#*general mcnamara voice* i never left

[keysmashing-bees]

Returning to my starkid phase!!!

[rosietrace]

[ The Inheritance Games ] | “I wouldn't marry me, either.”

Prologue

The Inheritance Games series belongs to Jennifer Lynn Barnes.

SYNOPSIS — What if things had been different, when Avery inherited the old man's fortune? What if Alisa did some puzzle solving of her own, and what if Nash started to feel something for Alisa he thought he'd never feel in a long time?

MAIN TAGS — Canon divergence, Exes to lovers, slowburn, angst with happy ending, suggestive-ish, oc insert, WHAT-IF, mention of character death (Emily Laughlin mention)

| [ The Following is a fanfiction that drifts away from the canon source material. If you aren't particularly interested in anything relating to Alisa Ortega, Nash Hawthorne, or anything about The Inheritance Games in general, this fic probably isn't for you. ] |

Never lose your heart to a Hawthorne. Something Alisa repeated to herself like a mantra over the course of several years, leading to the present day.

The way Hawthornes loved was all-consuming, all-encompassing. Destructive in ways it shouldn't be for both parties involved.

Alisa could remember a time when things were simpler. When she was a little girl spending her days in Hawthorne House while her father was at work, playing with Tobias Hawthorne’s four grandsons— his eldest, in particular.

But those days were long gone, Alisa had reminded herself, now seated with her head hung low, dressed in all black; Tobias Hawthorne — over-ambitious, machiavellian philanthropist that he was — had finally been put to rest at the age of 78.

For most of the ceremony, it was eerily quiet. And while Alisa thought herself as strong as steel, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease throughout her body at the deathly silence of the funeral— even if such silence was understandable.

She, her father, and the rest of what was left of Tobias Hawthorne's family sat during the ceremony of his funeral, where he'd be buried beside his late wife, Alice O’Day Hawthorne.

He was a complicated man, Alisa thought. Too many gears in his head… so many ideas. Perhaps too many.

“Alisa,” she'd heard her father call out to her, garnering her attention in record time. With their heads hung low, the father and daughter duo met each other's gazes.

Her father — Mr. Ortega, most people called him — was a lawyer, a man she admired a great deal to the point where she'd slaved away studying to join him at his law firm: McNamara, Ortega, and Jones.

The very law firm that paid for the funeral services of their main, and only client.

“Yes?” Alisa's voice was barely a whisper. Her eyes beckoned at her father, wondering what he had to say to her.

His gaze was paternal, fatherly in ways Alisa's seen through the majority of her childhood even when he was busy with work to properly care for her.

“Are you alright?” Her father asked gently, “I know that you must be thinking of the changes that'll be made. What'll become of the law firm, the Hawthorne family…”

Alisa exhaled, holding her father's gaze a moment longer with her hand over his. “I'm fine, Papa. I'm fine.”

But her father was right; She had been thinking of the changes to come of what she considered normal up until today. Of the law firm, of who would be inheriting the Hawthorne foundation, what'll become of the Hawthorne family now that their patriarch had now passed— and that wasn't even bringing the forty-six point two billion dollars of the old man’s net worth.

It wasn't as silent as it was at the start of the funeral. Alisa took a good look at her surroundings, at the people around her.

Her father's colleagues, McNamara and Jones respectively, did what most of everyone was doing: Keeping their heads low to pay their respects to the old man.

Skye Hawthorne was the only one making any actual sound, sobbing to an almost comically loud extent. No one tried to get her to quiet down, and no one did.

Zara Hawthorne-Calligaris and her husband, Constantine Calligaris, sat beside Skye. Where Skye was flowy fabrics and oversharing, Zara was pencil-skirts and pearls.

Zara’s expression was borderline unreadable, but even Alisa could notice the small glance the woman had stolen at John Oren, the old man's personal bodyguard and head of his security team.

The Hawthorne grandsons were… a different story.

They've known the old man the longest, Alisa’d pointed out the obvious in the confines of her mind.

Grayson had his elbows on his knees, his hands obscuring most of his face; Jameson had a small frown, looking up at the ceiling; Strangely, it was Xander that had the more unreadable expression of the three.

Three. Alisa frowned. Not four.

She turned to her father. “Papa.”

“May I be excused?”

“Hm?.. whatever for?” Asked her father, a slightly raised eyebrow creasing his features.

Alisa pursed her lips, squeezing her father's hand assuringly. “It'll only be for a moment.”

Once her father conceded, Alisa had politely excused herself from the solemnity of the funeral ceremony.

⊱───────────────⊰

Where is he? The purse of Alisa's lips tightened. There were four Hawthorne grandsons, and yet one of them had already decided upon himself to leave early.

It didn't take Alisa a long time to spot the beat-up motorcycle amongst the sea of cars parked near the property; and for a second, she remembered a small memory where she pestered its owner about getting it dismantled for parts.

It was no use, Alisa shook her head dismissively, making her way to the eldest Hawthorne grandson right as he mounted that piece of junk.

“Nash.”

Nash Hawthorne stole a glance at her and raised a brow. “Lee-Lee?”

“What’re you doin’?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I'm leavin’.”

“In the middle of the funeral? Right before the burial?” Alisa knew the rocky relationship between Nash and his grandfather, but even she was appalled by this behavior.

“‘Hate to break it to ya, Lee-Lee, but Skye's waterworks ain't exactly pleasant to listen to.” Nash remarked, switching off the engine of his motorcycle and sitting to the side to face Alisa directly.

“I don't think that's a good enough excuse to leave in the middle of your grandfather's funeral.”

Alisa crossed her arms. Nash looked at her with those piercing eyes, looking at her up and down.

Lifting a hand, Nash grazed Alisa's cheek ever so slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear. And Alisa wished it didn't have the kind of effect on her the way it did.

“You know exactly why I'm leavin’ early, Lee-Lee.”

Because of your grief, because of your family, because of the old man. Alisa paused, her body tensing up at her last thought.

Because of me.

When she said nothing, Nash hummed, adjusting the worn-out cowboy hat he wore like a crown on his head.

He turned on the engine, revving up his motorcycle— all the while he maintained eye contact with Alisa Ortega; A girl who, if circumstances were different, would've been his wife.

“You take care, Lee-Lee.”

And there he went, driving out of the property without so much as a second thought. Away from all things Hawthorne. Away from Alisa.

Alisa looked down at the ground with clenched fists, a tightness in her throat as she whispered that self-made mantra over and over again.

“Never lose your heart to a Hawthorne.”

TAGLIST

None so far . . .

[heartpiercer]

LFC - Marsira Ith’valin

「 general information 」

FULL NAME: Marsira Elayne Ith’valin

NICKNAME(S): Mar, Mars, Marsi

TITLE(S): The Heartpiercer, of the Unseen Path

AGE: 182

DATE OF BIRTH: June 27th

RACE: Quel’dorei

GENDER: Female, cisgender.

PRONOUNS: She/Her

ORIENTATION: Bisexual

MARITAL STATUS: Single, never married.

PROFESSION(S): Mercenary, sharpshooter, dragonrider, ranger of the Unseen Path. Former Farstrider (Captain), Ex-SI:7 (Director)

LANGUAGES: Thalassian, Common, Draconic, Sign

「 physicality & appearance 」

HAIR: Crimson red, wavy, shoulder blade length

EYES: Deep blue

HEIGHT: 5’10”

BUILD: Mesomorphic; muscular and athletic. Archer’s build.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:

A jagged scar that darts by the corner of her right eye and stops just below her left cheekbone

An odd fern-like scar on her left bicep that stretches down her arm.

Freckles dotted across her cheeks.

Green, dragon-like tattoos on her arms and torso.

COMMON ACCESSORIES:

A lip ring, center of bottom lip.

A tongue piercing

Dagger, heart and playing card earrings.

「 personality & traits 」

Reserved even on the best of days, Marsira is more often a quiet observer than she is an engager in conversation. She's a decent conversationalist when spoken to, piercing the person in question with her bright blue eyes all the while. There is a certain kindness there, shrouded from the world at large in the shadowy fog of snark and sarcasm; kept safe from those who would use and abuse it.

Despite her quietness, there's an overwhelming aura of confidence and power about her. She's blunt, and by her own admission is easily annoyed by those who prevaricate or don't speak their mind. She does have her moments of frustration that can turn into fiery outbursts, but it is not a common occurrence.

Want to know more? Interact or RP!

「personal information 」

HOBBIES: Whittling, blacksmithing, drawing, reading

SKILL(S): Archery, trapper, tracker, survivalist, sharpshooter, bounty hunter.

RESIDENCE: Elwynn Forest

BIRTHPLACE: Quel’thalas

AFFILIATIONS: The Unseen Path, Glove & Gauntlet

「 relations 」

SPOUSE: 

None.

CHILDREN: 

None.

PARENTS: 

Erzaen Ith’valin, father. 

Sylrise Ith’valin-Duskfeather, mother. †

SIBLINGS:

None.

OTHER RELATIVES:

None

PETS/COMPANIONS/FAMILIARS:

Her drake, a black dragon named Avoth.

A blue hydra named Ire.

「 habits & vices」

SMOKING:  never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

「 other/ooc 」

FACE REFERENCE(S):Katherine Mcnamara

VOICE REFERENCE(S): Janet Varney as Avatar Korra

ALIGNMENT: Neutral

SERVER: Moon Guard - Alliance

OTHER:

Although this is an Alliance-aligned character, she won’t outright attack those of the Horde; she is currently far more preoccupied with what’s happening on the Dragon Isles to be bothered.

I will not interact/roleplay with minors or anyone under the age of 18.

Though I am fine writing characters in more intimate situations if it is appropriate, do not try to force ERP or expect it in any way when writing with me. Should you do so, it will likely end in a block.

I will not write with godmodders (ex. never misses a hit and never gets hit, their character is so overpowered that they’re basically a god and can’t ever lose, etc).

[cassiawinters]

KAT MCNAMARA // have you seen CASSIA WINTERS around the crash site? we’re trying to make sure they’re still alive after the crash! according to the manifesto SHE/THEY is a TWENTY SEVEN year old NON BINARY**. i hear they’re known being a HACKER. CASSIA is also known to be ALTRUISTIC yet also AVOIDANT at times. we have a couple questions for CASSIA when we find HER, we heard something about a secret they might have? such as THEY WERE RESPONSIBLE IN PART FOR A CAR CRASH THAT KILLED TWO PEOPLE! (dev, 31, gmt, they/she***)

TW: Car Crash, Death, Awful parents, Addiction, Cass' personality in general

Cassia was taught from a very young age to hate herself and everything different about her. That she was wrong, a monster, and that she would only bring death and pain in her wake. Something she still believes to this day, it’s not something you just simply decide to stop believing when everyone you’ve ever loved died as a result of something you couldn’t stop. She has failed to protect everyone, and that, in her mind, just proves her father right in that regard. She has a lot of self loathing and self hatred.

But she is not her father. And she refuses to be associated with him. she doesn’t believe in his work either. She’s pro a lot of things that she was ‘made’ with the intention of eradicating and being used against. And while she’s not a people person, while the very thought terrifies her, she has no problem standing up and being in the way when it counts.

She’s a selfless person with an extremely altruistic nature. She sees nothing wrong in hurting in the place of others. Especially those more deserving of living and of being pain free. That isn’t limited to people she knows either. She would put her life in danger for a perfect stranger without even thinking twice about it. The nature to protect others, is very prominent in her. No matter how much she tries to play it off or act like its the same as anyone else would do.

She cares about people, and while she can’t really say it, she can definitely show it and she does in both subtle and not subtle ways. She doesn’t let anyone she cares about not know it, whether that’s through touch, looks, concern, or just constantly checking on them. Or even just using a softer voice with them, or listening to them more than she would a normal person. She’ll never walk away from anyone she loves. And make no mistake she does know what love is. And she is one of the people who loves deeply and without remorse over it. Both platonic and romantic. She rarely makes the distinction because to her they are both equally as important to her. One isn’t less than the other.

Part of her resistance to let the words be out there, to really throw her cards on the table, to even consider a relationship or lasting friendships, or anything else of permanence, is that she has a huge fear of abandonment. of being left again, of not being enough. She’s suffered so many losses, so many setbacks, messed up so many things, and hurt people, that she doesn’t think she ever can be good enough for any of that. Never mind deserve it.

