these writers are so full of shit!!!!

𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗲𝘁, charlie gillespie

inspired by Behind The Band episode 3

pairings: Charlie Gillespie x fem!Reader words: 2,003

masterlist = taglist 

“Alright you guys remember, you are gonna be singing a lot more over the next few days. So please, take care of your voices, you guys.” The band was finishing up their first day of recording the album and Kenny was giving them instruction to follow. “This means to limit the singing at home, watch what you're eating, and maybe even talk a lot less the next coming days.”

This came as a surprise to all four of the members as they didn’t realize how many rules came with recording an album, except maybe Jeremy since he’s recorded music before. But they all reluctantly agreed to Kenny and the producer’s terms and headed home for the day. The first day of recording was so exciting for all of the band but Charlie particularly felt like he just experienced the coolest thing ever. Being in a professional studio with the mics and headphones felt so surreal and he couldn’t wait to come back tomorrow. 

But he knew that he had to take Kenny’s warning seriously. After Madison, Charlie sang the most in the show and he had so many songs to get done. Charlie also knew that he was someone who talked a lot and wasn’t very good at getting to the point. If he had to take days off from singing because he messed up his voice, he would push the whole recording back and cause everyone to fall behind. 

After saying their goodbyes to everyone, Charlie headed back to his shared apartment with Owen. Despite the day being so exciting, it was also exhausting and Charlie couldn’t wait to get back to his bed and cuddle with his girlfriend who had come to stay with them for a few days. She is only able to stay a few days at a time because of her job back home in LA but she visits as often as she can ever since Charlie moved out to Vancouver for boot camp and eventually for filming. 

“Welcome home you guys!” Y/N’s voice came screaming from the kitchen as soon as Owen pushed open the door, Charlie slowly trudging behind him due to how tired he was. Neither one of the boys yelled hello back like they normally did but instead opted for just entering the kitchen and sending her a wave. Owen began to down a water bottle as he exited the kitchen, mumbling something about taking a shower. Charlie walked over to his girlfriend and wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned over to place his head on her shoulder. “So how was the first day of recording?” Y/N asked as she continued to stir the pasta that was cooking on the stove. She knew the boys would be too tired to make anything themselves and she wanted them to have a nice dinner waiting for them after a long day. 

“It was amazing.” Charlie slightly buried his head more into her neck while tightening his hold on her waist.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Y/N laughed because last night before they fell asleep and then first thing this morning Charlie couldn’t shut up about how excited he was. The smile never left his face and he never kept both feet on the ground because he was jumping around too much. “I thought you’d run in here and start rambling off about how cool it all was.”

“It was, babe. It was so cool.” It could have been because he couldn’t talk that much or because of how drained he was, or a combination of both, but these short and vague answers were all Charlie could muster up. When Y/N put down the spoon she was stirring with, she placed her arms on top of the ones that were holding her waist. She then started to ever so slightly sway left and right as she continued to watch the pot of water boil.

“Then why do you sound so defeated bubs?” She brought her voice to more of a whisper to match Charlie’s. She felt his breath on her neck as he let out a soft sigh. 

“I was told to limit my talking. Save my voice.” Y/N smiled as she could sense the small amount of disappointment in Charlie’s voice. She knew there was nothing he wanted to do more right now than tell her every single that happened today. “I’m also super tired.”

“Well bubs, why don’t you go take a nap? It will distract you from talking and you need it after your long day.” She turned around in Charlie’s arms lifting her own to wrap them around his neck. He picked his head up and opened his eyes to be met with hers, looking up at him with so much love and worry. “I’ll come to wake you up when it’s time to eat something.” Charlie just sent her a small smile as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on her forehead before pulling her close to give her a tight hug.

Y/N hugged back with just as much strength before pushing him away and sending him in the direction of his bedroom, shaking her head as he shuffled across the floor, too tired to pick up his feet. After a few minutes by herself, Owen appeared back in the kitchen to make some small talk. He explained he didn’t have to follow as many rules since he doesn’t sing as many parts. The two finished up the dinner together enjoying each other’s company and making jokes about how quiet and peaceful it was in the apartment with Charlie’s usual screaming and running around. 

Y/N plated up three portions of pasta, handing one to Owen who took it into his room and then grabbing the other two herself. She carried the plates into Charlie’s room, her heart melting at the sight in front of her. Charlie was curled up on the bed, the blanket pulled up to his chin, and held tightly to his chest. His lips were slightly parted as he let out small breaths with an occasional quiet snore and his face was relaxed. Y/N quietly walked across the room and placed the plates of food on the table before slowly climbing onto the bed. She then ever so slightly began to trace her fingers across Charlie’s face, the faint tickle beginning to wake him up. He suddenly woke up and lifted his hands to rub his eyes as he let out a large yawn. Y/N giggled at the scene, his whole demeanor reminding her of a puppy getting woken up. 

“I was waking you up to eat. Here you go.” Y/N turned to her side to grab one of the plates as Charlie was still rubbing his eyes but began sitting up in bed, leaning on the headboard. A smile appeared on Charlie’s face as he took hold of the plate. His eyes got wide, as wide as his stomach apparently, as he began to scarf down the noodles. Hearing her giggles next to him, Charlie turned his head and opened his mouth to say thank you but immediately remembered he couldn’t talk which caused a pout to appear on his face. “Don’t worry bubs, I know you really wanna talk. And you are welcome for the food.” 

Y/N pulled out a tissue from the box they had next to the bed and turned to Charlie to wipe some of the sauce off his cheeks. He playfully pushed her hand way, pouting even more because she knew that it made him feel like a baby. But it also made him feel loved and taken care and he secretly loved it but Charlie would never admit that. 

“You know, I should be taking advantage of you having to stay quiet these next few days.” Charlie sent her his big puppy dog eyes, worried that she would do just that. He hated not being able to talk to her about his day or sing to her sleep tonight, especially since she will only be here a few days and he knew as soon as she was gone being quiet would be even more painful. “But don’t worry, I won’t. I’ll even stay quiet with you bubs.” Y/N grabbed her plate of food after reaching over to pull her laptop onto her lap. She was quick to pull up the downloaded files of FRIENDS that she had saved. 

Immediately perking up at the show selection, Charlie took control of the laptop and picked a random episode from his favorite season. He placed the laptop back in between the two of them as Y/N scooted closer to Charlie and slightly leaned her body against his. Charlie placed his plate on his lap and only ate with one hand available so he could wrap his left arm around Y/N. The two hummed along to the theme song when it came on and they both tried their best to go along with the claps but were completely offbeat since they had to be careful of the plates on their laps. 

They got through a few episodes before they decided to call it a night as it has begun to get pretty dark out and they both knew Charlie had to be up early again tomorrow. Y/N took the plates that had been completely licked clean, something Charlie always did because he believed in ‘not wasting food’, and put them in the sink, deciding to put off cleaning them till tomorrow. Walking back into Charlie’s bedroom, Y/N changed into something comfy to sleep in while Charlie scrolled through his phone. She eventually was ready for bed and she climbed back in next to Charlie as he put his phone down and went to wrap himself back into the covers. But before Y/N could join him in the blanket cocoon, Charlie stopped her.

“Check your phone.” He whispered, his eyes darting between Y/N and her phone sitting on the table next to the bed. She went to ask why but he shook his head and waved his hand in the air in the direction of her phone. Knowing to not question Charlie, Y/N reached over to pick up her phone, seeing a notification on her screen. She unlocked it and went to her messages to see a text from Charlie himself. She turned her head and sent a confused look his way. All he did was send a smile back and nod his head down, wanting her to read it. 

From: Charlie <3 obviously i can’t talk a lot but i wanna say i love you so much and thank you for always taking care of me. and sticking beside me during these crazy few weeks of filming and stuff. i don’t know what I would do without you.

A few tears appeared in Y/N’s eyes as she read the sweet message on her screen. When she finished she turned to see Charlie staring at her with his big, bright eyes and the smallest smile, awaiting her response. Y/N placed her hand on the side of Charlie’s face and he turned slightly into it and placed two small kisses on her palm.

“You’re welcome bubs. I know how hard you are working on this project and I can’t wait to see it all pay off. And I love you too, so much.” She leaned forward to give him a real kiss, their first one today since he rushed out the door this morning. Charlie smiled into the kiss, showing that her response was what he was hoping to hear. They both pulled away after a few seconds and sent each one more soft smile before finally getting comfortable in the piles of blankets and pillows. Charlie reached over to turn off the lamp, darkness taking over the room as they found their respective spots back in each other’s embrace.

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taglist: @lolychu @caitsymichelle13 @walkingonshunshine​ @all-in-fangirl @lovesanimals​ @lukewearingbeanies​

Love of my Life - (10) Taken

Summary: Y/N and the Winchesters have been hunting non-stop amid the beginnings of the apocalypse. Y/N is forced to bring out her dark side

Warnings: Show level violence.

A/N: I've been having so much fun with this series and I love hearing all your feedback. Feel free to leave your thoughts on the series and let me know if you'd like a tag. Thank you all!

Series Masterlist

After a decent amount of time spent resting, Sam had grown stir crazy and found a case not too far from Sioux Falls in a small town called Madison.

Some real estate buff and his family were the next unsuspecting targets of two hungry ghouls, but you and the Winchesters had taken the monsters taken care of before anyone was killed. It was fairly straightforward and simple as far as cases go, aside from one minor slash in your leg. It was late by the time you were finished disposing of the bodies, and you opted for a crappy motel rather than driving back to Bobby’s place. Dean was stitching you up while Sam went to go get food for everyone.

“Do you ever think about getting out of the life?” Dean asked out of the blue. Maybe he was just trying to get your attention off of the needle going in and out of your leg.

“I never used to, but lately it’s been a different story.” You took a sip of Dean’s cheap beer that was sitting next to you and made a disgusted face before putting it back down.

“What changed?” Dean glanced at you quickly, trying to get a read on your emotions, then continued his stitching.

You had a hard time opening up to people, but you wanted to tell Dean how you felt about him. A million thoughts ran through your mind as you debated whether or not to be honest about your feelings. “Well,” you began, “I always thought that hunting was my only option. I was a loner and I figured that if I was going to die, I would die fighting for the good cause or whatever.” You looked down at Dean, so carefully taking care of you. His eyebrows were furrowed as he intently waited for you to continue. You loved how interested he was in everything you said, no matter how silly or mundane. “But then I met this guy who makes me feel like my life is actually one worth living; like maybe the future doesn’t hold darkness and death after all.” Dean tried to hide his smile as he finished up his last few sutures. “I’ve never felt like I was worth much, but he makes me feel like I’m more than just a girl who can throw knives and punches… and I think that I’m falling for him pretty fast.” Dean placed a bandage over your calf and set his needle down. “Maybe you know him? His name is Sam Winchester.” Dean shot you a confused look, making you lose your composure and bite your lip, repressing a cheeky smile. “It’s just too easy to tease you.”

Dean let out a chuckle and stood up, wiping his hands off on a towel. His tongue darted in and out of his lips, leading into a perfect smile as he dove on top of you and crashed his lips onto yours, knocking you backwards on the bed. You slid you hand behind his neck and deepened the kiss.

The door handle began to wiggle, signaling Sam coming back with the food. “That kid has the worst timing. I swear!” Dean grumbled and pushed himself off the bed, marching over to the door and holding it open with an unmistakable annoyance in his eyes as Sam walked in, juggling the food in his arms. Sam, clearly clueless about what he had interrupted, returned Dean’s annoyed gaze.

“What’s your problem?” He shoved a bag of food into Dean’s arms.

Sam had fallen asleep during a re-run of Jeopardy when Dean touched your hand, silently signaling for you to follow him outside to the small balcony. You happily obliged. Once the door was shut, Dean pulled you in close, kissing you with just as much passion as he had before you were interrupted.

“You know what I want?” Dean asked.

“Some nice scotch and an autographed Zeppelin album?”

The lines by his eyes crinkled as he smiled and shook his head. “No, well, yes, but no. I asked you earlier if you ever wanted to get out of hunting.”

You nodded in remembrance.

“I want out, too. I want a boring life, and a farmhouse, with kids and a dog and a fence. The whole thing. I want to have summer barbeques with Sam and his family, and bonfires where we roast s’mores. I want it with you.”

“I’ve never had a s’more.” You admitted, smiling ear to ear at Dean’s confession.

“Me either.” Dean shrugged; his smile just as wide as yours.

That life sounded perfect. “What happened to Dean Winchester the womanizer that everyone warned me about?”

“He’s whipped.” You could see your future in those deep green eyes as he held you close.

“There has to be a porch swing.” You added. “I’ve always wanted a big comfy porch swing.”

“You got it.” Dean slipped his arms around your waist from behind and leaned down to rest his head on top of yours, making the height difference between you two almost comical. Looking out at the night sky, you thought about living a peaceful life in a small town like this one, sitting next to Dean on the front porch in the summer evenings while your kids played in the front yard. These were never things you would have thought of before meeting this man.

“You wanna go make out in your car?” You not so subtly hinted. Before you knew it, Dean was picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, carrying you back into the room and towards the door. You did your best to mute your giggles and squeals so you wouldn’t wake up Sam.

It had been weeks full of hunting, with the last case being a weird one. You'd found a town that had a working wishing well, powered by a coin that used the power of the goddess Tiamat. There was a life-sized and talking teddy bear, someone won the lottery, a kid had super strength, and the wormy guy had a hot girlfriend. It was pretty far up on the list of odd things you'd encountered.

The post-case morning routine was in full swing with the sunlight streaming through the window, prying your eyes open to face a new day. Dean was lying next to you on his stomach with drool slowly dribbling from the corner of his gaped open mouth. You loved this soft side of the ever-stone-cold hunter. Steam was trickling from under the bathroom door, signaling that Sam was almost done getting ready, so you slid out from under the covers and changed before he reentered the room.

"Morning." Sam greeted, toweling off his wet hair. "You wanna go grab breakfast, or should I?"

"You can go but I'll walk out with you and try to convince the clerk to give us a late checkout. I don't think we're making it out of here on time." You nodded your head towards Dean.

"There's a shocker." Sam grabbed the car keys from Dean's nightstand and put his arm around your shoulders, leading you out the door.

Sam took off and you managed to flirt your way into two extra hours before checkout. You exited the lobby and made your way to the outdoor staircase that led to your room. You lifted your foot to take the first step, then everything went black.

Dean’s POV

I spit out the toothpaste from my mouth when Sam came back in the room with a bag of crappy fast-food breakfast. My favorite.

"Where's Y/N?" I asked as I rifled through the brown bag, pulling out a hash brown. Sam shot me a confused look.

"She's not here?" I shook my head; a pit of concern began to grow in my stomach. "She walked out with me to ask for a late checkout. She was in the lobby when I left."

"I'll go check there. You look around for her."

"Dean, I'm sure she's fine. Maybe she's just stretching her legs." Sam tried his best to relieve my obvious state of stress.

"The clerk was useless. All he said was that she was in there for two seconds and then left." I looked to Sam, hoping he had found a sign of her.

"I got nothing." Sam held his hands up. "Did you call her?"

I pulled out my phone, dialing her number from memory then hitting the call button. Sam sharply turned his head towards the stairs and took off in a jog. He leaned over to look underneath the steps and pulled out Y/N's ringing phone. We exchanged knowing looks and I began to feel queasy.

I slammed the door to our room and began to shove my things into a duffel bag. "Someone took her." The nausea I was feeling was not-so-slowly turning to rage.

"We don't know that. Don't freak out just yet."

Like clockwork, my phone went off signaling an incoming text. "It's a link from an unknown number." Sam frowned and I quickly clicked on it. A web page opened up with a live video feed showing Y/N, unconscious and tied to a chair with dried blood painted down her face from her hairline.

"Son of a bitch!” I grabbed the lamp from the nightstand next to me and threw it across the room. "Someone’s gonna die!”

Your POV

You were sure you’d been hit by a train. Your head was pounding, and it hurt to even open your eyes. As your vision unblurred, you became more aware of your situation. First, you saw your feet tied to the legs of a wooden chair, then realized that your arms were bound behind the back of it. You heard arguing voices in the background and did your best to act like you were still unconscious as you assessed your surroundings and the sticky situation you had found yourself in. You were in a damp abandoned warehouse with old pallets stacked in high piles around you and a webcam sitting in the distance pointed in your direction. Your pocketknife had been taken from you and was sitting on a table across the room next to the two arguing captors. You didn’t recognize the two large men who had abducted you, but it was easy to make enemies in your line of work. There was almost a constant target on your back. Keeping your eyes closed and head hung low, you quickly thought about how you would get yourself out of this mess.

You began to stir, letting your kidnappers know you were awake. They finished their conversation when they heard you.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to join the party.” The bigger one greeted you.

“I’ve never been much of a party animal. Why don’t you just let me go and find someone more fun?” You snarked.

“Oh, we’re going to have plenty of fun. Don’t you worry.” As he turned his back to you, he pulled a gun from its holster on his belt and waved it in the air as he spoke, clearly trying to scare you. “See, I’ve had eyes on Dean Winchester for years. Just waiting for him to find a pretty little girlfriend to settle down with.”

You glared at him, remaining silent. You could feel the rope that was tied around your hands loosen as you discreetly wiggled your hands around. Lucky for you, your thumbs were double jointed enough that you could pop them in out of place. It hurt like hell but proved convenient when you found yourself being held hostage, which was far more than the average person ever should be. You continued listening to the monologue as you worked your hands free. You had no idea what you’d do next, but you’d figure it out. Right?

“Years ago, he took something from me – my wife. And now, I’m going to make him feel that same pain. Smile at the camera!” He pointed to the webcam sitting a few feet in front of you as he walked over and spoke into it. “Hope you’re watching, Deano! She’s gonna die a bloody, slow death.”

Sam and Dean's POV

The boys were in the car, speeding around town, desperately searching for where you were being held. Sam was looking up old buildings and giving Dean directions as he pushed the Impala to its limits. Dean’s phone was propped up on the dashboard with the live feed still streaming.

“Hope you’re watching, Deano! She’s gonna die a bloody, slow death.”

“Son of a bitch! I swear if you hurt her!” Dean screamed at the screen.

“Who even is that Dean?” Sam asked, looking for any kind of clues that would give away a location.

“I don’t know! I don’t recognize him at all but apparently I made quite the impression on him!”

Your POV

The big guy finished his address to Dean and turned to face you, with teeth and claws bared. Okay, well at least you knew he was a werewolf. Only problem was you didn’t have any silver bullets. You freed your hands completely but held them behind your back as you looked around, planning your next step and replaying it in your head a few times to go over the possible outcomes. You had to move fast because the wolf was walking straight for you.

Oh well, here goes nothing.

Keeping the rope your hands were bound with looped into the back of your belt, you tucked your head in and somersaulted forward, whipping your legs up and over your head hard to smash the wooden chair against the ground, freeing your feet from their binds. One of the broken chair legs had come to a sharp point and you immediately threw it at the onrushing werewolf, hitting him in the thigh. It slowed him down enough that you could duck behind one of the large pallets, narrowly avoiding a bullet being shot at you from the second, smaller wolf. The breaker panel was close by and you ran to it, pulling the main power lever down which turned off all the lights except a dim red emergency light. Game on.

There was an upper level which was essentially a deck around the walls of the square building. You snuck your way to the edge of the room, climbed on a pile of crates, then jumped up and grabbed the railing, pulling yourself to the upper level to get a better idea of the layout of the room below. You stumbled across a pile of rebar, taking the sharpest one to use as protection.

“What are you going to do? Call your boyfriend? Come out and play!” One of the men shouted. “I’m not scared of Dean Winchester or his gumpy brother!”

“Oh, you should be! But lucky for you, they’re not here right now.” You laughed. “See, this isn’t my first rodeo,” you began as you stalked the two wolves from up above, “I’ve been held hostage more times than I can count, and you all make the same stupid mistake. You assume that I’m just some damsel in distress, waiting for a big hero to come save me. But I got news for you, buddy. I’m the one you should be scared of.” You trailed the smaller of the two and made your move as he crouched down behind a large crate. Lowering yourself down from the upper deck, you set the rebar down and silently pulled the rope from the back of your belt, wrapping it around his neck and pulling so hard that he couldn’t make a sound. You released him once you were sure he was passed out, then hog tied him and left him for later, moving onto your next target.

“Then stop hiding and let’s do this!” The anger in your next victim’s voice was intertwined with fear. You had him just where you wanted him, physically and mentally, and took your post where you had a perfect visual of the room.

“See your hand shaking?” You yelled and he glanced down at the trembling gun in his hands. “Cortisol. It floods the body when you’re stressed. Makes your muscles tighter, reactions quicker. But put those two things together, and it makes you sloppy. Unless you learn to love it. Then it becomes a drug that you thrive on. That’s when you become deadly.” As unhealthy as it was, you soaked up the feeling of being the apex predator. You simultaneously hated and loved this side of yourself.

You’d spent years doing combat in the dark, learning to use every sense to take in your surroundings and focus on your target, making you the ultimate threat. You threw a bag full of old newspapers across the room, and he fired a desperate shot at the clatter, moving slowly towards the commotion. Following close, but soundlessly behind him, you held your weapon at the ready. He slowed to look around the corner, only to find the newspapers you had thrown strewn across the floor.

“Boo.” Your voice was eerily calm. He whipped around and you timed your swing perfectly and rammed the sharp rebar through his throat. He fell to his knees, gasping for air and you took the gun from his hand, firing a quick shot between his eyes. The shocked look was still plastered on his face as he fell to the ground, and you let out a huff of relief before moving back to the first wolf you had tied up, making sure he met the same fate as his friend. You didn’t have silver bullets, but this worked out okay.

You tucked the gun into your pants as you walked over to the webcam. “Hey Sam and Dean, I really hope you’re watching this. I’m at some old abandoned supply warehouse. I can hear a train in the background if that helps you find me at all.”

Sam and Dean's POV

“Holy crap, Dean, she broke free.” Sam leaned in and intently watched as you expertly broke the chair and turned off the lights. Dean did his best to watch as he drove.

“What’s happening?!” Dean demanded an update.

Sam shook his head. “I can’t see super well, the lights got turned off.” Sam pulled the screen closer to his face and squinted. “She’s got a piece of rebar I think…”

Dean nodded in approval of your choice of weapon. Sam gave the occasional update when he could make out what was happening.

“She strangled one of them and hog tied him.” Sam raised his eyebrows.

Both boys listened intently as you spoke with clarity, messing with the last wolf’s head as you stalked behind him then stabbed him in the throat.

“Hey Sam and Dean, I really hope you’re watching this. I’m at some old abandoned supply warehouse. I can hear a train in the background if that helps you find me at all.” The brothers heard your message and Sam quickly found your location. Dean turned the car around and sped off towards you.

The boys sat in silence, trying to process what just happened. Dean’s jaw had been clenched since the moment he realized you had been taken and wouldn’t relax until he was holding you safe in his arms. He felt guilty that you had been taken because of him, but at the same time, he felt so proud that you had taken control of the situation with such ease that it was almost scary. No, it was definitely scary. This wasn’t a side of you that he had seen before. He knew he should be concerned, but he loved it.

Sam spoke first. “So… Y/N is terrifying.”

Dean scoffed in agreement. “That’s an understatement.”

Your POV

You had dragged the bodies of the two wolves behind the warehouse where a construction site was filling in a large hole with concrete. You tossed them in, turned on the mixer, and covered them up enough that they would never be found. It wasn’t too long after you’d made your way back to the front of the warehouse that the familiar sound of the Impala speeding closer rang in your ears. Dean drifted around the corner and drove straight to you. He was out of the car before it could even roll to a stop, and you met him halfway as he pulled you into a massive hug.

“Y/N, I’m…” Dean began before you could cut him off.

“Stop. If the next words out of your mouth are anything to do with apologizing or blaming yourself then I don’t want to hear them.” You knew exactly what he was thinking.

“This was my fault.”

“Dean, this is not the first time I’ve been kidnapped by a monster out for revenge, and it won’t be the last. You didn’t send that wolf after me so absolutely none of the blame is on you. Not to mention, I’m a damn good hunter and I know how to take care of myself. Aside from this,” you touched your fingers to the wound on your head where you had been knocked out this morning, “I don’t even have a scratch on me.”

