#it was all McNamaras idea and she got them while they were asleep

[constantly-contrary]

[vixen-rae-posts]

Veronica owning colored chicks Part 4

As Veronica started leading them to the Garage the red chick in her palms chirped louder at the sudden rush of wind that passed them by, and was now trying to make itself seem smaller in Veronica’s palm.”Oh Heather you're freezing now, this is why you're not supposed to go out” Veronica said to the red chick. “The chick can handle a little cold Veronica” Heather Chandler said rolling her eyes “Such a pillowcase”. Veronica turned to Chandler and replied with “Heather, baby chicks typically die from the cold” as she said this they opened the door to the Garage and was immediately hit with louder chirps at the sight of them.

At the corner on top of a desk stood a crate box with the side’s taped with duck tape. Veronica approached crate box opened the duck tape less lid and put the red chick in, she then proceeded to take out the loudest chick chirping and presented her to the stoplight trio. “Heathers meet Heather McChick” Veronica said introducing the chick, as if the chick understood what she said she flapped her wings a little. Heather McNamara was now looking like a kid on a candy store, and so she shouted excitedly “Hi!!! Heather!” looking down at the chick. 

Heather Duke ignored the ear piercing excited scream and looked over the crate box to look for the green colored one. On top of the small lid bowl filled with bird feed eating was a Green colored chirping chick. Heather Duke turned to Veronica who was entertaining and teaching Mac how to properly hold the chick. Both the yellow chick and Heather McNamara look excited to see each other which was quite an adorable sight.

“Ronnie? What’s the green one’s name?” Duke asked Veronica. The Blue clad girl then proceeded to look shy because she replied with “Heather Duck” quietly. Both Heather Chandler and Heather Duke raised one eyebrow at the name while McNamara was still occupied with the yellow chick.

 “I’m a Duck?” question Duke.

“No no no no no Heather Duck is still a chicken it’s just..... The name fits the theme...” Veronica said looking down with a red blush at her face.

All three Heathers giggled at this, with Mac now paying attention to the others. While the Heather’s were admiring how beautiful Veronica looked with a cute blush. A red Chick jumped over the crate box and proceeded to go down to the floor unnoticed while staying seemingly quiet. The yellow chick in McNamara’s palm saw her fellow chick and chirped at her while she walked out onto the floor falling down. Mac surprised at the sudden movement was not able to stop the chick from falling and when she looked down, the red chick and yellow chick looked like they were having a conversation.

“Awww Heather looks like we’re Best Friends as chicks too” Mac gushed at the chicks while looking at Chandler who rolled her eyes again. Veronica smiled at this and went to the crate box and took out the green one who seem to not want to leave as it was still eating and placed the chick onto the floor. Heather Duck then went to the other chicks and the three chirped louder together. Heather McNamara and Heather Duke crouched down to look at the chicks while Heather Chandler choose to loom over all of them. 

The stoplight chicks sensing supposed danger from unknown humans scattered across the Garage away from the Heathers. Duke sighed at this and stood up, while Mac stayed down pouting. The Heathers attention were now on Veronica though as she took out the last chick, this one was significantly smaller than the last three and looked like it was sleeping on her palm. 

Veronica placed the chick on the ground in front of the Heathers and the chick got down to the concrete floor but stayed seated. The beady eyes of the Blued colored chick looked at the Heathers one by one then proceeded to close them looking like it was asleep. 

“Heathers this is Blue Bird” Veronica said as they all looked down to the blue chick. McNamara still crouched down approached the blue chick, once she placed her hand gently on Blue Bird, the chick opened her eyes and just stared at her. Mac smiled at this and picked up the chick the way she was taught, and showed the chill seated blue chick to the other Heathers. While Veronica told the Heather “Can you guys watch over them for a while? I need to clean out the crate and refill their food and water bowl.” The Heathers nodded to Veronica.

 At once Veronica took out the food and water bowl placed them on the nearby laundry sink and took out the newspaper lined with bird poop. Crumpling the newspaper then throwing it out to the garbage bin, she opened a top shelf and took out another clean newspaper and laid it out on the crate box.

While Veronica was cleaning, the Heathers all started doing other things. Heather McNamara approached Heather McChick with Blue Bird in her Hand and the yellow chick walked to Mac and was chirping at the blue chick. Both chicks now in her palm McNamara watched as the yellow one was chirping even more while the blue one seemingly slept through the loud noise.

