It would be nice to have helpful siblings.

Well.

It's official. I’m off facebook. I had to. I can't continue to hurt myself obsessing over what you're doing and what people are saying about me. I can't be worried about every post I make and who may get upset or how much of my personal life I accidentally reveal. I'm struggling with myself to not give into the temptation of being petty. I want to show every single one of those girls you added this week all of the screenshots I have of you being the absolute worst. I want to tell your family that you never “went so hard” on me because I was “pulling some shit”. that never happened and you know it. You sit alone, bored, with a dry phone and so you decide to “miss me” and apologize and make all these promises that things will be different. The same promises that ive heard 1000 times already. Nothing was ever different. Just last night, when you accused me of so many things, you yourself were lying to me. Your snap count keeps going up, yet you yell at me that you're not talking to anyone and you'll delete snapchat. Why would it matter if you deleted it anyway? you just redownload it when I'm not around, just like you always have. Thats the thing. The trust is gone. You've used it up. You've taken every bit of trust I have and shattered it. I can't even go to my hometown anymore because I don't know who I can trust. Who you've poisoned. I know you're not telling anyone what really happened. I assume you're spinning a narrative along the lines of “she couldn't handle me being gone all the time and she was being a bitch so we broke up” instead of “I was unfaithful the entire relationship because I have a sex addiction, but I stopped wanting sex with her a long time ago. I also stopped loving her the way she craved to be loved. I stopped kissing her. I stopped calling her beautiful. I stopped enjoying her company on the couch for a lazy movie day. I stopped appreciating her as she held down the fort while I went away for work and flirted and partied and ignored her. While I was gone, she was at work or at home. She was paying bills and calling plumbers and yard workers, and getting estimates on fence work and painters and floor replacements. She was cooking and cleaning and caring for our dogs. She was allowing others to stay in the house because they fell on hard times. She was rehabbing baby animals and getting broken glass doors replaced. She was doing everything she could to bring light and happiness to everyone (and every animal) she could. And she was doing it all while being neglected. Doing it all for me while I was going out and disrespecting her and our commitment.” I know thats not what you're telling them, but thats the story id really like people to know. I want them to know that I cried myself to sleep every night that I would call you before bed, after not talking to you all day, and you “had nothing to say. I just worked all day. I'm tired. goodnight”. I would cry on the bathroom floor when you would come home after 3 months and never kiss me or hug me. just walk past me and ask “who's coming over tonight? lets cook!”. I would spend hours steaming floors and dusting fans and washing blankets and shampooing carpets and then I would shower and dress up and do my makeup and wear my best outfit down to the panties, and you would just come home, have people over, get sloppy drunk, and pass out, leaving me to host until everyone left, clean the mess that 10 drunk people and a bbq is bound to leave, then crawl into bed at 4 AM. Then I would get up at 6:30 to start the morning routine. Dogs out. Feed cats. Let dogs in and feed them. Feed the fish and the tortoise. Let the dogs out again. Switch the laundry, unload the dishwasher. You would just lay in bed all day. If you got up, it was probably 2 or 3 in the afternoon and you'd sit on the couch and watch tv while I did your laundry and whatever other things needed to be done that day. I would beg you to come with me for Tyson’s vet appointment, and of course you'd say no. I’d tell you my family was having a crawfish boil and you'd say you were too tired or “dont feel like being around people”. But thats not true, was it. You just didn't want to be around those people. You were always ready to go to bars and drink and ignore me. thats the people you like. the ones that don't know you and that assume you're single because you haven't touched me or kissed me or danced with me once all night. But oh... if Claire wants to dance or if a guy starts talking to Leah, you're on that shit. Cant let YOUR eye candy get taken by some guy at a bar. Yet I was forced to break a mans nose. I was forced to defend myself, because when he disrespected me, you where nowhere to be found. Probably watching some girl, too distracted to know that a man was trying to hurt me. But doing worry. I dealt with it. Im stronger than you think. I made it through all that. I made it through so many nights of hating myself and questioning what I did wrong and why I wasn't good enough. What I could do to be good enough for you. I didn't leave when you invited Linzy to sleep in your bed and stoped coming visit because she would be bored alone if you left. I didn't leave when your snapchat was all women that you would snap all day long and never save anything so I could never see it. I didn't leave when you fixated on the idea of Sadie showing her tits in new Orleans while I stood right in front of you. I also didn't leave when, that same night, you “jokingly” grabbed at her chest and when we went home, your phone “accidentally got left in the bathroom standing up in a strange place and took pictures of her in the shower”. I didn't leave. I stayed and I believed you because for a day or two after an incident you would love me again. you would kiss me and hug me and have sex with me. Then as soon as I believed you, it would stop and you'd go back to your fuck boy shit. You'd go back to “being so tired” that you couldn't call me before bed but you had time to talk to Claire and invite her to your hotel room. You couldn't be bothered to give me the attention I had been begging for, but you could find time to snapchat my sister and “dare her to flash you as a joke”. Or what about the time you “accidentally” sent her a snap of your dick in the shower?! I am so angry and so hurt. Honestly I don't even remember what the point of this post was. Its gone from having a purpose to the words jus falling out of my heart and into my keyboard. I know I made the right choice. I saw something earlier that said “Sometimes you have to break your heart to find your peace” and honestly that is what im doing. Im so hurt and so scared and I feel small and lost, but after typing all these things, I remember why I left you. I know these negative feelings will pass and my life will get back on track and ill be happy and I know that one day I will find a man that knows how to love. A man that knows how broken I am and the trauma that iv gone through and he just supports me and loves me the way I've always wanted. So im deleting facebook so that I am no longer hurt by all the lies you're spreading and all the women you're fucking. Im choosing to fix me. I am choosing to stand myself up and climb out of this rubble and keep moving forward. Im choosing to start putting myself back together so that when that man finds me, im ready to let him hold me. Also, sorry to anyone that gets stuck reading this. It is word vomit on a page and I apologize for my shit writing and rambling. I just kinda let myself type whatever came out. This is my life. this is me. Well. its at least the tip of the iceberg of the hot mess that is me. 

Chapter One

Also available on the Tapas.io Website, search for Night in the Novels tab!

“Helen, time to wake up!”

I turned over with a groan. “My alarm hasn’t even gone off yet, mom,” I complained, burying my head further under the pillow.