Dean sighed and squeezed you tighter. You’d never had someone there to comfort you after being kidnapped and it felt nice to know that you’d be missed if something happened to you.

“Y/N I’m in love with you.” Dean’s words took you by surprise. “Have been since the day that we met, and I should have told you before now.” You began to respond, but he held up his hand, stopping you. “I gotta say this.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I love that you are so kind and genuine with every person you meet, even if it’s some stranger on the street. I love that you can eat enough chocolate to kill a horse, and I love that aren’t ashamed of that. I love your taste in music. I love that you are the most badass person I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure you’re some kind of international hitman or something after what I saw today. But more than anything, I love that you make my life one worth living.”

“Are you just saying all this because you’re scared of me now?” You joked. Dean smiled softly as he shook his head. “I love you too, Dean Winchester. I have from the start.”

“Let’s get you back to the motel and make sure you’re okay.” Dean examined the gash just above your hairline where you’d been struck with a tire-iron this morning. “I’m glad you’re safe. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” He kissed you hard, not caring that you were covered in blood splatter.

Sam gently slapped you on the back, clearly proud of you. “Y/N, that was freakin’ amazing. I felt like I was watching an action movie or something. That whole spiel about cortisol was so kick ass!” Sam and Dean both put their arms protectively around your shoulders and led you back to the car. “I’ve never seen anyone take control like that. They were terrified of you. I was terrified of you!” Sam continued to rave as you and Dean exchanged grateful smiles that the three of you had a happy reunion.

Chapter 11

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@vicmc624

@akshi8278

Chapter 1 -- Perfect Harmony | Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Emily Fox is a talented 17-year-old with a passion for all things music. Her dream is to become a successful singer-songwriter one day. But to achieve that dream, she needs to get into one of the most prestigious music schools in her district – it’s all been part of her plan since she was six. Sadly enough, those schools cost a ton of money that her parents don’t want to invest. They don’t even want her to pursue her dream. So, now Emily’s hustling, working at the music store to save up to get into college. That’s until she meets Charlie, an annoying seventeen-year-old boy with the same dream as her. The only difference is, he’s just doing it. He doesn’t need a fancy college to pursue his dream to become famous with his band. He just writes his songs and books small gigs here, there and everywhere. Will meeting Charlie defer her from her dream college, or will he actually help her achieve the dream? 

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x OC (Emily Fox) 

Warnings: mentions of death, the characters of Charlie, Owen, Jeremy and Madison are based on the characters they play on the show and i do not own their names, only OC are mine. The songs aren’t mine either, they’re all from the show except for one. 

Chapter One

~|Emily Fox| ~

As a seventeen-year-old, you should not be left to your devices. Unless you have no other choice. When you have a dream your parents have called unrealistic without ever listening to what you were actually capable of, you have no other choice but to move out and fend for yourself. Thankfully, I can stay with Uncle Mitch for a while until I’m off to college.  Since leaving my parents’ house at fourteen, my life has consisted of high school, working at the music store, write songs – if I have the time –, help Uncle Mitch around the house, sleep, repeat. It’s been a chore. But I just about manage. 

“Please, don’t touch the guitars without a supervisor, ma’am!” I say loudly from across the shop as I catch her hands rising up to pick up one of the acoustic guitars hanging on the wall for display. I rush over to her, dodging clients testing out guitars and pianos I’ve helped before. While the forty-something woman stares at me with an intense glare, I pick up the Gibson guitar for her and hand it over, offering her my fakest smile. “This one’s a nice one!” I tell her as she handles the guitar very clumsily, nearly dropping it. “What do you know about guitars?” she snarls at me. “Well, for starters, I work here, so I’m supposed to have some knowledge about guitars. Secondly, this is a bass guitar. Never just call a bass a guitar.” The woman rolls her eyes and when she casts her gaze on the strings, I roll mine. I’ve had my share of forty-something old women coming in here to buy something for their spoiled little sons, pretending they know more about guitars of any kind, pianos and drums while I have been brought up listening to Uncle Robert talking non-stop about all of his instruments. He taught me how to play each and every one of the instruments and brought me into the world of rock. If he were still here, I wouldn’t be working in a music store, trying to pay for my own apartment or my college tuition. He believed in me from the second he heard me sing and play piano. He still believes in me, I can feel it. Staying with Uncle Mitch – Uncle Robert’s husband, now widower, has been a lot more healing than it would’ve been if I still lived at my parents’. “I know that,” she grumbles, then looks back up at me. “If you know so much about everything, you little know-it-all, why don’t you tell me something more about this one?” I refrain myself from rolling my eyes again, and instead ball up my fists to put all of my anger there. “This is the Les Paul Junior Tribute DC bass. It’s actually a tribute to the historic Gibson EB-0 bass from the late 50's, but with modern features. The short scale length is actually chosen by many for its strong fundamental tone and sits perfectly in a track when recording. The mahogany double cutaway body and maple neck with rosewood fingerboard balances perfectly when playing either sitting or strapped on. It's equipped with a single expanded range LP BassBucker pickup with single volume and tone controls for simplicity. The volume pot has a push-pull feature to coil tap the pickup scooping the mids for further tone shaping possibilities.” I’ve explained this many a times, so it almost sounds as if I’ve learned it by heart. “Oh! And it comes in four different finishes; Worn Ebony, Worn Cherry, Blue Stain and Worn Brown.” The woman looks at me, clearly impressed at my knowledge of the bass in her hands. I’m pretty sure I could’ve told her anything and she would’ve believed me. “I want to speak to the manager,” she then says and pushes the bass guitar back in my hands as if handling a cardboard box. If my reflexes weren’t what they are now, we would’ve had a broken bass and I would be the one that had to pay for it. “What for?” I ask, my anger slipping through into a vicious snarl. “Just because you learn everything by heart, doesn’t mean you’re a good salesperson.” I open my mouth to say something, but I know I can’t win against a Karen. So, instead, I plaster on my best fake smile and say “Of course, give me a second.” I turn on my heel and make my way back to the cash register to get Ash, my manager who’s been nothing but an absolute gem to me. She wasn’t looking for any employees, but still hired me when she saw how desperate I was and how good I was with the instruments. She even lets me write songs after hours. “Karen alert?” Ash asks when she sees my annoyed face, at the brim of exploding. “Yep, at the bass guitars,” I tell her and take her spot to handle a paying costumer. Ash hops over the counter and makes her way to the Karen at the bass guitars. Only for her to leave the store in an angered rush without any bass guitar for her precious son. “That’s 44 dollars and 97 cents, please,” I tell the guy who’d come in for guitar strings, picks and some polish. He looks about my age. Dark hair gelled back, green almond-shaped eyes and rosy cheeks. He hands me the cash with a cute, nervous smile. “Thank you! And here’s the three cents change,” I hold out my hand for him to take the three cents, but he shakes his head. “Keep it,” he winks at me before grabbing his purchases and leaving the store. Leaving me all flustered and blushing. I hate when cute boys come to the shop and have the audacity to do this stuff to me. UGH. “Got rid of our Karen,” Ash tells me, “You can get back out there. I think the little girl over there at the piano could use some of your expertise.” She points to a fourteen-year-old gliding her fingers along the big wing of the white piano in the middle of our store. “Hi,” I say as I approach her, making her jump slightly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Emily. Can I help you?” She scans my face for a moment, as if assessing whether or not I’m trustworthy. I guess she decides she does when she opens her mouth and four simple words flow out of it. “Do you play piano?” I’m a bit taken aback by the question. None of the costumers have ever asked me that question. “Yes, I do, actually,” I reply honestly. “I want to learn how to play the piano, but my mother doesn’t allow me. Says it’s too expensive. The piano, that is. And lessons are expensive too, she says.” She stops talking for a moment as if thinking about what to say next. “Will you teach me?” “Oh,” I manage to bring out, “I—we don’t really offer any piano lessons in the store. We just sell them.” Her eyes water and she visibly swallows a lump in her throat. “Okay…” she whimpers, making my heart break just that bit more. “Will you play me a song though? I love hearing people play.” I take a deep breath as I think about how to turn this girl down. But then I remember my parents turning me and my dreams down. “Sure, I can play you a song. Any requests?” I ask as I sit down on the stool in front of us, patting beside me to invite her too. “Surprise me,” she says, shaking her head with a big smile on her face. I carefully touch the keys as I think of a song to sing. Once I’ve figured that out, I begin to play the right melody and then chime in with the lyrics I’d written with Uncle Robert when he was still alive. The song I cherish the most and wouldn’t share with anyone. But this girl reminds me too much of myself, and I think she might take something from the message. “Here's the one thing I want you to know You got someplace to go Life's a test, yes But you go toe to toe You don't give up, no, you grow.” The girl looks up at me with big Bambi eyes, urging me to continue. “And you use your pain Cause it makes you you Though I wish I could hold you through it I know it's not the same You got living to do And I just want you to do it So get up, get out, relight that spark You know the rest by heart” As I begin the chorus, I hear drums backing me up from somewhere inside the store, and when I look around, I find Ash behind a drum set with a smile on her face as she helps me out a little. “Wake up, wake up, if it's all you do Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost, it's what you'll gain Raising your voice to the rain Wake up your dream and make it true Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost Relight that spark Time to come out of the dark Wake up, wake up” By now, Ash and I have gained an audience. Most of the costumers in line don’t even mind having to wait to pay until we’re done with this outburst of ours. “Better wake those demons, just look them in the eye No reason not to try Life can be a mess, I won't let it cloud my mind I'll let my fingers fly” The girl next to me still has the same expression on her face. Eyes pooled with admiration and inspiration. Exactly the reason why I make music and why it’s been a dream of mine to make a career out of it. “And I use the pain 'cause it's part of me And I'm ready to power through it Gonna find the strength, find the melody 'Cause you showed me how to do it Get up, get out, relight that spark You know the rest by heart” I go for the chorus again, and then pop in with the bridge. The one I added to uncle’s song. The costumers in the store stare at Ash and me with smiles on their faces whilst swaying along to the song. “So wake that spirit, spirit I wanna hear it, hear it No need to fear it, you're not alone You're gonna find your way home” I close my eyes as I hit that high note, then stop playing for a second whilst starting the chorus for the last time. Even Ash backs me up with some backing vocals after having heard the chorus a couple of times already. “Wake up, wake up, if it's all you do” The both of us pick up the melody again, putting more power behind the rest of the song. “Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost, it's what you'll gain Raising your voice to the rain Wake up your dream and make it true Look out, look inside of you When you're feeling lost Relight that spark Time to come out of the dark Wake up, wake up” I hit the last couple of notes on the piano before a roar of applause and cheers fills up the entire store. The fourteen-year-old beside me is clapping the loudest of them all. Her eyes still wide and admiring and full of life. “What’s your name?” I ask the girl, causing her to stop clapping. “Kayla,” she replies. “Listen to me, Kayla. Even if your parents don’t agree with your big dreams, please, never give up on your dream! If this is really what you want to do, go for it. You’ll find a way, I promise you.” A tear rolls down her pink cheek as her bottom lip trembles slightly. “Don’t give up, okay?” She nods her head vigorously. “Thank you, Emily!” she wraps her arms around me into a tight hug before hopping off the stool and rushing out the store. As I watch her run out, my eyes land on a guy. Somewhat my age, I think. I can’t really function for a second as his hazel eyes stare at me and with his mouth curled up on one side. When I finally manage to move again, my eyes scan him entirely. His brown hair sticks out from underneath an orange beanie, his nose fine and cheekbones defined. He’s wearing a flannel shirt over a grey muscle tank and ripped black jeans. I give him an awkward smile before heading back to the cash register. “Can you do register for a moment? I need to check something in stock,” Ash asks me, and I simply nod before helping the next costumer. After the fifth costumer, the boy who’d been staring at me before shows up in front of me. “How can I help?” I ask with my best customer service-smile. “By giving your number,” he replies coyly. I was going to give him the cute boy card until those words came out of his mouth. “Sorry, my number ain’t for sale,” I reply and look behind him, “Next!” “Oh, no, sorry! Uhm, I don’t mean it like that, I—” Before he can mutter another word, I interrupt him. “Are you going to purchase something, bro?” He opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking like a goldfish. “Uhm… No… I just—” I interrupt him again. “Next customer, please,” I stare at him intensely, hoping that’d chase him away. He knocks on the counter before moving away, clearly defeated by the rejection. I can’t believe douchebags like him still exists in this generation. People need to learn manners. “Hi, how can I help you?” I ask the next customer, bringing back my best smile. Just got to move on, just as I moved on from dealing with a Karen again today. Best way to do that, is focus on all the other customers. For the rest of my shift, I have not been able to shake the cute-but-rude guy from before. There’s something about him that haunts me still and I can’t seem to figure out what it is. Not even when I’m focusing on cleaning up the store. As I’m dusting the piano, I hear the bell above the door ring. “Sorry, we’re closed!” I yell without looking up from the piano. “Are you going to play again?” The voice sends shivers down my spine as it takes me right back to that one douchey line it uttered just a mere hour before. “Again, we are closed, sorry.” This time it comes out more like a snarl and with a bit of poison. The boy in front of me chuckles and holds his hands up in defeat. “Listen, I’m sorry about before, but—” he steps closer to me, but I hold up my finger to make him stop, and it seems to help as he simply freezes in place. “But the store is closed. Goodbye now.” I go back to dusting off the piano and wait for the bell to ring again, but it doesn’t. Instead, the sound of guitar strums reaches my ears. “You can’t touch any of the guitars without supervision,” I tell him sternly, but when I meet his eyes and they’re looking at me intently as if urging me to do something. “You’re supervising me, aren’t you?” he asks cockily, still stroking the strings, creating a beautiful melody that fills up my head. “What do you want?” I ask bitterly, looking at him again, and hoping it would make him leave faster. “For you to sing.” “Sing what?” He shrugs, leaving me to wonder what he means by that. “I have a lot of work to do, dude. Please, leave,” I sound pathetic, nearly begging him to leave. I’m only a step away from begging on my knees. The sound of the guitar abruptly stops when I go back to cleaning the piano. “Listen, I just wanted to tell you that what you did earlier today was amazing. You know, not a lot of people have the power you have. Did you see what you did to all those people in here? Imagine doing that for thousands of people! Have you ever thought of that?” I turn to look at him, suddenly having the urge to tell him everything. Then I remember what a douchebag he really is. “I don’t have time for this. Please. Leave!” I shout at him before heading towards the cash register to start counting the money. It’s silent for a while until the bell over the door breaks it. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. This boy did something to me without me even realizing it. Nope. Can’t trust boys. They don’t do anything but break hearts and be douchebags. But this one somehow seemed different. No other boy has ever left such an impression as he did. And I didn’t even have a proper conversation with him. I just hope I don’t have to see him. Like ever again.  

𝟏𝟏𝐏𝐌  ,  𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐄  𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌  ,  𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍  ;  𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴  𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵  𝘣𝘦  𝘩𝘰𝘸  𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴  ››   𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍  +  𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍 

it  was  one  of  their  bigger  shows  of  the  tour ; 1,200  people  ,  19,589  off  of  selling  out  madison  square  garden  .  so  why  didn’t  it  feel  like  it  ?  usually  there  was  a  high  crackling  in  his  veins  ,  alighting  him  from  the  inside  out  ,  as  he  left  behind  the  screaming  of  a  crowd  that  wanted  more  .  but  kieran  had  felt  more  when  they’d  stepped  off  stage  after  playing  to  520   ,  or  even  200  ,  than  he  did  coming  off  stage  of  the  royale  tonight  .  he  couldn’t  put  his  finger  on  it  .  the  reason  WHY  it  felt  like  he  hadn’t  just  done  what  he  did  every  other  night  before  .  the  reason  WHY  the  high  wasn’t  quite  so  bright  .  the  reason  WHY  he’d  caught  the  same  look  from  mikey  ; as  he’d  wished  him  good  luck  ,  &  conan  ; as  they’d  caught  eyes  during  the  opening  notes  of  cheer  up  baby  .  the  same  look  he  knew  all  too  well ;  as  if  they  were  waiting  for  him  to  tip  over  an  edge  he  hadn’t  walked  the  line  of  in  MONTHS  .  .  .  everything  was  good  .  wasn’t  it  ?  a  smile  pushed  its  way  onto  his  lips  as  his  feet   hit  solid  ground  &  one  crowd  turned  into  another  smaller  one  ,  full  of  congratulations  for  surviving  ANOTHER  show  .  but  just  like  the  congratulations  was  like  clockwork  ,  kieran  still  found  himself  looking  for  the  one  person  that  had  been  missing  from  the  start  .  the  one  person  that  only  came  in  the  form  of  words  lit  up  on  his  screen  .  words  that  seemed  to  come  few  & far  between  —  or  at  all  more  recently  .  maybe  that  was  why  everything  felt  OFF  ;  there  had  been  no  ‘  knock  ‘em  dead  ,  baby ’  to  send  him  out  on  stage  with  &  he  couldn’t  remember  the  last  time  he’d  gone  on  without  it  .  hell  ,  he  couldn’t  even  remember  the  last  time  he’d  gone  this  long  without  a  WORD  from  her  .  but  with  ruairi’s  hands  falling  heavily  upon  his  shoulders  ,   &  an  airy  voice  that  put  him  on  edge  filled  the  air  ,  he  let  himself  be  pulled  along  in  the  tide  .  clinging  onto  the  quiet  embers  that  popped &  crackled  away  in  his  veins  as  the  high  fought  its  way  through  the  haze  of  worry  .  she  was  busy  .  that’s  all  it  was  .  

so  why  did  it  feel  like  something  was  wrong  ?

it  was  enviable  though  .  the  way  in  which  kieran  ALWAYS  found  his  way  back  to  evan  ,  because  even  when  a  whole  ocean  separated  them  he  always  found  her  way  back  to  her  .  the  only  thing  was  ,  it  seemed  as  if  evan  wasn’t  finding  her  way  back  to  him  .  because  as  the  noise  of  the  dressing  room  died  away  ,  people  going  their  seperate  ways  to  either  begin  the  pack  up  for  a  day  on  the  road  tomorrow  or  to  take  their  celebrations  elsewhere  ,   he’d  slipped  his  phone  from  the  pocket  of  his  jacket  .  the  cool  surface  settling  in  his  palm  as  the  glow  of  his  screen  reflected  back  the  same  thing  it  had  done  earlier  when  he’d  given  up  waiting  &  tucked  it  away  for  safe  keeping  ;  NOTHING  .  there  was  absolutely  nothing  . his  top  teeth  gnawed  at  his  bottom  lip  as  he  pulled  up  the  bottom  of  his  screen  in  hopes  that  it  would  reveal  anything  other  than  his  own  texts  :

         21/07/21  8:43pm          📲 i  can  only  assume  you  didn’t  pick  up  my  call  earlier  bc  you               were  too  busy  making  saint   valentine  fall  in  love  with  you          📲  but  it’s  nearly  2am  for  you  and  i   ,  personally  ,  think  it’s  rude  i                  haven’t  heard  ANYTHING  about  how  it  went  yet

         22/07/21  4:02am          📲  alright  you          📲  it’s  9am  there  and  i  woke  up  to  nothing          📲  i’m  calling  you  the  minute  i  finish  this  morning  radio  shit

         22/07/21  9:05am          📲  i’m  the  one  that’s  mean  to  be  the  gd  enigma  , evan

         22/07/21  10:00am            📲  well  ,  call  me  whenever  you’re  free  bc  i  would  like  to  know  if                   saint  valentine  swiped  our  best  photographer  from  us  

         23/07/21  3:02pm          📲  we  just  wrapped  soundcheck  for  the  day  and  we  go  on  at  9:15                 tonight          📲  so  i  can  talk  if  you’re  free

         23/07/21  3:43pm          📲  the  lads  said  they  haven’t  heard  anything  from  you  either            📲  is  everything  okay  ?          📲  has  something  happened  ?

what  the  HELL  was  going  on  ? surely  if  something  had  happened  to  her  eloise  ,  or  isla  ,  would  have  called  him  .  .  .  no  —  no  ,  she  was  busy  ; caught  up  in  editing  photos  for  saint  valentine  .  he’d  seen  how  focused  she  could  get  on  her  work  sometimes  &  with  him  not  there  to  pull  away  physically  the  time  could  EASILY  get  away  from  her  .  but  that  did  nothing  to  settle  the  cloud  that  dampened  the  glowing  embers  that  were  a  sad  excuse  from  his  post-show  high  . the  bottom  of  his  phone  tapped  against  his  palm  as  his  eyes  lifted  to  focus  upon  the  wall  above  the  wooden  clothes  rack  his  jacket  hung  on  .  it  didn’t  make  sense though  .  .  . she’d  been  shooting  for  saint  valentine  .  she  would  have  called  after  that  .  she  SHOULD  have  called  after  that  .  where  the  hell  was  she  ? “  you  okay  ?  ”  conan’s  voice  forced  his  eyes  to  refocus  ,  bringing  him  back  down  to  reality  ,  &  turn  his  attention  towards  him  .   silence  passed  between  them  for  a  split  second  as  kieran  tried  to  place  the  look  hidden  within  conan’s  features  .  they’d  been  friends  all  their  lives  .  he  wasn’t  imagining  the  smothered  worry  hidden  within  his  eyes  ,  “  what  do  you  know  ?  ” “  what  ?  ” he  lifted  his  phone  towards  conan  ,  “  evan  — ” &  there  it  was  ,  the  flicker  of  worry  break  through  the  cracks  .  it  was  all  he  needed  . “  i  asked  you  earlier  if  you’d  heard  from  her  .  ” “  i  haven’t  .  ” “  but  you  know  why  she’s  not  answering  me  ,  don’t  you  ?  ” “  guys  —  yo  ,  what  t’e  fuck’s  going on  —  ” but  kieran  ignored  ruairi  as  he  watched  conan’s  jaw  work  from  side  to side ,  “  what  the  fuck  aren’t  you  telling  me  ,  conan  ?  ”   but  it  was  mikey’s  voice  that  answered  him  & kieran’s  eyes  snapped  instantly  towards  him  ,  “  it’s  not  his  fault  ,  kid  .  i  told  him  not  to  say  anything  until  after  the  show  .  ”  kieran’s  gaze  flickered  towards  conan  for  a  moment  ,  noting  the  apologetic  look  in  his  eye  ,  before  he  looked  back  at  mikey  .  “  i  ,  we  ,  needed  you  out  there  with  a  clear  mind  .  ” “  why  wouldn’t  my  mind  be  clear  ?  ”   mikey’s  hand  lifted  to  rub  at  his  jaw  before  he  pointed  towards  the  couch  in  the  middle  of  the  room  ,   “  come  sit  down  .  i  have  something  to  show  you  .  ”