Heather Duke was approached by the green colored chick, while she was leaning in the desk watching Veronica, Duke saw Duck and crouched down to look at her and the two interacted, with Heather Duke smiling slightly.

Heather Chandler remained the only one standing and just looked over the red chick still running around. 

Veronica now finished filling up the food bowl with bird feed and the water bowl with water. Turned to the scene at the Garage and smiled at the Heathers interacting with what she called her children once she was attached to the chicks. Even if Chandler just watched afar with a small smile at her face. Veronica then whistled and the red and green chick ran up to her, while the blue and yellow chick stood up, fell down from McNamara’s palm and ran to Veronica too. One by one the chicks were picked up by Veronica while she placed them on the crate again. The last chick picked up was Heather Chicken and she was still shivering despite the closed window and door. Veronica looking worried placed her on the crate and took out a small heater. Placing it over the crate with the setting low to not burn the chicks. 

The Heathers watching Veronica’s worried faced just wanted to kiss it away and tell her they’ll be fine, but shook their heads at the thought. Her attention caught by the shaking heads, Veronica turned to the Heathers and smiled at them then told them. “Well guys you met my children” she said chuckling a little. “You should go home now my parents are coming home soon”.

The Heathers nodded at this while staying quiet. Which Veronica thought was odd but didn’t think too much into it, she was tired from the day of introducing the chicks and cleaning their cage, that all she wanted to do was write in her diary and possibly take a nap. The Heathers now in Duke’s car driving away, were all individually thinking that Veronica just called the chicks her children. Each Heather was now making solo plans in their head because children usually needed two parents.

Right?

/ OG Idea / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 5 / Part 6

[jamilelucato]

1.Beautiful [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: first chapter! Here you get a vision of this world I built but soon Tom will make an appearance. Hope you enjoy it! If you wanna be tagged, ask!

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

---

September 1st, 1943:

Dear diary, I believe I’m a good person. You know, I think that there’s good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of senior year! And uh... I look around at these kids that I’ve known all my life, and I ask myself—what happened?

Another year back at Hogwarts. Your parents were excited — you, not so much. Not that the school wasn’t great, but you just couldn’t take the other students anymore.

Your family was pureblood and that generally meant some sort of status. Not anymore — the most popular kids in Hogwarts were either half-bloods or muggle-borns, so you and some fellow friends that were also purebloods were generally bullied. They saw you as potential threats, and you couldn’t understand why. It was not like purebloods wanted to see muggle-borns dead; most of you just didn’t want to mix the blood. 

One step inside the train and the gossip started:

“Freak!”

“Slut!” 

“Burnout!” 

“Bug-eyes!” 

You sighed on your way to finding an empty space to sit. You were so tiny, happy and shiny; playing tag and getting chased. Singing and clapping, laughing and napping; baking cookies, eating paste.

You looked inside one compartment and weren’t welcomed.

“Bull-dyke, get out!” screamed a large boy at you.

Well, diary, you continued later when you finally found a place to sit, then we got bigger, that was the trigger, like the Huns invading Rome.

“Oh, sorry!” you said the boy before leaving his cabin.

Welcome to my school, this ain’t no high school. This is the Thunderdome. Hold your breath and count the days, we’re graduating soon. A job will be paradise if I’m not dead by June!

You were almost reaching the end of the train, and you still couldn’t find an empty place.

But I know, I know, life can be beautiful; I pray for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again.

We can be beautiful...

There were fewer students as you were walking, but still, none seemed so happy with the idea of sitting with you.

Things will get better soon as my letter comes from the Charms Specialization Center in France. Wake from this coma, take my diploma, then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy-covered walls and smoky French cafés...

“Watch it!” shouted a tall blonde boy that had bumped into you. You didn’t even notice, but he was angry, and, as a revenge, he made you drop your diary. “Ooooops,” he laughed.

You looked at the boy. It was Ram Sweeney. Third-year as Gryffindor’s beater and seventh year of smacking kids, and being a huge... “Dick,” you whispered, suddenly angry for having to get the diary from the floor.

“What did you say to me, skank?”

Shit, he listened. “Aah, nothing!” you quickly got out of the way.

You know, diary, we were kind before; we can be kind once more. We can be beautiful...