“You set that thing way too late, you’re always rushing yourself in the morning!”

Mom clicked the light on and I groaned louder. “Come on, I’ll make you pancakes but you have to get up now little missy.”

I gave in and sat up. My hair was a nest, my muscles still asleep. I yawned and stretched, and got up to walk out of my room to the bathroom to fix my mess.

My name is Helen Morris. I’m sixteen, tired of life, and ready for retirement already. It’s currently 5:30 a.m. thanks to school being an hour’s bus route away from home. In three months I turn seventeen and qualify for driving unsupervised. Not that I have a car to drive, but at least I’ll be able to work without the school stepping in, too. I live with my mom in an old, rickety two-bedroom, one bathroom house with walls that creaked and water that didn’t always run hot for very long. It wasn’t much, but it was paid off and in her name. My dad’s in prison, but I don’t want to think about him.

I got dressed in plain jeans and a blue t-shirt and walked through the hallway to the kitchen. Mom had some homemade blueberry pancakes made up ready the way I usually eat them. I groggily sat down and took a bite, enjoying the flavor for the moment. Mom glanced back at me from the sink where she was cleaning the pans and bowls.

“See, isn’t this nicer than rushing off with no breakfast?” she said matter-of-factly.

“It is, thanks Mom.” I really was grateful to being woken up like this. Mom usually works overnight as a nurse, so mornings like these are the result of her still being awake after her shift. It was hard to fully appreciate it in the moment, though, with the not being fully awake yet and all.

I finished my pancakes and milk, and dropped the dishes in the dishwasher. After finishing up the rest of my boring morning routine of brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I grabbed my bag, hugged my mom, and went out the door for the ten minute walk towards the bus stop.

The air was still cool and crisp, but I knew it was a lie. In two to fours hours it would be hot as hell. I still wore a jacket nonetheless because the school, in addition to being terrible already, did not know what the meaning of climate control is, and tended to have its classrooms ranging from stuffy to freezing. But for these ten quiet minutes, it was a nice morning.

The aged houses and trees of my neighborhood gave way to a more modern urban sprawl, the neighborhood of the better-off kids. I like to think I was only envious of the fact that they had less things to worry about, given their financial stability. Granted, I had no idea what kind of lives lived behind those doors, but I couldn’t help the bitter feeling that it surely couldn’t be anything nearly as bad as the rest of us. I haven’t really been out in the world necessarily yet, but I did see how much mom struggles to keep us afloat and happy.

Past this neighborhood was the community center and library, which is where my bus stop was. Behind this was a large, forested area which I sometimes use as shortcut to get  here from home as it cuts the time in half. Which I frequently have to do. It can be pretty creepy this early in the morning, even more so after dark. But the five minutes of sunset was where it’s at; the way the golden-red rays fell through the trees...it was pretty magical.

Fun fact about this forest; there’s this huge creepy castle that no one ever goes near, somewhere right smack in the middle. It’s not like people aren’t allowed to go near, but, inexplicably, people avoid that place anyway. Some say it’s haunted, some claim it’s not even there. Apparently some have even actually gone in but never came back out. None of it is backed up by anything, but I’ve always avoided the area nonetheless. It’s a bit out of the way from my route home anyway, and I’m not dumb enough to go trespassing on someone else’s property in the middle of the woods.

The bus arrived, and thank goodness, because the other kids at my stop started to arrive at the same time. I didn’t want to interact with anyone if I could help it. One dude quickly put out a cigarette soon as he saw the bus, and a couple girls my age looked disappointed to not have any time to gawk and gossip about the shabbiness of everything in general. Since the bus barn is close to this area, ours was the first stop to be picked up in the mornings, but also the last one to drop in the evenings. Which meant we got first pick on seats but also had to deal with everyone else for the maximum amount of time possible. And this bus picked up both junior high and high schoolers.

I remember being in junior high, I grimaced as a bunch of fourteen/fifteen-year-olds loaded up at the next few stops. It really wasn’t all that long ago honestly, but it was such a weird age. Girls figuring out puberty, boys learning how to be asses but not understanding why girls won’t be attracted to them, but at the same time both genders thinking the other is stupid. I really hated that age. Not that high school is much different, but at least everyone has enough going on to keep out of each other’s business.

The hour passes and I nearly fell asleep as the bus dropped the high schoolers off first. I got my stiff legs moving and made my way into the building.

Classes pass in a daze like usual. Nothing is very interesting, but at least it’s consistent. I know what to expect from my day, and what’s expected of me. I know what periods I’m going to hate, and which ones I can relax in. It really isn’t as bad as I complain about, sometimes. That’s just how life goes. You settle into monotony and enjoy the calm ride however you can.

Unfortunately for today, I had forgotten about my math test. I’m not bad at math, but I’m not great at it either, and the teacher is REALLY confusing most of the time. She needs to seriously consider retirement; hardly anyone could make heads or tails of what she’d say. I bombed the test of course, I forgot to do the practice homework to prepare for it. When I got my test back, there was a note in red pen telling me I need to apply myself or I’m going to have to take remedial lessons. The last thing I needed was even MORE time at school. That would mean I’d have to miss my bus and catch a public bus. Which means getting home after dark and making mom worry.

Last class was just a seminar hour for study, and thankfully I had this with my best friend, Emily. We both took a dead language class as an elective and were translating a runes assignment.

“Tell me if you think this is close,” she said quietly. “Here be a person of shared...tree?”

“That’s the symbol for parent, not tree,” I corrected, “so it should be ‘Here be a person of shared parent.’ They’re saying it’s their sibling.”

“Ooooooohhhh I get it now,” Emily mused. “I swear though, I had to have gotten somebody’s eulogy or something.”

“It might be, it’s gotta be more interesting than mine. I’m pretty sure I just have someones written layout of their town.”

“Seriously though, how are you so good at this? These are dead languages, and the teacher freakin’ loves you.”

I shrugged. “I dunno. I have a hard time with the roman based letters sometimes, which is dumb, but give me runes and I’ve got it. I think it’s because there’s a simpler pattern to decipher for me. Like, the structure just makes sense with the language syntax or something.”

“I dunno,” Emily stared dubiously at her text. “We’re already in the second course and this is still all just gibberish to me.”

“You got that far, though, didn’t you?” I said, gesturing to her project. “You got halfway through the assignment before getting a symbol confused with another.”

