen Witemeyer. In it, the main character is an orphan (who reminded me a lot of Killian Jones, actually), and even as an adult with a good job, he sets aside food whenever he eats. This is actually more of a Snowing and in particular a Mama Snow story than Captain Swan, which is part of the reason I’m deleting it from Ao3. However, I still love the feels in this story and hope ya’ll do too!

Summary: Snow notices a habit that her daughter and her son-in-law share, and it breaks her mothering heart. So, like any good mother, she decides to do something about it.

Rating:G (though discussions of children going hungry could be a trigger for some)

Words: 1500 and some change

On Ao3 until 11/24/19

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​ @kday426​​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​​​ @teamhook​​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​​ @thislassishooked​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​  @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snidgetsafan​​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​​​ @distant-rose​​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​​​ @optomisticgirl​​​​​​ @spartanguard​​​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​​​ @stahlop​​​ @scientificapricot​​​

The first time Snow noticed the habit in Emma, they were friends and roommates, ignorant of the fact that they were actually mother and daughter. They were chatting over breakfast as Emma toasted a bagel, slathering one half with cream cheese. The other she wrapped in a napkin before racing out the door. Snow shrugged it off assuming Emma was just in a hurry and finishing her breakfast on the run. But the pattern continued. One pancake and the other to go, one sugar cookie from the booth on Miner’s Day and one slipped in the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Snow finally came to the realization that her friend squirreled away food. To test her theory, she made a huge breakfast one morning with all the works: pancakes, bacon, eggs, and toast. There was no way Emma could slip any of that in her pocket.

But she could wrap up the plate in aluminum foil and slip it in the fridge.

The first time she noticed Killian’s similar habit, she had other, more pressing matters on her mind. Like the shiny steel hook that had her jaw dropping as she pulled it from his satchel. She didn’t really have time to think about the half a hard-tack biscuit wrapped in a handkerchief at the bottom. Exactly half of the biscuit they had given him back at the camp when they thought he was just a blacksmith.

When life slowed down, Snow noticed Emma and her true love’s habit more and more. When Snow asked them over for dinner, they never finished their plates, always asking for Tupperware at the end of the evening for the leftovers. Every time they met for meals at Granny’s, Emma and Killian had to ask for a two-go box. When Regina jokingly asked why they didn’t just share a plate like Lady and the Tramp, the pair looked up with bewildered expressions. That was when Snow realized the habit was so ingrained, they didn’t even realize they were doing it.

She started watching them more closely. Killian was methodical, cutting a pancake precisely in half or running a spoon evenly down a mound of mashed potatoes. Even so, he did it on autopilot, often continuing in lively conversation as he dissected his meal. Though Emma was generally more haphazard about it, sometimes pausing before a bite, then lowering the food as she seemed to think better of it; she did count out her onion rings carefully, dividing them into two neat piles.

The refrigerator at the Jones house was packed with leftovers. When Snow commented on it to Henry, he had shrugged, eyes never leaving his video game.

“Our refrigerator in New York was the same,” he told her distractedly, “Walsh threw stuff out that had been in there for months.”

It was as if her daughter and her son-in-law were literally storing away food for the winter. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find a stock of canned goods in the shed like Doomsday Preppers. Except Emma and Killian seemed completely unaware of what they were doing.

The years rolled by and still Snow made no comment. Until her granddaughter came along and almost from the start became a food hoarder. On her second birthday, the child only finished half her slice of cake and asked, “Gamma, can I has some tuppa?” The same thing she heard her parents ask after every family dinner.

Things had gone too far, so she decided to talk it over with David. They were doing the dishes together one night, when Snow brought it up.

“David, have you noticed that both Emma and Killian only eat half of their food?”

David’s brow creased as he thought about it. “Yeah, I guess so,” then he chuckled, “that explains why they’re both so thin despite Emma’s junk food obsession.”

Snow frowned, her eyes narrowing, “It isn’t funny, David. It isn’t just that they only eat half; they save the rest for later.”

David sighed as he took in his wife’s expression. He dried his hands on the kitchen towel slung over his shoulder as he turned to her. “Honey, I know it worries you, but it’s just an old habit.”

“A habit they picked up as orphans,” Snow cried, “and before you say I’m jumping to conclusions, I asked Archie about it.”