She’s been broken and remade in the name of one man’s mad vengeance quest, and then broken again through even more tragedy and loss. But she clawed herself back up and rebuilt herself. She’s made of iron and steel. That’s the one thing people forget when they set out to break someone. To strip them down to nothing for their own purpose. They forget that the person knows what it’s like to be at rock bottom. To have nothing, they know what it’s like to go through the worst in life, and survive. And that’s cassia at her core. She’s a survivor. She will walk through hell and come out of the other side. No matter what you throw at her, no matter what you do to her, she’ll survive, she’ll push herself back up from the ground. Because she’s endured worse and survived. So she knows she can. And god help anyone who pushes her to that extreme.

She’s not hard to get along with or speak to, she’s a good person at her core, and as much as social situations make her uncomfortable, she won’t be rude about it, unless the other person is too. She tries her best, even though she's awkward and that’s all she can do. But if people start unnecessary drama, she’s out, she’s gone, she will climb out the window and down the drain pipe if she has to. That sets her anxiety right off and she doesn’t know how to deal with that. And she doesn’t think she should have to anyway. She has social anxiety, so she’s not the best at making friends. But she does try to keep the friends she has. Even if she can’t really handle a lot of attention.

Cass has a penchant for trouble. She has a sarcastic sense of humour which doesn’t help and she will make jokes to ease situations, or just because she thinks it’s funny. Even if it might not be the best time or place. Her mischievous nature probably doesn’t win her any points either. Another thing that probably doesn’t win her any favours with some people is that she won’t hesitate to call someone out on their bullshit.

She finds it almost impossible to trust people. It would probably be easier to win the lottery than it would be to earn her undoubting trust. She’ll always have that thought in the back of her mind that it’s a trick, that she’s going to end up betrayed all over again. Though she’s not intentionally cruel, she’s actually quite shy. But after her father all but tortured her, she finds it hard to accept kindness, her lashing out with words, and sometimes physically is just her way of trying to protect herself. It’s an unhealthy way to think but she knows no different

Though while she’s bad with trusting people, she does build up affection for people in her life and she’s naturally softer with them both emotionally and humour wise, without noticing. Her loyalty can be earned, if you can put up with her. And to those people she’s extremely protective of. There isn’t anything that she wouldn’t do for them. Legal and very much illegal wise. She would legitimately die for those she cared for. And while she can’t trust other people, she does help people if she can. Whether that be with giving them a roof over their head for a few nights or hurting someone who has hurt them. She’s a giving person deep down. and she knows what it’s like to suffer, and she doesn’t want anyone else to have to.

She doesn’t really advertise she’s a hacker to unknown people. She has circles she travels in that get her steady business, and if she feels like it she can hack into a huge business and siphon off some cash without them ever being able to trace it back to her. Though she’s only done that twice before, and neither was for her own benefit. It was for the benefit of people who needed and deserved much more than money from the companies that had fucked them over.

She was always a bit of a computer genius and hacks into anything no real questions asked, for money. It’s not her dream job, but it lets her feel like she has control. Control that she’d been missing all her life. and that’s a huge thing for her, to have control for once, It’s why she can freak out if she loses control of a situation. She never learned that not being in control isn’t always a bad thing.

Nobody’s perfect and i can see people not liking her at all. She’s insubordinate, reckless, impulsive, sarcastic. All that fun stuff that makes her not the most easiest person in the world to like. She might be a pacifist to some degree, in the regard that she doesn’t want to hurt or kill anyone, and she probably couldn’t take any more blood on her hands, but if she has to step on a few toes, or break the law. It’s worth it to her to protect those she loves.

Cassia never attended any sort of school or college, she never had a mainstream education. Though she was taught the basics in the program she was confined to. But there was something about that, that, when she was able to, she taught herself more than she needed to know. It was like she was trying to make up for things she had lost by proving to herself that she could hide scars and faults and damage under intelligence. And she is intelligent, she has a big iq, and she studies things for fun, even to this day.

People could say that Cassia has a high pain tolerance, but, with her, it’s not that she doesn’t feel pain, or cry out after a point. It’s that she’s just used to pain and torture. And as a recovering addict, she knows she can't take any sort of pain relief anyway, so she just got even more used to pain.

It’s true that she’d most likely have more of a reaction to emotional pain than physical pain, something that she was trained to be used to. She could get injured and not even notice she was bleeding. Because it’s something she was so used to that it doesn’t even register in her mind to check on herself. It just happens. She’s also stitched herself up more than once.

Cassia has trouble with doing nothing. She can’t really stay still, she always has to be doing something, Always has to be on top of things and stimulating her brain. She gets restless super easy and part of it is that she’s not good at thinking things through. She acts on impulse. She doesn’t wait she leaps into things head first with no safety net. Which is both a blessing and a curse. She’s always been impulsive.

She has a heavy heart, and she feels things intensely, especially negative things like guilt and remorse. She will forever carry the guilt of things she’s done and caused, of the people she couldn’t save. she’s hard on herself and she doesn’t let herself forgive herself. She doesn’t seek out forgiveness either. Doesn’t think she deserves it or ever will.

She’s the type of person to face her fears head on when challenged with them. Deep down she knows the only way to overcome something is to stand and face it. She spent years running from her problems, from everything she fears and it only ends in disaster. People get hurt, she gets hurt. But sometimes she forgets that she’s just a human being, that she can hurt and feel and fail. That she can feel fear and have things she’s scared of losing. Just like she has things she’s scared of.

Her own emotions are often strangled and pushed to the back burner, in aid of helping someone else, or in aid of not feeling them and their effects. She hasn’t cried in several years for example. And she knows she struggles with putting herself first, with dealing with her own emotions. But she’s a master at compartmentalising and acting like nothing is ever wrong or gets to her

On the fear front, Cassia is a nervous flyer, she hates being in small, cramped spaces. She loathes elevators, refuses to even get in them. It’s a fear dating back to where she lived most of her life in confinement. Forcing her into a situation like that is a guaranteed breaking point. She also has a fear of birds.

[jamilelucato]

2. Candy Store [hog. heathers]

Summary: This story is based on Heathers, the musical. It’s set in Hogwarts, back in the last year Tom Riddle studied there. Y/N is a Ravenclaw student.

Pairing: Tom Riddle x reader (later on)

Heathers Series || Musical Hogwarts List A/N: If you wanna be tagged, ask! There are references in this that probably don’t match the period so please forgive me and let it slide. This is short but next ones are bigger, I promise!

Tag List: @just-an-outstanding-auror @starcrossedyanderes @doctorriddle​ @cchris-a @truly-insatiable​

Life at Hogwarts was beautiful. You couldn’t remember how was it like before you had befriended the Heathers.

The four of you walked together everywhere, and because of them, people now noticed you. They would say hi, they’d give you candy. You had even received love letters — but no guy who did it was quite interesting.

The Heathers were complexed people, more than you could have ever imagined.

Heather McNamara was such a sweet and caring girl, but also an evil little thing if someone messed with her. Heather Duke was incredibly smart, even though she prefered to play dumb around cute guys and Heather Chandler. You couldn’t understand why would someone pretend to be stupid, but she never liked you much, so you never asked why.

Heather Chandler, however, was the exact same persona as the one she played around the rest of the students. She was a bitch, filled with mean words inserted in neutral comments. You’d think she could be complimenting you if you didn’t pay much attention to the real significance behind her phrases.

It was starting to be a bit hard to be a good student and a popular girl, so many times than you’d like to admit, you were avoiding Myrtle. It wasn’t with bad intentions, it’s just ‘cause you had no free time anymore.

At first, you two would gossip about the Heathers all night, but then you started needing the nights to study, and then for partying... Life was a mess, and you really didn’t want to drown Myrtle with you.

You’ve started noticing that the Heathers were generally mean for no reason at all. They’d make fun of nerdy boys and laugh at fat girls just because they existed, and that was making you uncomfortable, but you never said a thing because you didn’t think it was really your place to stop them.

Until one day...

“Y/N, could you write something for me?” H. Chandler asked, sitting down next to you at a table in the Library.

The other two Heathers followed her lead.

“Sure. Another forgery?” you asked since that was basically all they asked you to write because the Heathers knew you are good at it.

“Yes,” Chandler confirmed with a smirk. “Are you familiarized with Ram’s handwriting?”

“Ram Sweeney? From Gryffindor?” you asked, just to make sure you were on the same page.

“The one,” validated H. Duke, chuckling.

That was going to be an easy one. You knew all about Ram because of Myrtle. She couldn’t shut up about the bo — they were neighbours since babies and Myrtle had hopes he fancied her back. You highly doubted but never mentioned.

Heather Chandler gave you a piece of paper. “Write: I want you to come to the Gryffindor party this Saturday because it is time that you know how much I love you. We were meant for each other from the beginning, and I want to be with you. Please come to the party.”

While she dictated, you wrote it in your best attempt of copying Ram’s writing. It still seemed a little weird — Ram was dumb, he would never speak to someone like that, but who were you to complain.

It was going to be one hell of prank. Poor girl.

“What’s the name?” you asked, closing the paper and preparing to write the name of the girl.

The three Heathers exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

“Myrtle Warren,” said Heather Duke.

You stopped writing at the ‘y’. “What?”

Heather Chandler leaned closer to you.

“Just write, y/N,” she whispered in a very harsh tone. You gulped, finishing the name in the paper.

“You are not going to give this to her, are you?”

The Slytherin Heather laughed while the Gryffindor one simply smiled.

“No, I’m gonna keep it,” mocked Chandler. “Of course I’m gonna give it to her.”

And with that, Chandler stole the paper from your hands before you could say something.

“Heather, please don’t do it,” you said, getting up from your chair and following the Gryffindor around.

“Chill, y/N. It’s gonna be fun.”

“It’s gonna hurt Myrtle. Please don’t do it,” you asked again, this time attempting to steal the paper from her hands.

H. Chandler, who was finding everything funny, broke her smile and stared with a killer look at you. She walked away with McNamara on her side, and H. Duke was laughing at your face while you stood paralyzed.

H. Chandler was going to kill you for that. Damn it, what were you thinking??

You sat back at your chair, facing the Library’s door, hoping H; Chandler would come back with the letter still in her hands and saying she wasn’t going to do it.

That was not what happened, however.

She returned with a mad face, no paper in hands. Heather Duke smiled triumphantly, she was hoping for your downfall from the beginning. Only Heather McNamara didn’t look too excited. She had grown into liking you.

“Are we gonna have a problem? You got a bone to pick?” Chandler asked, raising her brows. She wasn’t afraid someone would scold her for the volume because no one would have the guts. “You’ve come so far, why now are you pulling on my dick? I’d normally slap your face off, and everyone here could watch. But I’m feeling nice, here’s some advice. Listen up, biotch!”

You tried to get up from the chair, to explain yourself, but Heather Duke didn’t let you.

“I like lookin’ hot, buying stuff they cannot. I like drinkin’ hard, maxin’ Dad’s credit card. I like skippin’ gym, scaring her, screwing him,” Heather Chandler’s voice echoed, but she seemed oblivious to the other students listening. “I like killer clothes—”

“And kickin’ nerds in the nose!” added Heather McNamara, with a smirk.

“If you lack the balls, you can go play dolls. Let your mommy fix you a snack,” that wasn’t the first time they mentioned your mom with a mocking tone. They hated your pureblood status.

“Or you could come smoke, pound some rum and coke, in my Porsche with the quarterback,” continued Heather Chandler, getting closer to you.

“Time for you to prove you’re not a loser anymore,” said Heather Duke, ruffling the sleeves of her green coat.

You gulped. What did they want you to do? There was any chance you could get away from them alive?

Gosh, how fast your popularity could be destroyed!

“Guys fall at your feet, pay the check—”

“—Help you cheat,” McNamara added for Duke.

“All you have to do is say goodbye to Shamu,” Heather Chandler looked at you deep in the eyes. It was more than a suggestion. It was an order — popularity or your best friend.

“That freak’s not your friend. I can tell in the end if she had your shot, she would leave you to rot!” said Heather McNamara, hoping she was making your decision easier.

The Hufflepuff Heather was sometimes unaware of the cruelty of her friends.

“‘Course if you don’t care,” she continued, noticing you were still confused about your options.“Fine! Go braid her hair. Maybe Sesame Street is on.”

Her tone had caught you by surprise.

“Or forget that creep and get in my jeep. Let’s go tear up someone’s lawn,” said Heather Duke, raising her left brow, finally letting go of your shoulders since she was holding you down in the chair from the beginning.