the  nausea  had  set  in  the  minute  he’d  taken  a  step  towards  the  couch  .  but the  minute  mikey  had  handed  him  the  article  brought  up  on  his  ipad   &  begun  to  explain ,  kieran  felt  SICK  .  his  fingers  curled  around  the  edges  of  the  ipad  tight  enough  to  press  harshly  into  his  flesh  .  no  —  NO  .  this  wasn’t  happening  .  it  made  NO  fucking  sense  .  Bex  &  The  Found’s  Kieran  Walsh  Confirm  Rumors  are  True  .  .  .  speculated  to  be  growing  intimately  closer  .  .  .  make  it  known  outside  of  their  inner  circle  .  he  couldn’t  stop  reading  it  .  he  couldn’t  stop  starring  at  the  photos  .  hoping  that  any  moment  one  of  them  would  yell  gotcha  or  the  article  would  simply  vanished  .  but  no  matter  how  hard  he  tried  or  how  long  he  waited  ,  nothing  changed  .  the  words  were  still  there  ,  plain  as  day  &  painting  him  as  a  liar  .  the  photos  were  still  there  ,  plain  as  day  & painting  him  as  an  ASSHOLE  .  this  couldn’t  be  happening  .   “  why  didn’t  you  tell  me  .  ”  his  voice  was  low  ,  dangerously  so  . “  we  needed  you  to  have  a  —  ” “  a  clear  fucking  head  ,  i  know  .  but  T’IS  —  ”  he  tossed  the  ipad  onto  the  table  between  them  as  dark  eyed  focused  on  mikey  ,  “  you  should  have  fucking  told  me  as  soon  as  you  found  out  .  ” “  jani  only  called  me  this  morning  .” “  it’s  been  out  for  T’REE  fucking  days  ,  mikey  .  ”  his  hands  jutted  out  towards  the  discarded  ipad  ,  “  what  t’e  FUCK  has  she  been  doing  for  t’ree  days  t’en  ?  she’s  our  fucking  pr  manager  isn’t  she  ? isn’t  it  her  job  to  look  out  for  shit  like  t’is  ? ” “  kieran  —  ”  conan’s  voice  broke  through  the  haze  &  his  fingers  curled  into  a  fist  as  he  turned  towards  him  , “  what  ?  ”   “  take  a  breath  .  ” kieran’s  gaze  darted  frantically  over  conan’s  features  .  but  as  conan  held  his  gaze  ,  the  anger  within  him  teetered  &  his  breath  hitched  in  his  chest  .  evan  had  to  know  this  was  all  bullshit  .  she  HAD  to  .  .  .  but  the  timing  of  it  all  was  too  much  to  gloss  over  .  the  photo  had  come  out  on  the  21st  &  he  hadn’t  heard  a  SINGLE  thing  from  her  since  .  she  wasn’t  just  busy  .  she  believed  it  . his  voice  cracked  as  he  spoke  ,  “  this  is  evan  .  ” “  we  know  .  ” it  was  then  he  took  a  look  around  at  the  four  that  sat  along  side  him  .  features  sharpened  by  anger  softening  as  he  dragged  in  a  deep  ,  shaky  breath  ,  “  t’is  is  all  bullshit  .  ”   but  as  ruairi’s  features  broke  from  a  second  kieran’s  brow  arched  ,  “  is  it  ?  ”   “  i’m  sorry  ?  ” “  well  —  i  just  mean  ,  DID  somet’ing  happen  between  you  two ?  ” he  froze  for  a  moment  .  processing  ruairi’s  words  &  trying  to  figure  out  if  he’d  heard  them  right  .  but  before  he  could  even  form  a  reply  ,  a  pillow  was  thrown  directly  into  ruairi’s  face  with  a  heavy  thump from  conan’s  direction  . “  what  kind  of  fucking  question  is  t’a  ,  mate  ?  ”   “  okay  ,  okay  —  stupid  question  . ”  ruairi  fumbled  with  the  pillow  down  as  he  brought  it  down  his  lap  ,  kieran  rolling  his  eyes  as  he  let  out  a  breath  &  bring  a  hand  to  rub  at  his  forehead  .  if  it  was  ANYONE  else  ,  it  would  have  be  the  last  straw  .  but  as  ruairi’s  gaze  darting  between  four  faces  that  looked  at  him  expectantly  ,  kieran  couldn’t  be  mad  as  he  explained   “  but  look  .  i  told  you  i  t’ought  she  seemed  t’  be  weaselling  in  a  lot  of  places  that  are  usually  made  for  evan  &  she  seemed  to  cling  onto  you  so  —  i  t’ought  since  no  one  seemed  to  WANT  to  ask  it  ,  i'd  ask  it .  just  t’  be  sure  . ”kieran’s  hand  dropped  to  his  lap  as  he  shook  his  head  ,  exhaling  a  breath  ,   “  i’m  not  cheating  on  evan  wit’  bex  .  ”  he  paused  for  a  moment  as  his  fingers  linked  together  ,  eyes  darting  towards  the  screen  of  mikey’s  ipad  ,  “  you  all  were  t’ere  .  we  were  taking  her  back  t’  t’e  bloody  hotel  because  she  was  DRUNK  .  ” his  gaze  were  frantic  once  more  as  they  darted  between  conan  ,  ruairi  &  ,  adam  ,  before  settling  on  mikey  ,  “  we  know  ,  kid  .  but  we’re  not  the  ones  you  need  to  be  telling  that  to  right  now  .  ”  he  was  right  .  it  had  been  THREE  days  since  this  had  dropped  &  all  he’d  said  to  evan  was  things  about  her  god  damn  saint  valentine  job  .  he’d  kept  the  whole  walking  out  of  the  interview  from  her  to  stop  her  from  freaking  out  over  rumours  of  him  being  with  bex  .  but  now  here  it  was  plastered  across  a  website  for  all  to  see  .  he  didn’t  want  to  think  what  was  going  on  in  her  head  .  “  yeah  ,  yeah  ,  you’re  right  . ”  his  hands  were  shaky  as  he  reached  for  his  phone  jean  pockets  ,  so  much  so  that  it  took  a  few  attempts  to  be  able  to  press  her  name  on  his  list  of  recent  calls  before  he  brought  it  to  her  ear  .  one  ring  ,  two  rings  ,  three  rings  ,  four  rings .  .  .  voice  message  .  he  pulled  the  phone  from  his  ear  &  hung  up  .  “  fuck  .  ” “  it’s  early  in  the  morning  t’ere  ,  right  ?  she’s  probably  asleep  .  ”  adam  ,  always  the  voice  of  reason  . “  fuck  t’at  .  she  can  wake  up  .  ”  ruairi  ,  an  idiot  but  the  most  inline  with  the  thoughts  in  his  own  mind  .  she  did  make  him  promise  to  call  no  matter  the  time  .  “  try  again  .  ”&  he  did  as  took  in  a  breath  as  he  pressed  her  contact  again  ,  lighting  his  phone  up  before  he  brought  it  to  his  ear  . &  he  tried  again &  again  &  again  .  he  tried  until  finally  ,  the  line  on  the  other  end  broke  .  he  sat  up  straighter  ,  forcing  everyone  around  him  to  tense  .  nothing  .  no  voice  message  .  he  took  the  phone  away  from  his  ear  for  a  moment  to  see  the  time  ticking  over  .   “  what’s  going  —  ”  but  kieran  waved  ruairi  away  as  he  brought  the  phone  back  to  his  ear  .  hesitating  for  one  more  second  before  he  finally  spoke  ,  “  evan  ?  ”  another  pause  ,  “  don’t  hang  up  .  please  .  ”  he  shifted  to  the  edge  of  the  couch  ,  “  i  can  explain  everyt’ing  .  ”

TTTE: Magic Beyond the Engine

Greetings guys, gals, nonbinary pals and everyone in between. Welcome to the Information Page of TTTE: Magic Beyond the Engine, where you can get context to whatever the hell I post on here. There’s a lot and much is subject to change, so buckle up butter cups because we’re going for a ride.

Table o’ Contents

1. Basic Story

2. Characters

3. Personal Headcanons

4. Canonical Relationships within TTTE: MBtE

5. Other Notes

6. Link

I) Basic Story

   Several years ago in the year 20XX, a facility located in [REDACTED] was doing experiments involving a mysterious golden substance and what it could do for the human race. Its goal was to eliminate the need for high-maintenance engines to save money. However, much of what was done ended up being a total flop, except for one. A little girl, Madison [REDACTED] was the only successful trial the facility was able to produce. This girl didn’t know why or how she even got here, but knew that her family didn’t want her, and instead gave her up to this [probably very illegal] facility. For years the scientists running the experiment pushed her to her limits, training her to pull lines of cars weighing several tons. They were delighted by what she could do. They had finally compacted the strength and speed of an engine into a human. However, bad luck struck as the facility went belly up, when Madison was 21. News of the facility spread, and so did news about her. Humanity didn’t take her well, and she was labeled an outcast. Though, in the light of things with her negative fame, Sir Topham Hatt found out about her and thought she’d be a wonderful addition to the railway along with the new tank engine he just bought! So she was picked up by this cheeky little shit, and her story working alongside sentient engines unfolded.

II) Characters

   A) Thomas

      The one who picked up Maddy. He was awfully confused by her, but respected her nonetheless. Still his cheeky self that everyone seems to just adore, Thomas quickly became best friends with her, protecting her whenever she needed it. Thomas sometimes gets a little too cheeky, and pushes her off the edge. Pranks ensue and Thomas is usually left bumbling for apologies. Who knew something so small could be so dangerous. He also commonly gets called ‘Tommy’ by the wee lass, something he absolutely despises. It only fuels her need to use it.

         1) When human, Thomas stands at about 5′ 7″ or 170 centimeters. He’s clad in a simple hoodie that matches his paintwork with a big 1 on the back, and plain khakis. He wishes he could have something else, but he doesn’t get paid and his driver and fireman refuse to lend him money. His hair is fluffy and rather short and is a few shades darker than his paintwork. Maddy likes to braid it when she’s bored and he hates it. Her favorite part though, besides honking his bulbous nose like he was a clown like she does with James, is his eyes. They were a beautiful shade of ocean blue. If he wasn’t such a shit, she’d get lost. He can’t brag though, she basks in all the colors her friends have. 

“Why does she get to swear and I don’t? It’s not fair!” ~T

“Maddy’s an adult, Thomas.” ~E

“Well so am I you old fart!” ~T

   B) Maddy

      Little Maddy. Don’t call her Madison, she hates it with a passion and refuses to explain why. She currently stands at the age of 21, but looks much younger. She had overheard at the facility that a side effect of the mystery stuff was that she aged like an engine, so she could be around for hundreds of years if she wasn’t stupid. At just 5′ 3′’ or 160 centimeters, Maddy is the shortest out of all the engines on the railway, even Bill and Ben. Her hair is a medium shade of brown, kind of long, and it mostly covers one of her eyes, which are, as Thomas describes, “As if the sky could make steel.”. Shy when you first meet her, Maddy is quick to come out of her shell and be just as much of a shithead as Thomas and as angry as James, if not worse than the two combined. Her outfit was rather simple, a dark scarlet hoodie with her number on it, and dark grey or black leggings. She liked it that way, she looked good and it was flexible and comfy. When she first arrived with Thomas, she felt something click with James, despite him being an utter jackass to her. After begrudgingly showing her around and having to shunt trucks, the duo became good acquaintances. It wasn’t until after James’ accident that the two became best friends, being asshats together and generally being a happy sight. He’s the one Maddy is generally seen with if she’s not working on her own. Soon enough, though, something started brewing within her heart.

“Ah crumbs, he’s in a mood.” ~T

“James is always in a mood.” ~M

“Fuck both of you.” ~J

   C) Edward

      Ah, Old Iron. He was there when Thomas and Maddy first arrived to the island. Like most that laid eyes on her, his main worry is that she was itty bitty. Usually calm and collected unless something goes majorly wrong, Edward was quick to unknowingly swoop her under his wings. When Thomas started poking fun at him for being fatherly, Edward nearly keeled over. An engine can’t father a human, can they? He guessed they could as soon after Maddy just gave a shrug and accepted the Number 2 as her father, after being given away by her own. It didn’t take long for Edward to actually father her, asking how her day was, sometimes folding her laundry, comforting her, scolding Maddy James, y’know, dad stuff. He earned the name ‘Dadward’ from her, and his heart melts every time she says it.

         1) As a human, Edward looks like a kindly old man and a youngin’ at the same time. He stands just a bit shorter than James at 6′ or 183 centimeters. With short, almost midnight-blue hair, Edward is the perfect gentleman. He even has a small pair of gold glasses that set snuggly on his nose. His eyes are a lovely shade of steel blue, something he gets flustered about when Maddy compliments him. His outfit consists of a white dress shirt with a dark blue tie, a blazer matching his paintwork with his number on his right arm and dark grey dress pants. He’s not usually in his human form, but when he is, Maddy unusually asks for a lot of hugs..

“Will you two leave her be?” -E

“But look how red her face is!” P&T

“FUCK THE LOT OF YOU-” ~M

   D) James

      Ah, James. One half of what his friends call “The Red Disasters”. He’s still his normal, vain ass self. He has a soft side, everyone knows it but virtually no one can get to it. Except Maddy, who can get to it quite easily. Though, when they first met, all he did was make fun of her. Well, they made fun of each other, but still. They had the complete opposite of favorite jobs, they still do and always will. James loves pulling coaches, she hates it. She loves trucks, he despises it and always tries to weasel his way out. It usually doesn’t work. He’s earned many nicknames from her: Jamsey, Jimbo, Buzzy, Buzzy Butt, the list grows. Two of them came from the mistake about telling her the story about the bees, the other.he’s not too sure. What he is sure of, though, is that Jimbo has spread than to more than just her and he hates it. It fuels her though, so he’s gotta be careful. Originally, though, James didn’t know what to think of her. After the accident, his boiler felt all fluttery and he pushed it down to just being ill. He had to learn the hard way about what romantic love was. He knew how to flirt, it got people to love him more! But what that flirting did, though, he was completely foreign to.

         1) At 6′2′’ or 188 centimeters, James stands as the third tallest among the main eight. When he still had his black livery, James’ human form basically had him looking like what I can simply describe as a butler, though he had a vest and a red tie instead of all black. After, though, he had quite the change. His long, black hair now had dyed red tips and his right ear had a cute little heart piercing. Hair covers most of his left eye, which is what Maddy lovingly described as, “You managed to make the color of red rust beautiful.”. He thinks his hair looks cool only according to Maddy. He usually wears a long-sleeve, dark red button-up shirt with three dark grey stripes on both arms and grey pads on his shoulders. His number was sewn onto his left breast. Maddy pokes fun at him for looking like a band geek, but she nonetheless likes it. His outfit is simply finished off with grey pants. Sometimes, though, he’s seen wearing a solid red hoodie that Maddy got him. He won’t admit that it’s his favorite piece of clothing.

“Honey Bee, you’re acting irrational-” ~J

“DON’T MAKE ME GET THE BEES-” ~M

“NOT THE BEES-” ~J

   E) Gordon

      There isn’t much to say about Gordon. He’s his usual, grumpy self. We all know deep down he’s a good engine, though. Gordon’s...rather indifferent about Maddy. He doesn’t dislike her, but he doesn’t see her appeal either. Nonetheless, she’s an awesome part of the team. She does the most important job: listening to James bitch so they don’t have to. Of course, though, like the rest of the team, he’ll defend her if need be. Gordon has a heart, he just doesn’t like to show it.

         1) Gordon’s the tallest, at 6′8′’ or 203 centimeters. Everything about his human form is perfect. His hair is just a tad darker than Edward’s and a teeny bit shorter. He keeps it slicked back most of the time, but it’s hilarious when he has bed head. Maddy got a picture once and sent it to James just in case he forced her to delete it. Just like most of her friends, Gordon’s eyes were her favorite, they were a blue similar to his hair, but a few shades lighter. Maddy remembers a time she complimented them and Gordon puffed away all red in the face. His outfit consists of a three piece suit, in his paintwork color of course, a white shirt and a red tie. His number is on his right breast.

“The Express isn’t that important.” ~M

“Why I’ll tell you-” ~G

“Is her intent just to piss him off?” ~E

“Yes. It’s both of ours.” ~J

   E) Henry

      Maddy’s favorite engine besides James. Thomas is insulted that he isn’t even considered one of her favorites. Henry gushed over her the first time she came. He must protect the small. Love the small. If James suddenly didn’t exist, Henry would be her go-to. She adored puffing through the forest with him, looking at all the trees and wildlife. Maddy would take pictures of flowers she’d find while strolling through and Henry would just ooze over them. Once she showed him a photo of a squirrel holding a wild flower under an oak tree whose leaves were just started to turn different colors, and the big engine cried with joy. He requested she print the picture out so his driver could carry it for him, and she did. It was his absolute favorite.

         1) 6′6″ or 198 centimeters, what a height to be. At second tallest, Henry is the definition of a gentle giant. His resting face looks nervous, but he’s usually not nervous at all. His hair is a forest green, not too short, not too long. Actually, Maddy’s favorite part of him is his chicken-wing bangs. Of course she loves his eyes, which are a lovely jade green, but the bangs take the cake, Whenever they hang out, she likes to play with them when he talks about plants. He finds it comforting. His outfit is literally just a more modest and fancier workman’s outfit, but matching his livery, with his number on his right breast. It made sense, since he was usually one to do heavy work.

“You don’t like the rain either?” ~H

“The last time I went out in the rain I derailed Percy.” ~M

“Why were you even out in the rain!? You’d catch a cold!” ~E

“Fat Man said I was the only one available and told me to suck it up. I did catch a cold. James tried making me soup, remember?” ~M

“What do you mean tried..?” ~H

“He forgot to cook the chicken beforehand. I got salmonella.” ~M

“So that’s why you were bedridden and wouldn’t talk to him for a week after..” ~H

   G) Percy

      Ah, little shit number two. Thomas’ partner in crime. When he first met Maddy when he arrived, he teased her relentlessly for being short-tempered and short in general. After giving him the silent treatment though, Percy was a bit nicer. He and Thomas still tease her plenty enough, but they tease about things she usually won’t kick their asses for. He likes Maddy now. Plain and simple.

         1) Second shortest, 5′5″ or 165 centimeters. He holds those two inches with pride. Percy uses them against Maddy very frequently. Maddy won’t hurt him though. She physically can’t. His little baby face, those big ol’ light green eyes, that short light green hair, his cute little outfit [which consists of a shamrock colored shirt, black suspenders held up by gold buttons, and dark green shorts]. If he was any smaller Maddy would die. James sometimes gets jealous by how much she gushes over Percy, but doesn’t exactly blame her. Percy’s adorable and he damn well knows it.

“Ha, you’re short.” ~P

“You’re short too.” ~M

“I’m taller than you.” ~P

“Won’t be for long when I take your kneecaps.” ~M

   H) Emily

   Ah, Emily. The first girl engine she met. They made damn good friends, too. They gossiped whenever they had a chance. Maddy usually talked about shit James has said, and Emily just gossips about anything and everything. They were will to throw hands for each other, with Emily more willing to for Maddy. Maddy would throw hands just as an excuse to do it. Emily still loves her, though.

         1) Emily currently stands at 5′8″ or 173 centimeters. She isn’t as girly as she looks, either. Her hair is short, with half of it buzzed off. Maddy would describe her as someone punk-ish. Of course Emily’s personality doesn’t reflect that at all, she just chose to look like it. She’s the only other engine besides James to have piercings, usually with two black on on the top of her ears and hoop earrings to pay honor to her engine build. Emily was a little more casual than her friends, usually seen wearing a simple green dress matching her livery. Her eyes were a very dark grey, almost black, with flecks of brass scattered in there. Maddy told her once that she was the prettiest girl she’s every seen and Emily nearly crashed.

“James being a bitch again?” ~Em

“What do you mean again?” ~M

“I can hear you.” ~J

“I know.” ~M

   I) Others

      Other characters consist of secondary characters within the story who do not play as big a role. There are a few who teeter on the edge between primary and secondary characters, such as Duck, Donald, Douglas, Diesel, Diesel 10, and Lady. They play an important role, but not enough so to have their own descriptions. Diesel’s..y’know, Diesel, the twins think of Maddy as their long-lost sister, Duck..well, they like to poke fun at James together when he’s not droning about the Great Western Railway, Diesel 10′s goal is to get her to say something about Lady, and Lady...no one’s really sure yet. Then, as of right now for true secondary characters there is Oliver, Toad, BoCo, Bill, Ben, Mavis, and Salty. There’s more to come, but that’s what I got right now.

III) Personal Headcanons

-The engines can eat and taste in both forms. They don’t know where it goes when they’re engines and don’t feel like finding out.

-James learned to cook for Maddy when she couldn’t for herself.

-For the longest time, James was the only engine with his own phone.

   -He learned hip language and Maddy started regretting every choice in her life.

-Maddy comes to Salty for him to tell her stories when she’s bored.

-Rain is Maddy’s one weakness since she has no way of covering herself.

-She, along with her friends as humans, run with skates that reflect their wheel configuration. The wheels retract when not in use. [I’m thinking about switching to roller blades, we’ll see.]

-Maddy intentionally starts beef with the Scottish Twins because she thinks the fighting is hilarious.

-Thomas will occasionally beg Maddy for a cotton candy sucker. Specifically cotton candy. She doesn’t know why either.

-Thomas initiated a prank war with her once. He lost.

-Gordon once bet her that she couldn’t pull his heavy goods. His driver was out 30 bucks because of him.

-Maddy tortures Duck with duck puns.

-Maddy still trick-or-treats for free candy.

-Emily once convinced Maddy to derail James for the fun of it. She was subsequently chased around the island.

-James is the ultimate flirt and he uses that against Maddy, who flusters very easily. 

-Percy loves Teddy Grahams.

-Edward likes loves to tell others about his daughter. Maddy does not. He is becoming too dad-like.

-The Scottish Twins know damn well that Maddy simps for their accents and they intentionally use it against her if they can.

-Maddy knows about Diesel’s ducklings. It’s the only reason she decides to befriend him.

-James utterly hates Diesel for many many reasons.

-Like many others headcanon, Thomas can’t cook. He fucked up a cup of ramen once and Maddy still refuses to let him live it down.

-Edward refuses to let Thomas and Percy swear. They hate it. James and Maddy know this. They swear more because they can’t.

-James and Maddy are at a tie for worst potty mouths. The twins don’t count. That’s not fair.

-Oliver thought Maddy was an engine for like a month before he met her.

-Maddy dislikes the Mainland. Not the engines there. They’re cool. 

-If Maddy isn’t around, James sleeps in her bed with her hoodie.

-Henry worries for Maddy all the time. More and Edward and James combined. He just doesn’t show it.

-Gordon says he has no opinion on Maddy, but he really does like her.

-No one knows where Maddy’s really from. She won’t tell them either. Not even James or the Fat Man really know.

-Want more? Just ask!

IV) Canon Couples within TTTE: MBtE

~James/Maddy

~Edward/Henry

~Emily/Thomas

~D10/Lady (In the past)

~~We’ll see about others as the story progresses~~

V) Notes

- Lady is the reason the engines have sentience. She is not the reason for their human forms. That will be explained later.

-Maddy is much more resilient than an average human, which is why most accidents don’t just straight up kill her.

-As stated before, Maddy can now live for hundreds of years if she’s careful enough. She won’t age as fast as a normal human, so who knows how long she’ll be baby-faced. Not that she cares, more opportunity to trick-or-treat.

-The engines can get frisky, but no babies. Don’t even think about it.

-Maddy will eventually give in and buy beds for all her friends to give them an opportunity to sleep like she does.

VI) Link

Silly me, I forgot to give a link to my story! Shame on me for making you search, that won’t happen again, here you go!

Sodor’s New Worker

________________________________________________________________

And that’s really it. If you have any questions, please please please please please ask!

UPDATED: August 3, 2021

Right Hand Witch

Words: 2 810

Ship: Cordelia Goode x female reader

It was a moonless night, the sky a deep pit of darkness that seemed to go on forever. I yanked the front gate open and walked up the stairs of Miss Robichaux's Academy, my relatively slow pace annoying one of the women behind me.

"Hurry up bitch!" Madison spat as she pushed past me, her designer dress soaked in the down pouring rain. I didn't pay much attention to her or her comment, my mind stuck replaying the events of tonight over and over until it made me sick. The horrible images flashed in my eyes, blinding me with pain. I had never seen that much blood in my life and smell of his breath still lingered in my nostrils. I desperately craved the heavenly scent of Cordelia's perfume, her aroma had always calmed me and right now I could use a bottle of it. Madison left the front door open and Queenie and I walked through as she shook her head, the water spraying everywhere. The short walk from the taxi to the house had left us drenched. I lazily kicked my flats off, each one falling perfectly beside the other, on the grey shoe match. I made no effect to get any of the water off me, making a mess was truly the last thing on mind. I just wanted to crawl into bed with my sweet Delia and snuggle my face into her glorious blonde hair, the floral scent of her shampoo coaxing me to sleep.

As Queenie shut the door, I hung up my soaked black jacket as well as my matching hat on the brass coat holder and I started down the hallway. I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing under my breath as Misty came darting down the large staircase, the panic in her filling the air. I had wished that I could have just pretended that tonight hadn't happened but Misty knew and if Misty knew, she knew too.