An empty cabin at last! You sat down as fast as you could, scared it could disappear. A girl walked in just after you, and, for a moment, you were frightened.

“Hey, Myrtle!”

Myrtle was the only one you could call your friend at that place. Both of you were from Ravenclaw and had a lot of fun together, even though you two had some different perspectives on life.

“Hey,” she smiled, sitting next to you.

The train trip wasn’t much fun, but after Myrtle and you found a place to sit — and nobody tried to take you two out —, things were more peaceful.

School, on the other hand, was the same nightmare as always.

Professor Dippet said a couple of nice words before the start of the first feast, kind words about how to treat each other. For a second, it seemed as if everybody listened and were committed to obeying. But as said, it didn’t last the whole second. When the Headmaster finished his speech, people were back at their normal mean behaviour.

Days passed like a blur, or at least, you pretend that was how it went. You tried not to focus on the offensive words the students called you and Myrtle, but sometimes it was just too much.

“We on for book night?” asked Myrtle while leaving the Great Hall and walking towards the dorms.

“Yeah, you’re supposed to be with them,” you replied, smiling slightly. Myrtle had a way to trick the librarian that you never managed to have.

“Got us the ‘The Princess Bride’,” she smirked, making you giggle.

“Ho-ho-ho, again? Wait, don’t you have it memorized by now?”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a happy ending” Myrtle crossed her arms and squeezed herself as if she had been hugged by a prince.

So different from you, but yet, the only friend you had.

“Myrtle Crybaby! Hoow!” Kurt Kelly screamed, knocking Myrtle to the ground.

Kurt Kelly was the famous Chaser from Slytherin. The smartest guy on the team, in your opinion, but that was like being the tallest dwarf.

“Hey! How dare you?!” you barked at him, helping Myrtle to get up. She was lived red, ashamed of the situation.

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” Kurt smirked in a mean way, challenging you.

“Yes, I am. I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on my friend. You’re a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future human house-elf,” you hoped your face was as severe and furious as you were inside.

Kurt waited for you to end your speech before confidently pointing something on your face. “You have a zit right there,” he said and laughed, followed by all the other kids around you.

November 13rd, 1943:

Dear diary, why do they hate me? Why don’t I fight back? Why do they act like such creeps?

Why…

You looked around the room, making sure everybody was already asleep. Myrtle was even snoring, which made you giggle in the dark.

Writing a diary was a private thing for you, but there weren’t many ways to be in private in Hogwarts.

Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope, here! Something to live for!

***

The next day promised to be as tedious as the day before, but something was different. At first, you thought it was just the change of seasons — the cold air of Winter. But it wasn’t all that.

Classes were nice. You liked your Professors, at least when they were teaching, they were neat.

You ate lunch at the Great Hall at the Ravenclaw table, just like all the days before. But that feeling in your stomach of something unusual was still there.

“Going to the toilet, okay?” you told Myrtle before leaving. In fact, there was nothing you wanted to do there except splash water in your face and see if things went back to normal.

That was when the Heathers walked in, and you hurried to close yourself behind a door, too terrified to face them.

The Heathers was a group of girls that floated above it all.

Heather McNamara was the hot witch form Hufflepuff. Her dad is loaded— one of the wizards with more money, but he was a muggle-born, so your family usually didn’t talk about him.

Heather Duke was the head girl from Slytherin, with no discernible personality, but blessed with an incredible body.

And Heather Chandler, the Almighty. She was a mythic bitch from Gryffindor and had everyone at her feet.

They’re solid Teflon—never bothered, never harassed.

I would give anything to be like that, you thought, lamenting in the toilet.

You sit in quiet, listening to their conversation. One of the girls rushed to the toilet, and you heard her vomit.

“Grow up, Heather. Bulimia is so ‘37,” said one of the Heathers, and based on her tone — such leaderlike— you guessed that was Chandler.

“Maybe you should see a doctor, Heather,” the other Heather suggested.

The one vomiting exhaled loudly before answering. “Yeah, Heather. Maybe I should.”

“Ah, Heather and Heather” oh shit, you gasped, recognizing that voice immediately, “...and Heather. Perhaps you didn’t notice the time with all the vomiting. You’re late for class.”

That bossy voice belonged to Ms Fleming, the second in command when the Headmaster wasn’t around, and also identified as the Herbology Professor. And knowing her, she was about to punish the girls.