“Honey, whatchu waitin’ for?” asked Heather Chandler, smiling innocently. “You just gotta prove you’re not a pussy anymore.”

“You can join the team, or you can bitch and moan,” said Duke.

“You can live the dream, or you can die alone,” said McNamara.

“You can fly with eagles or if you prefer,” Heather Chandler unbuttoned her red suit, placing her hands on her hips. “Keep on testing me and end up like her,” she whispered the last part, opening a space so your friend Myrtle could walk in as if the Heathers knew she would look for you eventually.

Perhaps they were the ones to suggested it to Myrtle.

Your lifelong best friend passed through the Heathers with an uncertain look, but she smiled when her eyes caught yours.

“Y/N, look! Ram invited me to the Gryffindor party! This proves he’s been thinking about me!”

“Colour me stoked!” you swallowed before pretending to be surprised.

“I’m so happy!” she exclaimed, before walking away from you and the Heathers.

Heather Chandler watched the whole conversation with steady eyes, analyzing every word you said.

You got up from the chair and walked towards the Heathers, who waited next to a book shelve.

“So? I did what you asked; I said nothing to Myrtle,” you said, frowning in despair.

“Well, then, welcome to my candy store,” said Heather Chandler with a weird smile.

That was enough for Heather McNamara, who jumped to your neck, hugging you with all her strength. She was happy Chandler forgave you. In the other hand, Heather Duke said nothing before walking away.

Heather Chandler stepped away at a slow speed. She looked you up and down.

“You are dead,” she declared, whispering, and she smiled like a villain from an old movie as if she had not just said the most aggressive thing ever.

[theplanetm4rz]

a sickly satisfaction (ch.4)

pairing: jason dean/reader

summary: a death sentence isn’t the weirdest thing anyone’s ever gotten in high school (by fall out boy)

warnings: bullying, the heathers are Mean as usual.

notes: we are getting close to the end kind of so i actually will not be posting two chapters today. i am evil and fucked up. also friendly reminder that if you know me irl uh. no you don’t. and dont read this

taglist: @stuckysdaughter

            ** 3RD PERSON POV **

            Eyes down. Walk fast. Stay close. Well, actually, their eyes aren’t down. No, they’re constantly flicking upwards to gaze into their companion’s eyes, the fleeting glances sending waves of comfort through their bodies. They’re walking fast, their footsteps in sync as they walk down the hallway to their fourth period class. He doesn’t have class with her, but he didn’t care. It’s not like he had never been late before. The two are certainly close; their fingers are laced together, the soft contact helping each other stay grounded. If it weren’t for this, they probably would’ve floated off by now.

            Jason Dean felt like everything had fallen into place. He found someone perfect-- someone smart and funny and so damn beautiful that it almost hurt to look at her. Her voice is more beautiful than any bullshit Mozart could even hope to write. He would kill for her. He would give his life for her. If she asked him to pull a star out of the sky and hand it to her, he’d enroll in a space program and get the largest rope he could find. Jason’s eyes darted around the hallway, shooting daggers at anyone who dared look at her in a way that displeased him. His stream of thoughts was a constant flow of her, her, her. It was almost overwhelming. 

            Y/n’s entire body was on fire, bright orange flames sprouting from her feet and weaving around her fingers. She feels no pain. The only thing she feels is him, the way they fit together like puzzle pieces. Her brain doesn’t really… work when she’s around him. It’s a whirlpool of adoration and enamorment and a vague feeling of wonder. She’s almost embarrassed that she’s come so smitten with someone-- she used to scoff at the pairs in the hallway that we’re practically eating each other alive. Now? She was counting down the seconds until she could be behind closed doors with Jason. 

            “Alright, I have to go to class,” She sighs. Neither of them want to be apart, but neither of them had a real choice. 

            “Or we could skip and get a slushie…” Jason suggested, his eyes pleading that she’d go with him.

            “Jason, we can’t keep skipping. We’re gonna end up repeating senior year.” Her hand raises up to brush hair out of his eyes. 

            “My dear, I’d repeat senior year a hundred times if it meant I could be with you,” He purred. Y/n smiled.

            “You’re cute.” she pecked him on the cheek. “But I can’t. I’ll meet up with you afterwards-- there are only two periods left in the day,”

            “two periods, seven hundred years-- it’s all the same for me,” He whined. With a final peck on the corner of his mouth, she pulled away from him. 

            “I swear, once school is over, you’ll have me all to yourself. No interruptions.” The shrill ring of the bell shrieks through the hallway, and Y/n hurries away from the beautiful boy she has wrapped around her finger. He watches as she walks away, his heart swelling as he dreamily leans against the lockers behind him. Jason Dean had never been in love before-- he wasn’t sure he would ever be in love. Yet, here he is, calculating how much time there was in between now and the end of the day; calculating exactly how long he had to be apart from her. 

            Y/n’s seventh period class was chock-full of assholes and jocks and the most infamous teenage girls in the school. She sat in the back corner, carefully hidden away from the rest of the class. However, no matter how hidden she thought she was, the Heathers always seemed to find their way into her corner. 

            “Oh, Y/n, how lovely to see you,” Heather Chandler said with faux-happiness. “Looks like they never fixed the electricity in your house, since you obviously got dressed in the dark,” Her clique of brainless followers giggled, their laughter so high in pitch that it was as if only dogs could hear it.

           “I guess she doesn’t care if she looks like she fell out of a plane,” Heather McNamara chimed in.

            “And I guess you three don’t care that you look like clowns. Heather, you’re wearing so much foundation that your face is a solid three shades lighter than the rest of your body,” She wasn’t speaking to any Heather in particular, just the general unit that is The Heathers. Scoffs echoed from the three of them. It was almost funny, their in-sync attitudes and in unison reactions. Y/n wondered if they all get their period at the same time, too. The thought grosses her out. 

            “Listen here, skank, you better watch your mouth or this whole school will throw you out onto the street,” Heather C. growled. I rolled my eyes. The other two Heathers walked to their seats as the teacher strode in, but Heather Chandler stood her ground.

            “Heather, one day you’re going to wake up and realize that you’re never going to have this kind of power again. I think you’re afraid of leaving Westerburg, because then you’ll be nothing more than a sour memory,” Y/n hissed. 

            “Alright, that's it, freak. Savor your last day on this Earth, because come tomorrow morning, you’re done. Might as well kiss you boy-toy goodbye and start packing now, because you’re a dead whore walking,” With that, Heather spun on her heel and walked to her desk. The teacher at the front of the classroom looked uninterested in the interaction, and began droning on about something or other. 

            The cocky attitude Y/n had built up faded, burning within her into a pathetic pile of ash. Heather had the school in her palm, she could absolutely get Y/n exiled from Westerburg like a priest can excommunicate any skeptics. Veronica gleaned at Y/n from across the room, shooting her a smile that was both sympathetic and apologetic. She sighed.

            For the rest of the day, a cloud of dread hung over Y/n head, and Jason noticed it immediately. He appeared at her side within seconds, concern consuming his body like it was fire and he was dry grass. 

            “Hey, doll, why the long face?” His voice soothed the gashes that the Heathers’ pitchy giggles left. 

            “I’m fine, Jason--”

            “No, you very much are not. Last time I saw you, you looked like you were walking on clouds, and now you look like you’re trapped under a cumulonimbus. Just tell me what’s goin’ on and we’ll take care of it,” His hands found hers with ease, his slender fingers gripping her hand tightly. 

            “It’s just... Heather and I got into an argument and now she’s pledged to ruin my life by tomorrow morning. Tonight, she gets to party away at some frat house while I finalize my will and draft my last words,” Y/n sighs, exasperatedly. 

            “Well… I guess that means we’ll have to make the next--” he checks his watch, “-- sixteen hours worth your while,” Jason’s eyes flash with something unfamiliar but certainly welcome. 

            “School is over, after all. I did promise that you’d have me all to yourself, didn’t I?” Y/n smirks, and Jason's face flushes bright red. As the two of them walk out of the crowded building, Y/n forgets about the Heathers and her impending doom. Instead, she thinks about Jason, and how he seems to be the only good thing in this godforsaken world.

[coldairballoons]

Saw u wanted starkid fic asks.. number 48 with McNamara and Wilbur/Wiley bc there is not enough of this ship out there

There was a before.

Before the portal was opened, before the Black and White.

Before, when John Macnamara and Wilbur Cross were laying in their beds, facing each other from across the room.

The two men were freshly graduated cadets, recruited by a shadowy government organization that promised a future.

A future that only one of them would live to see, but neither knew it yet.

Wilbur laughed a bit, tossing a popcorn kernel at John. The roommates had celebrated with a movie night, but by the end of The Notebook, there had been more tears, and someone had decided to call it a night.

(It was John.)

“Fine fine fine.” Wilbur nodded, scooching up in his bed so that his back was propped against a wall. “Truth or dare?”

John pretended to contemplate the question, before his face broke out in a shit eating grin. “Dare.”

“I dare you to… shit, prank call… Howard Goodman.”

“What? No way, man, he’d hate me.”

Wilbur laughed again—and launched popcorn at John once more. “Do it, coward.”

***

There was a before.

Before the portal, before the Black and White.

But after.

The two men were still roommates in PEIP headquarters.

But there was something more there. Of course, not many roommates share whiskey-flavored kisses and cuddle in the dead of the night.

And good evenings, like after John has gotten promoted to general, most roommates don’t make love while moonlight streams in through the topmost window of their room.

John and Wilbur were not most roommates.

John stretched, lighting a cigarette as he watched Wilbur’s sleeping form, silent and still except for his soft breathing. The light from the window illuminated his naked chest, and after a few moments, his dark eyes, as they blinked awake.

“Hey, darling.” The new General Macnamara whispered, and Wilbur yawned, scooting up and pressing his chest to his lover’s back, wrapping his arms around his front.

A few kisses were placed on the light bruises and scars and nicks that littered John’s back and neck—it was one of Wilbur’s favorite pastimes to lie with him and try to kiss every one.

“Sleep well?”

Wilbur nodded, a soft mumbled “Mhm” escaping his lips. The same lips that kissed behind his ear a few seconds later.

John turned around, wrapping his lover up into a tight embrace. “I love you, you know that?”

And again, Wilbur nodded, leaning in and pressing his forehead to John’s, smiling softly. “And I love you.”

***

And there was an after.

After the portal.

After Wilbur left him.

General John Macnamara was alone in the Black and White. His voice echoed, his heartbeat thudded in his eardrums.

“Wilbur, I know you’re here.”

It was worth a shot.

“You can’t hide forever, you know.”

And he didn’t.

Wilbur Cross was not dead, as John soon found out as the other man’s hand wrapped around his throat.

“So,” Wilbur grinned, the same grin he once loved, turned into a maniacal grimace, “still here, are you?”

John spluttered, and grasped. He couldn’t fight him, he wouldn’t.

But he had to.

“You made me want things I never thought I could have, Johnny.” Wilbur grinned again, cocking his head to the side. “You made me feel love. What kinda bullshit is that?”

The hand on his throat grew tighter, tighter…

And then there was black.

***

There was a before.

And an after.

In one, both survived. Both lived.

Both loved.

In the other, neither could find the light.

And love?

Well, Wiley knew love was just some bullshit made to sell valentines.

[vesperione]

It Started With A Whisper

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901156

Wordcount: 3,060

Relationship: Xander Lee/John McNamara

Tags: The Apotheosis, transition from non infected to infected, songfic, phone call, angst, crying, last words, flashback.

Full fic below 

A flash of golden hair and two hands slamming down on the table, the face of pure rage over the bustling in the room. “I said SILENCE!” He roared, and his agents seemed to get the idea. They silenced themselves and looked down to their table, except one, who was a physicist and remained looking up. The general didn’t stop. “We are in a situation where the spores could spread to become a pandemic worldwide, ending humanity as we know it! We know thanks to Lieutenant Lee that the origin of these mutating spores came from the meteor that crashed into The Starlight Theatre last night during the touring production of Mamma Mia! We know these spores in particular alter DNA to mimic someone in a musical, but once you get infected, you’re dead. We must not panic and remain safe!” He said and glared at each individual soldier, his eyes lingering on the Lieutenant’s face beside him. It was worried, sad, fearful. He looked away first, and the general took a breath.

“Any remaining survivors must be shot dead, once in the head, once in the heart. We don’t know who is infected. The plan after is that we incinerate the corpses of the dead, destroy any last spores with fire and blow the meteor to shreds. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” A chorus of voices rang from around the table.