“Yeah, but I still have to use a cheat sheet.”

I shrugged again. “Nothing wrong with that. Plus, no one else has it as easy either. Maybe I’m just a weirdo.”

She laughed, and I grinned. Our seminar teacher shushed us angrily, even though we weren’t being that loud. I narrowed my eyes his direction but just let it go. He had always been an ass that could only ever amount to a gym teacher, but it wasn’t worth picking a fight with him. Besides, there was nothing I could really do about it.

School let out and Emily walked with me to my bus. She was one of the lucky ones whose parents were able to have time to pick her up after school. “You think you’ll be able to come over today?” she asked hopefully.

“Sorry, not this time either. Mom wants me to pick up some stuff from the community center for her work and by that point it’ll be almost dark.”

“Dang. You should ask her if it’s cool if my mom just picks you up from school and then takes you home.”

“Ha! Good luck with that, she barely feels comfortable with me riding the bus, let alone someone else’s car.”

We said our goodbyes and I got on the bus to settle in for the hour-long drive back. The town flew by in a blur of hills and houses and trees, every now and then passing through the small business district again as the bus weaved back and forth, unloading it’s contents like a slowly hatching spider’s nest. The tiredness of the day began to weigh on me, and I felt a little guilty for lying to Emily. Mom didn’t actually have anything I needed to get; I just didn’t want to ask her again, only to be told no and reminded of the dangers of why. And with her busy schedule, she really didn’t even have time to meet parents and give proper assessment. It was so frustrating, but even more so because I understood why.

At least, in a few months, I’ll legally be allowed to work, and I’ll be able to use that as a reason for her to allow me to start making my own decisions.

My stop finally arrived, I got off the bus like all the other little spiderlings, and began my walk home. I still have enough time before sunset actually happens and it gets too dark, so I decided to take my nature path through the woods. It was quiet, immediately a different atmosphere from the civilization around the community center. The trees were tall and loomed far overhead, not impossibly tall or really even impressively tall, but gentle. The oaks and sycamores and birches all commingled their leaves, creating this wonderful blanket of patterned light through the summer green foliage. A breeze would sometimes drift through, causing the treetops to shimmer and rustle and bring relief from the fading summer heat. Below my feet was a lightly worn path from all the times I’ve walked through these woods, every now and then branching off into other less worn paths from the times others had walked through here as well. I breathed in and enjoyed the peace. Sometimes I wish I could just live out here, in the trees, away from all the people. Away from all the noise and frustrations of everyone’s expectations.

The peace was short lived of course, as it always was. The path was only a five minute walk after all. And before long I was back near my house with its tall privacy fenced in yard and it’s peeling paint and creaky hinges.

Mom was already awake and getting ready for work, wearing her baby blue scrubs as I walked in.

“Dinner is on the stove,” she instructed, “ and I have the oven on warm so don’t forget it. Remember to keep the doors locked.” She kissed me on the forehead. “Love you baby, be safe.”

“You too mom,” I hugged back, and locked the door as she left. I checked all of the windows and back doors absentmindedly, thinking about how different things would be if things were...well, different. Mom could stay at home and wouldn’t need to work so much, I could possibly have a life outside school and home, though to be honest I don’t know how much I’d actually want that. Maybe we’d have a bigger, newer house.

I shook my head, assembling the chili tortillas mom had prepped for me and sitting down. No, this is nice, this is okay. We’ve got a warm home, enough good food, and new clothes when we need them. We’re not hurting for money, and getting by modestly. This was nice enough.

After cleaning my dishes and putting the food away, I went back to my room to my desk to deal with the remedial homework my math teacher had given me. I clicked the radio setting on my alarm and listened to music while I worked through the numbers. The song playing on the station made me smile; it was a pop classic Emily and I liked to make fun of, due to it sounding exactly like every other song out there but with the lyrics being horrifically bad. I sung to it softly, wondering what she was up to.

Just as the thought crossed my mind, the phone rang. My heart gave a start from the sudden noise. “Hello?” I answered.

“Hey! It’sa me!”

I laughed. “Hey Emily. I was just thinking about what you’d be up to.”

“Making pizza rolls. Well, waiting for pizza rolls. So I just heard our song on the radio and I thought hey, Helen better be hearing this too ‘cause I can’t just enjoy the hilarity of it again all by myself.”

I laughed again. “I was, actually. Trying to plow through this stupid extra math work Mrs. Marrow gave me.

“Ugh, Bloody Marrow, she needs to retire.”

“For sure.”

“Anyway, so I actually wanted to tell you something that happened to me today!” she began, excited. “Erin asked me out in the most sweetest adorable way ever, she had given me her phone number last week ‘cause we had a science project together and had to coordinate outside of class and whatever, and today she sent me a text wanting to know if I like ice cream and would want to go get some at this new shop opening up at the mall this week!!”

I sat forward in amazement. “Emily! That’s awesome! You’ve had a crush on her for like, forever, I’m so happy for you!”

“I knoooooooow,” I heard her squee on the other end, and the sound of rustling as she was probably rolling back and forth on her bed happily. “She’s so prettyyyyy and I’m so gaaaaaaaaaaay.” I laughed.

“Well, I really hope it works out for you. It’d be really cool to see you two together.”

“Yeah, I’m a little scared though. I mean, this clearly sounds like a date, but I have no idea if she’s like, INTO me, or just ya know, looking for a friend or whatever.”

“Dude. She’s totally into you. How could she not be?”

“Buuuuuut-”

“For reals though. I’ve seen the way she acts when you come around. Plus you’re not exactly hiding your rainbows. She’s totes into you.”

“Uuuuuggghhhhh I just don’t knowwwwww.” I heard her shift. “Have you ever had a massive crush on anyone? Or have a crush on anyone currently?” she added with a hint of probing in her voice.

“I did once,” I grimaced. “That was a few years ago. You remember James?”

She made a noise of surprise. “Ugh that jock-head?”

“Yeah. He went to my middle school before we had moved here.”

“Dang, small world.”

“Yeah. Well, I used to think he was cute back then, and he kind of was. But I never really knew him. When I first moved here and started high school, I found out he went to this school too, so I tried to go talk to him since he was the only person I knew, and he essentially said ‘Ew, no, go away.’ Or something like that.”