Noticing you kept your diary in hands, you took a piece of paper out and scribbled on it.

“Heather wasn’t feeling well. We’re helping her,” H. Chandler told the Professor.

“Not without a hall pass, you’re not,” you could feel Ms Fleming was smiling even though you couldn’t see her. “Week’s detention.”

Done!, you thought before rushing out of the toilet.

“Um, actually, Professor Fleming, all four of us are out on a hall pass. Christmas committee,” you informed, getting out of the toilet, keeping a straight face and handing her the paper.

Professor Fleming took her time to analyze the piece of paper, and you held your breath until she finally returned it to you.

“I see you’re all listed. Hurry up and get where you’re going.”

Heather Chandler was staring at you like you were an abnormal animal she had just discovered, but you couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

“This is an excellent forgery. Who are you?”

“Uh... y/N y/L/N,” you fastly replied. “I crave a boon.”

H. Chandler raised a brow at you as if you made no sense. “What boon?”

“Um, let me sit at your table at lunch. Just once. No talking necessary,” Heather remained silent, so you continued, “if people think that you guys tolerate me, then they’ll leave me alone...”

The first Heather to laugh was Chandler, of course, but it didn’t take more than a second for the other two to follow. It was as if they needed Chandler’s permission to laugh.

“Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes,” you added, hoping this would change their view.

Heather Duke widened her eyes, raising her eyebrows at an abnormal height. “How about prescriptions?”

“Shut up, Heather,” H. Chandler’s reprehension came quickly.

“Sorry, Heather,” H. Duke ducked, almost embarrassed.

The three Heathers exchanged a look, planning something. You shivered — your destiny was in their hands, but, unfortunately, that rarely meant a promising one.

Chandler stepped forward, looking you up and down.

“For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure.”

“And you have a symmetrical face,” added Heather McNamara, holding your face with one hand. “If I took a meat cleaver down the center of your skull, I’d have matching halves. That’s very important.”

Heather Duke frowned her brow.

“Of course, you could stand to lose a few pounds,” she was one to talk — always vomiting what she ate.

Heather Chandler pulled the other Heathers away, pulling you by the hand. “And ya know? This could be beautiful,” she seemed to investigate what was lacking on your face. “Mascara, maybe some lip gloss and we’re on our way. Get this girl some blush; and Heather, I need your brush. Let’s make her beautiful.”

McNamara agreed with a smile, but Duke was pretending not to care. She never liked it when Chandler played the helper.

“Okay?” the Gryffindor asked before using the brush on you.

“Okay!” you agreed, a bit too loud.

Heather Chandler took you by the hand out of the bathroom and towards the Gryffindor Tower, with McNamara and Duke following behind. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought it would stop. It was one of your biggest dreams to be with the Heathers, and there you were, walking into Chandler’s room, unable to stop smiling.

She took a long time with your hair — which you didn’t even know needed a makeover. McNamara had the job of applying makeup, and she did it happily.

Heather Duke, however, wasn’t so thrilled to have to get you new uniforms.

“Oh, come on, Heather, just ask the boys — they’ll steal it for you,” said Chandler, rolling her eyes at her best friend.

“Fine,” she sighed before leaving.

According to them, there were more than just the traditional style of uniform, and they’d have lent theirs to you, but since you were a Ravenclaw, they had nothing in your house colour.

Heather Duke appeared half an hour later with the new uniform — all in blue, but so much more fashionable than the one you always used.

You didn’t bother asking from who she stole because that wasn’t the first wrong thing you were doing that day. The first thing was skipping the rest of the classes just to get the proper look.

***

“I reckon we’re ready,” said Heather Chandler, but she didn’t let you look yourself in the mirror. She said it would jinks it. “Now, let’s go. People need to know the new you.”

The new you. They didn’t even know the old you.

As soon as you stepped in the corridors, the whispered started, and this time, they weren’t making fun of you.

“Who’s that with Heather?” you heard someone ask.

The feeling of leaving everyone speechless was something you had never felt before and yet, so good. You and the Heathers stopped at the Courtyard — part of Chandler’s plan of introducing you.

“Y/N?!” you heard from behind and turned only to see Myrtle, holding her book with both hands and her mouth wide open.