David shrugged, “Well, that makes sense, they both spent many years unsure where their next meal was coming from. Even as adults, they had it rough. Emma admitted to you sleeping in her car was nothing new, and I’m sure pirates have lean times quite often.”

“But they don’t have to worry about that now. They have steady jobs, a roof over their heads, and even if they lost those things, they have a huge family and a town full of friends who would never let them go hungry.” Snow was pacing now, her anxiety rising. David stopped her with gentle hands to her shoulders.

“Like I said, sweetheart, it’s just a habit. Now that I’m thinking about it, I know that you’re right. But I also know that they aren’t even aware that they do it. It isn’t hurting anyone.”

Snow tilted her head up to scowl at her husband. “It’s hurting Hope. She’s picked up the habit. The other day I gave her two chocolate chip cookies, but right before she took a bite of the second one, she stopped. Asked me to wrap it up for her. Do you know what she said? Never know when the stores might get low.”

She saw David’s mouth twitch up and knew he was suppressing a laugh. “So Killian has taught her some sailor’s wisdom. Self-control and saving for later aren’t bad ideas, actually.”

Snow crossed her arms and stared at the floor for a moment in thought. Then she looked back up at her husband thoughtfully. “Maybe I should talk to them.”

David’s eyes went wide as he shook his head. “No, Snow, no! Do you know how embarrassed they both would be? And I know how you and Emma get when her days as an orphan come up.”

“What do you mean?”

David sighed deeply. “You start feeling guilty and then Emma feels bad for making you feel bad. It never ends well. Look. I know you want to mother them, but believe me, it’s best to drop it.”

Snow knew he was right, even as a frown marred her face. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest as he held her close. He kissed the top of her head, and her eyes slipped shut. Her husband’s words replayed in her mind. I know you want to mother them.

Snow’s eyes flew open and she smiled. That was it!

**************************************************

Snow tried to be subtle about it: an extra scoop of mashed potatoes, a larger roast for family dinners, a slightly larger slice of pie. She even got Granny in on it, convincing the woman to give Emma an order and a half of onion rings. Or at least she thought she was being subtle. Then Emma cornered her in the kitchen after a family dinner at the farm house.

“Okay Mom, what’s up?”

Snow schooled her features as she turned from the refrigerator to see Emma standing there with her arms crossed. Snow mimicked her, crossing her own arms and leaning back against the appliance. “What are you talking about?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about the obscenely large slice of chocolate cake you just served Killian.”

Snow laughed as she grabbed a cloth and began wiping down the counters. “Emma, he’s a grown man and a pirate. He can handle that much cake.”

“Please, Mom. You’re the world’s worst liar. I’ve noticed it for weeks now. The mountains of mashed potatoes, the extra-large roasts. And did you tell Granny to up my onion rings?”

Snow inwardly cursed as she felt heat rise to her pale cheeks. “Emma, you’re exaggerating.”

Her daughter arched an eyebrow and tapped her booted foot on the hardwood floor. “Mhm. Okay. What is it? Think we need fattening up? Worried we’re wasting away?”

Well, at least this Snow could answer honestly. She lifted her eyes to meet Emma’s. “Of course not, honey. You may be thin, but look at those arms of yours. I’ve seen you wrestle beasts, literally. And Killian may be slim, but I’ve seen those biceps when he actually takes off that leather jacket. You’re healthy as horses.”

A smile tilted Emma’s mouth, “You checking out my husband’s biceps, Mom?”

Snow laughed and flicked her daughter with the kitchen towel. “If I wanted to check out some hot biceps, I’d just admire your father with his shirt off.”

Emma’s nose crinkled, “Ew, mom, TMI!”

They both laughed for a minute or two, and then Snow came close and cupped her daughter’s face in her hands. “Can you trust me, Emma? You and Killian both went far too long without a mother, and I aim to fix that. Please?”

Snow could tell her daughter was trying valiantly to remain composed, but the sheen of tears in her eyes gave her away. Emma nodded then stepped from her mother’s embrace. Before turning to go, she shook the unshed tears away and flashed her mother a grin.

“I’m okay with that.”

***************************************************

At the next family dinner, Snow was filling up plates and passing them around the large dining room table in the farm house’s formal dining room. When she handed her daughter a loaded plate, Emma just winked and smiled at her mother. Then Snow added an extra scoop to Killian’s already massive mound of mashed potatoes, and handed him a plate as well.

The pirate winked at her as he accepted the heavy plate. “Thank you, Mother Snow.”