“Ugh, boys are so rotten. You should switch sides, girls are way nicer.”

I gave a small laugh. “I wish. I get why you like girls, but I just kinda...don’t like anyone.”

“Dude, confession time to lighten the mood? I once had a crush on you.”

“I know,” I laughed. “You gave me chocolates and your lunch like, everyday. I felt bad for not realizing sooner after I ate all of your food.”

She laughed too. “S’algood, s’algood, I think I may have been mixing feelings a bit, you just seemed like someone I HAD to get to know.”

“I’m really glad you did. I didn’t have any friends at that time.”

“And you’re like, the most open-minded person ever. A lot of girls would get really defensive. Which sucks, but is also pretty hilarious too.”

“Well, I’m flattered you thought I was gay,” I teased. “And sorry that I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you could be bi though, and I just wasn’t your type. Or maybe even ace.”

“I dunno, I kinda just...don’t care? I don’t really care what category I’d fit in, I just want to be treated like me.”

“Saaaaaame, girl, same.”

We chatted for a few more hours before it started getting really late. The phone call distraction extended my homework by the same amount of time, but it made it easier to get through, and at least it was done. As the last tangent conversation ended we said our see-you-tomorrows and hung up.

I flopped back against the musty pillows. I should really wash those. Our earlier conversation went through my mind, and I turned over on my side, hugging a large stuffed husky my mom got me when I was ten. It’s not like I didn’t want to like people, or that I didn’t want to date anyone. No one ever felt like they were actually interested in ME, not even Emily. At least Emily was aware of it; that’s the reason we became friends. But...I didn’t want to risk the possibility of actually really liking someone, and they just turn out to be like James had been; a stuck up jerk who didn’t even want to be nice. Or like some of the guys that were too thick to understand that Emily likes girls and certainly not them.

Being alone though...that’s what sucks the most. And for me, being around people who make me feel alone is the worst feeling of all.

I sat at the computer lab in the community center, looking at job listings, looking for any that hire seventeen year olds. It was still a few months away but It wouldn’t hurt to try to get a head start. I could use the shortened time to convince them to at least consider me; there was a public bus route that made a stop just down the road from where the school bus drops, at roughly the same time. I could take my seminar hour at the end of the day and check myself out of school, work for a couple of hours, and then commute back here. And mom wouldn’t need to know about it, AND I’d be able to help out with expenses. It’s a win-win scenario, it wouldn’t even cut into homework time.

I leaned back and stretched, and noticed that it was unusually quiet, and dark, in the building. I looked around; everyone had left save for the front desk lady, who was quietly reading her book. The auto lights had already gone out.

I checked the time on the computer. It said 8:05.

Oh crap.

Logging out as quickly as I could I bolted out the doors; the sun was already in setting position. “Oh crap oh crap.” Mom is going to be furious, this was her night off, I should have been home an hour ago…!

I ran towards the woods, debating whether to take the chance of it being dark before I made it through or getting into even more trouble with mom. To be honest, mom is probably scarier. The implications of it being after dark by the time I made it home was enough of a risk. I dove right into the treeline.

There was a different eeriness to the atmosphere here today, maybe it was because I was in a hurry, and maybe because it was minutes from full darkness. Something sent prickles across my skin, like I was being watched, like something was following me. I moved quicker, faster, my breath starting to become labored. A chilling mist was filling the forest; the sun had set. A strange lurch in the pit of my stomach pulled me in a direction that I was sure was the path home. Surely I was close now…?

I stopped, unable to believe my eyes as the treeline gave way to a clearing, my heart sinking as I realized it wasn’t because I was leaving the forest...and rising again from the sheer awe that was before me.

Towering far above me and covering the entire expanse of the open treeline I stepped out from, was an impressively large, black stone castle.

“It’s real…” I whispered. “No way…” How on earth did I end up here? I know that path by heart, I shouldn’t have veered off for a moment…!

Curiosity governed my senses. I walked through the white rose bushes that lined the outer wall and towards the brick; it wasn’t just a flat dark stone, it was carved with intricate details and patterns and symbols. With a start I recognized a lot of them; sanskrit, rune, greek, hebrew, korean. None were written in a manner I could read or understand, but something told me it was all the same language, whatever it was. Running my fingers across them felt almost electric, as if they held magic or something dumb like that.

I walked along the wall, carefully avoiding the rose buses that lined the way, coming up to a wrought iron gate. It twisted into intricate vine-like patterns with an almost glossy new sheen, as if it had just been made. A similar theme was applied to the rest of the castle beyond the wall, like a gothic style mansion with darkened rooftops. It was gorgeous and glossy and new and…

Wait, new?

I looked closer at the walls, and tried my best to look closer at the inner castle itself. Everything looked pristine and kept, fresh painted with muted and yet vibrant colors, even the stone and iron showed no discernable age. As if it had been freshly built. If this was the legendary castle in the woods, it would have to be SUPER ancient, because that myth has been around since our parents’ parents were little. It would be worn, the stones cracking and nature attempting to take over, or at the very least look uninhabited.

This looked very inhabited.

A chill fell over my body and dread followed suit. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what kind of people would live here, but I got the feeling they’d be the kind that wouldn’t care about shooting some random teenager looking like they’re about to trespass. I backed away quickly, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise as it felt like I was being closely watched again.

“Ouch!” Pain stung across my forearm as I stumbled into a rose bush, dragging a very thin bead of blood in a line down the scratch. “Ah, crap…” Now mom won’t just be mad. She’ll be paranoid.

A light snap! sounded from my left and I spun towards it, fear filling my pulsing chest. A million thoughts ran through my head, my breath started to catch. Very slowly, carefully this time, I started backing away. I let out a sigh of relief as a squirrel ran out from a bush, but the tension remained. It was time to leave.

But then I heard another crack, and this wasn’t a squirrel.

A pair of eyes shone in the dark, and a large, lithe figure began to step out from the shadows; that was all I needed to turn around and nope the heck out of there.

I had barely taken ten steps before I felt a rush of wind, and then suddenly I was jerked backwards into something solid by my arms. “NO-!” A scream had just barely begun from my mouth when pain erupted my from shoulder. Numbness overtook me and then everything was black.

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New Sneak Peek: Bottoms Up, Chapter 3!