"Oh, Darlin come here!" Misty cried as she slammed into me, knocking the wind out of me in the process. Her warm arms held me tightly to her heaving chest and she planted a big kiss on my forehead.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you." Misty sniffled through tears. I hugged her back, melting into the silky material of her shawl and was about to tell her that I was fine when the loud clicks of high heels sounded down the stairs and my heart sank. I had never felt as connected to another human being as I felt to Cordelia Goode. In some circumstances, it was a joyous gift. Our intimate moments were like something out of fantasy but when either of us was in despair, this gift of ours sent aches through the heart and soul of the other. Tonight Cordelia's heart was breaking and I felt it more intensely than I had ever felt anything, good or bad.

I squeezed my eyes closed, still hidden from her sight in Misty's hair, I knew this peaceful moment wouldn't last for long.

"Miss Cordelia was so worried about you Y/N. She had a vision. She saw him kill you." Misty whispered in my ear. I didn't want to let go of my best friend, I knew I had messed up tonight and being aware of how much agony I had caused Cordelia made me even more ashamed.

I finally faced the facts and I pulled away from Misty and glanced over her shoulder. Cordelia reached the bottom of the stairs at that moment and I took her image in. She was in her long, light pink robe, the cream nightgown she wore underneath poking through the bottom. Her hair was messy at the front and her beautiful pale face was red and puffy from the numerous tears she had cried over me. If it had a cheerful moment I would have chuckled at the black high heels she wore. No matter what time it was, or was state she herself was in, Cordelia always liked to look presentable and even though it was late into the night, she walked towards me with them on. I could imagine her saying to me something along the lines of, "What if one of the girls got up for water and saw me? I got to make sure they always feel safe and secure, even if I'm falling apart."

Since it wasn't a time for laughs and giggles, I look at my hands, avoiding her eye contact. I normally wasn't like this. I stood up for myself no matter who was against me and I always challenged Cordelia, even if it got under her skin sometimes. Right now though, I watched as I fiddled with my fingers nervously, every ounce of fight I had left in me vanished with the sight of her mournful eyes.

The room filled with silence and Cordelia simply nodded at the others. I heard their footsteps carry them up the stairs and into their bedrooms. Misty ran her hand gently up and down my arm, trying to offer what little comfort she could. After a few agonizing moments that seem to last a lifetime, Cordelia's voice sliced through the silence, sorrow laced with her words.

"Misty dear, could you please give me and Y/N a moment alone?" As she asked she disappeared into the living room and I was genuinely surprised. I had thought she would run to embrace me, as I would have with it had been her stumbling in from a storm late at night. As Misty pulled away, giving me a sympathetic smile as she left, I was filled with dread. Delia had just walked away without a word to me and the only time she ever did that was when she was angry. I gulped and somehow convinced myself to follow her into the open area of the room in which she was in.

There she was, standing in front of the fireplace, which was light on the cool rainy night. I stepped closer to Cordelia, as she wiped her cheeks free of tears, sniffling loudly.

"Delia, baby I'm so s-" She cut me off with a booming voice before I could properly apologize.

"HOW COULD YOU!? I have told you over and over again that I don't want to you going to Bourbon Street at night! Not only did you go there, but you also left and went off on your own!" Cordelia's anger shook me to the bones and my bright blue eyes welled up with tears. I knew I deserved whatever she was going to give to me but what I really needed her to do was to hold me, to feel her skin against mine.

"I know. I was stupid. Queenie and Madison wanted to go out and get a drink. I told you were just going just out for a late dinner because I know you worry so much and I really didn't think anything would happen. I just wanted to save you so stress. I left the bar because I was really hungry and all they had there were super spicy wings and you know I hate spicy food. There was a diner across the street and down a few blocks so I went to just get some friends and an ice tea." I tried to explain but as the fiery only grew in my women dark eyes I cursed in my mind, wishing I had left out the part of me not wanting her to worry.

"YOU DIDN'T WANT ME TO WORRY!?" She shouted. I knew half the house was awake by now and I wished I could punch myself for the idiotic act I had committed. Cordelia never got this mad, never even raised her voice much at Madison. I had awakened the beast deep in this beautiful creature.

"I thought you were dead Y/N. I watched that hunter silt your throat as he laughed, but I couldn't do anything about it because your mind was blocked from me because of his voodoo relict." Fresh tears streamed down her sunken face and I had to fight back the urge to stroke them gently away with my thumb.

"I'm sorry Delia I-" I tried to say but once again Cordelia interrupted me as if she hadn't heard my timid voice at all.

"You risked your life for fries? Fries, really Y/N? I'm sure one of the girls would have gone with you if you were really that hungry. You shouldn't have even been there in the first place. When are you going to start listening to me instead of Madison? All this time you're spending with her is causing her bad traits to start to rub off on you." She spat, her voice shaky with dark emotions. She knew that would hurt me but she wasn't holding anything back. Something went off in my head at that moment. I was nothing like Madison and no amount of time spent with that spoilt, ungrateful witch was going to change that. As anger pumped through my veins, my eyes darkened and with a pulse of energy that shot from me like a bullet, the flames inside the fireplace soar to impossible heights, it roaring loudly. Cordelia's furious expression shattered and her eyes flickered for me to the flames my anger had caused.

"I am nothing like that inconsiderate bitch. I left because I was uncomfortable staying where I was. Some drunk asshole groped my ass and pushed me against the bloody wall when I was trying to find my way from the bathroom back to our table. I begged the girls to leave, telling them what happened but Madison just blew me off, saying maybe a good dicking would turn me straight. Queenie was too busy talking to one of the guys that Madison had dragged over to our table while I was gone. I wasn't going to stay there, plus because of their new "friends", there wasn't even a chair for me anymore. I had seen the diner when we arrived, so I figured it was a good option for me. You know how I get when I'm mad. I can't control my abilities as well as you Cordelia. I told them where I was going and they said they would come to pick me up when they were done. I got there fine but when I reached for the door that's when he grabbed me. There were people around, I should have been fine but as he dragged me down the back ally, no one even looked our way." I stopped speaking and held my hand to my mouth as a soft sob broke through. I couldn't stop the tears now and they flooded my face like a city below a broken levy.

All traces of anger vanished from Cordelia's face at that moment. She hated seeing me cry, even if she knew I deserved the self-loathing I was putting myself through. I took a few steps towards the couch and I lowered myself down to it with shaky legs. I hadn't noticed how cold I was until now, it felt like the chill had eaten away at my flesh.

Cordelia moved quickly, grabbing a white plush towel that was draped over the armchair that sat beside the couch. She wrapped it around me snuggly but gently and practically fell to her knee in front of me. Her slender hands cupped my flushed cheeks, running her thumb along my cool skin in a soothing circular motion. I sighed at the contact and leaned into her touch.

"I know I should have listened to you. I wasn't thinking. I never am. I thought I was going to die." I frantically apologized. My lips were silenced by Cordelia warm, soft set of lips. Her lips were wet with salty tears and they slid against mine wonderfully. The desperation we were both feeling poured out in that kiss and my breath was taken away as Cordelia kissed me as if it were the last time she ever could. Which was probably something that earlier in the night she thought she would never get to do again. This kiss spelled that out as clear as day. When she pulled back, she wiped my tears under my eyes again with her thumb, gazing lovingly into my eyes.

"I know you are. I'm sorry for losing my temper. I just never thought I was going to see you again." She spoke, her voice hitching when she got the words that caused her the most pain. I brought my hand up to her face and I wiped her tears as well, my fingers sliding over them like a hot knife on butter.

"You are my everything Y/N. I couldn't go on without you. Death would be better." She cried. I shook my head and kissed her softly again.

"Shh my Delia, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere I promise," I mumbled against her pale rose plump lips that I so desperately wanted to devourer with mine once more.

"Are you hurt? What did that bastard do to you?" She asked, pulling back. She began tracing every inch of my exposed skin with her eyes, searching for injuries. When they settled on the superficial cut that ran across my neck her expression dropped, her brows furrowing. She traced it with her finger and she opened her mouth slightly, her eyes fluttering closed.

I felt the wound begin to tingle and I knew without seeing it that the cut that had once circled my neck was gone. Since Cordelia had become the Supreme there was no lid to contain her jaw of powers. If she could imagine it, it happened. She looked up at me once more and I gazed back at her as I spoke.

"If it wouldn't have been for Queenie feeling someone was wrong and coming to look for me, the slice would have a crimson stump." I shivered at the thought. "She made sure he died in the exact way he had been ordered to kill me. She had brought a knife from the bar with her and she slit her own throat but instead of her own blood flowing it was his." I had heard about what Queenie could do but I had never experienced it with my own eyes and as satisfying as it had been too see the hunter bleed out from wounds she inflicted on herself, I had never had a strong stomach. After I puked my guts out we jumped in a taxi and left, the crime scene being noticed by none of the drunk crowd that litters the street.

"I'm so grateful she was there," Cordelia whispered, pressing her forehead against mine. After a moment and intimate kiss, Cordelia had laid me down on the lush couch beneath us and had lowered herself down as well so that I was cuddled between the back of the couch and her. Her body protecting me from the world. The towel still covered me and as we laid there, her fingers caressed my face and slowly ran through my tangly hair. The heat from the fire was reaching us easily and the warmth from it, plus the warmth radiating from her body, left me warm and dry a few hours later.

As my eyes struggled to stay open, sleep trying to seduce them, Cordelia kissed me slow and gently, pulling back slightly so she could look into my dazed eyes.

"I couldn't be Supreme without you by my side." She whispered sweetly, her voice relaxing any tense muscles in me that had held on.

"Your my right-hand woman," Cordelia said with a smile. I couldn't help but shoot her a toothy grin as I came up with something better in my head.

"I'm your right-hand witch," I stated with a giggle. Cordelia rolled her eyes at me, scoffing but no matter how hard she had tried to hold a smile back she couldn't and she chuckled softly, and a gorgeous smile spread across her now calm face.

"Right-hand witch. I can't believe no one has thought of that" She said in a hushed voice. Cordelia Goode plastered me with gentle kisses all over my neck, chest, forehead and then finally my lips.

That night I drifted off to dreamland snuggled into Cordelia, the floral scent from her hair filling my nose as I buried it in her warm chest. Safe and loved, right where I knew I needed to be and no dream that night, or any night, in fact, would ever be as sweet as the life I would wake up to tomorrow.

To the women who loved me.

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You Say I’m in Love

Summary: Michael makes his rescue with his unexpected ally in tow, and HBIC Madison Montgomery whittles away at your willpower to continue surviving.

Word Count: 2444

A/N: The long-awaited next chapter of Mad Love! As always, feedback is appreciated, and if you enjoyed, I would love if you left a like, comment, or reblog. Enjoy :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Two weeks in captivity comes with little fanfare; a daily changing of the guard is the only sort of notification that you receive, along with Madison Montgomery’s foray into your prison cell to verbally and, a new addition in the past couple of days, physically harass you. Although it’s nothing too serious, just a little pushing and shoving that occasionally turns into something a little harsher, it chips away at whatever remains of your morale. At this point, you’re not sure that there is anything left in that respect.

A choked groan escapes your mouth as you’re slammed against the wall by an unseen force, almost as if to illustrate your point. It’s laughable that you’ve thought of Michael as the “blond devil,” because with the way that Madison is standing across from you with a cruel smirk on her face and a cigarette poised between her fingers, she owns that title. You slide down to your knees, attempting to regain your breath and breathe through what you’re sure is a cracked rib. However, you’re given barely a moment to recover before being hauled up to your feet again, this time with Madison’s hand gripping the roots of your hair.

“You know, you disgust me,” she hisses, watching with unfettered glee as you wince in pain.

“Yes, you’ve made that very clear in the past couple of days.”

“When the cat’s away, the mouse will play.”

“So you’re scared of Mallory, then?” She releases you suddenly, eyes full of fire as she glares at you. Obviously, you’ve hit a nerve by bringing up the younger woman who’s next in line for the Supremacy (yeah, you’ve eavesdropped, but what else is there to do here?). Hot, blinding white light explodes in your field of vision, and it takes you a moment to realize you’ve been punched. Another moment, and you conclude that she made you punch yourself. “Fuck, I throw a mean punch.”

“You’ve never asked me why you disgust me,” Madison notes.

“That’s because I don’t care.” A drop of blood blooms on the floor, and you pinch your nose and tilt your head back to stop the blood from flowing more.

“I’ll never understand how somebody could be in love with the Antichrist.”

You unexpectedly let out a sharp laugh, the sound coming out as more of a wheeze as you grab at your ribs in discomfort. “I’m not in love with Michael!”

Madison looks like she thinks you’re obviously lying, and you scoff.

“I’m not! Like, I love him, sure, but as a friend!”

“I can’t tell if you’re lying or just insanely blind.”

“Thirty seconds ago you were making me beat myself up, and now you’re trying to describe my feelings to me?”

Madison rolls her eyes. “If you didn’t love him, you wouldn’t be resisting helping us take him down.”

“You want to kill him! I can’t let you do that. Like I told Cordelia, he’s my friend.” Madison takes a step towards you, making you flinch in anticipation. “Where is your Supreme, anyways? Shouldn’t she be here to keep you in check?”

“Cordelia’s away, and since Myrtle’s an old bat, I’m in charge.” Makes sense why you’ve only been beaten up in the past couple of days, then.

“Well, your good witch, bad witch routine isn’t exactly working, and it’s obvious that Michael’s not coming for me. You gonna put me out of my misery and kill me, or do you want to beat me up some more before that?”

Madison narrows her eyes, and you steel yourself in preparation. “You wanna know how I know you’re in love with the Antichrist who you’re so sure is not going to rescue you? It’s the way that you look when he’s mentioned. Your eyes get all soft, and then you look like you’re waiting for him to come in and sweep you away.”

“Yeah, because I’m desperate to get out of here!”

“What about how fast you come to his defense? That’s not just friendship.”

You look at Madison like she’s crazy. “Yes, it is.”

“This is the first time you’ve ever been in love.” It’s not a question. “I know you have this idealized version of what it’s like to be in love with a person. You’re expecting there to be this big ‘aha’ moment, sparks and instant connection and love at first sight. It’s not like that, though. It’s the little things that make you realize that you’re in love.

“When you can say anything, no matter how dumb you think it may be, and you know they won’t laugh at you. You can see their face when you close your eyes, feel their arms around you even after they’re done holding you. Their presence eases any pain, and you can just truly be yourself without fear of ridicule. It’s a slow realization, not at all like what you’ve read about or seen in movies. It doesn’t surprise me that you haven’t come to that conclusion yourself.”

You’re silent, face stone-cold as you digest the verbal blows that Madison just laid on you. She’s not right, that’s ridiculous. There’s no way that you’re in love with Michael. He’s...dependable, and can make you laugh even when you feel like crying, but so what? Maybe you do get to say things without fear of judgement, his smile whenever you make a dumb joke bringing butterflies to your stomach. You’re absolutely certain that you’re not in love with Michael...almost.

Madison smirks, knowing that this has gotten to you more than any punch or shove could. “I pity you, really. You’re pathetic.”

With a short laugh, she saunters out of your cell. The door clangs shut behind her, the sound barely registering in your brain. The only thing that resounds in your head:

Are you in love with Michael?

//

“I swear, Mallory, that if this is some sort of trap, I will not hesitate to brutally and painfully murder you and every single witch I can get my hands on.” The threat is blunt, although Mallory would expect nothing less from the Antichrist standing next to her. 

“You really think I wouldn’t have already had the witches ambush you if this was a trap?”

“Pardon me for not exactly trusting you right now.”

Michael really can’t be blamed for his apprehensiveness right now. Honestly, Mallory had been preparing herself to be tortured or killed after Michael got the information that he wanted. It was a gamble for her to go rogue in the first place, and it was a near-miracle that she had actually been listened to when she showed up on his doorstep last night. After hurriedly explaining herself, and being more shocked that Michael actually listened to her (maybe (Y/N) is a good influence on him), a hasty game plan had been established. And by “game plan,” it was really just Mallory stopping Michael from running to rescue (Y/N) without any sort of idea of what he was going to do.

“I just need you to trust me until we get (Y/N), then you can hate me.”

He glances at the rising Supreme with suspicion. “Why do you want to help, anyways? You’re the reason (Y/N)’s in this situation in the first place.”

“Because I was stupid and naive for going along with whatever Cordelia told me to do. I should have backed out the moment that we actually became friends, but I didn’t. That’s going to remain one of my biggest regrets; that I didn’t stop this situation from happening in the first place.”

Michael knows that she’s being serious; those big, dark eyes of hers hide no secrets. Still, he can’t help himself from harboring a fair amount of resentment. “(Y/N) trusted you, Mallory.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Mallory yells, making Michael stop in surprise. “You don’t think I saw the betrayal in her eyes when her fucking car crashed and I was the last person she saw before she passed out? Or how she reacted when she woke up and saw that her eyes really hadn’t deceived her? I used to look up to Cordelia, and I would gladly have followed her to the ends of the Earth before this mess. She teaches us that the sisterhood we have with our fellow witch is the most sacred of all bonds, but she’s wrong. The secrets, the lies, the anger? That’s not sisterhood. What I have with (Y/N) and Kate is sisterhood.”

Mallory takes a deep breath, reining in the anger that Michael wasn’t aware she was capable of.

“Let’s just finish this, and then you can kill me and be on your way.”

Michael shakes his head. “Oh, I’m not gonna kill you.”

“You’re not?”

“Not unless (Y/N) asks me to.”

They reach an unassuming looking set of storage units, and Mallory pulls a key from her pocket and unlocks the front gate. “Far enough away that you weren’t able to trace us, but close enough that we wouldn’t have to use transmutation to get here.”

“You were planning this out for some time then?” Michael tries to act like he doesn’t care what the answer will be, but Mallory knows that this is all just evidence that he’s cataloguing.

“A few months.”

Michael confidently strides to the first unit, holding his hand out and busting open the lock with a flash of sparks. “Stay here.”

“What? Why would I stay here? I’m going with you!”

He looks back at Mallory, who shudders when she sees the definition of a devilish grin on his face. “Wouldn’t want you to inadvertently end up as a casualty.”

//

It starts with a scream.

You’re jolted awake (you hadn’t even realized that you’d fallen asleep) by a sharp noise from far away. Dismissing it as a chair squeaking or a dog yelping, you roll over on the mattress and close your eyes again. Your attempt at sleep is thwarted when you hear the noise again, only closer this time. Now, you’re certain that what you’re hearing is screaming. Sitting up, your heart hammers in your chest as more screaming is heard, accompanied by sounds of banging. 

The commotion slowly gets closer and closer, making you begin to feel like a character in a horror movie. You had thought that nothing could frighten you more than being kidnapped and forced to marry the Antichrist, but this might just top that fear. Glancing around, you realize that there’s no sort of weapon that could protect you if this is finally the witches coming to kill you. As a last resort, you press yourself to the wall facing the door in an attempt to catch whoever may come inside in a sneak attack.

An eerie silence falls upon the cell, your ears ringing from the sudden lack of noise. Then, a sound akin to a cannon exploding momentarily deafens you as the door goes flying off of its hinges. You shriek and cover your face, hesitantly lowering your arms when the door clatters near the mattress that’s been yours for two weeks. 

“Michael?” Disbelief colors your tone, sure that the blond in front of you is merely an illusion. After all, the witches had used illusions to trick you before; why not do it to fully shatter any willpower you may still have?

“(Y/N),” Michael gasps. The intimidating demeanor that he had upon breaking into the room melts away as he races towards you, concern evident on his face. You begin to shake as he grabs you by your shoulders, realizing that he’s real and here and that all of your wishful thinking has finally come true.

“Michael, I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have...I didn’t mean--”

“Shh,” Michael quiets your tearful words, eyes scanning you and filling more and more with anger as he notices the blood and the various cuts on your body. “Who did this to you? Which one of those witches dared to lay a hand on you?”

“Madison.”

His nostrils flare, but he focuses on what’s important and pulls you to him in a hug. “Don’t worry, they won’t ever hurt you again.”

“Did you...kill them?”

“I did what had to be done.”

You nod, allowing yourself to sink into the hug. “This is the first time you’ve ever hugged me first, you know.”

Michael laughs, kissing the top of your head for a long moment. “Don’t worry, this won’t be the last time.”

“Promise?” You look up at him, and your heart aches when you see that he’s crying. “Yeah, I promise.” He pulls away from you, but remains touching you. “Do you think you can walk out, or do you want me to carry you?”

“I can walk.”

Michael leads you to the door, stopping right before reaching the hallway. “I’m going to caution you and say that the carnage may be a lot for you to handle. I...lost control when they started trying to attack me, and may have engaged in a bit of overkill.”

“I’ll be able to handle it, Michael.” Just walking down the hallway, however, reveals the white concrete walls splattered in copious amounts of blood. You shudder, choosing to bury your face in Michael’s shoulder so as not to actually see any bodies and letting him lead you out of your prison.

The sunlight burns your eyes when you emerge, and you blink furiously to regain your vision. When the black spots do clear from your eyesight, you see another figure waiting for you.

“What the fuck? Mallory?”

She sheepishly waves at you. “You told me to do something about it, and so I did. I’m just sorry that it took me so long to come to my senses.”

Mallory tries to take a step forward, but becomes frozen by an unseen force. Michael has a hand raised ahead of him, glowering at the witch in front of him.

“You’re lucky that I don’t kill you right now, little witch. The only reason I’m sparing your life is because you helped me find (Y/N). If I find you plotting against me ever again, however, I will kill you.” His hand flexes, and Mallory falls forward. “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

Mallory wants to say more to you, but Michael looks deadly serious about his threat. Within a second, the new Supreme is gone.

“Now,” Michael smiles softly, “let’s go home.”

Home. The comforts of your physical home are appealing to you on a level that they never have before, but standing in Michael’s embrace, you realize that you already are home.

//

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La Vie en Rose

1 - Don't Forget About Me

Summary: Everything about her is perfect. Her grades, her looks, her personality, everything. Desiree Hale is known as little miss perfect all throughout middle school. But when she makes the transition from being in eighth grade to being a freshman, everything changes. Not because of the change in her surroundings, but because of a girl. A girl with gorgeous brown locks and stunning eyes to match, with a voice that sounds like an angel and a smile that could melt anyone's heart. The moment Desiree laid her eyes on the girl, she knew there was something different about herself.

Word Count: 3,205

Warnings: None

Please do NOT copy, rewrite, or translate onto another site. Permission will not be given if asked for it.

Water splashes on the light gray concrete, soaking the people nearby. Meat sizzles on the grill, sending a delectable aroma through the air. Adults and children cover the lawn, chatter fills the surrounding space. The Sun's rays beat upon everything it can reach, making anything hot to the touch. This is what a Fourth of July party looks like. People having fun interacting with each other and forming relationships with people they had just met.

But not me. I've been sitting in the corner underneath an enormous oak tree with my journal full of short stories and other random notes. No one has bothered talking to me. It's not like anyone would want to talk with the girl who has her face buried in a journal. They're too busy enjoying the sun and partying. I'm not a big fan of the sun. Or parties. I'd much rather sit inside and read or write all day.

I turned the page in my notebook and began jotting down random thoughts that pop into my mind. As I looked up to relax my eyes, I noticed a girl my age approaching me in a bright blue two-piece swimsuit with a bright smile on her face. I smiled back and watched as she sat next to me on the grass.

"So, what brings you to this miserable party?" She asked, her smile not fading.

"My parents are friends with the hosts." I deadpanned. "You?"

"My parents are the hosts." She chuckled.

Silence. We stared into the distance and watched my little sister -who's only six years old- jump into the pool with a bright pink ring sitting around her waist as my dad caught her. I smiled when I heard her screams of joy.

"What's your name?" The girl said as she cleared her throat.

"Oh, it's Desiree." I stuttered, clearly being thrown off guard by the sudden question. "What's yours?"

"Zoe." She replied.

More silence. That's enough of our conversation. It's obvious neither of us gets out there or talk to others often. We've only said six things to each other. And every time we try to converse, it always starts with her asking a question.

"Wanna come to the pool with me? I think it's a lot cooler than sitting out in the sun." Zoe comments. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Actually, that sounds nice. I'll be right back." I said, standing up as my arms naturally spread to the sky to release tension.

"If you're changing, I could show you where the bathrooms are." She commented.

"That's alright. Your mom told me where they were when we got here." I replied, grabbing my bag and hurrying into the house and towards the bathroom.