She didn’t dare come closer to the Heathers so you could only wave at your friend. She didn’t look bothered, however. She knew once at the dorms, you’d tell her everything.

“You know, we should have found a Ravenclaw before,” said Heather Chandler. “It was the house missing from our group.”

“We were waiting for a girl named Heather though,” remembered the Slytherin Heather.

“Well, yes, but now we’re in our last year. Nobody new is ever coming, Heather,” said Chandler, practically ending the discussion so Duke could say nothing else.

You had never been so close to the Heathers before, so you had no way of knowing, but even though the three of them were at the top of the pyramid, it was H. Chandler who stood at the very top. You’d have to be careful if you wanted to be amongst them more often.

After all, you were a Heather now.

November 14th, 1943:

Dear diary, you know, life can be beautiful. You hope, you dream, you pray, and you get your way! Ask me how it feels lookin’ like hell on wheels... My God, it’s beautiful! I might be beautiful...

Oh, diary... It’s a beautiful frickin’ day!

[yourdeepestfathoms]

God Forgive Us All (part one)

[Carrie AU]

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Word Count: 5694

TW: Blood, bullying, child abuse, unflattering depictions of religious people, minor self harm

———————

-And Eve Was Weak-

You never really do get used to the heat of stage lights. Even after four years in theater, Anne never grew a resistance to the sweltering heat and blindingly bright lights that beamed down on the stage when performing. By the end of a mere rehearsal, her forehead was dotted with sweat and her green earrings gifted to her by her girlfriend felt like twin pieces of the sun blazing against her skull.

“Alright, everyone,” The stage manager, a bold, powerful woman named Catalina de Aragon, boomed. “That’s good for today! You all did wonderful!”

Several sighs of relief swept through the stage. The group of actresses either doubled over or put their hands behind their heads and took deep breaths. Eight-hour-long rehearsals like that always wrung them dry, but Aragon wanted to keep them sharp, and it did, even if it was exhausting.

“If you think this is bad,” Aragon said with a teasing smile, “just wait until our live TV debut. Now THOSE lights will fry you to the bone.”

There was a scattering of grins and giggles. Despite the heat from the lights, they were all excited for the upcoming TV performance of their musical, Heathers, in which Anne proudly played Heather Duke.

“Just wait until you get to be in that trench coat,” A voice said to her left.

She turned to see Jane Seymour, their Veronica Sawyer, grinning toothily at Cathy Parr, who also doubled as their incredibly talented, incredibly wonderful, and incredibly beautiful Jason Dean. Though, Anne may be a bit biased. She was dating her, after all.

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Cathy said. “I’m already soaked enough.”

“Which will make Dead Girl Walking even better,” Jane tittered, earning her a playful elbow to the ribs.

“Oi!” Anne barked. “Paws off, Seymour! She’s all mine!”

“I bet you two make Dead Girl Walking really happen in bed,” Their Heather Chandler, Anna Cleves, commented while passing by. She grinned at them over her shoulder.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Anne fired back, making Anna chortle and Cathy whack her arm.

“Enough of that.” Cathy hissed. “Come on, let’s go take a shower. I feel all sticky.”

“Sweat does that,” Katherine Howard, or Kitty, the gremlin-like Heather McNamara, piped in helpfully. Trailing behind her was Maggie Wyatt, the Ms. Fleming. Unlike most of the others in the production, the two of them were both teenagers, with Kitty being fifteen and Maggie being seventeen, but they were absolutely brilliant when it came to acting and signing, so it was no wonder why they scored a spot in a West End show.

“Yes, thank you, Kitty. I had no idea.”

Kitty and Maggie both giggled, but their expressions simultaneously went sour all of a sudden. Kitty slowed down in her stride to huddle in between Jane and Anne, while Maggie wrinkled her nose in visible distaste. Anne didn’t even have to ask what was bothering them, she, sadly, already knew.

“Uh-oh,” Maggie muttered, “Here comes Jitterbug.”

Most people would furrow their eyebrows and look around in confusion, wondering who would possibly give their child such a weird name, but everyone in the theater was used to hearing such a title. They all knew exactly who it was referring to.