It’s been waaaaay too long since I’ve had any new content. I was fighting inner demons and focusing all my positive energy into life with my wife and daughter. I didn’t have anything left in me to write. Still not out of the woods, but starting to see the light again. Got a pretty long peek into the next chapter of Bottoms Up. Rachel just can’t seem to learn her lesson! Enjoy!

​Shelby sighed and took a long swig of her coffee. It was going to be a long week if this morning was anything to go on. It was just after six and Rachel was already arguing with her about being able to sing in the auditorium after school.

​“But why, Mom?” the teen asked for the millionth time.

​ Shelby downed the rest of her coffee in one gulp and went to refill her mug, taking the extra seconds to collect her thoughts. It was too early for this and quite frankly, she thought she had made herself perfectly clear the night before regarding this issue. Not clear enough, apparently, she thought to herself.

​Refilled mug in hand, Shelby turned once more to look at her petulant teen slumped at the kitchen island, picking absentmindedly at her avocado toast. “What did I just tell you last night, Rachel? I don’t want to argue with you about Glee all week. Stop it now.”

​“I’m not arguing,” Rachel insisted, earning a raised eyebrow from her mother. She huffed and continued on, ignoring the obvious warning in the woman’s stare. “Besides, this doesn’t even have anything to do with Glee.”

“It’s not all that far removed from what you do in Glee and too much of a temptation for you. The way you are acting right now just proves my point.”

“Ugh! You’re being ridiculous!” the girl whined.

​“Rachel,” Shelby growled, “I’ve already told you that how you act with your dads won’t fly with me. Whining and arguing does nothing except make it worse for you. As of right now, you still have the freedom to do what you want after school—except for Glee and singing in the auditorium—but you’re about five seconds from losing that privilege.”

​“But that’s not fair! You’re not giving me a good reason why I can’t!”

​“Because I said so! That’s reason enough!” Shelby said in exasperation. Rachel grumbled something under her breath that Shelby didn’t catch but could probably guess. She clenched her teeth and resisted the urge to snatch Rachel up and give her a few more good reasons on her backside. Instead, she took a steadying breath and said in a calm, if somewhat strained voice, “I’m being extremely patient with you here, kid. I should follow through with my promise and take away Glee next week as well but I’m trying to give you a chance to change your attitude. Please don’t make me regret that decision.”

​“But I’m not arguing about Glee! I just want to sing at school!” Rachel fussed with an annoyed huff.

​“And I told you no. We went over this last night as well, Rachel. You need to respect my decisions because I am your mother and I make the rules. Did you listen to anything I said?”

​“I did, but—”

​“Enough, Rachel,” Shelby cut the girl off, pulling her up from her seat. “Since you’re clearly done with your breakfast, you can unload the dishwasher.”

​“But I don’t do that until after dinner,” said the teen.

​“Well you can get a head start on it. You’ll be washing the dinner dishes by hand tonight too,” Shelby said, unfazed by the pout she was currently receiving from her child.

“But that’ll take me ages to—Yeouch!” Rachel yelped when a hard swat connected with her rear. She jumped and tried to move away from her mother, but the woman had grabbed her arm and spun her around to face her.

​“Why do you have to continue to argue with me when I’ve told you to stop? Multiple times, I might add!” Shelby asked, frustrated.

​“I don’t know,” Rachel answered honestly as she rubbed her bottom. She chanced a glance up at her mom and squirmed under the piercing glare she was met with.

​Shelby sighed and looked skyward, praying for strength. She had meant that as a rhetorical question, but she knew her daughter had answered truthfully. She knew Rachel had spent her entire sixteen years getting her way with pretty much everything and the fact that she couldn’t with Shelby threw her for a loop. Rachel was responding to this situation the way she would any other, not stopping to consider who she was dealing with. Shelby knew that and even understood it, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to not become frustrated and even angered by it.

​“Rachel, I understand this is a learned behavior years in the making, but it’s not okay with me, kiddo. I don’t expect you to never argue with me, but I do expect you to listen when I tell you to stop. I’ve given you plenty of warnings and you’ve ignored every last one of them. I don’t like being ignored, young lady,” Shelby scolded in a firm tone that only increased her child’s squirming.

​“I’m sorry,” Rachel offered quickly, hoping it would ease the angry look marring her mother’s beautiful features. It did not.

​“I have no doubt you’re going to be in a minute,” Shelby replied, hiding a smirk as Rachel gasped and tried to shield as much of her backside as possible with one hand.

​“No, wait—Mommy, please!” Rachel whimpered as she was turned away from her mom.

​“Unload the dishwasher and go get ready for school. I’m going to make a list of chores for you to do after school today and I want them done by the time I get home from practice at five, got it?” Shelby said as she released her hold on the girl.

​“Okay, got it,” Rachel nodded vehemently, surprised and relieved not to feel the stinging swats she had been expecting.

​“I love you, Rachel, but I don’t love this behavior. Fix it before I do it for you. You have until this afternoon,” Shelby said, leaving her daughter to her chore and her thoughts.

Bottoms Up * Bottoms Up * Bottoms Up

​Rachel sat in the empty choir room, staring down at the list of chores her mother had handed her before they left the house twenty minutes ago. Not for the first time, she wondered why she just had to argue with her mother. She did it last night with the spanking and then when she tried to convince her mom to let her go to Glee, and again this morning with the auditorium. She had only created more trouble for herself by doing so. And she knew she wouldn’t get her way, not with her mom. Shelby Corcoran was a hard ass and Rachel was well aware of it. And yet, she still pushed.

​The girl sighed. Her mom hadn’t gone easy on her with the chores for today and even warned her that if her behavior didn’t improve, she would come up with enough chores to keep her busy every day after school as well as all weekend long.

​If only I had kept my big mouth shut, the teen thought to herself. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess now. I could have done what I wanted and Mom would never know. But noooo, you and your dumb arguments.

​Well, going to Glee rehearsal was out and so was singing in the auditorium after school—as it was, Rachel was going to have to go straight home at the end of the day if she wanted any chance of getting it all done in the two hours she had before her mother walked through the door. Yet all was not lost.

​Mom only said no to singing in the auditorium after school. She didn’t say anything about during the day, so it wouldn’t really be breaking the rules, now would it? the little voice inside her head reasoned. It was the same voice that had assured her her mother wouldn’t find out about the drinking. Well, she had only found out about the drinking at school because of Santana and Brittany. Rachel had gotten away with her party over the weekend and there was no reason that Shelby would find out about it now.