“I wish for Lieutenant Lee to stay behind and as for the rest of you? You are required to head straight to your stations and do not move once you are there! PEIP will be in lockdown once everyone is in the correct position. Dismissed.”

With that, the shuffle of chairs against faded carpet, the soldiers left, aside from two. The Lieutenant remained sitting down, his hands putting his head in their hold, while John, pull a chair beside him, placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Dear, a lot of people have died, and it is our duty to make a clean sweep of the island. We can’t allow any others to die today.”

“But if you go out there, there’s a higher possibility that you will die. You can’t go out; you won’t make it back.”

“Xander, listen.” John looked down to his husband, his hands placed in a firm clasp. “We are strong. We are McNamara’s.”

“No, you’re a McNamara, we got married illegally.”

“Regardless, you’re my husband, and you’re the strongest man I know. The McNamara’s are the strongest family in Hatchetfield, we’ll be fine.”

“No, we won’t. Things are indefinitely gonna change whether you make it back or not.” John looked to the Lieutenant, just in time to see a tear drop on to the glass table. He bit his lip and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll make it back.”

“Stop lying to yourself, John.” Xander said, his voice shaking as tears continued to fall down his face. “If you go, you’re gonna die. You know that, deep down.” He looked up to face his husband. “The agents we’ve already sent out have died, you know that, I know that, Ben knows that, and you’re gonna send yourself into the epicentre?”

“Xander, you know it’s not like that.” John looked at him, trying to reason, but he shook his head.

“Speaking from a Lieutenant’s point of view, if our general dies, the entire precinct goes down with it. I’m aware Colonel Schaffer is prepared to take over PEIP at any sudden chance you go, but PEIP will never be the same. It won’t be General McNamara’s precinct anymore. Sure, you’ll get your place on the PEIP Hall of Commemoration, but there’ll be a new leader, new rules.”

“I know but-“

“And as your husband, who the fuck am I going to come home to every night aside from the cats?” He looked up at John and took in the slight grey thunderbolt streaks that clashed with his stormy blue skies of irises, creating the picture-perfect storm on what could have been a blank canvas. It was a while before John broke his eyes away and stood up. “No, John! You tell me! You can’t run from this! You can’t run from the pain you’re gonna cause others if you step out that door!”

“It’s hard enough as it is for me to have to leave you, but as the general of this god-forsaken branch, it’s my duty to protect the remaining agents while they stay in the precinct and calculate a cure! You will be one of those to go into your lab and get working!”

“Yet I can’t go with you?!”

“You don’t have the current training!”

“Stop trying to fucking protect me, John! I’ve been here since 2007 and you treat me like a Private most of the time! I’m a 35-year-old Lieutenant with a degree in theoretical physics and I’m fully trained as a medic! I have the training, so why are you sacrificing your life instead of mine?!”

“Because if I have to watch you die, then what’s the point of trying to go on, Xander?! I’d be alive, yes, but I’d only be surviving! If I had to watch you die, then I wouldn’t be able to call myself a married man and the person who kept me alive wouldn’t be there to comfort me. I’d be down, I’d be so down, and I’d end up dead anyway! I’d prefer it if you stayed here, under my orders, and for you to stop being so damn stubborn with me!”

“Me? Stubborn?!” Xander laughed tearfully and looked at him. “You’re the stubborn one! You run from your problems instead of solving them, you bask in your insecurities instead of delving upon them, you-“ But he was cut off by the familiar feeling of John’s semi-chapped lips against his own. John’s hands were cupping his face, and John was standing on his toes to kiss him better. Xander couldn’t help but hold his waist as he kissed him back. He didn’t want to be the one to pull away, and he didn’t think John would want to be the person either, so he could feel the kiss deepening. Eventually, John’s face left his, but his forehead was pressed to the physicist’s. The soft thumb attached to John’s hand wiped away the bead of salt that threatened to roll down Xander’s face.

“Hey, baby,” John started, his eyes closed and his voice quiet. “I’ll be home by ten. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Xander said, a soft whisper in his voice as John moved away from his husband, not before he dropped his wedding and engagement rings in Xander’s fist. Before Xander could process it, he was gone.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

(a JEIP is a peip officiated jeep)

John started up the JEIP, hearing Xander’s music playing through the speaker. He immediately switched it off. He’d rather not be reminded of his husband as he accepted his fate.

His husband, his smart, incredible, the pure definition of ‘tall, dark and handsome,’ Xander James Lee. His mind was like no others, and John had hired him on the spot. They started dating within a year and got married two years after. They’d both cried when they’d gotten home that night. It had been illegal, and they both knew that, but they had each other. He was John’s new addiction, aside from the cigarettes, and Xander became the only thing he thought about ever. When Xander spoke, sometimes it sounded like what John was being given was fiction, but it was only because John’s mind was struggling to piece together the creative aspects of Xander and the complicated phrases he uttered. It didn’t matter. John was a sorry sucker for the smart, and he found that this kind of thing happened all the time. He was an easy target to gain a crush on someone, but he rarely acted upon it. If Xander hadn’t kissed John in his office to begin with, he wouldn’t be married to the smartest guy in town.

He shook his head. Thinking of Xander would make everyone worse. He started driving deeper into the centre of Hatchetfield to reach Hatchetfield High, the school where he suspected there’d be a few survivors, if any. The grey haze around him soon became a paler blue. He locked his doors and windows, but he feared it was too late.

It started with a whisper. It was only the smallest thing, but it was in the back of John’s mind, and he knew he was gone.

He doesn’t love you.

“ No, John, ignore it.”

And you don’t love him.

“ Of course you do, you’re married to him, don’t cave in.”

That was why you kissed her when you were drunk.

“John, you only kissed her when you were seventeen, it was internalised homophobia and we didn’t know Xander back then.”

But you liked the way she felt against your lips.

“No. I didn’t.”

And then she made your lips hurt.

“Shut up.” The voice was getting louder, and it was being sung to him.

But we can hear the chit chat, so take us to your love shack-

He hit the breaks and he jerked forward, panting at the memory. It was internalised homophobia, and nothing came out of it. He was left in silence until he heard the voice sing again.

Mama’s always gotta back track, when everybody talks back.

He growled and got out the car, lighting a cigarette. He was in Hatchetfield High, or near enough to it. He held his gun in his hand. He had to go and find any survivors and eliminate them.

--------------------------------------------------------

Eventually he did. He found a tall, flimsy man with brunette hair who looked a lot like Xander aside from the pale skin. John grabbed a chair as the man became conscious, groaning with pain. The voice had gone away, and the general was having an internal debate as to whether he was truly infected, or whether his mind was convincing him he was. Either way, he was beginning to get scared. He’d broken his promise to his husband, he’d lost the fight.

“Sorry for the knock in the head, son. What’s your name?”

“Uh, Paul…Matthews.” The guy said, and John smiled reassuringly.

“Good evening, Paul. My name is General John McNamara of the United States Military, special unit P-E-I-P, we call it PEIP.” He said as he took a seat, facing the taller man.

“PEIP? I’ve never heard of you guys.” It was clear he was confused, which was the correct tactic. No citizen outside of PEIP should know what the army base was. Even if a member had a husband or wife or kids who didn’t work there, they were strictly forbidden from knowing what PEIP was. If information got leaked, it would traumatise a lot of people. They had to be careful who they hired and had to ensure they remained to have top secrecy 24:7. It wasn’t fair on the innocent citizens for them to be placed in a situation like that, and immediately begin to panic. He’d watched it happen when his mentor, Wilbur Cross, was unintentionally too loud when discussing a case they had to work on. Needless to say, that woman lost her life that day before she could spread rumours.

John shook his head at the faint memory, quick to come up with a joke to make the situation more light-hearted and less threatening as he’d been taught during his training.

“And you never will, not a peep.” He grinned, but Paul’s fearful, brown eyes remained wide and dilated. John sighed and took another drag on the cigarette. “That was a joke, son.” Only then did the song begin to start up again.

Hey, honey, you could be my drug. You could be my new prescription.

John froze as Paul started asking questions about the scene. The song was back, and he was losing hope about himself. John answered the questions the best he could, explaining how they dealt with crises of a certain nature and such. Then he bought up the helicopter, and Paul perked up. When John stood up with Paul’s phone in his hand, he went to throw it until he heard the song again.

Too much could be an overdose, all this trash talk make me itchin’.

John swallowed and decided to only throw it a short distance, beginning to get scared. Him and Paul continued to make short conversation about his crush, Emma, and where to go. Once Paul ran out the building, John headed back over to the phone. The lock screen was nothing special, and he didn’t know the passcode, but he was able to swipe on to the emergency phone call section. He had Xander’s phone number memorised, so he typed it in, sitting against a mat on the floor, leaning against the wall as the song continued in his head.

Oh my, my. Everybody talks, everybody talks. Everybody talks, too much.  

John felt tears prick his eyes, grateful when he heard the static of the other end picking up.

“Xander Lee, theoretical physicist speaking, how may I help?”

“Hey, baby.” John said, unable to stop a smile from forming as it always did when he heard Xander’s voice.

“John! Shit! Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I swear.” That was a lie. The song was getting stronger and he was starting to feel a faint rhythm in his veins. He was getting scared. Maybe he wasn’t making it home…

“You sound panicked.”

“I’m ringing to ensure everything’s running smoothly back at HQ. Is it?”

“As smooth as it can be.” Xander’s sigh was heavy, pulling his entire weight down with him. John found himself sinking further down into the ground at the sound. “But I’m okay. I’m in my lab and I haven’t let anybody in. I’m quarantined.”

“Good.” John said, moving his beret more over his hair. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I understand. You’re doing what you have to do. You’re the general, I should have trusted you before-“

“Hey, sweetheart, don’t play the blame game now. It’s okay and I’ve forgiven you, understand?”

“Understood, John.”

“Good.” John said, clutching the edge of the mat as the beat began to become something similar to an annoying itch. He began to tap out the beat on to the carpet beside him with his other hand, trying to keep fighting the virus that consumed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And I can’t wait for you to come home, I know you’ll be able to do it.”

That seemed to trigger something inside of John, and something slipped out of his mouth that wasn’t supposed to. “I never thought I’d live to see the day, when everybody’s words got in the way.” He was still speaking, but the beat was as clear as day. Luckily, he heard Xander laugh over the phone. His soft laugh that was rare to hear. John was the only one who heard it lately.

“You’re still annoyed at me for trying to stop you from leaving earlier, aren’t you?” Another laugh followed. “I knew you would, I’m not surprised.”

John couldn’t hold back any longer. He had to tell Xander the truth. He was gone, and he was falling quicker. He had to say goodbye while he still could. “Hey sugar, show me all your love. All you’re giving me is friction.”

“John?” The question was meek and scared, the tone of the call immediately fading. John never used that pet name. Something was wrong. He knew John wouldn’t have rang otherwise.

“Hey, sugar, what you gotta say?” Another way to reveal John wasn’t himself anymore. He hardly abbreviated his words and was unable to keep himself fighting the infection. He felt weak, and he knew he was. He fought back for consciousness as tears formed more in his eyes. What was worse was Xander’s panicked voice.

“John, what’s going on?!” The frantic clicking of keys on the other end of the line signalled to John that Xander was trying to access John’s medical information stored in John’s watch. He took a breath. He had to admit to Xander the truth.

“I’m sorry, Xander. But it started with a whisper…” He was quiet himself, trying to prevent sobs.

“No! Don’t you dare, John! Don’t you dare!”

“And it felt like the first time I kissed you, when you made my lips hurt.”

“You are staying alive! I’m working on a cure, I nearly have it finished! I’ll get you back!”

“And suddenly, I could hear a conjoined group of voices in Hatchetfield all singing in one harmony…there was a lot of chit chat regarding a situation that turned into a song… and I’m sorry.”

“John! You’re lying!”

“Take me to your love shack.” He slipped up and heard a sob come from the other line, or maybe it was a scream. “I’m sorry, Xander, I’m trying to fight but it’s heard when everybody talks back, everybody talks, everybody talks-“

“John, keep fighting-“

“Everybody talks, everybody talks.”

“I’ve almost gotten the cure!”

“Everybody talks, everybody talks back….I’m sorry, I love you.”

“John, fucking fight!”

“Say it back, Xander! I love you!”

“I-I love you too!”