The girl was the definition of sickly- shockingly thin, with sharp jawbones, a narrow chest, and deep hollows under her startlingly silver eyes, which were as grey and shiny as the moon. She was very pale, too, like she would shrivel up and die if she so much as stood out in the sun for too long. Her head was dipped low as she passed by the group of actresses cautiously and she had her hands wrung anxiously in her wrinkled baby blue flannel shirt, which helped explain why she had a nickname like “Jitterbug”- she was always doing some sort of nervous tick, whether it being leg bouncing or straw chewing or hand flexing, and it easily became a target of mockery by other people in the theater. She always wore a cross necklace around her neck, and today it was still in the same position as it had been the day before- lying peacefully on her bony chest.

“Her name is Joan,” Anne whispered.

Joan Meutas. A pianist in the pit. Not an actress. So you would think that would make her unimportant and ignored, and yet...

“Yeah, I know,” Maggie said, not keeping her voice low. She probably wanted Joan to hear her, which wasn’t much of a surprise. “But she’s so jittery. And super weird.”

“You know that,” Kitty said, poking Anne. “Did you see her today? When it was lunchtime she prayed before she ate!”

Anne frowned and shook her head. She never really did like the treatment of the poor girl, especially when it came from so many adults and Joan was only sixteen, but she was just one person against an entire theater. What could she do?

“Hey!” A voice shouted from inside the women’s shower room. “Watch where you’re walking!”

Anne and her friends entered the showers and bathroom to find a flurry of towels and clothes and bare skin. Shampoo of lavender and pear, coconut and watermelon, honey and vanilla all mixed together into an overwhelmingly sweet odor that wafted throughout the room. It was almost as thick as the steam whirling from the many hot showers going on.

And, in the midst of all the cleaning and bathing, there was Joan “Jitterbug” Meutas, staring guiltily down at a few fallen bottles of soap she had accidentally scattered with her feet. The look plastered on her face made it seem like this little mishap was much more than a minor inconvenience to her.

“I-I’m sorry,” She whispered, although her shaking voice could barely be heard over the cacophony around her. Her natural stutter was more prominent because she was scared.

“Can’t you use those creepy eyes of yours?” The owner of the bottles, a woman old enough to probably be married, spat. “Or are you as blind as you are useless?”

Anne clenched her jaw. This lady was an adult and she was picking on this child as if it were just a simple schoolyard, playground argument. It was so wrong. So, so wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said again, this time even softer, but it went unheard when Kitty suddenly jumped into the conversation eagerly.

“Did she get in trouble?” The girl asked, eyes glowing with cruel mischief. “I knew she would get in trouble if she came in here! Did you clobber her?”

“I wish,” The woman snorted. She glanced at Joan, as if considering beating the poor girl into a bloody pulp for simply knocking over her soap, but thought against it. “Don’t do it again, brat. Or I’ll have you fired.”

Joan nodded with one more shaky “I’m sorry” before shuffling over to one of the benches and sitting down. She hunched her shoulders around her neck instantly, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her hands were tightly grasping a set of neatly-folded clothes she had brought in for herself. It was so pitiful. Everyone was anxious in some way, but with Joan it ran deeper, all the way to paralyzing fear.

“I can’t believe we have to change with her,” Jane muttered. “She could do something to us. To the children!” She cast a worried look at Kitty and Maggie.

“She’s a child, too, you know,” Cathy pointed out. “Come on, ease up on her. She’s not that bad.”

Jane snorted, but left the conversation there and glided off to a shower that had just opened up, which was also the one that Joan was about to go into, causing the girl to slam herself back down onto the bench instantly. Anne looked at her girlfriend with an appraising expression. Cathy enjoying the bullying of a teenager definitely would have put a dent in their relationship.

“Thank you,” Anne said to Cathy in relief.

“You really thought I would be in on this harassment?” Cathy raised an eyebrow. “Do you have no faith in me?” She grinned teasingly at Anne.

“No, of course not!” Anne said hurriedly. “But you never know. I just worry.”

“I know you do.” Cathy pecked her on the cheek and then went to fetch fresh towels.

Anne smiled, watching her go, then noticed a twitch on Joan’s expression out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head, thinking the girl may have finally gotten angry at her treatment, but instead just saw that her expression was twinged with pain. One of her hands was gripping at her stomach. Curious and concerned, Anne stepped over to her.

“Hey,” She said softly as to not shock Joan, but she still flinched anyway. “Are you okay?”