​Rachel nodded to herself. It made sense, she thought. She would ask Mr. Schue if she could use the auditorium during lunch and then head home directly after school to make sure she got every single chore done perfectly so as to not give her mom any reason to still be upset with her this afternoon.

​“I have to sing. I just have to,” Rachel proclaimed to the empty classroom.

She didn’t anticipate having any trouble convincing Schuester to let her use the auditorium later. The man meant well but there was no denying that he was a huge pushover. Rachel always knew how to use that to her advantage and today would be no different. So instead, she focused on her list of chores and what would be the most efficient way to tackle them all. She was so busy reorganizing the list that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming her way.

​“There you are, Hobbit,” Santana sneered as she stomped over to the small brunette, “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

​Rachel looked up at the cheerleader’s voice, brows furrowing as she took in the angry look on the Latina’s face. Her eyes then scanned the other disgruntled faces of her teammates as they filed into the room behind her.

​“Because of you, I’m grounded for two weeks! Complete lockdown,” the girl grumbled.

​“Why is it my fault? I seem to recall you and Brittany vomiting all over the stage yesterday. Maybe if you two were better at holding your alcohol we—”

​Rachel prudently ended her thought and leapt up from her chair as a flash of red-hot rage glinted in Santana’s eye. She had only barely managed to get out of harm’s way before Santana’s fist was occupying the space her face had just been. Puck and Mike then intervened, pulling the angry cheerleader away as she cursed at Rachel in Spanish.

​“Alright, no need to kill her,” Puck said. “Besides, Berry’s got a point.” That comment earned him a hard stomp to his foot. “Ow! Watch the toes! You’re just pissed because you and Britt blew chunks in front of everyone yesterday. If you two could have just held off until after the song, no one would have known anything. That’s not on Rachel, that’s on you.”

​Santana growled and stomped on Puck’s foot a second time. The boy released his hold on her and hopped back a step. Santana took that opportunity to elbow him in the stomach before turning her attention to Mike. The tall dancer immediately let go of her other arm and held his own up in surrender, backing away slowly.

​“Yeah, well, Rachel’s the one who brought in the alcohol in the first place. So if it wasn’t for her, none of us would be in trouble now,” Santana argued.

“Oh, shut up, San. No one made you drink it. We got caught, let’s move on,” Quinn interjected. “Besides, you got off easy with two weeks. My mom told me I’m grounded indefinitely. Being a recovering alcoholic, she doesn’t want me following in her footsteps.”

“I’m with Quinn. I’ll be working in my dad’s shop until I’m 30. Goodbye social life,” said Kurt, Finn nodding along sadly besides him.

Tina, Mike, and Mercedes were the next to bemoan their lot, a four week long sentence for each of them. Artie confessed to being grounded for a week with no Glee and an on-going house arrest every weekend for the next two months.

“Even my mom grounded me for three weeks over this stunt, and she normally doesn’t bother. Said she didn’t want me turning into my old man,” Puck shrugged as he flopped down in the chair Rachel had previously been sitting in.

“Okay, fine,” Santana conceded with an eye roll. “Maybe I got off easier than the rest of you, but I still say this is all Rachel’s fault!”

“Sanny, I think you’re only grounded for two weeks because Mami Lopez spanked your butt with her wooden spoon too,” Brittany piped up in her usual dreamy voice.

The room broke out in laughter as all eyes turned to Santana who sputtered and turned as red as her Cheerios uniform. “Brittany!” she hissed, feeling betrayed. “Why would you say that?” The girl turned to the others and insisted nothing of the sort happened.

“But you asked me to come rub it last night because you were sore, remember?” Brittany asked innocently.

“Brittany—”

“Want me to rub it for you, Santana?” Puck asked with a smirk.

Brittany continued on as if the interruptions hadn’t happened, “And your skin was so red and hot. And then you started moaning and saying it felt so good and then I slipped my finger—”

“Brittany!” Santana groaned, rushing over to slap her hand over the blonde’s mouth. “Remember we talked about secrets that are only between us? This is one of those times, Britt-Britt,” she whispered into the other girl’s ear.

Rachel listened to the conversation happening around her and after hearing some of her teammates’ punishments, she realized Shelby had actually gone fairly easy on her. In fact, her mother was a complete pushover compared to the other parents. Yes she had been spanked and wasn’t allowed to go to Glee this week, but she was still free to do as she pleased otherwise. Her classmates couldn’t say the same. And after hearing Santana’s fate, Rachel couldn’t even be upset over the spanking she was given. Hers was no doubt a walk in the park compared to the one Santana had endured. And not that the girl would ever admit this out loud, but she was glad she wasn’t the only kid whose parent believed that sometimes a reddened rear was the best way to impart a lesson.

“Sorry, Sanny. I won’t tell them next time it happens,” Brittany apologized just as soon as the raven-haired beauty uncovered her mouth. She added a soft peck on the girl’s cheek before flouncing off to take a seat.

The corner of Santana’s mouth twitched upwards even as she rolled her eyes and followed after the blonde. She eased herself down onto the hard plastic chair and bit the inside of her cheek as she fought the urge to squirm to find a more comfortable position. Her eyes flicked up and caught Rachel staring at her.

“What are you looking at, Man-Hands?”

Rachel averted her eyes, another surge of gratitude washing over her that her mom was clearly a pushover. As much as she believed she would never be able to sit comfortably ever again after her mom finished with her last night, she was back to normal in less than three hours. It was clear that Santana hadn’t faired the same after hers.

“Brittany, what did your parents do?” Tina asked in an effort to deflect the tension growing in the room.

“They told me drinking was wrong and not to do it,” said the blonde.

“That’s it?” Finn scoffed.

“Yes, although Lord Tubbington took away my iPod for a month,” Brittany said. Everyone just nodded along as if a cat handing out a punishment made any sense.

“What about you, Rachel? What did your mom have to say?” Kurt asked.

“Oh, uh,” Rachel faltered. After the punishments they had all shared, she really didn’t want to tell them her mom had only banned her from Glee for a week. And she certainly couldn’t tell them about her spanking. They had all laughed at Santana’s, but the Latina was popular enough (not to mention scary enough) that that’s as far as it would go. If anyone were to find out that Rachel Berry was spanked…well, there would just be no coming back from that. Deciding to err on the side of extreme caution, she said, “I’m banned from Glee for a week and grounded until further notice.”