The phone hung up and John threw it until it smashed on the ground, letting the warmth fill his body as his own thoughts became clouded with the hives own.

“It started with a whisper, and that was when I kissed him.” A smirk formed on John’s face as he looked to the damaged glass he’d left on the floor. He pulled himself up, like a puppet controlled by a master. “Everybody talks, everybody talks back.” He took a final glance at the room before he walked in the same beat as the new song beginning to form. It was close enough to eleven o’clock at night. There was a guy with a moustache he didn’t recognise, but he was talking about the military and his American pride. John would have scoffed, but this wasn’t John. He drew his gun and shot him, grabbing the man’s shoulder. Xander didn’t exist to the hive. Xander was weak. Xander could be thrown away. John couldn’t. His smile was stained blue as he looked to the bleeding man.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told, but American’s should fit a mould…”

[ijustwantjohnmcnamaratobehappyok]

If you're still taking requests, can I please get some hurt/comfort with Erik and William? I'd love to see how that dynamic works between them. (Either way is fine, although I'd prefer Hurt!Erik/Comfort!William if you're willing!)

Here you go! Sorry it took a few days.

The music is playing softly in the background as William flits around in the kitchen working on reheating some leftover pizza from a night or two ago. Erik was off on a bit of a longer mission so he isn’t going to be home tonight and William didn’t really feel like cooking anything just for himself. 

Just as he’s putting the pizza in the oven the song gets cut off by his phone starting to ring. He closes the oven door and walks towards the kitchen table where his phone is sitting, scratching Bella on the head as he passes her. He scoops his phone up and answers it, not checking to see who’s calling. “Hello?” He asks cheerfully as he brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hello William. It’s General McNamara.” Usually, when William talks to John it’s in a casual setting such as a family movie night, but there was no hint of the familiarity that he’s used to in the other man’s voice, it’s professional and a bit… cold almost.

“Is everything okay?” William is a bit nervous, it can’t be a good thing for John to be calling him right now. 

“Erik was brought back to HQ a few hours ago. He sustained several injuries ranging from minor to severe. He’s in stable condition now, and Elizabeth is confident that he will make a full recovery. She’s going to keep him in the infirmary for a few days.” John didn’t let his professional tone slip, but William can tell that he’s worried. 

“Oh my god. I… can I come see him?” He was already getting ready to as he asked, confident that the answer is going to be yes. He pulls the pizza out of the oven and discards it, no longer feeling hungry. He turns the oven off and grabs his coat off the back of the nearby kitchen chair and makes his way towards the door. 

“Of course William. Do you think you can make it here safely? Or would you like me to send someone to pick you up?”

“I can make it.” 

“Okay. I’ll let the agent’s on duty know you’re coming and I’ll meet you at the entrance.” “Thank you. For calling me.”

“There’s no need to thank me son. I’ll see you soon.” John’s voice is just a hint softer as he says this and that somehow manages to calm William ever so slightly.

The travel to PEIP HQ is a blur and William doesn’t remember really any of it. John keeps his promise and the moment he sees William he wraps his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug that William immediately melts into. 

“He’s alright William, he’s alive. We got him in time.” John mumbles reassuringly in his ear.

“Can I see him? Please?” 

“Of course, he’s still asleep right now, but I’m sure that doesn’t make much of a difference to you.” John pulls away from the hug and leads William through the winding halls of PEIP towards the infirmary. They stop in front of one of the doors and John gestures for him to go in. 

William hesitantly opens the door and steps inside, his eyes immediately land on Erik in the infirmary bed. Erik has bandages wrapped around his right arm and on at least the top of his chest that William can see peeking out from the blanket he's under. There’s a large bruise on his left cheek and a small cut adorning both his lip and the top of his left eye. He looks so much smaller than usual wrapped up like that and it hurts William’s heart. 

William silently walks over to the chair someone had left on the left side of the bed and sits down on the edge. He takes Erik's left hand in his own, careful of the I.V. coming out, and runs his thumb across the back of Erik's fingers, his thumb bumping against the other man's wedding ring every time he passes over the ring finger. A small smile creeps across William's face as he remembers the argument Erik had with John about being able to wear it on his hand during missions.

Most agents who are married put their wedding ring on the same chain as their dog tags when they go out on missions. John and Xander had gotten so used to having them there that they just keep them on their all of the time. Erik, however, was so excited to be married that he never wanted to take the ring off his hand. John has been against it at first, saying that if anything were to happen and Erik got captured it would be an easy thing for them to target, threatening a significant other to try and get information. Erik pointed out that having it on a chain around his neck would be just as noticeable. John eventually gave in and Erik was allowed to wear it on missions. Sure, they’ve had to replace it once or twice due to it getting lost or damaged during a mission, but it made Erik happy, so William didn’t complain.

  William is pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a soft groan and Erik’s hand twitching in his grip. He turns his attention to Erik who’s eyes are slowly fluttering open. His gaze slides across the room stopping when it lands on William.

“Hey there soldier.” William’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper. Erik’s lips twitch, a small smile gracing his features for a moment before it’s replaced with a look of confusion. “Will, what-” His voice is rough and Erik cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “What’s going on? I was on a mission and I…” he trails off and he’s clearly trying to remember what happened. William wishes that he could fill in the blanks for him, but he doesn’t know much. “I got a call from John telling me that you had gotten hurt on the mission and were brought back early. He let me come in to see you.” William explained softly and Erik seemed to accept that, squeezing William’s hand and giving him the smile that William was never able to resist. Anything Erik asked of him while smiling at him like that William would give in, no doubt about it. 

“Will you hold me?” Erik’s voice has a smile to it, like he knows that William isn’t going to say no to him. 

That doesn’t mean he’s not going to try. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea love. I don’t know what kind of injuries you have and I don’t want to make any of them worse.” He glances over Erik’s injuries again, focusing mainly on the bandages wrapped around his chest.

“You won’t, I trust you.” William sighs, feeling the small bit of resolve he had quickly melt away. 

“Scoot over.” Erik does so moving to the far edge of the infirmary bed and rolling on his side so he’s facing William. He pats the bed in front of him, causing William to roll his eyes before gently getting on next to bed next to him. He pulls Erik into his arms and Erik cuddles into his chest.

“You know, you’re lucky I love you.” He says as he kisses the top of his husbands head and he can feel Erik smile as he replies. 

“You’re right, I am pretty lucky.” 

“Go to sleep dear, I’ll be here when you wake up.” William softly runs his hand up and down Erik’s arm. “I’ll hold you to that Mr. Hebert.” He yawns as he speaks, nuzzling his face deeper into William’s chest, soft snoring following a few moments later. William smiles and lets his own eyes flutter shut, the adrenalin from the day wearing off now that he has Erik safely in his arms. This might not have been the way that Willam was planning on ending his day, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. 

It could have been much worse after all.   

[breakthefifthwall]

TGWDLM au where Emma was the only one who died in Hatchetfield

This is one of the endings I wrote for my tgwdlm game, and I figured why not post it here. Hope you like it!

By the way, this is not a spoiler for the game. This is just one of several endings I have planned.

Emma’s worst nightmare

“Everyone, please listen carefully. I am handing out the things you need to start your new lives. Social security cards, passports, plane tickets to your new locations. You will be escorted to the airport by a Mr. Ben Bridges.” Colonel Schaffer began to leave the room.

Bill spoke up. “Excuse me, Colonel, but are you sure there were no other survivors?”

The colonel gave a deep sigh. “We’ve been through this, William. There were no survivors. Unless that’s what you want to believe.”

Bill sat down in the hospital waiting room, confused. It had been two weeks since the meteor came down in Hatchetfield. Two weeks minus a day ago, he had been through hell. He fought with his coworkers, he had to run away from his job, and he lost his daughter and best friend. Alice, whose last thoughts were how it was all his fault. And Paul, the man he had known for years. The man who gave his life to make sure he came out alive. Now, Bill had nothing. No home, no work, no daughter. He couldn’t even go see his ex-wife because he couldn’t let anyone connect him, a survivor, to the Bill who “died” in Hatchetfield. All he had were his two coworkers, Ted and Charlotte, and whoever this Ben Bridges guy is.

Meanwhile, Ted and Charlotte sat across the waiting room. Charlotte reflected on her past two weeks. She had cheated on her husband, yes, but she knew she didn’t love him. And she had left him to die. She knew he was heartless, but she still felt guilty for leaving him. But she realized that her heart belonged to Ted, the boy who worked down the hall from her desk. He was better than Sam. She reached over to hold his hand, and Ted held her hand tight. He knew what she was feeling. As cocky as he had been before, he knew she felt scared and vulnerable.

The door opened, and Ben entered the room. Everyone stared in awe as they recognized him as the man who had supposedly given his life to save them.

“Paul?” Bill finally broke the silence. Paul nodded, and gave a weak smile. They walked slowly to each other, looked each other in the eyes, and for the first time, hugged each other. Bill was the first to let go, and he asked “What happened? How did you survive?”

Paul took a deep breath. “As soon as I blew up the meteor, all the aliens fell dead. But the people were all still infected, they just weren’t as connected. I got out of there as fast as I could. I found General McNamara’s body, and I used his radio to call for help. Colonel Schaffer picked me up and took me here, and told me I’d be taking a few people to the airport. And here you are.” Paul’s voice cracked on the word “here.”

Bill knew what Paul was thinking. “We’re here, Paul. You have us.”

Paul has tears welling up in his eyes. “Not everyone. I couldn’t save her. She was murdered right in front of me, and I couldn’t do anything.” Paul held Bill and cried into his shoulder.

Bill held Paul back. They weren’t the closest of friends, but they still had a connection. After all, Paul had saved Bill’s life at the school. Bill tried to console him.

“I know it’s hard, Paul. We all lost people. But you’re lucky. At least she loved you.”

Paul stepped back. “She... what?”

“It’s obvious, Paul. She was into you, and you were into her. Which is more than any of us can say. My daughter died thinking I hated her.”

Ted stepped forward. “And Charlotte list Sam. Sure, he was a dick and a scuzzbag, but he was her husband. We all lost someone, Paul. And you’re lucky that your loved you.”

Paul sat down, feeling dizzy. “I just... Emma... all she wanted was to avoid dying in Hatchetfield. And that’s exactly what happened. I let her die in Hatchetfield.” He put his face in his hands and broke down in tears, full of conflicting emotions.

Bill sat down and put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Paul, you saved so many people. Me, Charlotte, Ted, and the world. Emma would be proud of you.”

Ted sat on the other side of Paul. “See, that’s what happens when you go for the head.” He chuckled at himself, but quickly went silent as his joke failed to lighten the mood.

Bill looked up at Ted. “If you make one more crack like that, I’M kicking your head.”

That got a chuckle out of Paul. He sat up and smiled weakly at his friends. “You’re right, I did save the world. And I’ve got you guys. Too bad the world can never know we survived Hatchetfield.”

They chatted a little more until Colonel Schaffer returned and told everyone it was time to go. They left Clivesdale not as coworkers (mostly because they weren’t employed anymore), but as friends.

The gang moved out to a little city in Missouri. Bill decided to become a therapist, hoping to patch relationships between other parents and their kids. A few blocks down from the apartment, Ted and Charlotte bought a house together. They eventually got married and had kids. Paul moved in across the hall from Bill. He spent his days working at a new office job and surfing the web. And every day, he would drink a black coffee and remember the girl he loved, Emma Perkins.

[wiggly-blue-shite]

McNamara backstory:

I mean y’all know how much I love him, but that doesn’t stop me from writing something that will make me cry. I’m sorry.

John McNamara (does he have a first name?) joined the army straight out of high school. His family is aggressively American, and his dad was in the army so there wasn’t any other really obvious path for him.

He’s extremely intelligent and valuable, so he climbed the ranks remarkably fast. On his way up the ranks he met Mason. McNamara spent his entire life trying to follow the American Dream, a beautiful wife, wonderful kids, a loyal dog, and a house with a white picket fence. That faded away as he looked in Mason’s eyes.

Mason was loud and rude, but hilarious and passionate. In no way was he domestic. But McNamara didn’t care! That didn’t matter. He understood what his mom meant when she said that “Love is unpredictable,” and “everyone finds the love of their life in time”. He had expected the love of his life to be a quiet pretty little lady named something like Maggie. But he found Mason. Amazing incredible Mason!

Mason didn’t enjoy this line of work. He was forced into it by a hyper masculine family. But it lead him to McNamara. Everything happens for a reason, he supposed.