Once I was inside, I quickly stripped off my clothing and changed into my black two piece. I turned to look at the mirror and pulled my dark brown hair into a high ponytail to prevent it from getting wet. Smiling, I made my way out of the bathroom and found Zoe standing by the door, waiting for me.

The two of us ran to the pool and dove into the deep end with grins spread across our faces. Fully submerged in the water, I opened my eyes and looked to my right to see Zoe watching me. I smirked and began swimming to the surface. As I broke the fine line between the water and air, I felt my lungs gasp for air and my wet hair stick to the back of my neck. There was no point in that ponytail. I quickly stroked to the edge of the pool where I met with Zoe and got greeted with a splash of water to the face. I let out a dramatic gasp and pushed water towards her as well. Before we knew it, we made our way back out to the middle of the pool again in a huge water war. The two of us looked up to see my dad running towards us from the surface. I took in as much air as possible into my lungs and dove under the water just before he got to the pool. Zoe continued swimming in place and tried to protect herself from the oncoming tidal wave, but it was no use. Dad hit the water, and I felt myself get pushed towards the other side of the pool. As I felt the water calm down, I quickly resurfaced and swallowed a breath of fresh air.

"Dinner's ready, girls." Dad laughed as he swam over to us.

"That wasn't necessary." I said, brushing loose strands of wet hair behind my ears.

"I know. I just wanted to make sure you heard me." He replied as he stepped out of the pool. "I was also extremely hot."

Zoe and I glanced at each other and laughed, making our way out of the water. We hopped in line and draped brightly colored towels around our shoulders to dry off a bit. I grabbed a paper plate and collected a hotdog, some condiments and a small bag of Doritos. I thanked the man standing by the grill for the meal and scanned the yard for Zoe to find her sitting under the tree we met at. Smirking, I rushed to the grass. Standing at her side, I placed my food onto the ground and lay the towel flat next to where Zoe had done the same. I then sat criss-crossed on the fabric and dug into my meal.

"Tell me something about yourself." I prompted, breaking the silence.

"Oh, I uh, I play guitar and bass. I'm planning on trying out for the Jazz Band at my high school at the beginning of the year." She replied simply.

"What school are you going to?" I questioned.

"James Madison. You?" Zoe answered.

"Wait, no way, me too!"

"Really? What classes are you taking?"

I told Zoe almost every single one of my classes. Art, choir, French, and theatre for my electives. Earth science, honors language arts, secondary math one, and world geography for my core classes. Zoe's classes were a lot more complex than mine. Band, creative writing, and debate for her electives. Earth science, honors language arts, secondary math two, and AP human geography for her core classes. Not to mention if she makes it into the jazz band she'll have an extra-curricular.

We talked about our friends and lives in middle school. How I was perfect with grades and had little to no issues while she had to deal with drama and barley passing classes. Why we both made such big changes for high school is a significant question that neither of us know the answer to. The conversation dragged away from school and ventured into our home lives. Zoe told me about her brother Connor, and I told her about my little sister Brooke. She talked about how Connor has changed. How they used to be friends and would play with each other when they were younger and how they've drifted over the years. How much she wishes they could be close again and how it can't happen because of things he's done.

Zoe has dealt with so much shit throughout her life. From fights with her brother to being ignored by her parents, all she wants is to be seen. Usually I'd say the two of us are different people, but in reality, we aren't. After Brooke was born, I felt lost. My life took a sharp turn I didn't see coming. But yet again, doesn't everyone who has younger siblings been through the same thing I went through? I bet it doesn't last as long for them as it did for me. The rejection, I mean. It's been six years. Six damn years and my parents still give Brooke the attention they gave her when she was born. And what have I been doing? I've tried getting them to notice me, but it never works. I learned how to paint and made them something for their anniversary. It ended up in the basement. I drew my dad something for his birthday and it ended up in the basement. I learned how to sculpt things out of clay and made a sculpture for my mom and it ended up in the basement. Everything Brooke makes gets hung up or put on display. Everything I make gets put away. On the outside, we appear as a happy family. On the inside, we appear as a happy family. But it doesn't feel like it.

I finished eating quicker than I had expected and offered to throw Zoe's trash away for her. After many tries, she gave in and let me, telling me to grab her a Dr. Pepper while I was by the drinks. I complied and grabbed myself one.

"Thanks." She said as she popped the tab on the can, sending small droplets of the soda into the air.

"It's no problem." I replied, doing the same.

Everyone at the party had resumed their activities before the meal in no time, which meant Zoe and I had returned to the pool. We were floating on a raft together, chatting about anything that came to mind, when we suddenly felt someone flip the raft, throwing us into the water. I screamed and accidentally swallowed a bit of water. Zoe did the same. We both resurfaced, coughing the liquid out of our lungs while diabolical laughter rang through the air.

"What the hell was that for, Connor?" Zoe yelled, continuing to cough.

"Your screams were hilarious!" He laughed, falling dramatically into the water.

I eventually caught my breath and finally got a glance at what this Connor character looks like. He has pale white skin and unruly dark brown hair. He's incredibly slim with little to no meat on his bones. I brushed loose strands out of my face and tucked them behind my ears. A wave came from behind me, water splashing across Connor's face. I turned to see a wicked grin on Zoe's face. I know exactly what's happening. A water fight. I quickly dove under the water as the fight began, the siblings splashing each other with water. Reaching the concrete wall of the pool, I swung my leg onto the ground and popped myself out. I cautiously ran over to a bucket of water balloons and grabbed one, chucking it at Connor's back. He turned around with a playful glare, paddling himself towards me.

"Shit, shit shit shit shit." I muttered under my breath, grabbing as many balloons as I could, sprinting onto the grass.

I heard Connor leave the water and his wet feet against the concrete. I turned around to see Zoe climbing out of the pool herself, rushing to the pool house. Getting distracted with Zoe's actions, I felt a balloon hit the back of my thigh. My head whipped around to see Connor running in the opposite direction.

Zoe ran up next to me and handed me a super soaker, saying, "Those balloons aren't getting you anywhere."

I gladly took the gun and searched the yard for her brother when I saw an arm disappear behind a bright green bush. Pointing at the bush, we nodded at each other and sneaked up on the boy. I verged left while she went right. Slipping into the groups of people, we approached the bush with smirks on our faces. Zoe held up her fingers, silently counting us down from three. Three, two, one! Both of us blindly fired our super soakers at the bush, hoping we hit Connor. Swifter than we expected, he emerged from the bush and threw his hands into the air in surrender.

"Okay! I surrender!" He yelled.

"We'll forgive you if you get us popsicle." Zoe said, not putting her gun down.

"That's not how surrender works." Connor fought.

I squirted him with water. "Well, it's how it works around here."

"Jesus, fine." he replied, walking over to the cooler with his hands remaining in the air.

"Keep your hands where we can see them." Zoe called out.

"I am." Connor said. He grabbed three rocket pops and headed back over to us. "Have we made peace?"

"Yes." Zoe and I said in unison, each of us taking one popsicle.

As all of us peeled the wrapper off the cool treat, Connor and Zoe's dad approached us. "We're starting fireworks in the front if you'd like to join us."

"We'll be there in a minute." Zoe smiled.

She snatched the wrappers from all our hands and tossed them into the trash. I hurried over to my bag and slipped on my pair of blue shorts, completely disregarding my shirt. No one will care if I'm wearing a swim top and shorts. And besides, it's way too hot. She held out her arm to me to which I took, hooking my arm around hers. For only knowing each other for a few hours, I think we're getting along well. I've never clicked with anyone so easily before so this feels too easy. Maybe Zoe's being forced to hang out with me. It doesn't feel forced, though. Or maybe our personalities function perfectly together. Whatever it is, I don't think it matters. The bond we have is like a friendship that started many years ago. But it's only been hours. And hopefully, it lasts much longer than hours. Maybe we can have what those friendships that last for years have.

Skipping towards the gate that separates the backyard from the front, I grinned and started humming the theme to The Wizard Of Oz to myself. Zoe must have heard me, for she began singing the song. I laughed and sang along as we joined the rest of the party. Glancing around the area, I found an empty spot on the grass. I pulled Zoe to the spot with me and noticed it was right next to my family.

"So that's where you went." My dad commented, throwing a handful of glow sticks at me.

"Did you not just see me chasing Connor around with a squirt gun?" I questioned, taking a seat on the grass, pulling Zoe down with me.

"Apparently not." He replied.

Zoe, Connor, and I each grabbed a handful of the glow sticks off the grass and cracked them in one snap. Light illuminated in our hands and I took one of my red sticks and poked Zoe's shoulder. She poked me back with a blue one. And the war began. We poke each other back and forth with the glow sticks, breaking into a fit of giggles.

"How about you two use the glow sticks for something other than poking each other?" My mom recommended.

"No, I don't think we will." I replied, continuing to poke Zoe.

"Yeah, this is a lot more fun." Zoe added, poking my arm.

After poking each other for way too long, we tired of it and grabbed those plastic connectors and connected the ends of the glow sticks, forming bracelets just in time for the sun to set, putting us into darkness, the glow of streetlights illuminating our surroundings. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bright white light appear. My head snapped to look at the light to find it was someone handing a sparkler to a small child. I smirked and turned to Zoe to find her looking at me. Her cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink as her gray eyes flickered away from my blue ones.

"Hey, wanna go get some sparklers?" I asked.

"Sure!" She smiled.

We headed over to the table that held all the fireworks and grabbed a few sparklers. A man neither of us knew lit them up for us, and off we went into the middle of the street. We waved the sticks around in the air, creating patterns with the sparks. I tried spelling my name in cursive, but spelling Desiree in cursive isn't the easiest thing, and neither is Zoe. Instead, we drew pictures like hearts, stars, and cats. Yes, we drew cats in the air with sparklers. Why would we not? Is that not something that everyone does? Eventually the flammable portion of the sparkler was no more, and we had to toss them into a bucket of water on the curb.

The rest of the night was full of laughter and pure joy, something I sadly haven't experienced in a long time. Fireworks were exploding around every corner you turned. People were running in the street with explosives in their hands, with no fear in their eyes. Zoe and I quickly tired of the noise and went inside. Zoe dragged me upstairs to her room. And it looks exactly what you'd think it would look like. Periwinkle bedding with pink decorative pillows and a white chunky knit blanket displayed across the foot of the bed. The walls are a lighter shade of blue with pink flowers painted on top. White panels cover the bottom half of the walls, creating a sense of contrast. Above her bed sits a display of all the pictures she's taken with her friends and boy, is there a lot.

"Sorry, it's kind of messy right now." Zoe apologized.

"It's alright. My room is in worse condition right now." I laughed. She laughed too.

She began explaining to me how she discovered her bedroom was the perfect place to view fireworks. By simply flicking off the lights and pulling up beanbags to the window, it gave us a front-row seat to a firework show with no noise. You can see the explosions of bright colors for miles and miles across the city. Some are mere specs of light, while others are large bursts of color that illuminate the room. The sounds of the explosions are small pops, some being more powerful than others. The two of us sat in a comfortable silence for quite a while before a pair of feet came down the hallway and towards the bedroom.

"Des, it's time to go." My mom said, cracking open the door.

I groaned and stood up. "Thanks for making this party a lot more tolerable." Zoe said.

"It's no problem." I replied. "So, maybe I'll see you at school?"

"Yeah, maybe. It was nice meeting you." Zoe stood and followed me out of her room.

"You too." I smiled.

Once downstairs, Zoe joined a group of people in the backyard while I headed out to the front door behind my family. I slid into the backseat and pulled my phone out of my backpack to see multiple texts from my friends. I responded to them one by one and quickly resumed my quiet and reserved personality I had at the beginning of the day. Eventually all my notifications had receded, and it left me staring out the window of the car, watching as buildings and fireworks sped past us in blurs. Suddenly I gained the feeling you get when you think you forget something somewhere, but you don't know what it is. After sitting and thinking about it for a bit, I realized what I had forgotten. I forgot to ask for Zoe's number.

Doubts

This is heavily unedited, but I needed to post something. So here you go!

You were having an insecure moment. It stemmed from the dream you had last night while you slept alone in his bed for the second night in a row. This dream leading you to have insecure thoughts and doubts about what Connor was feeling.

Connor was CEO of his Production Company and lately, after having produced one of the biggest names in the music industry documentary, business was booming. With interest and projects rapidly flying through his office Connor has become extremely stressed and busy. He can’t even remember the last time he truly had a down moment, with himself or spent with you. 

His new assistant Sam has slowly become your best friend. With the amount of times you’re in contact with Sam to figure out Connor’s schedule, and see if you can talk to him between meetings, or the times Sam’s called you for Connor’s holiday schedule. 

Everything in Connor’s world seems to be growing and moving a thousand miles a minute, while you’re at a standstill in the corner. You’re in a small selling slump at work. It’s slowly getting closer to holiday time which means every now and then your store has a big sale, but it’s still pretty slow. 

You woke up from your nightmare last night still accompanied by cold sheets. It was almost 4 am and Connor still hasn't come home. Sam had called you earlier telling you that Connor should be off at a decent hour and Connor would like for you to be at his place. You weren’t shocked by 11 pm that you were still alone and getting ready for bed.

Your nightmare consisted of Connor’s newest client Madison, the most perfect girl you’d ever seen, and him having some sort of attraction which was causing his late nights. This girl was everything you felt you were. She had the perfect ‘Barbie’ face, skinny body, long legs, long straight hair. When you saw a picture of her and Connor gushing about the music video she wants him to shoot and produce you had a moment of jealousy that you quickly pushed to the dark side of your brain. It seems that’s where you dreams are held, because it’s all you’ve been able to see lately when you shut your eyes for the night. 

It seems to be the only dream you can dream when your at Connor’s. Leading you to just stay awake for the rest of the night not wanting to have any visions of Connor with any other girl, dream or not. It broke your heart more and more and slowly made you question everything. 

So for a change, and a test in your theories, you headed back to your own apartment after work. Dragging your tired body into the cold home, shivering as you flip the heat and light a candle. 

You had done a lot for the night by the time you were ordering pasta and waiting on your delivery. You completed laundry, dishes, cleaned up the bathroom, changed your sheets and reorganized your lotions and perfumes into a cute little display on top of your dresser. 

You jumped a bit as your phone started ringing disturbing the nice silence you were in. You picked up the device, shocked to see that it was Connor’s name running across your screen. He hasn’t called you in days, usually making Sam do it for him. You actually haven’t spoken to him at all today, and it was just then that you noticed that you hadn’t. No texts, no voicemails, no stupid memes through Insta. 

“Hello?” You answered, weary that he might just be butt dialling you. 

“Baby?” 

“Um yeah?” Your brows furrowed.

“Where are you?” He asked. 

“Home?” You responded, confused at his sudden interest.

“No, you’re not here.” 

“I’m at my home.” 

“Did Sam not call you this morning?” 

“He did.” You nod, remembering Sam’s call about Connor wanting you to be at his tonight.

“So…?” 

“Well it wasn’t the first time I’d had that request this week, and frankly I didn’t believe him when he said you’d be off at a decent hour.” 

Connor doesn’t respond for a moment, and you bite your lip nervously while you wait.

“Can I come over then? I’m off tonight, and I wanna see you Baby. I missed you.” 

“Um sure, if you’d like.” 

“I’d love to.” You feel like you can hear his smile. “Have you eaten? Can I bring you dinner?”

“I ordered pasta, it should be here soon.”

“Oh.” He responds, knowing that you hate ordering food because you despise the awkward interaction of answering the door and taking your food from someone else. “Wanna change it to pick up and I’ll get it on my way?” 

“No I’m okay.” 

Connor stands dumbfounded in his living room. You were at your apartment, he couldn’t remember the last time you’d actually stayed at your place, you practically lived with him. You were ordering yourself food, and not asking him to get it for you.

“Okay well I’ll see you 10?” 

“Okay.” 

“I love you.” 

“Mhm.” You hung up on him.

Connor stared at his phone in awe when his phone beeped at him and the call ended. He knew something was wrong. That he’d done something wrong, or that you were upset about something and that left him feeling a bit anxious. He wasn’t paying attention to what he was packing all he knew was that he was throwing clothes into a bag and was out the door on his way to your place within minutes of your phone call. 

He actually ended up beating your delivery driver. 

“Hi Baby.” He greeted when you opened the door for him. 

“Hi.” You smiled, allowing him to kiss your cheek and hug you loosely. 

He watched with curious eyes as you shut the door behind him and tidied up the shoe bin by the door. You were putting a pair of flats away in your closet when someone knocked at your door. Connor answered for you and took your bag of food, paying for it and the tip. He was just shutting the door when you walked back out.

“Oh, here let me get my wall-”

“I got it Baby.” He smiled, walking past you to the kitchen to get you all dished up. 

You watched him as he unboxed your meal, transferring the food from the plastic containers to your plates. He set your food down on the table and held the chair out for you with a cute little smile. You simply took a seat and dug into your food as he sat across from you. 

“Y/n?” He whispered when you refused to make eye contact with him.

“Hmm?” 

“What’s wrong?” 

You looked up with big eyes and stared at him. “What?”

“What’s wrong? What happened? Why weren’t you at my place tonight?”

“I wanted to come home.” 

“But, I’m sorry if I’m jumping the gun here, but I thought that my place was home?” He asks softly, reaching for your hand. 

You let him take it, and stare at his thumb that rubs soothingly back and forth across your knuckles.

“Baby?” He whispers. 

What he doesn’t expect is for you to look up with tearful eyes and a deep frown splayed across your mouth. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He rushes to crouch next to you, holding both of your hands. 

“I had a nightmare.” Is all you can sob out.

He reaches out and pulls you from the chair down into his lap so he can hold you tightly. 

“When?” 

“Everyday this week.” 

“Oh Baby.” He coos, rocking you back and forth. “What was it about?”

“You.” You sob into his shoulder, shuddering breaths in and out. 

“Me?” He pulls back to make eye contact with you. 

“You-you-you-you”

“Breathe Baby.” 

“You” You take a deep breath, “You didn’t want me anymore, you wanted-wanted-wanted- Madison.” 

All the wind has been knocked from Connor’s lungs. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Baby,” He sighs, “Of course I want you. I only want you. I love you.” 

You just sob harder. “I was becoming worried that maybe you were bored, that you didn’t want to be with me anymore. That you were staying late at the office because you didn’t want to go home. So I thought maybe I’d just go back to mine so you could finally go back to yours.”

“Y/n L/n.” Connor holds your face so you have to look at him. “I am not bored.” He shakes his head. “I want to be with your forever. I was staying late at the office because I wanted to get done with Madison’s video so I could be done with her business and let one of the new investors take her business.” He explains. “I thought the quicker I could get it done the quicker I could be with you, and you wouldn’t have to worry about her. Even though there’s nothing to worry about. I only will ever have eyes for you.” He smiles, kissing your nose softly. “Baby, if I had it my way there wouldn’t be a ‘your place’ or a ‘my place’ there would only be ‘our place’ because I absolutely hate coming home to an apartment that you’re not in.” 

You pout at him, staring at his eyes, trying to read his expression.

“I want you Babygirl.” He whispers. “I’ll only ever want you. I promise you that.” 

“Yeah?”

“I have-” He sighs. “I have the weekend set up for us to look at houses. It was supposed to be a surprise but you need to know how committed I am to you. I have the first place booked for 9 tomorrow morning.” 

“Connor.” 

“And there will always be an ‘us’ because the future for us is coming sooner than you think.” He makes a show of kissing your left ring finger. 

“Connor David.” You sit up straight. 

“Yes ma’am, this won’t be bare for long.” 

“Stop.” You cover his mouth, groaning in disgust when he licks your palm. 

“I’m just trying to tell you how I am here for you. And how you don’t ever need to dream about me leaving you for someone else. I’m yours, you’re mine. That’s all we need to be okay. No matter where we are, what we’re doing, where we’re going, as long as we’re together then we’ll be okay. I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” You smile, wiping your tears away.

“I’m sorry I made you doubt that. I’m sorry that I let you go to bed alone. I’m sorry that you felt like you couldn’t stay with me.” 

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, it’s not okay. I’ll work on making that up to you. Now you need to get and hydrate so I can prove to you all night long how sorry I am and how much I love you.” 

“Connor.” You gasp when he lifts you up into your chair and pushes your plate closer. 

“Eat while I get the tub ready.” He grins, leaving a hot kiss to your neck before walking away. 

anonymous asked : What’s something you’ve done that you wish you hadn’t?

self para, flashback to the original insurrection.  trigger warnings for....everything. murder, violence, abuse of all kinds. a peak inside the history of prescott / fairvale & the foley family. 

“go make sure your father is coming home, madison.”

it seemed to have happened so fast, but the truth was, everything had a slow burn to it. there had been seeds of pain sewn into the lining of this new ‘council’, discontent already simmering beneath the illustrious shine of their home that had once been prescott. they were your typical southern town - pretty on a postcard, laced with horrors underneath. named after a slave owner and confederate solider, what had anyone truly expected to come from this place? 

she knew there were worse ones out there, that they may not have been listed as a ‘sun down town’ for decades but the resentment and hatred was always still there. hell, she’d watched her father - a man who’d chosen a wife from a different country for himself - use slurs against people he worked with, people he claimed to know and care about. members of the community he was a minister for - but their father had never been a god fearing man. 

according ot him, he was god, and god should fear him. 

it was a mindset that had made madison hide into herself her entire life. 

but she was never one to disobey a direct order, especially from her mother, and she tucked a knife into her pocket, a form of protection while her mother and sister hid in the basement, ensuring every window and door was locked. she knew why it was her who was being sent out - if madison went, no one would assume she was there for trouble, she could slip in and out undetected. kit had always liked her - had helped her get her scholarship to the university of georgia back when she was a student, had helped welcome her when she became a member of staff. though her fathers attempt to get them together - “you need a man who can take care of you, madison,’ - had gone unspoken between the two, she’d never had a problem with him specifically. 

not until now. 

she could see it happening - she’d seen him follow the same path her own father had. a little bit of power always seemed to get into people’s heads, seemed to make them think violence was the way. and with the two of them at the helm, the chaos that ensued was a nightmare. she didn’t know how to fight, couldn’t even contemplate getting into the middle of things. she was a silent participant, she knew, unwilling but unable to do anything to make any real changes. 

some would call her a coward. she wouldn’t disagree with them. but none knew the things she did - not even fletcher, who know resided in her sister’s room permanently, another attempt to turn madison straight by a father who wouldn’t even acknowledge she wasn’t. he seemed to admire her father, appreciate him, and she was once again struck with how cruel the world worked. how even the best people could be fooled by a mask only the closest to him had seen fallen. 

the streets were already littered in casualties - vandalism, violence, a war cry from the center of town. fairvale was supposed to be rebranded as a place of hope, a home for those who needed it. they had been spending months taking every resource they could to give what reasonable accommodations they could have. that was what they told every person who came within their borders, who moved into their town, who infiltrated with the notion that maybe they could have something close to normal. 

but kit - for all his life known as a gentle, kind guidance counselor who turned self appointed governor with her fathers help, the two being old friends for as long as she could remember - he was just as dark as her own father was. 

she didn’t know why she was surprised by that. she should have known the most charismatic men hid the darkest secrets within themselves. 

what she didn’t expect was to find the two of them locked, arm to arm, weapons between them, in a fight that seemed to be going kit’s way instead of her fathers. she hid herself behind a wall, knowing if she was exposed it might be her who was at the violent end of either one of their weapons, but watched, silently. words spoken - promises broken, half truths spoken between the two, hissed accusations - she wondered if she did expose herself, if kit would let her father go. 

she could have gone. 

she owed her life to this man, after all. 

but there was the other side of herself - the dark side, she supposed - that reminded her of the fear her mother felt. the actions that pushed her oldest sister to never speak to any of them again. the fact that logan was so easily slipping into melissa’s shoes, madison feared for her. if her father was dead....none of them would have to live in fear of that anymore. not of him, not of his palms flat against their face, of his fist curled against a stomach, of the bruises their mother covered when he had gotten particularly drunk and shoved her around, of the words that cut to their core - can’t believe i gave birth to a dyke, get this faggot out of my face - they wouldn’t ever have to deal with any of that ever again. 

it was hands that made their way around her fathers throat, and her voice was lost somewhere in her own. if she even distracted kit for a moment, he might let go. give her father enough of a chance to fight back. 

but what would happen in the aftermath? 

he would turn on madison, she was sure, and while he chose to decimate her with verbal more than physical actions, she didn’t think she’d make it out that lucky this time. the last bruise had taken weeks to heal, and sometimes if she touched her rib cage she felt the phantom pain that would be there forever now. 

he’d wanted to pass her off to a monster exactly like himself. madison had never been so relieved as she was in that moment that she’d finally taken a stand. 

whether it was a conscious decision or not, she couldn’t quite say. not until she was back at home, logan hidden in madison’s closet, a book and a flashlight in hand and an explanation that their mother had gotten worried, had gone out looking for them both. guilt ripped through her only then, but she’d pulled her sister - too big, really, to sit on her lap anymore, but the panic and hysteria of the town seemed to have subdued logan into submitting, resting her head against madison’s shoulders as they sat quietly, waiting for parents that would never come home. 