“Finally some good news!” Santana exclaimed. “A week without your annoying ass in practice!”

“When do we get a week without your annoying ass, Santana?” asked Finn. His comment was met with laughter from the rest of the Glee kids.

Before Santana could respond, Will Schuester walked into the room and everyone fell silent. “Morning, kids,” he said, not surprised when most of them scowled in greeting. “First bell is going to ring any minute now. You all better head to class.” He turned his attention to his locked door, hand in pocket searching for his key ring.

​Grumbles all around as teenagers picked up bags and shuffled toward the door. Rachel busied herself with pretending to pack her bag, waiting until the coast was clear to pounce on the unsuspecting music coach.

Will just turned the doorknob when he noticed a flash of brown behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and sighed, not surprised by Rachel’s dallying. He had a feeling he knew exactly what she was about to say.

“Hurry up, Rachel, you don’t want to be late for first period,” he said, the bell ringing in agreement.

​“I need to talk to you, Mr. Schue,” came the teen’s reply. “You can write me a note if I’m late.” She flicked her hand in the air as if waving an annoying bug from her and strode confidently over to her teacher.

​“If this is about Glee, Rachel, your mother has already let me know that you will be missing practices this week,” Will informed the tiny teen in an effort to end the conversation before it even started.

Rachel was caught off guard by that particular piece of information. Her mother was good, she thought of everything. Well, almost everything.

Shaking off her surprise, Rachel put on her best show face. “It’s not about Glee, Mr. Schue. I wanted to ask you for permission to use the auditorium during lunch today.”

“No, Rachel,” Will answered immediately.

“Great, Mr. Schue, I—Wait, what? Did you say no? Why?”

Will’s thoughts turned to Shelby’s words from the previous day. He knew if he didn’t put his foot down now, Rachel would walk all over him this week. He knew she wasn’t allowed in Glee all week. Perhaps he needed to up the ante right from the get-go. It certainly couldn’t hurt and maybe he’d save himself from a week’s worth of arguments from the petite girl.

“Because I’m pulling all privileges to the Glee club this week,” he brought the hammer down in one fell swoop. Rachel’s mouth hung open in sheer disbelief. “That means no auditorium solo practices during lunch or after school until Monday.”

“But that’s—Mr. Schuester, you can’t be serious, I—Sectionals are coming up and—“

“Enough, Rachel. This isn’t up for discussion. Now, you really need to get to class,” Will said, finally pushing his office door open and stepping inside. The door shut with a firm click and he let out a long sigh and slumped against it

Rachel was left standing there, mouth agape. That was the first time Mr. Schuester had walked away from one of their conversations; normally it was she who did the walking out.

The second bell rang and Rachel was jarred from her thoughts. She had three minutes to get to her first period before being marked late. The girl grabbed her bag and hurried from the room, an idea already forming to work around the mounting obstacles keeping her from her goal.

At the risk of disheartening some of my followers, I opted to strike while the iron of my inspiration was hot and turn out the next chapter of my ongoing Blind!Ignis fic, rather than tackle the current contents of my inbox. I will absolutely resume writing headcanons in short order (and I haven’t forgotten about your request, @violet94!), so I hope it won’t be too much of a disappointment to ISEB fans if I continue following my muse for just a little while longer because honestly I just want to get to the naughty bits as fast as possible mama is thirsty for some smut.

As always, you can follow the link above or click below for the full text; SFW (for now, heh).

As it turns out, the strategist was slightly off in his original estimates; in actuality, Ophelia must have stood at five and a half feet or taller, which he discovered entirely by accident the time he went to reach for a sack of flour he kept stored in the highest cabinet of Mr. Tostwell’s kitchen, only to learn she had already retrieved it for him without even needing the help of a step stool.  

She also had dark features, evidently—“Boring brown eyes, same color as my hair,” she had confessed at one point, after he’d inquired about it in an effort to spark polite conversation while they rolled out a unit of pastry dough together—although it made next to no difference to him, considering he couldn’t make heads or tails out of what he was looking at to begin with.

She’d been working at the grill for a little over a month now, and had proven herself adept in both culinary skill and matters of hospitality; her father’s secret Baklava recipe alone had made a sizable impact on the establishment’s revenue—the fresh honey harvested from a hive of Killer Bees swarming just south of the city and baked directly into the crust had been quite the hit with the locals—but it was her ability to effortlessly charm the frowns off even the crankiest of customers that had made Mr. Tostwell’s newest hire such a valuable asset.

“Does your wife know you don’t wear your wedding ring while you’re at work?”

The strategist glances up from the mollusks he is shucking and widens his unparalyzed eye. “I beg your pardon?”

He can almost hear the sound of her lips peeling back into a wry grin from the other side of the preparation table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to presume—husband, perhaps?”

She had turned the same charm she normally reserved for cantankerous patrons on him more than once since being hired; the reserved woman he’d interviewed had given way to a much more vibrant character now that she was truly in her element, dropping cheeky quips around him while her arms were buried to the elbows in pastry dough and making herself readily available whenever he needed her help. And while she’d offered to accompany him on his walks home on days when their schedules happened to coincide—“We’re both headed in the same direction,” was her reasoning, since she apparently lived not two blocks from his apartment complex—he hadn’t been sure whether her inquisitiveness was merely a facet of her affable personality, or a reconnaissance mission into his personal life.

But there was no mistaking her intentions now—one didn’t generally probe into the absence of marital tokens without expecting to elicit a certain response—and Ignis wasn’t particularly interested in encouraging flirtatious behavior. “I’m not married,” he says dryly.

“Really?” The audible squish squish of dough being kneaded squelches against the countertop. “I must admit, I find that rather surprising.”

The hairs on the back of the his neck tingle in mild annoyance, but he ignores them and returns his attention to the bowl of half-shucked mollusks in front of him. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Squish squish. “Something about perpetuating the species after an apocalypse comes to mind.” Squish squish. “We can’t very well expect to survive as a civilization with a flock of unmarried bachelors running around.”

“The flaw in your argument is neglecting to account for the female’s contribution to the equation. I’d go so far as to say it’s more crucial for women to secure robust partners, not men.”