When McNamara eventually got ranked up and moved away from Mason, he made sure to find time to visit him. Their meetings were wonderful but tragically brief. They kept up these meetings trying to fight off the feeling that they were drifting away from each other.

Then John’s father died. He would never get to meet Mason. He would never get to see that his son had found the love of his life. Along with other things, McNamara inherited a beautiful old pocketwatch with three simple words engraved into it, “Time is Precious.”

Time is precious. They were wasting time not being together. So both Mason and John requested to be discharged. They were going to explore the world together. Miraculously, Mason was granted the discharge. McNamara was not so fortunate.

“It’s fine, darling. At least one of us will have a stable job.”

Mason moved in with McNamara. He took a little jobs here and there, but McNamara was the real breadwinner. They spent as much time as physically possible together. They were not going to waste their finite time on this planet. They could never say “I love you” too often. They could not kiss each other too often. Every moment they spend away from each other felt empty.

They couldn’t legally marry. That fact devistated McNamara. He loved his country and he loved fighting for it. In the eyes of his country they’re just what? Wacky roommates? Mason was far less bothered by this, but McNamara just couldn’t let it go. He got them wedding bands that they never took off. They had an unofficial ceremony. McNamara promised to always protect Mason.

One day McNamara and his squad were sent into a nearby town close to the base he was stationed at. A town had seemed to go crazy. They’re killing each other. They had to finish them all off.

It seemed incredibly inhumane and off protocol. McNamara didn’t understand why his squad was put on this. It was the worst thing he had experienced in his line of work. Something was terribly wrong with these people. Their eyes glowed green. They did seem human anymore. Instead of helping them, they’re just mowing the down, with no regard for their humanity.

McNamara got home to Mason that day everything was fine. He relayed the day to a comforting and understanding Mason. Everything was right with the world here with him. Until.

Later that night Mason started acting very peculiar. McNamara was worried. He seemed almost like those people...

McNamara recalled something his father once told him. “This job will sometimes make you see things that aren’t there.” Thats it. It’s just a little shell shock. Everything is fine.

But it wasn’t. Mason’s big brown eyes flashed green.

NO

Not him please.

God please.

But it’s too late. Any chance to save him was gone by the time his eyes flashed.

McNamara could never love again. McNamara didn’t want to get out of bed. He couldn’t comprehend it. There was an empty space in bed next to him.

-

Knock knock knock

McNamara hadn’t been to the base in what felt like years, but turned out to only be a week. Only a week! How could he live the rest of his life at this agonizing pace?

He opened to door to a woman in full uniform. McNamara could bare to put his uniform on. He didn’t recognize her. He assumed she was a new recruit, but her badges said otherwise.

“Are you Major John McNamara?” The slightly intimidating woman spoke it a commanding voice.

“Who’s asking?” McNamara didn’t have the will for manners. Mason was always good to those who showed up at the door.

“General Leila Bennet.” She was turse. McNamara didn’t care for her, but he respected the title. “I need to speak with you.”

“Come in.” McNamara gestured her into the now dark and joyless house.

She stepped inside. McNamara gestured her to the dining room table. They say across from her. McNamara didn’t have the strength to maintain the posture he was trained to keep.

“I would like to speak to you about a slight career shift.” McNamara didn’t know if he’d ever be able to work again. He doesn’t need to make money to buy food, if he couldn’t stomach anything.

“Career shift?” McNamara assumed this job was still within the military.

“You recall the mission you had a week back.” She didn’t specify. Of course he remembered it how could he not.

Their eyes.

They seemed to talk as one.

Chills ran up McNamara’s spine.

“Yes.” McNamara didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted to forget it. He didn’t want to live in a world where that could happen to a person, let alone an entire town.

“They seemed to not be human anymore.” She didn’t look him in the eyes. “That’s becuase they weren’t humans, anymore.”

“What?” Not humans? How could they not be human. Mason was like that. He was human. He was.

Was.

“I’m not authorized to say any further. Unless you accept.” Why was ah so vague? Something happened to those people! McNamara thought that the executioner should get to know the crime that the dead committed.

“Accept what?” McNamara was getting extremely angry. He didn’t want to deal with this. Let him grieve in peace.

Yet the aching curiosity to know what happened, lingered. He failed to protect him. He wanted to at least know killed him. There’s no chance of saving him, but perhaps he could be avenged.

“We’re called PEIP. We investigate and eliminate threats similar to the one you observed.” She talked precisely still not making eye contact. “Consider that mission an interview.”

An interview?

A FUCKING INTERVIEW

“My husband is dead because of that mission.” McNamara wanted to scream. It took all of his already diminished might not to explode. “And you call it an interview.”

“Husband?” Her voice had a faint tone of mockery in it.

She comes into my house and...

“If you would kindly, GET OUT.” McNamara had no ounce of patience left.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to him?” Her voice was steady.

McNamara just wanted him back.

But maybe he can stop something like this from happening to someone else’s Mason.

“I’m listening.”

-

Time is precious. He had so little time. So little time with Mason. So little time before everything turned blue.

[californiadreaminghq]

SPOTLIGHT

NAME: Carmen Ridley FACE CLAIM: Katherine McNamara AGE: 25 TITLE: The Night Flyer OCCUPATION: Crew Member for Violent Vale DREAM: Carmen’s dream is to join a band or even establish her own. She’s a bit of a musical genius, having mastered the guitar and cello from a young age, and going on to discover her love of singing and the bass. After leaving her sleepy hometown in rural Pennsylvania, Carmen is on the hunt for any opportunity to showcase her musical talent.

INTERVIEW

If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?

“Play my music and tell my stories. I don’t care if I have to start a band on my own from scratch, sitting in some garage and living a starving artist’s life. Hell, I’m already a starving artist. Give me a stage and a voice and I’ll sing for the world.”

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

“Oh, Rome would be awesome. Just think of all the art and culture. That’s where the Colosseum is, right?”

What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?

“I get things done. I’m not like all those people who sit around and refuse to let their dreams carry them. I left everything behind and risked it all just for a chance at success. I’m not there yet, but wait a few years and I will be.”

BACKSTAGE

Carmen Elizabeth Ridley was destined to be a musician from the moment she was born. Her mother had played piano for their church every Sunday since she was a teenager, while her father played guitar in a bluegrass band. Her older sister faithfully studied the violin, her younger sister chose the piano, and Carmen was trained on the cello from the moment she could hold a bow. She grew up in Tionesta, a sleepy town in northwestern Pennsylvania with a mere 700 residents and little to occupy her time. After begging her father to teach her guitar, Carmen began to save up her meager allowance until she could afford her own child-sized guitar. Music was Carmen’s first love and greatest passion, though she also enjoyed painting, often on the back of her family’s barn where only the cows could witness her talent. Though she excelled in music and art, Carmen was a poor student whose mind wandered during class and whose sharp tongue landed her in detention frequently. With two model daughters headed straight for college and one who barely finished high school, Carmen’s parents could only shake their head at their middle child, wondering what went wrong.

Carmen had no interest in higher education or fancy degrees, instead opting to work at the town’s hardware and gun store where she met John. His calm, reserved nature drew her in and the two became friends, then something more. The couple shared a love of the outdoors, a passion for guns, and they even attended the same church across the street from where they worked. At last, Carmen’s parents appeared to approve of something she had done. John delighted them and put the hope of a future marriage on the table, but Carmen cringed at the thought. Though she adored John, every time he spoke of building a house for her and their future children where they could live for generations, a restless feeling emerged in the pit of her stomach, though she didn’t understand why.

After years of being unable to make friends, Carmen found herself being welcomed among John’s friends. Though she remained committed to John and was very much in love with him, Carmen found herself growing close to Shawn, an oddity among the mechanics and farmers of the group. Shawn owned a record store in the next town over and allegedly, was attempting to start a metal band, garnering Carmen’s interest more than she would dare admit. She was content with John and the ordinary life they shared, even as she found herself tolerating him more than she enjoyed him. His love of cars was downright dull, his country music paled in comparison to heavy metal, his chewing tobacco disgusted her, and he was always a little too…conventional for her taste. It was then that Carmen began to spend more time with Shawn, not in a romantic sense, but as the brother she never had. The two collaborated on a number of songs, with Shawn composing the lyrics while Carmen put them to music. The legendary summer of ‘69 was the happiest one Carmen had experienced thus far. After a long day of work where she and John would sneak off behind the dumpster during breaks, she crept off to join Shawn in his garage, drowning out the sounds of the crickets at night with wailing guitars loud enough that the neighbors complained.

Then the news arrived that Shawn and Carmen’s favorite band, Violent Vale, was moving to New York City. Though Carmen’s family detested “the devil’s music” and couldn’t determine Led Zeppelin from Judas Priest, the Ridley household was abuzz. Carmen’s estranged uncle worked as the stage manager for Violent Vale and, at last, would be back in the States for the first time in years. As her family sat around the dinner table and questioned why her uncle would involve himself with a satanic cult of British druggies, an idea began to come to her. Just a week before, John had proposed to Carmen with a ring and a promise of a hopelessly ordinary life in Tionesta until they had enough babies to fill the house he had built for her in secret. She panicked, seeing no way out except to head to New York, find her uncle, and beg him for a job. It was only a few hours of a drive, and if working with the stage crew flopped, she and Shawn could build enough connections to turn their band into something worthwhile. After bringing it up to Shawn, he declined, refusing to run off with his friend’s fiance even if there was nothing between them. An argument broke out and ultimately, Carmen stormed out, grabbing only her guitar and leaving to find John, but not before returning home to smash her cello in the front yard with a hammer. She asked him to drive her to New York, claiming her aunt was sick in the hospital and it was a dire emergency. John obliged, unknowingly driving his fiance to her new life where she would never turn back to him.

With only the clothes on her back, a few hundred dollars in cash, and her guitar, Carmen asked John to drop her off at the doors of Bellevue hospital. When he asked if he should book a hotel to wait for her to return, Carmen responded that he shouldn’t bother. She never would return. She slipped the ring off her finger, pressed it into John’s hand, and ran off into the streets before he could follow her.

After a search through a phonebook for Craig Ridley, Carmen met up with her uncle at a pizza place and explained her situation, then offered her skills as an artist and a musician. Anything he would have her do, she was willing. At last, after what seemed like hours of pleading, Craig reluctantly agreed to find work for his niece at barely above minimum wage, only because he didn’t have the heart to leave her homeless in New York City. The crew placed Carmen where she was needed, whether it was repairing guitars, running to the store for more duct tape, cleaning costumes with mysterious stains, and so on. As time progressed, she began to use her artist’s eye to weigh in on lighting and stage decor, and she would often be the one to sit in the stage wings during shows to quickly change a broken string. Though she dearly missed John, and perhaps Shawn even more, Carmen felt that she had found where she belonged. But she wasn’t there yet, no, not until she was the one in the spotlight instead of the one hiding behind the speakers, waiting to carry out orders at the whim of the band.

When Vital Noise made the decision to send Violent Vale off to the West Coast division, where other people could attempt to manage their vices, Carmen eagerly awaited the change. That is, until her uncle quit his position, claiming he was tired of moving around until the band found someone willing to put up with them. He had established a life in New York and refused to give it up, though he urged Carmen to move west with the band. With her last connection to her family now severed, Carmen boarded a plane to California, bid her aunt and uncle farewell, and began another new life.

Some time has passed since Carmen’s arrival in Los Angeles. Nothing much has changed, with the exception of her working under a new stage manager and living in her own apartment, and she fit into the west coast lifestyle with ease. Her patience, however, is running thin. The work was exhausting and paid so little that she had to pick up a part-time job at a record store. She had grown tired of taking orders and, if she had it her way, she would be the one calling the shots. But although Carmen could sing and play, her songwriter was on the other side of the country in a sleepy Pennsylvania town. Whatever chance she had of making it big was overshadowed by the Violent Vale, and only time will tell if she can step out from under them.

[colinhawthorne]

(dominic sherwood, heteroflexible, cismale) [colin hawthorne] has been charged with protecting [seraphina reinhart/kat mcnamara] and has been marked with a [compass] on his wrist. the [four hundred/twenty-seven] [vampire/werewolf hybrid] is known to be [adaptable, loyal] & [mercurial, stone-faced]. may they succeed in protecting their charge until the war is over.

Oh man. Sucks to be Colin.

TW: violence

He was born in the early 1600s in England to an advisor to the King.