Not Your Hero.

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five

AN: Life after the Hunger Games was a lesson in adaptation. Prologue. 

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Haymitch Abernathy, Chaff Mitchelle Pairings: Finnick x reader Spoiler(s): None Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation 

Prompt/Inspiration: No Next Time - Chasing Madison

Hey guys! So this is a prologue for the series I’m writing, the Not Your Hero series, just setting up the world, giving some context and introducing some important characters. I’m going to try to add a new moodboard with every chapter, some of which will have hidden clues as to plot points (like this one does). I’ll also include links to any songs, poems, pics etc. that may have inspired that particular chapter. Let me know what you think!

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You had good days and bad days. Well, no, not quite. You had middle days, bad days and worse days. On the bad days, you could barely get out of bed, food turned to ashes in your mouth (if you could stomach it at all) and you couldn’t keep from crying, just sobbing your eyes out for hours on end until someone came and sat with you. Usually it was one of your parents, sometimes it was James or Ivette. 

On worse days you felt like a coiled spring; panicked, alert, ready for danger at any moment. The slightest sound or smell could set you off and, when it did, weeks and weeks and weeks of work would vanish into the terror of the arena. On worse days you could forget about going outside. It was all you could do to not go crazy in the confines of your own home, let alone brave the world that waited beyond your front door. When you were like that, the outside world became a labyrinth of hidden triggers, just waiting to activate your fight or flight response and send you back into the dark, shadowy recesses of your own trauma. Ivette said it would get better. She said it would just take some time, that’s all. You weren’t sure you believed her.

Middle days weren’t so bad. On middle days, like today, you didn’t feel much of anything really. You dragged yourself out of nightmares, into waking and just felt...tired. On middle days, your continued survival was exhausting, but you could manage it so long as you followed a few simple rules. You had to get out of bed as soon as you woke up no matter how early it was; take a shower without flinching when the water hit; avoid looking in the mirror. You had to get dressed quickly, minimize the amount of time you had to be naked; never ever wear beige; brush your hair without catching sight of yourself; list three beautiful things you had seen since the last middle day. If you followed all these rules then, usually, by the time you made it downstairs for breakfast, the layer of glass that separated you from the world would have been beginning to crack, and you’d be feeling almost human again.

Today, you had managed to follow the rules and so were feeling almost happy as you took a seat at the kitchen island, watching your mother cook. Her dark hair was glossy and neat, falling down her back in a long, straight wave. She must have blow dried it, you thought, taking a small amount of pride in the fact that you could provide for her and your father now, just as they’d always done for you.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said, as always slightly shocked by the sound of your own voice, “you’re up early.”

Your mother turned and smiled, the scar running along the left side of her face just barely visible in the early morning light. She looked relieved to see you, just like she always did these days, as though she was worried you might have vanished some time in the night, never to be seen again.

“Yes, well,” she started, walking over, “you know I never was one for sleeping in. That’s why I always tried to get morning shifts at the plant” She raised her hand, as though to touch you, but paused, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

You gave her a sad, knowing smile, but nodded, letting her brush the hair out of your face and press a kiss to the top of your head, tensing your muscles to keep from flinching.

“But you don’t work at the plant anymore,” you reminded her gently, trying to regain some of your earlier happiness, “you don’t have to. I can take care of us now.”

“I know that, love,” she said softly, “old habits I guess. Maybe my body just isn’t used to...the way things are now.”

Your stomach dropped. There it was. ‘The way things are now’, that little innocuous phrase that had come to represent so much in your house. She meant the games, of course, your time in the arena. She meant that things had been different ever since that awful day, when your name had been read off a little slip of white paper and the silence of the crowd had doomed you to die.

Only you hadn’t died, you reminded yourself, you hadn’t died, you’d won. You’d come home, you were alive. You weren’t dead, you were alive.

You took a deep breath in, tried to clear your mind and nodded and searched the room with your eyes, desperate to change the subject, “What’re you making?”

“Porridge, the nice kind with fresh berries and honey.” your mom answered, following your lead, “Do you want some?”

“Yes please,” you replied with a semi-forced smile, “I’m starving.”

Your mom placed a steaming bowl in front of you and, without giving yourself time to hesitate, you dug in, savoring the sweet, heartiness of good food and letting it wash away the tickle of anxiety that had started making its way down your spine.

“That’s four days in a row now, Y/N/N,” your father said happily, appearing in the kitchen and walking over to give your mother a kiss, “good job.”

“Thanks paps,” you greeted, swallowing quickly, “been trying my best.”

“We see the hard work you’re doing, love, and we’re proud of you,” he smiled, “real proud.” he paused, taking a bite of his oatmeal, “Big day today, huh?”

You swallowed again but tried to smile as you nodded.

“What’re we proud of?” a third voice called, right as you opened your mouth to speak.

Your older sister, Alayah, appeared at the foot of the stairs, still wearing her pajamas and pointedly avoiding your gaze. At the sight of her, your chest pinched again, and you quickly clenched and unclenched your fists.

“Of all the work Y/N has been doing recently,” your dad explained, glossing over the palpable tension, “just letting her know that we’re all rooting for her, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she said in monotone, “yeah, congrats on eating breakfast I guess, Y/N/N.” she finished, sitting down three seats away from you, all the while still not looking you in the eye.

You sighed and swallowed another bite of oatmeal, feeling the anxiety start to work its way back in.

“Alayah-” your mother started, as your stomach started to twist with dread.

“What? What did I do now?” Alayah argued.

“You know things have been tough for Y/N since-”

“Stop,” you interrupted warningly, “stop it.”

“Since what, mom? Say it! We’ve all been tip toeing around this place like mice for months, just say what you want to say and let’s be done with it.” Alayah argued, her voice rising just enough to betray the depth of her anger.

“Alayah Y/L/N don’t you dare take that ungrateful tone, after everything Y/N has put herself through for this family the very least you could do is-”

“Stop,” You repeated as the warning signs of a panic attack began to spike in your head. 

“Y/N, I’m just saying, since the games your sister has been nothing but-”

“Stop it!” You demanded, pushing your chair back and standing suddenly.

The chair legs grated against the tile floors, making your skin crawl and effectively silencing everyone in the room. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you fought back the urge to lash out against an enemy you knew wasn’t really there and you clenched your fists, digging your fingernails into your palms, hard.

“Stop. Talking about it.” you managed to say, “Stop. It’s done.”

“Not really,” Alayah answered, even if her tone was slightly more scared than before, “they’ll all be here again later today to kick off the Victory tour, all the cameras and the capitol people...it’s not done yet.”

The Victory Tour. You’d been trying so hard not to think about it but, as usual, Alayah would never let you escape the reality of what you’d done. Things had been tense with her for months now, maybe it was time to accept that it would never be the way it was. 

You snorted as irritation sparked in your chest, “Thanks for the reminder, Ally,” you spat, trying to choke down your panic, “that’s real helpful.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed out, desperate to fill your rapidly tightening lungs with cool, fresh air. As the wind hit you, you gasped, but pressed on, breaking into a run. The snow slowed you down and made you clumsy, but you didn’t stop, sure that your parents must have been trying to follow you, even though you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your heart in your ears. Your eyes stung from a combination of the cold wind and the tears that were building behind your eyes and you knew you couldn’t face your family, not now.  

You weren’t sure where you were going exactly, just that you needed to be away. Away from that house and all its looming grandiosity, away from your sister and her cutting words, away from the sound of screaming that you knew was coming from inside your own head.

You collapsed behind a dilapidated old house, far away enough from Victor’s Village to assure you some privacy, and let the tears flow over your cheeks hot and fast. You gripped the snow surrounding you tightly as your lungs tightened and tightened and tightened in your chest, forcing you to fight for every breath. Cognitively, you knew you must be cold, you knew the snow must’ve been biting your exposed skin and soaking you to the bone, but you felt none of it.

Instead, you felt the burning sun on your face, you felt the long grass brush your cheeks as you knelt over the blonde boy and tightened your fingers around his throat.

Dried mud along with fresh blood caked both of your skin, making it difficult to grip and hold, but you didn’t let go, squeezing tighter and tighter, even as he clawed at your fingers and gouged at your face with his nails. Hot, coppery blood filled your mouth, sliding down your cheeks and mingling with your tears from three deep gashes he’d left above your right eyebrow. Everything inside you was focused on this boy, this final obstacle, this last thing standing between you and home. Home, Home. Home. You engraved that word in your mind, letting it override your horror and disgust and shame.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, “I’m sorry, I have to-I have to-I-”

Suffocating someone is painstakingly slow but, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the last glimmers of life leave the boy’s eyes. His hands went limp on your wrist and his last, gurgling breath hung in the air like clouds. Still, you didn’t let go, you couldn’t. Not until you heard that final canon and Claudius Templesmith’s booming voice calling out through the silence;

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the victor of the sixty-ninth annual Hunger Games!”

You gasped and snapped back to reality, the vast grasslands fading away before your eyes, back into ice and snow. And you were alone. You were shaking, whether from cold or terror you couldn’t quite tell and your hands were going purple from gripping the snow. In the distance, you could hear people calling your name, and you fought the urge to run away and hide. You were safe, you reminded yourself. You hadn’t died. You were safe.

“I’m here,” you called out, hating the way your voice croaked, “I’m over here.”

The footsteps came closer and you stood, steeling yourself for the inevitable. Oh well, you thought, better to get it over with now.

Your stylist had nearly had a heart attack when she’d seen you, soaked to the bone with red puffy eyes and wet hair tangled by the wind. She had scolded you pretty thoroughly as your prep team worked, but softened when you apologized profusely and swore on your mother’s life to never be so reckless on a filming day again. You thought you’d laid it on a little too thick but, as usual, Arketia ate it up and, before you knew it you were practically the best of friends again.  

As the prep team bustled around, gossiping and gushing and just generally saying nothing of importance, you settled back into the routine, letting their words wash over you like a river and numb your panicked heart. Your hair was washed and combed, styled to look graceful and effortless, even though it had taken nearly an hour to do. Every unwanted hair had been plucked and waxed and stripped from your body, leaving you smooth to the touch under the outfit. Your clothes were form fitting, but warm, accentuating your curves as much as they could considering it was still the dead of winter, and your make up was done to make your face look more angular and striking. All in all, you were seductive without being salacious, a balancing act your team had perfected months earlier. With the clothes and the hair and the make up, you felt yourself sliding back into your alter ego, shifting your weight slightly to accentuate the fabric where it hugged your frame and tucking your real self away, to be brought out at a later date. You smirked at yourself in the mirror, or at least tried to, imagining how it would look to an outside observer. Oh yeah, now you were all shiny and new again, and ready for the cameras.

While the crew set themselves up downstairs, you observed yourself in the mirror some more, perfecting smiles and laughs and little movements that read as confident, strangely calm considering the state you’d been in only a few hours before. There was something comforting about being back in the spotlight, like now all your fears made sense again. With the cameras back on, and the games being brought to the forefront of everyone’s minds once more, your fight for survival didn’t seem so out of place. Everyone was in your world now and, in your world, you were the one that knew the rules. A faint knocking on the door brought you back to the present and you smiled when James Logan, your mentor stepped in.

He was a middle aged man with olive skin and a shadow of stubble across his jawline, neatened up by a capitol prep team for the cameras, you were sure. He had a stern face, and hard eyes, when he wasn’t addled by drink but, you knew, he had a kind heart and a real love for you and Ivette, the only two tribute’s he’d managed to save in nearly 26 years. He’d worked hard to bring you home, and even harder to keep you from wasting away once you were back and now, it seemed, he’d be accompanying you across Panem for your Victory Tour. 

“You ready?” he asked, his usually cloudy eyes clear and discerning.

You pressed your lips together and nodded, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

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tag list: @i-love-you-green​ , @heatherhollowayst​

As You Were (Chapter 4)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in, what feels like a time warp: a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret. While there, they meet Cici and Noah, a mother and son fighting tirelessly for survival, and who have recently endured a terrible tragedy on their family farm. Amidst their joint desire to find hope for the future, the two groups decide set out west together, changing the course of the story (as we know it), and the very course of their lives.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second game. Joel lives.

Chapter 4: The Trench (Pt. 1 and 2)

“I’m scared of ending up alone.”

1.

She walked along the river, and she found him sitting on the grassy bank, with his feet in. He still had his boots on. “Don’t,” she said, crouching beside him. “You need to take off your boots first.”

“No you don’t,” he said. He smiled. “Come try it out.”

She sat down, but she didn’t put her feet in the water. The river bank was wet anyway. It was getting her jeans damp. She didn’t feel like taking off her boots. “I thought the whole point was to be free,” she said.

“You can be free any way you like,” he said. “That’s the definition of freedom.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said.

The big blue sky cast out above them as opals. There were no clouds. No anxious metal sounds. There were no fears.

“I know you’re pregnant,” he said. He was staring at his boots in the water. “I saw the test.”

She looked down at her hands. Everybody was always doing that. “You saw it?”

“I didn’t mean to. You left it in the trash. Where did you even find one?”

“Amy,” she said. “She had some, from the Wal-mart. I had to pay her with two chickens.”

“Pretty good deal, considering.”

“Are you mad?” she said.

He looked at her with his brown eyes. Sometimes they could be hard as bolts. Today, they were soft. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because we didn’t mean it,” she said. “My dad is gonna kill me.”

“No he won’t,” said Will. He took her hand and pressed his thumb against her knuckles. “Nobody is gonna die.”

Mom. Don’t go back.

“Cici?”

She opened her eyes. When she looked around, she realized it was morning, well past the break of dawn. She had fallen asleep on the couch. She was looking at Joel now. He was standing in the middle of the living room, wearing a new tee-shirt but the same jeans. He had a rifle on his back, and a shotgun. He was looking confused. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry. Hi.”

“You sleep down here last night?”

“Yeah,” she said. She put her feet on the ground, her face in her palms. “I was just reading, pretty late. I guess I must have been so tired. I slept through the night.”

“Well that ain’t so bad,” said Joel. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “I was just, uh. I was gonna head out, with Noah. He’s gonna show me the work that needs doing on the perimeter. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “You said you’re going with Noah now?”

“Yes, ma’am. He says it shouldn’t take past lunch.”

“I’ll have something ready,” she said. Then, she looked around. “Is Ellie still asleep?”

“No,” said Joel. “She’s out, feeding the chickens and gathering eggs.”

“Oh. Okay, well, good.”

“I think she likes it here,” said Joel, glancing out the window. “She ain’t never spent time outdoors like this before. It’s good for her.”

“I’m glad,” said Cici. She was still sort of out of it. She got up and started walking to the kitchen. “Did Noah make any coffee this morning?”

Joel kind of paused. He seemed taken off-guard but he hid it well. “Noah didn’t mention any coffee,” he said.

“He probably just forgot,” she said, putting a kettle on the stove. “We scavenged a couple big bags from the roastery in town, a couple months ago. I mean, it ain’t fresh, but it does the trick. I can make you some, if you like. It’ll just be a minute.”

Joel walked over to the table. He leaned against one of the chairs. “Uh, sure,” he said. “Sure, that’d be fine.”

“You look dumbfounded,” she said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” said Joel. “Everything’s, uh, just fine. I just—I ain’t had coffee in a while.”

“How long?”

He glanced down at his watch, which she had noticed early on. It was broken, but she figured there was a good reason he must have kept wearing it, or else it could have just been habit. Grown men were like that, she knew. They just got to doing things for so long sometimes, they forgot why or how. They just kept doing it till they died. “Years,” he said.

“Well, you’re in luck then,” she said. “Would Ellie want some, or is she too young?”

“I don’t think she’d like the stuff,” said Joel.

“Noah doesn’t either,” she said.

Ellie came inside a moment later then, as Cici was boiling the water. She was holding a whole basket full of eggs and looking very pleased with herself. Noah followed behind her with his familiar shotgun set on his shoulder.

“Look at all these eggs,” said Ellie, holding up the basket. “Joel, do you see this?”

"I do.”

“Very good haul,” said Cici. The kettle was whistling. She started pouring the water over the grounds, through a cone, into a mug for Joel. “I’m just making Joel a quick cup of coffee, before you boys head down to the perimeter.”

“You guys got coffee?” said Ellie, sitting down at the table. “Holy shit, Joel. You must be freaking out.”

Joel then gave her a little bit of a side-eye. “I am not freaking out. Though I will admit, it’s a treat.”

Ellie started counting the eggs, one by one. "Anyway," she said. "What do you guys think you’ll see when you go down there? Is it pretty gnarly?"

“Hopefully we'll see nothing,” said Noah. He picked up an apple, from a blue porcelain bowl on the counter. “Hopefully we’ll just finish the trench, reset the mines, and be done.” He took a bite.

"Good," said Ellie.

“I’m just happy to see the two of you out of danger,” said Joel, sitting back in his chair. “Whatever I can do. This place deserves a second chance.”

Cici just focused on the coffee. She wanted it to be good.

When they got outside, Noah took Joel out to the crow’s nest where he wanted to pick up a small canister of gasoline and a lighter and some other stuff, including the replacement mines, and a true blue improved explosive. That one, said Noah, was more or less just some parts his mom had made for a fancy pipe bomb, plus a proximity sensor. He had them up there stored in a backpack. When they got up to the top of the ladder, Joel notice the Pearl Jam poster and did a double-take. In some ways, being on that farm in the middle of nowhere, it felt like he had stepped through some sort of time warp.

“My dad liked them,” said Noah, reading his mind, pocketing a book of matches and loading his 9mm, which he then holstered in the waist of his jeans. “That was his.”

“That’s a blast from the past,” said Joel.

“What year were you born?” said Noah.

The question was surprising, and direct. Both Noah and Cici had these unfiltered ways about them in which they could sit in complete silence for multiple moments at a time, but then, out of nowhere, abruptly come to the truth, simply asking and saying the things they meant with very little pretense or warning. “Uh, 1984,” said Joel.

“Dang,” said Noah. “You’re as old as my Uncle Nick.”

“Who's Uncle Nick."

“My mom’s step-brother," said Noah. "He was old enough that he was in Iraq.”

“What year?”

“2004, I think, was the start of his first tour."

Joel took a deep breath. He had his hands on his hips as he was nodding his head to the memory. “Yeah, I knew a lot of guys that enlisted,” he said, “after 9/11, in 2003. At the time, it seemed like there was something to fight for. It wasn’t that uncommon where I grew up.”

“Did you enlist?” said Noah.

“No,” said Joel, glancing back to the poster. It was a silkscreen, from a concert in Madison, probably back in like 1996.

“Why not?”

“I thought about it, but I had—well, I had other responsibilities at the time.”

Noah just stared at him, unclear.

“Let’s get a move on,” said Joel.

It took them about twenty minutes to get all the way to the section of the perimeter that needed maintenance. Noah said this was an especially vulnerable spot, as it pushed right up against the woods, with a wide frontage to the Kickapoo River just a few miles away on the other side. To get there, they had to follow the creek, which was overgrown in some parts with a great deal of bramble. At some point, they emerged and then had to walk through about five acres of arable land that had gone to seed. There was also a fairly overgrown apple orchard, and a field of actual, farmed corn, plus a stable, in the distance. Most of the trek was downhill, but the sun was hot that day. They were cooking.

Noah didn’t talk much. Joel was getting a little apprehensive about what, exactly, it was they were going to run into out there. He knew they were going to finish digging a trench, and he knew they would have to navigate their way through a live minefield, using the map that Noah had stuffed in his back pocket. He trusted the kid, and he trusted Cici, but he still had no idea what the hell he was doing. Part of him was worried about getting a leg blown off. The other part was amped up, just in case they were set to run into a horde. There were a lot of trees out there, and he didn’t really understand how it was they had kept this place fully booby-trapped in such an organized fashion for so long all by themselves. But then he thought about Bill, back in Massachusetts and suddenly, based on his most recent memories of a life lived with Tess, in which the two of them survived mainly by navigating the loopholes of a fully-fledged but decaying QZ, he began to realize that perhaps the kind of hard work he was used to, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t that difficult at all.

“You know, I asked your mom yesterday,” said Joel as they scaled down a shallow ridge overgrown with prickly shrubs, “about whether y’all had some idea of what’s been causing the increase in activity out here, with Infected.”

“What did she tell you?” said Noah.

“She told me to talk to you.”

When they got to the bottom of the ridge, they walked a little further out, through a meadow with a dry well. Up ahead, finally, they saw it—the minefield. It was on the other side of an electric fence, about ten feel high. The fence had barbed wire spooled along the top, but it didn’t seem to be properly electric anymore, as there was a huge hole cut in the links, which they took turns squeezing through.

“You know how I told you, the water, coming in from the Kickapoo, the Bad Axe, some other major tributaries off the Mississippi, it’s ain’t safe?” said Noah.

“Yeah,” said Joel.

“Well, one day,” said Noah—he had a machete, which he was now using to hack through some of bramble on the other side of the fence, “about a year and a half ago, we heard a distress call from the Amish. There used to be a whole huge family of them on the other side of them woods, over north. They didn’t use the radio, but they had a hand-powered siren, which they would use to signal any threats in the area.”

“These the Amish that got the scrapyard?”

“Yeah,” said Noah. “They were called the Lapps, before. Anyway, when the siren went off, my dad and my uncle went over there, and some of the other guys in the area that we knew. They thought they were gonna find maybe some reavers, or a small horde, wandering in from the town. But when they got there, it was like, the whole entire family was turning. Every single one of them, like dozens of people, infected, at the same time. It was insane, my dad said. It was starting to rain, so my dad and my uncle, they just herded them all into the barn and locked them in, and then they came home. They said it was bizarre. If one person gets infected and starts turning other people, why did the distress call come in so late? Why weren’t there more dead? Everybody was just sick, they said. All at once, as if they'd all been infected at the same time.”

Joel was focused on his footing, stepping through the tall grasses. There were so many grasshoppers, you couldn’t count. “Did you figure out what caused it?"

“Eventually,” said Noah. “We were used to using a well, which draws on a aquifer, under the ground, for our water. But the Amish, after the Outbreak in 2013, they apparently started hauling their water in straight from the river, fished it all the time.”

“Spores in the river?”

“In all the rivers,” said Noah.

“How?”

“All the tributaries coming into the floodplain, they’re all contaminated. A couple of travelers came through not long after the outbreak at the Lapp farm. They said that every city up and down the Mississippi, and on a major tributary, everywhere is going nuts with Infected. They said that, in LaCrosse, you could see the Cordyceps, growing right off the banks. There was something going on.”

“Jesus.”

“So like a year ago,” Noah continued, “all of us—me, my mom, my dad, and my uncle, we went up to LaCrosse.” He stopped in his tracks then, took a long drink of water from a canteen in his backpack.

“What happened?” said Joel.

“We got cornered by a horde before we could make it into the city,” he said, “in a church just south of Shelby. There was a fire. My mom and me got out, barely. My dad and my uncle didn’t. By the time the two of us got back to Viroqua, the rest of the Amish in the area had either abandoned their farms, or turned. The whole town, anybody left in this part of the Driftless, they were almost all of them gone. Dead, turned, or gone.”