“Rather self-important, aren’t we?”

He establishes his grip over a slick mollusk and shrugs. “Hardly. It’s all about ratio—a single man can father over a hundred offspring, circumstances permitting. The same can’t be said for the reverse.”

The squelching of Ophelia’s pastry dough reaches nearly a fever pitch. “Is that how you proposition most women? No wonder you aren’t married.”

But the feigned acrimony in her voice is cut off by the curse he mutters when the wet shellfish he is attempting to pry open escapes his fingertips and clatters onto the floor. “Drat.”

Several employees under Ignis’ supervision had been quick to overcompensate for his fallibilities in the past—eager to convey their empathy toward the blind strategist and stepping annoyingly on his toes in the process—but Ophelia had shown enough mindfulness not to get in his way thus far; in fact, she’d scarcely made any indication of acknowledging his ocular impairment, except only to ask what order he preferred to arrange his paring cutlery when she went to unload the dishwasher for the first time.

“It’s near your left foot,” she says simply.

The strategist drops to his knees and gropes at the floor, his pinky finger finally finding slimy purchase against the wayward arthropod. Before he can toss it into the garbage bin he knows is five paces to his right, however, he hears the sound of her footsteps circling around the preparation table and stopping beside him.

"I wouldn’t normally deign to do your work for you,” she whispers, reaching for his hand and withdrawing the soiled creature from his grasp, “but your favorite customer has just arrived. I can sense his surliness from a mile away.”

The strategist might’ve enjoyed the long-forgotten sensation of a woman’s gentle touch, had Ophelia’s implication not soured the moment. “Surely he’d prefer to be entertained by your charm, rather than stare at my grisly visage. You have the better way with people.”

“Perhaps, but there’s something wholly amusing about watching you squirm.”

His features crumple into a scowl, but he adjusts his visor before grudgingly stepping off down the path he had memorized that led to the grill’s outside seating area.

She isn’t wrong in her observations, exactly; although he couldn’t see worth a damn, it was impossible for the strategist to miss the usual miasma of crotchetiness that seemed to follow Cid Sophiar everywhere like a localized starscourge infection. Eighty years old and more stubborn than a feral Garulessa, Ignis continued to be perplexed as to why the former mechanic had chosen to remain in Lestallum after the daemons had been purged from Lucis, rather than returning to his beloved garage where he could rant at passing tourists from his customary spot in his favorite lawn chair.

“Evening, Cid,” he says, as he halts beside the cloud of wretchedness personified sitting at the table situated nearest the bazaar. “What brings you out on this warm summer night?”

“Same thing that gets me off my ass every night,” the old man replies. “I have a hankering for some shellfish, and you’re the only fella in this town who knows how to clean ‘em out properly. Nothing worse than having to pick sand out of my dentures.”

“I’m not sure I would recommend the Cleigne Darkshells this evening. They proved to be rather squirrelly back in the kitchen, so I’d watch out when taking a bite—lest they try and bite back.”

“I think I can handle a few measly clams by myself. Though Cindy probably wouldn’t mind it too much if they took a piece of my tongue with them, if it meant keeping my mouth shut for a change.”

The strategist hesitates for a brief moment, debating the wisdom of opening up a can of worms by furthering the conversation. “How is Cindy, by the way? It’s been a while since I’ve made the trip out to Leide, and I haven’t heard from her in some time.”

The chair before him squeaks under Cid’s weight, and he can almost envision the white haired mechanic slumping in his seat. “She’s all right, I guess. No doubt getting a little lonely by herself out there in the desert, although your boy Prompto always seems to find an excuse to drop by now and again.”

“Have you given any more though about returning to Hammerhead? Surely she could use the extra set of hands.”

“She don’t need my help. I’m about as worthless as a dead Gaiatoad, at this point. And just as ugly, too.”

His heart aches for the old man, who had once been so instrumental in the destiny of the Crownsguard and the king they served; the strategist had never forgotten the words of encouragement Cid Sophiar had bestowed upon them before their fateful boat ride to Altissia all those years ago—“Those ain’t your bodyguards, they’re you’re brothers” still rang clear as a bell in his mind—nor did he forget what it was like to feel utterly useless to the people around him.

“Come now, Cid,” he says quietly. “I imagine the garage is quite a bit duller without your colorful quips to brighten everyone’s day.”

To his credit, the former mechanic chuckles. “Maybe so. At any rate, I could ask you the same thing—thought you’d be itchin’ to race back to Insomnia the minute dawn broke over Longwythe’s Peak.”

A shiver runs up Ignis’ spine, and his eyebrows furrow behind his frosted visor. “I rather like having an undamaged roof over my head, as it so happens.”

“Crown City ain’t going to rebuilt itself, you know. Who better to lead the charge than one of the last men who lived there?”

Lestallum had remained largely unscathed during the long night, while the other regions of Lucis had commenced reconstruction fairly quickly due to the exodus of refugees eager to return to their former homes. Insomnia, on the other hand, had seen little repair since the rapture; with so few natives left alive after the city’s fall, the strategist estimated it would be several years yet before the province of his youth reached hospitable living conditions again.

“I think I’ll let Gladio and Iris survey the landscape in my stead,” he says, masking his displeasure with a small grin. “Wouldn’t want to risk stubbing my toe on a piece of rubble.”

“I don’t recall hearing anything about sprained ankles after you boys made it back from the Citadel. Or is there something here in Lestallum that’s tying you down?”

He can practically feel the old man’s red and rheumy eyes peering dubiously at him; Ignis’ reticence toward leaving Cleigne had less to do with wanting to remain close to his new life, and everything to do with preferring to stay away from his old one.

Because, to the strategist, Insomnia represented more than just a city of broken dreams; the miles of cracked pavement and collapsed infrastructure he had tread upon with his own two feet were tangible reminders of the people who had died there, and of the suffering that befell those who were unlucky enough to survive. Ignis himself had nearly succumbed to despair, buried under a mountain of grief when his best friend had fulfilled the Astral’s prophecy and perished alongside the starscourge, and the notion of returning home only to relive his nightmares day in and day out was almost as suffocating as the weight of the skull pendant he still wore pressing hard against his throat.

“I’ll consider my options,” he lies, and pivots back toward the direction of the kitchen. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I hear the sound of boiling mollusks begging for mercy. Care for an appetizer while you wait?”