Not that anyone could know, given that Colin was that pesky little bastard child with some rando who worked in the kitchen. No one even remembers her in this narrative.

Well. Except for Colin. He remembers. He remembers her lullabies and her sweet voice. He remembers the way that she held him at night.

But Daddy didn’t last that long. He was found torn to bits one morning by someone working for the king. Everyone said it was a wolf attack.

Colin was taken from his mother and more or less adopted by some rando low level monarch lady who claimed she couldn’t have children. 

In reality, she was a werewolf, connected to Colin’s mother. The woman who raised him had gotten his mother the job in the first place, thinking it would be good for her.

His gene was triggered when he was 16.

The woman who raised him told him the truth. He was a werewolf. He didn’t believe her.

They fought.

He shoved her.

She hit her head against the wall and died.

The next full moon was v. hard.

Colin went into hiding for a few years until he could at least survive the transitional period without feeling out of control. He generally got a handle on it.

He was about a hundred years into dealing with this when he met someone.

Talk about love at first sight, am I right?

He never fully committed to her, knowing what he was, but... he couldn’t deny his happiness forever. Eventually, he proposed marriage and she agreed.

But he would not give her children. She never understood why and he refused to tell her.

Eventually, the secrets came to be too much. He left. Deadass got on a ship from England and came to America.

He milled about for centuries until he realized he could actually do some good with his life.

He began to seek out humans to protect from other preternatural creatures like himself. He was one of the first soldiers on the line before the war was even really a war.

When Colin got the chance to become a hybrid, he welcomed the transition. More strength, more power, meant that he could do more with this life.

Still lowkey (highkey) in love with the woman he left in England. Figures she’s hundreds of years dead by now, but thinks about her often.

He’s pretty into casual sex as a general rule. Commitment? Blech. Never again.

Sexually, he’s into women for the most part. But he’s not closed-minded and has had a run-in from time to time, ya dig?

Colin is pretty self-loathing, never really forgiving himself for what he did to the woman who raised him. Wonders, also, if his mother is still out there.

He seems to be prone to moods, but it’s just that he tries not to get too attached to people.

1000000% a soldier. But sees the importance in protecting the h00mans, too.

So HMU here or on discord to plot up this babe! Excited to get going!

[retro-pure-jdonica]

Friend on Friend, at the End of the End

Chapter 2-------------------------

I wake up the next morning to bright sunlight spilling in through my half-closed blinds. I walk over to the window and assume by the busy streets and sun positioning that it was around eight or nine in the morning. Not having fully explored the house I was temporarily assigned to yesterday, I decide to wander around for a bit as I wait for the girls to arrive. Yesterday Heather Chandler mentioned that by today I would be sorted into my guild, so I assumed that meant that they would come get me. If they take too long and I get hungry, I could always find something to write a note on and leave it hanging on the front door if I go back down to Main street to get food.

As I mindlessly wander around the house, looking into small rooms and cabinets, I begin to realize how quickly I had been welcomed into the state. They just let me in; no screening, no waiting, no examination, no nothing. At all of the other states I had encountered, which were numerous by now, there had been some long process where I was kept in cramped living quarters before being allowed to roam. They also typically took my stuff to either search for other weapons or to take away from me for good. Many states just downright rejected me.

They see people like me, the majority of the population, as some form of threat. Since we hop from state to state, they see us as disloyal or barbaric, unable to form bonds. Although, hopping from state to state is what we had to do. Ever since the initial Exposure and the collapse of the US government, no state that I had encountered had stayed stable for more than two years. I guess Politeia really did want to expand and take in more citizens.

My train of thought was soon interrupted by the high pitched sound of a doorbell echoing throughout the large, almost empty house. I saunter from the kitchen towards the small, wooden door. Upon answering the ring, I am unsurprisingly greeted by the three girls I had met yesterday.

“Hello, Veronica, are you ready to pick your job?” Heather Chandler asks me, her familiar cheerful voice raising my spirits.

“Sure,” I reply with a soft smile, stepping out onto the porch and following the three down the street. Now that I wasn’t being bombarded with information like I was yesterday, I take the time to truly examine my surroundings.

At first glance, Politeia looked very similar to many other states I had lived in before, at least before riots when the states were collapsing. Most states were formed a respectable distance from the bomb sites of The Attempted Wipeout, since it would be pointless to try to completely rebuild a city when there were other cities that were still in tact, so only a few of the buildings had major structural defects. No house or building was perfect; many had shattered or missing windows, broken fences surrounding them, or some damage to the roofing, although most of it was cosmetic. Yesterday Heather told me that the damage was catastrophic, but that appeared to be somewhat of an over exaggeration, possibly to make it seem as if the state overall has high standards. As we began to transition from the neighborhoods to Main street, the attempt at complete restoration became much for prominent.

Making glass was still a struggle, so many of the holes where windows once were had metal bars lining in them to prevent thievery. Once we approached the Town Hall building, it was made very obvious that the Town Hall was the focus of the entire subdivision. The clean and smooth exterior walls decorated with landscape and flower paintings and the sturdy wooden doors created a welcoming demeanor, and the charts and documents mounted to the front of the building, informing the common citizens on upcoming events, suggested order and stability; all of these were qualities that other states thrived to possess.

“So, this is our town hall for the northwest subdivision B of Politeia.” Heather Chandler comments as we enter through the large, heavy doors. “If you will follow me, the Occupation Wing is just down this hallway.” She instructs, and I do as told, as the soft muffled sound of our worn out shoes dragging against the cold stone flooring follows us as we walk.

“As we mentioned yesterday, there are six different major guilds as of right now; manual labor, social activities, education, domestic, speciality, and government positions, but as Heather also mentioned you have to be elected into that guild.” Heather Duke reminds me as we enter a large room with intimidatingly high ceilings, filing cabinets and workers at desks lining the barren walls. “Do you have any ideas as to which one you may be interested in, or do you want us to walk you through them a little bit more?”

I take a moment to ponder my options. I almost immediately ruled out manual labor and speciality; I was never very strong nor was I very crafty in the way that would be of value to the state, such as textiles or cooking. Education seemed very intriguing, and I have had past experience in teaching in other states. In fact, at the state I had just left about a week ago, Canora, I was an assistant at a foster home. I wasn’t around long enough to see a single child be adopted, and many of them died or were left behind when the state fell. “Could you tell me a little bit more about the education guild?”

“I think we can let Mac handle that one.” Heather Duke smiles, and I assume that she’s referencing Heather McNamara.

“Yes, I’m Heather McNamara, by the way.” She speaks up for the first time today, beginning to lead me over to a certain area. Leaving the other two behind. “So, with us being the welcoming committee of our subdivision, and rather high up in ranking for the social activities guild to, we all oversee another guild. I oversee education, while Heather Chandler has the domestic guild, also she’s highest ranking in the entire social activities guild for our subdivision,” She adds on once we’re completely out of earshot. “And Heather Duke has speciality. We currently offer free schooling, the older teachers have told me that it’s pretty much like what the term public schooling referred to back before The Exposure, for children aged four to twelve. We mainly focus on history, reading, and some theories and practices of survival. Do you have any past experience with education?”

“Not particularly education, but I have worked in foster care before.” I inform her as we approach a large filing cabinet and bookshelf under a hanging sign that read “education”.

“That’s great, but, if you don’t mind me speaking up, may I make a suggestion?” Heater asks kindly, a well-known caution in her voice.

“Of course.”

“I know that I don’t know you too well, but based off of how you present yourself, and the fact that I’ve already taken on somewhat of a liking for you, may I suggest looking into the social activities guild? You have a kind face and a very welcoming demeanor, and we’ve actually been looking for a fourth member of our welcoming committee. So, people just starting in the social activities guild typically have to take a few days of training first, but if it’s alright with you I could go ask Heather Chandler if she thinks you would be fit for the committee, and if she does you could just shadow us today and be on the job by tomorrow.” Heather explains to me, an offer which I am quick to jump on. This is my first official day here and I’m already offered a job rather high up the food chain that typically requires training, which is an absurdly generous offer.

“That sounds wonderful.” I smile, a small laugh trailing through my words.

“Great. I’ll go talk to Heather, but we will have to sort out some paperwork and right a statement saying that you will have an immediate jump up without the prerequisites, but it shouldn’t take any more than an hour. Also, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but after we dropped you off near your house yesterday the group discussed you a little bit and the other two seemed to really like you too, so your chance of acceptance is rather high.” She informs me, raising my hopes and getting me more excited by the second.

“Thank you so much for this, all of it.” I praise her once again, not even knowing how to respond to such a kind act.

“Of course, and while you’re waiting maybe you could have a walk around town, get to know the surroundings better.” Heather suggests and I nod along before leaving the town hall building whilst the others discuss my future. I take Heather’s suggestion to heart and decide to spend my time trailing around town, but staying close enough so that I’m easy to find once they decide if I’ll be accepted or not.

For being in such close proximity to a bomb drop spot during The Attempted Wipeout, Politeia sure was in good condition. Many windows of buildings were still in tact, you could see clear spots on buildings where they were patched up, and the streets themselves were kept clean. There were a multitude of trees sprouting up in empty grassy areas, but despite the chilly autumn wind there weren’t any dead leaves in the streets. At the cross section of Main street and Chrysanthemum, the street which the many neighborhoods fell on, there was a small park where a few children were at play, accompanied by their parents. There was only a single metal slide, but plenty of open land for exploration. As I begin to walk back down Chrysanthemum to examine the other neighborhoods, I notice a turn onto another street in the distance. It was too far of a walk to be back in time to hear the girls’ decision, but definitely on the table as a choice for future exploration.

As I reach about halfway down the road, it becomes very clear that the farther down you go, the better the houses get. The houses in my current neighborhood were all one story tall, and their original facades were dull, grey and brown bricks. Those were in great contrasts to the other neighborhoods, whose streets were lined with large two-story homes with extravagant front porches and smooth exteriors painted in light, fun colors. Some of the houses were decorated with white shutters or gingerbread trimmings.

After my short wander, I decide to turn back around to get closer to the Town Hall building. If they come out looking for me, I wish to be close enough to hear my name being called. Not any more than five minutes after sitting down on an old wooden bench on the porch of the town hall, Heather Chandler walks out of the large, wooden doors. “Congratulations, Veronica Sawyer, you are now the fourth addition to the welcoming committee of the northwest district of Politeia, subdivision B.” She smiles as she walks over to me.

“That’s amazing, thank you so much!” I express my gratitude, smiling widely.

“Of course. We’ll spend the rest of the day reviewing some of the state’s history and doing some shadowing, but by tomorrow you should be properly up and running on the job.” Heather explains to me, her crystal blue eyes making her energy all the more alluring.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?”

[rocktheboat-rp]

Welcome aboard The Kingdom, JESSICA FLANAGAN! We are so excited to share this once in a lifetime journey with you, and no matter your status, we hope you enjoy your stay aboard our most luxurious cruise liner. Alex, please submit Jessica’s account within 24 hours, making sure to read over these instructions carefully before sending in your link. We’re excited to write with you!

BEHIND THE CHARACTER.

NAME/ALIAS: Alex. PRONOUNS: She/her. AGE: 29. TIMEZONE: EST. ACTIVITY LEVEL: 6/10. In my best Tom Delonge voice - work sucks. I know. ANYTHING ELSE?: RFP!

FAMILY INFORMATION.

FAMILY: Flanagan. PARENTS: Connor & Bridget Flanagan. MARITAL STATUS: Married. HOMETOWN: Houston, Texas. FAMILY SIZE: 2. GUESTS/CREW: Guests. BACKGROUND: Ellis Island welcomed the Flanagans with open arms decades ago and since then, they’ve strived to be better than the generation before them. Connor Flanagan inherited the Flanagan empire as the sole beneficiary in his father’s will, and used a good portion of the money to build his own empire - Luxe Hotels, a chain of hotels spanning the US, and the United Kingdom.

YOUR CHARACTER.

FULL NAME: Jessica Rose Flanagan. FACECLAIM: Kat McNamara. AGE: 25. BIRTHDAY: April 16th. ORDER: Second. TYPE: Solo. GENDER: Cisfemale. PRONOUNS: She/her. SEXUALITY: Homosexual/homoromantic.

JOB SPECIFICS.

JOB TITLE (GUEST): CFO of Luxe Hotels (Northeast branch).

WHY THE KINGDOM? (IC)

Because my parents would rather have people think their daughter has a coke addiction and has gone off to rehab instead of having them know she is a recent divorcée. That, and she’s also really gay. How shameful for the Flanagans.