Joel felt heavy, blindsided. He looked at his boots in the tall grass, getting wet from the river marsh. When he looked up now, he could see it there, in its glory: the minefield. Just like a long, flat expanse of grass that spread out, stretching around the property, maybe about twenty yards deep. On the other side of the minefield was the trench, and then a whole lot of trees, growing up the side of a wooded ridge. “Everything you just told me, that’s all true?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ, kid.”

“I know.”

“You said there are others in the area. The Amish who got the scrapyard. Some of them survived?”

“Yeah,” said Noah. “One of the families had been on a supply run, eastward, during the outbreak. They came back, and they stayed. They still live over the hill. There are a few others, a couple families here and there. My Aunt Amy, she was married to my Uncle Nick, she left a little bit after we got back from LaCrosse, went down to the Quad Cities with her daughter. They had family down there, on Amy’s side, in Moline. We’ve tried to keep tabs on what’s going on down there, but it all went dark a while ago. I have no idea if they made it.”

“So you think the Infected, they’re coming down the river, with the spores.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t know why, or how, the water became like it is? Because it ain’t like that in the northeast. Spores infecting people through the water supply is news to me.”

“We don’t know what’s causing it,” said Noah. “We know there’s something going on in LaCrosse, but we’ve never gone back.”

Joel took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry, son,” he said. “I am. That’s a tough hand.”

“Thanks,” said Noah, shaking his head. “But I doubt it’s any worse than your sob story, or Ellie’s, or any of the other sob stories you must hear traveling around these days.”

“That don’t matter,” said Joel. He regarded Noah, whose cynicism was familiar to his own. “In the grand scheme of things, one loss might seem meaningless, but just because a lot of people are dying that don’t mean the people that you lose, that their lives held any less significance to you when they were still alive. You get that?”

Noah was just staring at him, as if the words he was hearing were foreign, or new. He did, however, nod stiffly, and then he looked away. Joel didn’t know if it had gotten through. He just felt for the boy.

“All the shit we need to do, it’s up there,” said Noah.

Joel squinted past the minefield toward the trench. “It looks like it’s nearly finished.”

“It is,” he said. “The Infected tripped two mines and one bomb yesterday. We’ll clean up the trench, and then we'll replace the explosives. With you here, it’ll be fast.”

“What are the odds we’re gonna run into Infected out there at that trench?” said Joel. “There’s a lot of trees.”

“I don’t know,” said Noah. He took the map out of his back pocket, unfolded it. It was hand-drawn in blue pen. “They hang out in there sometimes, because it’s cool. They get lost, and then they freak out if they hear you. Just like, stay alert. And while we’re in the minefield, follow in my footsteps exactly so that you don’t blow up. We’ll go slow.”

Joel sighed profoundly. He closed his eyes, gathered his courage, prayed to the good lord nothing would happen, knowing it was fruitless, but doing it anyway. “Alright then," he said.

2.

By noon, they had finished the trench. The sun was high, and they were both sweating and starving, ready for some respite. Joel watched Noah assemble the pipe bomb while leaning against a shovel in the shade of a lavish white oak. Noah had about him a sense of precision that suggested he had been doing this sort of thing from a very young age.

“Where the hell did y’all learn to do all this?” said Joel. His gray tee-shirt was almost soaked through with sweat. He was dirty and he could feel the sunburn on the back of his neck.

“My Uncle Nick,” he said. “The one who was in Iraq.”

“That what he did over there?” said Joel.

“Yeah,” said Noah. “It was basically his whole job to disarm these things. He also went to some African countries after his initial tours for demining operations.”

“Goddam. That’s some brave business.”

“Still took a zombie apocalypse and a church fire to kill him,” said Noah, digging out an impression in the dirt with his bare hands. “Fucking clown world.”

“You’re telling me,” said Joel. “You almost done?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m gonna go take a leak,” said Joel, looking around. “You good?”

Noah nodded, working carefully. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” said Joel.

After showing her how to sheer a sheep that morning, Cici showed Ellie all the different, easy parts you need to make a perfectly compact pipe bomb. “You can take it with you anywhere,” she said. “You can make them fancy, but they don’t need to be fancy. This gets the job done.”

They were out in the shed, which was more or less a workspace. It was all full of guns, assembled and in pieces, hanging on the wall, and in piles. There were axes, machetes, and two grindstones. There were shelves and shelves of different sized containers and wires, all colors and lengths, lining the walls. As Cici worked, Ellie sat on the tool bench, watching, rapt, by the good light coming through the window. “Where did you learn to do all this?” she said eventually.

“From my step-brother,” said Cici. “He was an EOD specialist in the Army.”    

“What’s that stand for?”

“Explosive Ordnance Disposal.”

"That’s insane,” said Ellie. “Back in Boston, we had some demolition training, but it was basically just like, how to make five different versions of a Molotov cocktail.”

“Those work pretty well, too,” said Cici.

“Later, I met this guy, Bill—he knows Joel—and he had basically trip-wired this entire little town where he lived. He showed Joel how to make nail bombs, too.”

“Nail bombs are not that much different than what we’re doing here,” said Cici. “Maybe a little cruder.”

“Seems a lot cruder.”

“So how do you like it?” said Cici. “Traveling with him? With Joel.”

“It’s okay,” said Ellie. She rested her chin on her knees. “He’s kind of...terse. Just sometimes though. He doesn’t talk much. When he does, I don't know. It’s okay. He seems a little stern, I know, but he's really not that bad.”

“He said you lost some people, back east. In Boston. And in Pittsburgh. I just—I wanted to say I’m sorry. That must have been really hard, and really scary.”

Ellie looked down at her Converse. One of them had come untied. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s not really...easy. I guess.”

“No, it isn’t.” Cici completed the pipe bomb, set it neatly on the workbench between them, like a cake. She didn’t press for details, on Boston, or Pittsburgh. “Voilà,” she said.

Ellie was oddly comforted. “That’s so freakin cool,” she said.

Back at the house, Cici got Ellie started on making a new loaf of bread. Meanwhile, she sliced up a fresh loaf from the pantry and set about making sandwiches.

“So, you go from making bombs to making sandwiches, huh?” said Ellie. She was standing at the counter kneading the dough. It was squishy, she thought. Weirdly satisfying.

“Pretty much,” said Cici. She had prepared four tall ham and cheese sandwiches, on sourdough. Simple fare. For the them, and for Joel and Noah. “Sometimes, we watch movies. Maybe we can watch one tonight.”

“This is my kind of living,” said Ellie.

They smiled at each other.

But then.

“What the fuck was that?” said Ellie.

They heard the mines going off, one by one, well into the distance. A rapid succession. Too many.

"Cici?"

“Shit."

"Was that the mines?" said Ellie. "Are they okay? What the fuck?"

In the trees, Joel zipped up and resituated himself. The thicket out there beyond the trench was quite beautiful. The nature sounds were almost deafening but in a way that suggested an earthly innocence. Joel was used to wearing a backpack, but with a home nearby, he didn’t really need one that day, so he felt light, despite the sweat and the physical exhaustion. Oddly enough, it had felt good to dig and to use his strength for something productive. Rather than killing, he was building for once. It had been a long time. He took the shotgun off his shoulder and checked the rounds. The sound it made was metal and ran in cacophony to the ongoing symphony of the trees.

He’d gone out maybe only ten yards or so, from Noah, who he could no longer hear but he could still see, through a crack in the foliage. He had made sure not to get beyond sight. Ready to head back, he put the gun strap back over his shoulder and took a step, breaking a twig beneath his boot, and the sound should have been innocuous, but instead, it seemed to trigger a familiar, inhuman noise nearby, and then that seemed to trigger another.

Joel swore under his breath, pumped the shotgun, and waited. He stood very still and listened to the cicadas clicking off in the trees in that ongoing rhythm, and out the corner of his eye he then saw something woman-shaped dart between a break in the foliage. If he truly parsed the noise of the thicket he could hear their heavy, frantic breathing. It was stalkers.

In slow silence he backed out of the thicket and made his way back to Noah at the trench. Noah was finishing up his wiring of the pipe bomb to the motion sensor and said something about how they were pretty much all set to go, whenever Joel was ready. Joel shushed him.

“Fuck,” said Noah, in a whisper. He picked up his shotgun off the earth. “What is it?”

“Stalkers,” said Joel. “I caught sight of one, but there’s more.”

"If we stay quiet, we can—”

But it was too late. They heard unsteady footsteps coming up the thicket. Raising their guns, they waited. A runner, looked to be a man, dressed in fishing gear stumbled out of the trees, bloodied up, shivering and afraid. Joel and Noah tried to stand perfectly still, but it saw them, and they were backed against the minefield, and it was no choice. Joel blew the thing’s jaw clean off. It dropped to the soil in silence, but the sound of the gun brought the stalkers out of the trees.

“Follow as close as you can,” said Noah.

“I will. Now go.”

It happened fast. As they navigated the mines, the sounds of the Infected in the woods rose up behind them in a maelstrom. There were way too many, maybe two dozen, must have been dormant in there, fucking lulled under the shade. When they got to the fence, Joel and Noah slipped back through the other side, turning around to watch a whole shitload, gnashing through the trees and descending upon the perimeter in total disorganization. Several fell into the trench, and the rest tripped the mines, plus the brand new pipe bomb, causing loud explosions that shrouded the whole field in a cloud of dust and smoke.

Joel and Noah hit the earth. It was so loud, Joel could feel the ringing in his ears vibrating in his teeth, and when, as he caught his bearings, he finally looked up, realizing it wasn’t over, Noah was dragging him to his feet, shouting something incomprehensible. Then, GET BACK. Scrambling into the tall grass, Joel watched as Noah lit up the canister of gasoline with a couple rags and chucked it as far and hard as he could past the barbed wire spools over the fence. When it landed, it blew to high heaven and in its wake, the sounds of all the Infected leftover from the mines turned to chaotic agony. There were birds dismounting from the trees in all directions, squawking. Then, a deadly quiet.

“Fucking shit,” said Noah, stumbling backward. He fell to his hands and knees, coughing from the dust.

As the ringing died down in his ears and in his molars, the afternoon seemed to crack wide open. Joel was on his back, staring up at the clear blue sky. “You okay?” he said.

Noah was heaving now, out of breath, covered in the detritus from head to toe. He walked over, held out his hand, hauled Joel back to his feet. “Yeah,” he said. “You?”

“I’m okay,” said Joel. He dusted himself off, still coughing and waving his way through the dust. He tripped forward to the fence and pressed into it, trying to make anything out at at all in the minefield. He could see some of the blistering bodies, smell the explosive energy, the roasting, human carnage. It was horrific. Then, he saw the trench. “Goddammit,” he said. “The whole thing is pulled up again.

Noah was keeled over, squinting out at the trees. “This place is fucked,” he said, more to himself than anything. “Lets get the fuck out of here.”

Cici took the walkie out of her back pocket. She shouted into it for a while, but nobody answered. She then rushed them out of the house.

"Where are we going?" said Ellie.

"Crow’s nest.”

Up the ladder, Ellie felt like she was just blowing in the wind, no direction. But Cici had kicked into some sort of military high gear. She was holding a sniper rifle, which Ellie did not remember seeing her grab. She then handed Ellie a loaded rifle of her own, which had been hanging on a hook by the door. It felt heavy and wooden, but Ellie understood it. Cici asked if Ellie knew what to do.

“Yeah,” said Ellie, shaken. “Joel showed me. In Pittsburgh."

She then handed Ellie a pair of binoculars, told her to watch the horizon, westerly. Ellie did as she was told.

The sun was hot. There were no clouds. The sky was big and blue, as a gem. She spotted a few plumes of smoke at the perimeter, but she didn't see Noah or Joel. If she couldn't see Joel, she didn’t know what she was supposed to be looking for. All those explosions had sent her into an adrenaline-baked sort of panic, so that when Cici finally got Noah on the walkie, Ellie was so fucking relieved, she let go of the binoculars so that they thudded to the floor. She felt stupid, picked them up immediately, but then closed her eyes and felt an unexpected flood, again. Like she wanted to go home. Whatever that meant. But it was really powerful. She thought she might puke. She held it inside. “Holy shit,” she said.

“We’re okay,” said Noah over the walkie. “Infected ambushed us at the trench. But it’s done. Over.”

“Thank fucking god,” said Cici. “Me and Ellie got the scope on your location, just in case. Over.”

“Thanks,” said Noah. “I’m pretty sure they’re all fried. But they took the trench with them, and a bunch of the mines. We had to light up the rest with gasoline. The whole section is fucked up, even worse than before. Over.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Cici, hanging her head. “Okay. You boys just get back here. Over.”

“Okay."

Over.

Ellie watched then as Cici set down the walkie and leaned, slowly, against the rifle, almost struggling to keep her balance. She had her eyes pressed shut, as if praying. Her blond hair was braided over her shoulder, but the plaits were all loose now. “Fuck,” she said, in a whisper.

"They're okay," said Ellie.

But Cici was talking to herself then. Not in a crazy way, just a stressed way, almost like she had forgotten that Ellie was in the room. “I can’t do this anymore,” she was saying.

"That’s my fucking brother," he said.

She was not okay, in the radio tower.

"Screw it."

Ellie went over to Cici and placed her hand on Cici’s shoulder. She didn’t want to be standing there alone anymore, and the smell of the smoke was starting to waft in with the breeze.

Chapter 20 -- Perfect Harmony | Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Emily Fox is a talented 17-year-old with a passion for all things music. Her dream is to become a successful singer-songwriter one day. But to achieve that dream, she needs to get into one of the most prestigious music schools in her district – it’s all been part of her plan since she was six. Sadly enough, those schools cost a ton of money that her parents don’t want to invest. They don’t even want her to pursue her dream. So, now Emily’s hustling, working at the music store to save up to get into college. That’s until she meets Charlie, an annoying seventeen-year-old boy with the same dream as her. The only difference is, he’s just doing it. He doesn’t need a fancy college to pursue his dream to become famous with his band. He just writes his songs and books small gigs here, there and everywhere. Will meeting Charlie defer her from her dream college, or will he actually help her achieve the dream?

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x OC (Emily Fox)

Warnings: mentions of death, sexual assault

Important note: the characters of Charlie, Owen, Jeremy and Madison are based on the characters they play on the show and i do not own their names, only OC are mine. The songs aren’t mine either, they’re all from the show except for one.

~|Emily Fox|~

I’ve been in Uncle Bobby’s studio since 7am this morning, rehearsing for my audition this afternoon. I’d woken Mitch up, and he’d gotten a little annoyed, but after his cup of coffee, he joined me in the studio and gave me some notes to work on or praised me for everything I did perfectly. We even jammed a little together as a break from rehearsing. “You ready?” he asks me when we’re packing up to leave for Los Angeles. I nod my head and check my phone again. I’d sent Charlie a couple of messages with the address, asking if he was going to be there. But all of them were left unanswered. “Yeah,” I sigh and hop into the car with him. It takes us only ten minutes to get there, and my nerves just get stronger and stronger. Nothing can distract me from them anymore. I have become my nerves. My body has tensed up since we left the house and I haven’t been able to relax any muscle, despite Uncle Mitch’s attempt to get me to calm down. Good luck on your audition, Hot Mama! Wish I could be there. Sending you all the love xxxx Madi’s message does make me smile. Even though I’d rather have her here, it’s better than not getting any texts at all. “Charlie isn’t answering my texts,” I tell Uncle Mitch when we’re in the green room, waiting for my turn to audition. Fellow students buzz around us, some of them equally as nervous as I am, others just buzzing with excitement. “I’m sure he’ll be here,” Uncle Mitch tries to reassure me, but I can tell from the look on his face, he’s not so certain himself. “The boys always have your back, Muffin. They’ll be here.” “Sacha Carlson?” a voice chimes through the green room. A guy gets up, hugs his chaperone and then follows the guy through the thick double doors. I have always been impartial about doors, but these are looming and the scariest doors I ever did see. Scarier than the ones in IT. “They’re already on C!” I notice, and my stomach churns. “There are probably a lot of people between Carlson and Fox though, Muffin,” says Mitch. And he’s not wrong. We’re there for an hour or so more, awaiting my call to go on. An hour or so filled with dread that my friends aren’t going to be here in time to cheer me on from the sidelines. An hour or so filled with nerves that made me puke about three times, every time just barely making it to the restrooms. “Emily Forrester?” I draw in a breath, nearly fainting on the spot thinking he was calling out my name. The girl looks pale, her hands shaking. At least I’m not the only one this nervous about it. Our eyes meet and I offer her the most encouraging smile I can muster. We’re in this together, babe. You and me both. Emily Forrester comes back into the green room with the widest smile on her face and it’s almost as if the color had poured back into her complexion. She seems healthier now. Wish I could say the same about me. “Emily Fox!” My breath hitches in my throat and it takes a while until my muscles start moving. “Good luck,” the other Emily mouths to me. I can’t even manage a smile. “You’ll do great, Muffin,” Uncle Mitch reassures me. With buckling knees, I walk behind the guy with the headset and clipboard. He offers me a smile too, and leads me towards a stage, handing me a microphone. The black tiles reflect the bright light of the one spotlight in the middle, nearly blinding me. “Hi, Emily Fox,” one of the teacher’s kind voices sound. I can’t see her, but her voice has a somewhat calming effect on me. “Why don’t you tell us what instrument you play and what song you’re going to sing for us, and then you can go straight ahead.” “I-I play the piano, and I’m going to sing a song I’ve written, called Stand Tall.” My voice echoes into the almost-empty venue. “Good luck, Emily.” I walk over to the keyboard and sit down while the lights guy changes the spot onto me. Now I really wish I had Charlie with me, telling me I got this. I could really use those words right now. My fingers hover over the keys, almost forgetting how this song starts. I take a moment to shut my eyes, imagining the boys and Madi here with me. It gives me enough courage to start playing the song. “Don't blink No, I don't want to miss it One thing, and it's back to the beginning Cause everything is rushing in fast Keep going on never look back” I open my eyes again to the bright, blinding light of the spotlight on me. “And it's one, two, three, four times That I'll try for one more night Light a fire in my eyes I'm going out of my mind” Uncle Mitch has taken a seat on the front row, giving me an encouraging smile. “Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall Whatever happens Even when everything's down I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall” I keep my eyes on him for the next line, wanting to see his reaction. “I gotta keep on dreaming Cause I gotta catch that feeling Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall” I hear the drums before I see Owen appear, the tech guy turning a spot on him. He smiles at me, telling me to continue. And then Jeremy’s bass fills in too, and seconds later, I find him lit up by the artificial light, smiling at me. “Right now I'm loving every minute Hands down Can't let myself forget it, no Cause everything is rushing in fast Keep holding on nevеr look back” I glance down at Mitch, who’s as shocked and surprised as I am. Then the guitar riff surprises me even more. “And it's one, two, three, four times That I'll try for one morе night Light a fire in my eyes” Charlie smiles at me as the tech guy gives him his spotlight too. “I'm going out of my mind,” he sings, and I grab my mic to come out from behind the keyboard. “Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall” Charlie and I then take the second part of the chorus together, our voice blending seamlessly, like they always do.  “Whatever happens Even when everything's down I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall” I walk closer to Charlie as he keeps his eyes on me whilst singing. Which gives it that extra spark at my favorite line of the song.  “I gotta keep on dreaming Cause I gotta catch that feeling Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall” I then turn and walk up to Jeremy, who meets me in the middle of the stage.  “Like I'm glowing in the dark I keep on going when it's all falling apart Yeah I know it with all my heart” We turn back-to-back, leaning against one another, rocking out like never before.  “Ooh, ooh” “Never look back,” Charlie sings while I take a high note.  I then turn to Owen as he stops drumming and gets up from his stool, singing the bridge chorus. “Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall” Then Jeremy does the same, capturing my attention. “Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall,” he hits that high note flawlessly and it gives me the boost I need for my high note. “Stand tall” “Stand tall,” Owen and Charlie echoes.  The four of us lapse into the chorus again, all of them resume playing their instruments. “Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall Whatever happens Even when everything's down I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall” I walk up to Charlie again and offer him my microphone, the way we’ve done so many times before.  “I gotta keep on dreaming Cause I gotta catch that feeling Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing I'ma stand tall I'ma stand tall”

We finish the song, all four of us panting and rushed with adrenaline. And while the boys stand back, I step forward a little, ready for my feedback. The tech guy aims a spot on the teachers. Five of them in a row. Neither of them with smiles nor any indication they liked what they saw. “Miss Fox…” One of them starts. A man, in his fifties in suit. “This is not a rock concert.” My heart drops to my feet. “It’s an audition for the Music Academy which you’re supposed to take seriously.” I raise the mic to my mouth, wanting to say something, but another teacher cuts me off. It’s the woman that spoke to me before. “As much as I liked the song, Emily, the guidelines clearly say you have to audition on your own. No bands, no duets.” She actually looks remorseful, more so than her grumpy colleague. “I’m sorry, Emily Fox, but we can’t let you in.” It’s at that point my entire world falls apart. Everything I have worked for, everything I dreamed of with Uncle Bobby and Uncle Mitch all falls into the shreds. A fragile piece of glass to shreds, cutting my hands and heart open. I don’t waste another second on the stage and rush off, pushing the microphone into the tech guy’s hands, and shove open the double doors to the green room, then out of the building. “Emily, wait!” Charlie’s voice makes me stop and turn around. All three boys are there with Uncle Mitch running up a little later, my backpack and jacket in hand. “No, Charlie! You had no right to barge into my audition like that! I just needed you to be there on the front row, cheering me on, not ruin my entire future!” The words come out into croaks, my voice betraying me. “Maybe this is a sign you don’t need a fancy school, Emmy!” he shouts back. “Do NOT call me that!” I yell back. My anger is now taking the better of me. Charlie flinches before recomposing himself. “Emily! Listen to me!” his voice grows louder, “You don’t need a fancy school! You’re insanely talented! You have magic in your fingers and your throat! Just because a fancy school doesn’t see that, doesn’t mean you can snuff it out! You have everything to make it big, Emily!” “Yes! I do! It might be your dream to break out with your band, but it’s not mine! Mine was getting into this school and you just went ahead and ruined that for me! I thought we always had each other’s backs?” I direct the last question to all three of them. Jeremy is fidgeting with his flannel, staring down sadly at his feet. Owen just gives me that worrisome look of his that doesn’t comfort me whatsoever now. And Charlie. Charlie has this pained expression on his face that breaks my heart even further and angers me more at the same time. “Our band, Emily,” he says, his voice now lowered. “No,” I shake my head, “It’s not our band because if it would be our band, you wouldn’t have gone in there and made it our show. You would’ve made it mine.” I turn around and walk up to the car, getting in without even lending them a glance. Uncle Mitch gets in a couple moments later, a deep sigh leaving his body. “Don’t say anything,” I warn him, “Just get us home.” Uncle Mitch simply obeys and drives us back to Los Feliz. Neither of us talk. The only thing breaking the silence are my sobs filling up the empty space. And that’s how I’m back to where I was a year ago; crying in front of the tv with buckets and buckets filled with ice. Uncle Mitch tries to comfort me but doesn’t even try to talk to me. He knows it’s no use. He knows it probably won’t help. I had texted Madi, and she asked if she could do anything. I replied with an emoji of spaghetti. She knows I just want her mom’s lasagna. It’s the best comfort food ever, ever. So, that night, when the doorbell rings, I get a little excited. For the first time in hours. Uncle Mitch gets up from the couch to answer the door. “Charlie,” I hear him say. The excitement in me washes away quickly. “I don’t think she’s up for any company right now, buddy.” Fresh tears pool in my eyes when I think about how sad Charlie looked when I was yelling at him. And then even more tears flow down when I’m reminded why we were fighting in the first place. “Can you just tell her that I’m really, really sorry?” I get up from the couch at his words and make my way to Bobby’s studio instead. I can’t listen to his voice so fragile anymore. In Bobby’s studio, I sit down at the piano and play a couple of notes. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Bobby,” I whisper, letting my head hang down. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to make our dream come true. I’m sorry I let you down…” I let my head hang low as more and more tears run down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry.” A sudden breeze waltzes through the single open window, blowing a piece of paper off the desk in front of the piano and onto the keys. It’s the lyrics to Wake Up in Uncle Bobby’s handwriting. For a moment, I hug the piece of paper to my chest as if that would actually bring Bobby back somehow. “So get up, get out, relight that spark,” I hear Uncle Mitch sing behind me. “You know the rest by heart,” I cry out and sobs take over my entire body again. “I let Uncle Bobby down, Mitch.” I feel his arms wrap around me. “I let everyone down. My parents, Bobby, Charlie and the boys, you…” “You didn’t let me down, Muffin. Whether you got into the Academy or not, I’m still immensely proud of you. You picked yourself back up when your parents kicked you out of their house. And when Bobby died, you didn’t only pick yourself back up, but me too. You helped those boys bring back some umph in their band. You helped Charlie mend things with his parents. You didn’t let anyone down, Muffin, and I’m so proud of you for how far you’ve come.” I wrap my arms around my uncle’s neck, and for a while, we just cry together in Bobby’s studio. “If you need some time, you can stay home from school this week and I’ll take some time off work too. We’ll pick you back up,” he presses a kiss to my forehead before leaving the studio. Some life I have build for myself.

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Hey hi me again. Posting questions

These are v intrusive. Idk if they make you feel vulnerable. They sure as hell make me feel vulnerable. If you want me to not then tell me pls. I also read you the ones that make me sounds bat shit crazy. If you want. ALSO KEEP IN MIND IM NOT LIKE THISBYEAR ROUND. Just this time of year is hard for me.

🖤am also hust curious what you and ya dad did in Madison. I kinda like to live vicariously thru other people father relationships.

🖤Do you trust me? That I would never hurt you?

🖤Are you afraid to ask to hang out with me cause you think your parents are gonna be suspicious

🖤Are you overwhelmed with how much I ask to see each other?

Are you just making up excuses or finding ways to get out of hanging out? It’s really okay if you don’t want to. Just like tell me.

🖤If I’m getting to be too much I can back off. Everyone always says I’m too much. But I know so far that you can handle me so that’s why I’m letting you have all of me at this point.

🖤What happened to us hanging out more? I genuinely miss that. It’s getting to where I don’t see you but for a few hours every other week and that’s really really hard. I know that your busy but is that it?

I don’t know how you generally feel about that.

🖤Do you like crave getting to see me?

Like I literally crave getting to see you and hug you and kiss you. Like I want that all the time.

I know it’s hard to sneak around. I know. I don’t want to get you into a issue with your parents

So it just gives me more reason to like fade away from your life. I don’t wanna do it. But I’m starting to think more and more how it can benefit you. That thought really actually breaks me heart. I’ll try anything other than that. Unless that’s what you need. I know it’s not what you want. But do you need that?

maybe. You’ve been so so so busy these past few weeks. I know it’s hard to make time for you to see me. I don’t blame you at all. But it still makes me angry and sad and upset.

Shit I’m sure you could tell your parents that you were going to hang with Kai and they’d be fine with it or that Kai was coming over for dinner and they’d prolly be happy about it.

I have no idea what they’d think if I came to have dinner and hang out. I want to really bad. I wanna come see you everyday if I could. I can make up excuses to come hang. Even if we can’t act like we like each other. I can do that. I will gladly do that. I’ll literally do anything for you.

🖤Like I said I know you love me and I know you like me like I like you. Just things have been happening that keep me questioning it. But things tell me not to doubt it cause that’s when things fall apart is when doubt sets in.

🖤So I’m gonna be confident and optimistic even if i get sad that we can’t see each other as much as we’d prolly like. Honestly you’d prolly get sick of me if you did.

🖤I just wanna cuddle and take naps and play games and get drunk and tickle you even tho you hate hate hate it cause it always turns into us loving in each other.

🖤God I honestly hate how much I want you. I want to know why I’m like this. It bothers the he’ll outta me. Even if I try to forget you I can’t. Not in the way you think I mean it. I think

🖤I’ve tried multiple times. I even had a guy come over that one time and went out on a date with a guy cause I didn’t think you liked me. But all I coukd literally think about was how much I wanted that guy to be you. This was before we even really really got to know each other. Why am I so fucked up? What’s wrong with me?

🖤I just want thing to be happy and everyone to be happy and ti have a solid relationship that’s typical and sweet and fun. I just want that. I want what we have to turn into that. I want a typical basic ass relationship with you. I WANT IT SO BAD.

🖤These things make me feel stupid that I have these random thoughts that make me hella over think.

🖤Like I’m pitiful cause I’m sad that I don’t get to see the guy I like so I sit in the bed. In the dark. HOPING that he may get to come over. It’s so stupid. I’m so stupid.

If him and I don’t work then I’m really really reaaaaally done with dating. I’m not gonna fall for another guy. I don’t think I can handle it. Fuck I can barely handle this.

🖤I’m so fucking thankful for him. I can’t explain how thankful I am for him. There are no words to explain. It’s literally a new emotion.

🖤Here’s a list of things I currently wanna do.

🖤Go out on a date date, go watch the stars, go get a fish for my tank, just fucking cuddle, just fucking kiss you, have sex with you, take naps together, come hang out with you at your house, help you make life choices, take you to meet my mom, take you hiking, take you to my favorite spots, take you shopping, play video games with you, watch you be happy and enjoy life.

🖤God all I want is for you to be happy. I wanna give you the happiness you give me.

🖤Everything is okay? Nothings changed other than the fact that ya know all the things about me now? That’s not making you wanna keep away from me? It’s okay that I’m giving you 120% of the real Ryan?

🖤Is me getting you things too much? I enjoy getting you stuff. But I don’t wanna make that what our relationship is about.

🖤Am I being too pushy?

🖤I know this is a selfish stupid thing to ask but you are really actually busy right? Not just making excuses so you don’t have to hang out? I know in my heart that you’re not lying to me. But I guess this is just me wanting to hear it from you. Trust issues ya know? They ARE getting better. But it takes time for me to really really trust someone. I’m getting there with you. That’s why I have these talks with you. I’m trying to get rid of the doubts. I know I can just trust you. But I always have that little intrusive thought in my head that tells me he’s lying to me to push me away easily. Or telling me your avoiding me to be with someone else. That’s happened way too many times to count.

Steal Into My Melancholy Heart (Michael Langdon x Reader Beauty and the Beast AU)

Notes: Here it is (finally), the start of the AHS: Apocalypse Beauty and the Beast AU. There’s going to be a lot of changes to canon. Some characters have been left out, others have a different backstory and purpose to suit this AU ‘verse. Hopefully everything makes sense as the story goes on! The title comes from the song “Evermore” in the 2017 version of Beauty and the Beast, because I can’t help myself.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: Some violence, mentions of gore and blood. 

 {Prologue}

A thin veil of moonlight fell across the obsidian spiral, a monolith shrouded in a layer of dense fog. It parted around Cordelia Goode’s shoes, chilly and damp, clouding an otherwise clear night. The Hawthorne School looked abandoned. That was for a purpose, for protection, but a feeling clawed its way deep into her gut that suggested maybe they were already too late.

That the warlocks had suffered the same fate as her girls.

She could still hear their screams, their agony echoing in her ears. The shadow of their blood still clung to her hands. Even in the dark, she saw the trails it had leached under her nails and how it sat in the creases between her knuckles. The house had reeked of it, the blood and carnage heavy in the air, bright red pooling on the immaculate floors. She’d sat there for the longest time, minutes turning to an hour she didn’t have, hollow with grief. That house was now their tomb. Cordelia had left their bodies where they’d fallen, cold and still and pale. Fingers and lips turning blue. The halls of her school silenced.

Four had survived. It was enough, for now, to hold together Cordelia’s shattered heart.

Madison, Mallory, Coco, and Emily trailed in her wake, footsteps whispering across the dry, desert earth. She could hear their quiet weeping, their sniffling and heartache so palpable it settled on her chest like stones. They hadn’t spoken on the plane ride here, too stricken with heartache and shock and anger that words didn’t seem enough. The march up to the doors of Hawthorne felt like a funeral procession. Somber. Bleak. Their black clothes, still holding the scent of their fallen sisters’ blood, a sign of mourning rather than tradition.

Cordelia steeled herself, wiping the last of her tears from the corner of her swollen eye with the edge of her thumb, as she came to a halt at the doors. Where they were still coming from, she didn’t know. How could she have any left to cry? What would she do if they found the warlocks slaughtered inside their school?

The quiet unnerved her. The hum of crickets, the distant sway of leaves in a nocturnal wind. The strange, dark cylinder towering over them stood resolute and still as a grave. If it had become one, then she couldn’t see a way out of this. She couldn’t see a light beyond the hurt and despair. Not right now. Not when they’d already lost so much.

Every muscle in Cordelia’s body tensed when the door slid open. The surviving witches, gathered at her sides, looked up once warm, flickering light spilled over the threshold and broke the chill of the night. Golden candle light illuminated the tears that glistened on their faces.

John Henry Moore leaned against the doorway, a pale wisp of smoke coiling up from the cigarette between his fingers. Cordelia’s knees almost buckled from relief.

“Oh, thank god,” she exhaled. “Are you all right? The students—are they all okay?”

One of John Henry’s dark eyebrows rose. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Why?”

“Michael Langdon isn’t here, is he?” Her tone had turned dangerous, the hate dripping from her curt question.

“Haven’t seen him since he fucked off into the woods, Cordelia.” He pushed off the wall and moved to let her and the girls through, then took a drag from his cigarette. He sounded annoyed. “What is it? Kind of late to be making unannounced house calls. It’s past curfew.”

“We’re not here for your witty comebacks, asshole,” Madison countered.

Before John Henry could take offense, Cordelia started down the hall toward the elevator, the girls following close behind, a cacophony of heels ricocheting across marble and stone.

“We don’t have a lot of time.”

“You want to explain what’s going on?”

They took the elevator down beneath the earth. John Henry leaned against the wall, taking long drags from his cigarette and eyeing the group of young witches congregated tightly opposite him. Madison was silently furious, arms crossed over her chest, her sharp glare fixed on the closed doors. Mallory sniffled, drabbing at her eyes with the edge of a long, black sleeve. Emily found solace in Coco, her head pressed to Coco’s shoulder. Cordelia looked beside herself, her gaze distant, restless as they waited for the elevator doors to hiss open.

“You were right.” Cordelia’s voice broke, frayed with the tears that still trickled down her cheeks. “About everything. You were right.”

“Now what’s all this?” Behold Chablis joined them as they filed into the cavernous heart of The Hawthorne School, a labyrinth of candle lit staircases and hallways. His question, rising sharply at the end, filled up the quiet. The students were locked away in their dormitories for the night. Safe and oblivious to the danger heading their way, for now.

“Miss Goode was just about to tell me.”

“Langdon,” her voice cut deeply into the name as her eyes fluttered closed to stave off more tears, “Michael Langdon…murdered my girls. We were lucky to escape when we did. And if we don’t act now, then this school—you and your students are next. I don’t know how much time we have.”

“Jesus.” John Henry muttered. He turned away, scratching at an eyebrow with the edge of his thumbnail.

Behold’s dark eyes widened. “I’ll evacuate the school.”

“No,” Cordelia said. “We might need them.”

“For what?” Behold asked. “I’m not leaving our boys to be some Antichrist’s cannon fodder, Miss Supreme. Not after he slaughtered your girls.”

“Coming here wasn’t about just warning you. We need a curse,” she explained. Madison and Mallory exchanged looks of surprise before they caught her eye. She’d kept her plans to herself, an impulsive decision on the flight to California. “And if memory serves, the reigning expert on curses is you.” She turned to John Henry.

At her pointed look, he scoffed. “We need a firing squad, not a curse.”

“Shockingly, I agree,” Coco said softly.

“You never said shit about that,” Madison said. “I mean, what the fuck, Cordelia?”

“We have to fight him,” Emily agreed. “I don’t care what it takes.”

Mallory’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of curse?”

John Henry held up a hand. “Forget it.”

“He has too much power now,” Cordelia reasoned. “We can’t kill him…we can’t even stop him if we tried. I felt that power when he broke past the defenses at Robichaux—Langdon’s the Devil’s son, and that makes him invincible. Our only choice is to play the long game. Survive the impossible, together, and create something that tears him down, bit by bit. Make him his own demise.”

“So your solution is,” Behold drawled, “to…sit back and watch the world go up in flames? Let him win?”

“He’ll think he’s won,” Cordelia said, a determined grin curving one side of her mouth despite the tears that welled in her eyes. “And then he’ll get what he deserves for all the chaos he’s wrought, slowly, until his death sets things right again. A hard reset. Everything back to the way it was.”

She’d had a lot of time to think on the plane.

John Henry laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “That’s a tall order.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Madison rolled her eyes.

“Wait,” Coco interrupted. “Can we…really do that?”

“No,” Behold answered at the same time John Henry deadpanned a halfhearted, “Definitely not.”

“Yes,” Cordelia insisted, her voice shaking. Her gaze flittered to Mallory, who hadn’t spoken a word of dissent or skepticism. “There’s enough power in this room—in this school. If we combine that magic, I know we can. I have to believe it, otherwise what else do we have left?”

“Curses are stubborn. Delicate,” John Henry said. “They have to be precise, not to mention the amount of magic they require. You can’t engineer a curse in a single night, Cordelia, it can’t be done. Not for what you’re asking.”

“We have to find a way.”

“It’s just not possible,” seemed to be John Henry’s final answer. Resolved to defeat.

“I’m sorry,” Behold offered. “Wish we could—”

“I think we should do it,” Mallory said. “I know…I know Cordelia’s right. We have enough magic right here in this room. We have to try.”

“What the hell, right?” Madison flicked her long hair behind her shoulder. “Mallory’s magic could power the whole curse by itself. I’ve seen it.”

The witches murmured their agreement.

“It’s not the magic I’m worried about,” John Henry replied. “Curses are unwieldy. I’ve never designed one this complex.”

“Well,” Coco said brightly. “First time for everything.”

***

They settled into the central hub of The Hawthorne School, their work lit by roaring fires and sconces on the walls. John Henry gave each of them a task based on their skill level, some facet of the curse that was theirs to render with their magic. By that time, he and Behold determined that they’d only need a few of the students lend their talents, and the rest would be sent in groups to scatter themselves in different directions across the state. To escape and survive the impossible, as Cordelia said.

Three Hawthorne students had joined the witches and John Henry, chosen by Behold’s own meticulous eye. He knew those boys well enough, saw their magic at work in his classes. They’d proven to be the most proficient with the incantations and sigils needed to design their curse.

Timothy, Andre, and Gallant circled around John Henry like a trio of baby ducklings, a force of habit that couldn’t be broken even under the unusual circumstances. The boys cast wary glances at the witches in their midst, unused to working alongside them. They were half-dressed in their Hawthorne uniforms, not quite so polished, the dress codes forgotten. Sleep still clouded their vision as they struggled with whatever archaic texts John Henry shoved at them.

The room was a mess—papers littered with John Henry’s inelegant scrawl, more discarded on the floor than kept for revision; old books heavy with a musty scent in careless piles for reference. Most were in Latin, others almost unreadable even to Cordelia’s rather astute magical knowledge.

She hoped these archaic words and symbols would be enough. There had been more than one argument ricocheting off the vaulted ceilings in the long hours they’d spent working on this. Cordelia knew what it would take, how she wanted the curse to evolve as time wore on, but translating that to magic had John Henry at his wit’s end.

There were variables to consider. And layers upon layers of incantations, each with a specific purpose. Not to mention, they had to put the entire world back together—and billions of lives—once the curse had slowly withered Langdon away. One wrong link in that chain and everything else would crumble. So, of course, there had been shouting matches and a litany of swearing and one instance of John Henry walking the fuck out of the room for another cigarette as tensions ran high.

“We need a failsafe,” John Henry decided.

Cordelia reached over the table of papers and books to reach her wine glass. “Like what?”

John Henry sighed, ink-stained fingers splayed on the tabletop. He slumped forward a little and stifled a yawn. “You said it yourself. Kid’s got the protection of fucking Satan. If this isn’t enough to wear that down and kill him over time, we’re gonna need backup. Another way to take the shot. So to speak.”

“Well, he’s still half-human.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Behold mused. He refilled Cordelia’s wine glass with a languid sweep of his fingers.

“I’m talking about emotionally,” she explained. “He’s…sensitive. You saw his reaction when we retaliated. The way he cried over that woman. I don’t have much hope for whatever humanity is left in him, but if we can use it to bring him down, that might be our only shot. If the evil in him doesn’t break him, then maybe his heart will.”

“You think the Antichrist is capable of love?” Behold raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “That human heart of his—Michael’s heart—might.”

John Henry heaved another long-suffering sigh. “That’s a gamble.”  

Cordelia took a sip of wine, her gaze downcast to the scattering of notes. “It’s all we have.”

They chose the main foyer to lay their trap.

Right below where the two central staircases converged, there was ample floor space. Langdon would have to set foot there when he arrived at Hawthorne, and by the time he recognized the power that surrounded him, it would be too late. For that to work, they needed the curse to soak into every single fiber of the room, to make the space itself alive with the full force of their magic.

And piece by piece, it did.

Sigils were burned into the floor, where they disappeared out of sight. That was Mallory’s doing, her strong, unwavering magic building the foundations of the curse. She had the most work of all, though she didn’t complain about it. Not once. Not even when she and Cordelia and Behold had to figure out the complex magic involved in restoring the entire Earth. The hard reset Cordelia insisted on seemed to be beyond anyone’s capabilities. But she was the exception.

More sigils were inlaid in the walls. John Henry oversaw the precise order and placement of each one from the notes that no one could read because he’d written them. The incantations were the most important—and required every single witch and warlock to chant the ancient words as one. That was the trickiest part. John Henry, Behold, and Cordelia went over the exact pronunciation beforehand until their students were tired of it; archaic Latin wasn’t everyone’s best subject at either school of magic, and one wrong syllable would topple all their hard work.

Designing a curse was fucking exhausting.

Emily slumped onto the staircase. Through a yawn, she asked, “So, what happens now?”

“This is going to get ugly,” John Henry said, running a palm across his face. “He’s coming here for revenge. He’ll want blood.”

“Which means you all need to get yourselves out of here,” Behold agreed.

“The three of us will stay behind,” Cordelia said. She studied the weary faces in front of her, so young, trying to hide their fear. “We’ll get out once we know Langdon’s activated the curse. But if this works—”

“And it should,” John Henry grumbled.

“We’ll have to stick close,” Cordelia told them. “We have to see this through to the end.”

***

A midday sun blazed scorching hot across the dry desert earth. Michael Langdon inhaled the scent of dust and heat, pausing to consider the gruesome scene in front of him. Three large birds, their pitch black feathers fluttering, beady eyes reflecting the bright sky, poked at an animal carcass. He couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe a rabbit or a squirrel; tufts of brown fur were lost in the gore, dark scarlet staining the cracked earth. Two of the birds fought over the animal’s innards, pulling at them with their sharp beaks. Michael turned away, slightly unsettled, the edge of his cape rustling in the wind. He had no reason to fear the blackbirds—they were harbingers of his father’s presence, they kept a watchful eye from above.

And they wouldn’t be the only ones to spill blood today.

Michael drew in another deep breath, his fingers curling into light fists at his sides. He wasn’t so blinded by his own rage and vengeance that he couldn’t sense the magic inside Hawthorne. It was almost oppressive. It had never been that way before, not when he was a student. Maybe then he hadn’t been so sensitive to it. The power inside him was far stronger than it had been when he turned the library into a furious snowstorm. But now Hawthorne’s magic felt different to him, seeping out of the strange building to coil at his shoes like a fine mist.

It was strong. Defensive, he thought, if he had to give it a particular quality. But it wouldn’t give him any trouble. No witch or warlock had the power to rival Satan’s own son.

Hawthorne was quiet. Michael noticed an unusual tension in the air, a breath away from snapping. He could still remember the meticulous class schedules and customs, how the halls were always buzzing with noise and footsteps and voices chanting. Lessons took up every odd corner and room. The only time he’d ever seen it this quiet had been long after curfew, when he’d slip away to visit Ms. Mead, memorize the layout of the school, or try and contact his father.

It was just after twelve thirty in the afternoon. And yet, the halls were abandoned.

No, Michael thought, a snarl on his lips. Evacuated.

Someone told them he was coming.

“Cordelia,” Michael growled.

“Hello, Michael.” The voice was a gruff, familiar one that hadn’t so much said his name as it had spat it back at his feet.

Michael found John Henry Moore sitting in the middle of one of the main staircases. A single, flickering flame from a lighter—which he appeared to have some trouble igniting—illuminated the purple shadows beneath his eyes and his jaw shadowed by stubble. His gaze was dark, sharp as a razor.

“I thought you would have been smart enough to leave,” Michael said. His voice carried, bouncing off the cavernous walls as he approached. “After all, you were the one to see past the bullshit. You had me all figured out.”

John Henry’s gaze didn’t break from him, not when he took a long drag from his cigarette. Michael tilted his head a little, a provocation for whatever sarcastic comment John Henry had to offer him. The school’s magic still pressed in on him at all sides, in relentless waves, though there was no one else in sight. He listened, fingers flexing at nothing, stirring up the air. Testing it.

With a rough flick of his wrist, Michael sent John Henry flying backward up the staircase. His lighter clattered onto the steps at the same time his body landed with a crack, his neck twisted at a sickening, abnormal angle. A thin ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth onto the floorboards. His open, sightless eyes reminded Michael of the blackbirds feasting on their gory prey.

Michael lifted his chin in approval. But when he stepped forward to admire his grim handiwork, the magic in the room seemed to shift. Michael staggered back from the intensity of it, the crushing weight he felt from all sides. It immobilized him, kept him rooted to the spot where he stood. His hands curled into fists so tight that his nails bit into the skin of his palms. He tried to push against it, break it down like he’d torn through the defenses at the witches’ school. A hoarse, mournful, frustrated cry ripped free from his throat as the magic overpowered him and forced his knees to collapse.

And when he looked up, beneath the curls that had fallen into his eyes, he saw how the room itself had changed. He watched the markings surface on the walls. Symbols that meant nothing to him, scored into the stone and wood and tile as if they’d been etched there by fire. He lifted his palm when they appeared under him like they’d scorch his flesh. The complicated patterns arranged one by one, circle by circle. There was no one else in the room with him, not that he could see, but the air echoed with voices. They chanted as one, their ghostly chorus filling up the silence. Words he’d never heard before.

Words, he realized, that were meant to harm him.

“You’re not used to weakness, are you?” another voice asked.

“Cordelia,” Michael spat.

The ground trembled under the influence of magic. Some of the fires in the sconces on the walls flickered out. Michael let out a sob when the suffocating weight of the magic surrounding him turned into a sudden flash of pain. He fought again, pushing a hand toward Cordelia, fingers rigid with agony and a surge of pure hatred. Cordelia didn’t even flinch.

“You’re just a sad, scared little boy,” she told him. “And if you want to embrace that evil, then fine. You do that. You can tear apart the world until there’s nothing left. But now…it will cost you, Michael.”

“It already has,” Michael sobbed through gritted teeth.

“No.” Cordelia shook her head. “Not like this. If you want to become a monster, then who are we to deny you that? Your actions will have consequences, now; ones you won’t have any control over. The further you descend into darkness, you’ll have to live with what your choices have done to you. Every time you look at your reflection—when you see all that beauty withering away, you’ll think of the lives you’ve stolen and all the times you could’ve stopped. But no amount of regret will help you. It’s too late, Michael.”

A pain Michael couldn’t find the words for took hold of him, forcing another strangled cry from his lips. He was sprawled on the floor, muscles tense, tears streaming down the swell of his cheekbones. He felt the magic seeping into him, latching onto his bones, branding itself onto his very soul.

“Enjoy your apocalypse.”

The air went still and silent. Michael sensed the remnants of the magic as it receded and let go of him. There was nothing left except the sound of his ragged breathing. When he pushed himself off the floor onto his elbows, ignoring the deep, lingering ache in his body, Cordelia had disappeared. Her escape, and the warlocks’ covert plan to destroy him, renewed the flicker of rage in his heart.

Michael staggered back into the daylight with a curse sitting in his veins like poison.

***

Tagging my usual list + people I think might enjoy this fic (I hope you don’t mind)! And as always, if you want to be tagged, just let me know!

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