BIOGRAPHY.

Jessica Rose Flanagan was a firecracker from a young age, constantly pushing everyone’s buttons, but knowing that she could get away with anything and everything. She was the baby of the family, after all, and Connor Flanagan was nothing if not wrapped around her fingers. When push came to shove, Connor would undoubtedly and without a second thought do anything for her. That was his baby, and Jessica and her sibling were the reasons he and Bridget were so determined to build their empire, to see it grow all over the country and overseas, where their own great grandparents were from.

Even though Jessica loved being a menace, she knew just how to toe the line and never got caught doing anything wrong, never got in trouble, never put the Flanagan name to shame. They were an ‘important’ family, after all, and their last name demanded respect and honor - she knew that much, even when she was younger, and especially as she grew up and understood more about who they really were. To Jessica, it was mind-boggling to realize that they owned so much and had so much money, while others were struggling to make ends meet and put food on their respective tables. As she grew up, she realized that her parents were selfish, greedy, and stingy people who only cared about their own well-being and never paid attention to the struggles all over their hometown. Even though her parents could easily pay forty thousand dollars a year for a private school, Jessica demanded to go to a public school, like most of the kids her age. It was there that she met her - Taylor Bauer.

Not one to care about differences between her and others - she would always swear that the only difference was pieces of paper, anyway - Jessica was immediately drawn to her and quickly, without realizing it, had fallen in love with her. Taylor’s mother was different than her own - loving, warm, welcoming. Unlike Bridget, whose demeanor was cold and would always have a fake smile on her features, Samantha was different and Jessica found that the Bauer’s home felt like home. At times, she dreaded going back to her house, hating that she was leaving warmth for an arctic chill void of smiles or actual conversations. There were times when she couldn’t even remember the last time either Connor or Bridget asked about her day; she couldn’t remember the last time they went to her parent/teacher conferences or any of her lacrosse games. She understood that they were important business people and had an empire to run, but she would never understand why she had gradually been left in the dust. She was once the light of her father’s eye; she could never pinpoint the moment when that no longer was the truth.

Because of her struggles at home and her love for Taylor, Jessica decided to apply for a small school in Texas, just so she and Taylor would be together. It was a devastating shock to her when Taylor ended things. It was abrupt. It came out of nowhere and even now, Jessica doesn’t understand why the girl she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with broke her heart so suddenly.

The last thing Jessica wanted to do was to go to the same school as Taylor, and because she’d applied to and been accepted to Yale - Connor & Bridget’s alma mater - she decided to leave Houston for New Haven. At first, Jessica hated it there. She hated the cold, and she hated their accents. She hated the snow, and she hated their elitist, pompous attitudes. She hated the boy who was charming enough to get her parents off her back; she hated that he was the captain of the lacrosse team and a future politician. She hated that when she was drunk enough, she didn’t hate him at all and she hated that even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she would simply settle for and with him. Charles Vanderbilt, the boy who loved her even though she didn’t love him back. Charles Vanderbilt, the boy with the most elitist name who was everything Taylor wasn’t. The boy who Connor thought was perfect for Jessica, if only for his gender and money. They married the summer before their senior year in a ceremony held in his grandparent’s vineyard in California, and she hated all that too.

While Charles was furthering his career and interning for politicians in Massachusetts, Jessica was also in Boston learning the ins and outs of the Flanagan’s company - Luxe Hotels would most likely be hers in ten years, after all. Everyone that knew Charles and Jessica would think they had the perfect life, but they didn’t. If they even talked, they were constantly fighting. And when they didn’t talk, she was out at bars, drinking herself into a stupor and wondering just when her life had derailed so much.

After four years of the same thing day in and day out, Jessica filed for divorce and immediately explained to Charles that it really wasn’t him. Jessica explained that for the last seven years she’d been in love with someone else - a girl who had broken her heart. Jessica hated that she didn’t love him though, especially with how perfect his response was to everything. He was supportive, he was loving, he was happy that she was being honest and even more so that he could now understand why everything had gone downhill after they’d gotten married. Jessica hated that she couldn’t love him. Jessica hated that her parents were angry with her for letting go of a good thing and even more so for a childish love for someone who was worth nothing.

A couple of weeks after her divorce from Charles was finalized, Connor and Bridget learned of a cruise that would seemingly take all of their headaches away for a while. They would pay for Jessica to go away for a year to allow people to forget the scandal of a Flanagan divorcing a Vanderbilt; they would pay for her to think about what she’d thrown away and hope that she realized Charles was it for her and that in no way, shape or form was she homosexual. She was just confused, as she’d been all those years ago. This cruise would fix it, or so they hoped.

[californiadreaminghq]

Oh good, you made it!

Did you guys know Mandi was coming? She brought Carmen Ridley, The Night Flyer! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on the checklist. The band is just getting started – you have 24 hours to send in your account! We’re so glad you’re here!

I. OUT OF THE STUDIO

NAME/ALIAS: Mandi

AGE: 21

PRONOUNS: She/Her

                                                 II. ON STAGE

NAME: Carmen Ridley

FACE CLAIM: Katherine McNamara

AGE: 25 (will age up to 26 if Jane Levy ends up being the FC)

TITLE: The Night Flyer (From Fly by Night by Rush)

DREAM: Carmen’s dream is to join a band or even establish her own. She’s a bit of a musical genius, having mastered the guitar and cello from a young age, and going on to discover her love of singing and the bass. After leaving her sleepy hometown in rural Pennsylvania, Carmen is on the hunt for any opportunity to showcase her musical talent.

OCCUPATION: Crew member of Violent Vale. Has a part-time job at Wichita Wishes.

                                               III. INTERVIEW

Answer the following questions in your character’s voice:

If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?

“Play my music and tell my stories. I don’t care if I have to start a band on my own from scratch, sitting in some garage and living a starving artist’s life. Hell, I’m already a starving artist. Give me a stage and a voice and I’ll sing for the world.”

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

“Oh, Rome would be awesome. Just think of all the art and culture. That’s where the Colosseum is, right?”

What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?

“I get things done. I’m not like all those people who sit around and refuse to let their dreams carry them. I left everything behind and risked it all just for a chance at success. I’m not there yet, but wait a few years and I will be.”

                                               IV. BACKSTAGE

BEHIND THE MUSIC: Carmen Elizabeth Ridley was destined to be a musician from the moment she was born. Her mother had played piano for their church every Sunday since she was a teenager, while her father played guitar in a bluegrass band. Her older sister faithfully studied the violin, her younger sister chose the piano, and Carmen was trained on the cello from the moment she could hold a bow. She grew up in Tionesta, a sleepy town in northwestern Pennsylvania with a mere 700 residents and little to occupy her time. After begging her father to teach her guitar, Carmen began to save up her meager allowance until she could afford her own child-sized guitar. Music was Carmen’s first love and greatest passion, though she also enjoyed painting, often on the back of her family’s barn where only the cows could witness her talent. Though she excelled in music and art, Carmen was a poor student whose mind wandered during class and whose sharp tongue landed her in detention frequently. With two model daughters headed straight for college and one who barely finished high school, Carmen’s parents could only shake their head at their middle child, wondering what went wrong.

Carmen had no interest in higher education or fancy degrees, instead opting to work at the town’s hardware and gun store where she met John. His calm, reserved nature drew her in and the two became friends, then something more. The couple shared a love of the outdoors, a passion for guns, and they even attended the same church across the street from where they worked. At last, Carmen’s parents appeared to approve of something she had done. John delighted them and put the hope of a future marriage on the table, but Carmen cringed at the thought. Though she adored John, every time he spoke of building a house for her and their future children where they could live for generations, a restless feeling emerged in the pit of her stomach, though she didn’t understand why.

After years of being unable to make friends, Carmen found herself being welcomed among John’s friends. Though she remained committed to John and was very much in love with him, Carmen found herself growing close to Shawn, an oddity among the mechanics and farmers of the group. Shawn owned a record store in the next town over and allegedly, was attempting to start a metal band, garnering Carmen’s interest more than she would dare admit. She was content with John and the ordinary life they shared, even as she found herself tolerating him more than she enjoyed him. His love of cars was downright dull, his country music paled in comparison to heavy metal, his chewing tobacco disgusted her, and he was always a little too…conventional for her taste. It was then that Carmen began to spend more time with Shawn, not in a romantic sense, but as the brother she never had. The two collaborated on a number of songs, with Shawn composing the lyrics while Carmen put them to music. The legendary summer of ‘69 was the happiest one Carmen had experienced thus far. After a long day of work where she and John would sneak off behind the dumpster during breaks, she crept off to join Shawn in his garage, drowning out the sounds of the crickets at night with wailing guitars loud enough that the neighbors complained.

Then the news arrived that Shawn and Carmen’s favorite band, Violent Vale, was moving to New York City. Though Carmen’s family detested “the devil’s music” and couldn’t determine Led Zeppelin from Judas Priest, the Ridley household was abuzz. Carmen’s estranged uncle worked as the stage manager for Violent Vale and, at last, would be back in the States for the first time in years. As her family sat around the dinner table and questioned why her uncle would involve himself with a satanic cult of British druggies, an idea began to come to her. Just a week before, John had proposed to Carmen with a ring and a promise of a hopelessly ordinary life in Tionesta until they had enough babies to fill the house he had built for her in secret. She panicked, seeing no way out except to head to New York, find her uncle, and beg him for a job. It was only a few hours of a drive, and if working with the stage crew flopped, she and Shawn could build enough connections to turn their band into something worthwhile. After bringing it up to Shawn, he declined, refusing to run off with his friend’s fiance even if there was nothing between them. An argument broke out and ultimately, Carmen stormed out, grabbing only her guitar and leaving to find John, but not before returning home to smash her cello in the front yard with a hammer. She asked him to drive her to New York, claiming her aunt was sick in the hospital and it was a dire emergency. John obliged, unknowingly driving his fiance to her new life where she would never turn back to him.

With only the clothes on her back, a few hundred dollars in cash, and her guitar, Carmen asked John to drop her off at the doors of Bellevue hospital. When he asked if he should book a hotel to wait for her to return, Carmen responded that he shouldn’t bother. She never would return. She slipped the ring off her finger, pressed it into John’s hand, and ran off into the streets before he could follow her.

After a search through a phonebook for Craig Ridley, Carmen met up with her uncle at a pizza place and explained her situation, then offered her skills as an artist and a musician. Anything he would have her do, she was willing. At last, after what seemed like hours of pleading, Craig reluctantly agreed to find work for his niece at barely above minimum wage, only because he didn’t have the heart to leave her homeless in New York City. The crew placed Carmen where she was needed, whether it was repairing guitars, running to the store for more duct tape, cleaning costumes with mysterious stains, and so on. As time progressed, she began to use her artist’s eye to weigh in on lighting and stage decor, and she would often be the one to sit in the stage wings during shows to quickly change a broken string. Though she dearly missed John, and perhaps Shawn even more, Carmen felt that she had found where she belonged. But she wasn’t there yet, no, not until she was the one in the spotlight instead of the one hiding behind the speakers, waiting to carry out orders at the whim of the band.

When Vital Noise made the decision to send Violent Vale off to the West Coast division, where other people could attempt to manage their vices, Carmen eagerly awaited the change. That is, until her uncle quit his position, claiming he was tired of moving around until the band found someone willing to put up with them. He had established a life in New York and refused to give it up, though he urged Carmen to move west with the band. With her last connection to her family now severed, Carmen boarded a plane to California, bid her aunt and uncle farewell, and began another new life.

Some time has passed since Carmen’s arrival in Los Angeles. Nothing much has changed, with the exception of her working under a new stage manager and living in her own apartment, and she fit into the west coast lifestyle with ease. Her patience, however, is running thin. The work was exhausting and paid so little that she had to pick up a part-time job at a record store. She had grown tired of taking orders and, if she had it her way, she would be the one calling the shots. But although Carmen could sing and play, her songwriter was on the other side of the country in a sleepy Pennsylvania town. Whatever chance she had of making it big was overshadowed by the Violent Vale, and only time will tell if she can step out from under them.

                                                   V. ENCORE

https://www.pinterest.com/amalorgos/the-night-flyer/ (A poorly organized pinterest board)

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5da3KFiA1qM7b0KRYJgnhb?si=UFT3Sq4TTkqOq1Ip8HfAqA (A short playlist)