The look she got was almost comical. It was a mix of shock and adoration, with a hint of caution flickering in Joan’s silver eyes. She blinked several times, opening and closing her mouth like a startled fish that had just been pulled out of the water, before finally stuttering out, “U-uh-huh.”

“Are you sure?” Anne slowly sat down next to Joan, slightly surprised to find that she didn’t jerk away. In fact, she swore it almost looked like Joan wanted to curl up against her and fall asleep. “You look a little hurt. Physically, I mean. I’m sure everything hurts mentally....” She trailed off awkwardly.

“M-my stomach just hurts a little,” Joan mumbled shyly. “That’s all.”

“I see.” Anne said. “Well, I hope you feel better soon, Joan.”

She gave the girl a comforting pat on the shoulder and then stood up, going over to one of the now-open showers. She hung her clothes and towel on the stall door, then stepped inside and got undressed. She cranked the shower nozzle and hot water cascaded all over her body, washing away the sticky sheen of sweat that had been caked over her skin.

It always felt nice to take a shower after a long day of rehearsals. She loved being able to get clean, finally relaxing when she was done with hours of line run throughs and dance move reciting.

Someone got into the shower next to her; she could hear the click of the lock and the splash of water sluicing under feet. When she peeked down, she saw that the toenails weren’t painted, so it couldn’t have been Kitty or Maggie. She didn’t pay much mind to discovering who her stall neighbor was, though. She just tried to relax under the warm spray of water washing her clean and soothing her sore muscles.

And then she heard the shaky gasp.

It came from her left, from the girl without her toenails painted. The noise had been so soft and subtle that Anne thought she hadn’t heard anything at all, that it was just her imagination, but then she heard it again, this time slightly louder.

A shaky gasp. A definite whimper.

She peeked down again and saw something mixing with the water. It spiraled down the drain before she could get a good look, but she merely shrugged it off as none of her business and went back to washing her hair.

Or, she tried to, at least. It was a little hard when the girl next to her suddenly let out a sharp whimper and burst out of the stall.

“H-help me!”

Was that...?

Oh god.

Anne turned off the shower, not caring that she still had shampoo in her hair, and peeked out of the stall. What she saw made her heart sink into her stomach.

Joan, completely naked, was stumbling to a group of women with a horrified look on her face. She reached a desperate hand out to Cathy, leaving a red stain smeared against the woman’s blue blouse, and clung on for dear life.

“Help me!” Joan cried again. “Help me! S-something’s wrong!”

Cathy immediately recoiled in shock, causing Joan to stumble backwards clumsily. Everyone looked down at the handprint stained in crimson on her shirt. Jane gave Joan an evil look.

“What the fuck!” She roared. “Her shirt!”

“What is WRONG with you?” Maggie said.

“Some kind of freak seizure?” Kitty guessed.

And then they all noticed the trails of red running down Joan’s inner thighs.

“I-I’m bleeding!” Joan whimpered.

“Oh my god,” Kitty exclaimed as Jane’s face twisted with nausea. Cathy paled, looking down at her ruined shirt again. “It’s period blood!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jane hissed.

“It’s just your period!” Maggie said in amusement to Joan at the same time. She went over to the toiletry dispenser and took out a tampon. She offered it to Joan. “Just plug it up!”

Despite the moment of kindness, Joan was far too shellshocked and confused to understand what was going on, and so she reached out to Maggie’s hand desperately, hoping for some kind of comfort. Maggie instantly reeled away with a revolted gag when some of Joan’s period blood dripped onto her fingers.

“Oh fuck!” She yelled. “I got some of her pussy juice on me!”

“Gross!” Kitty squealed.

“P-please help me!” Joan howled. “I-I’m dying!”

“How do you not know what your period is?” Kitty asked her. “Are you that stupid?”

Joan merely let out a strangled whimper. A small pool of blood has accumulated around her feet and she’s now hunched over from obvious cramps. She’s shaking so badly that it looked like she may have actually been having a seizure.

When the other women noticed that they weren’t going to get through to Joan, they all turned to a different alternative instead of trying to help her- throwing tampons and pads at the poor thing.

“PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP!” The group cheered.

Joan stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Blood smeared across her thighs and the floor, causing several women to sneer in repulsion. Kitty took her phone out and began to record the freak out.

“HELP ME!!” Joan shrieked. “P-PLEASE H-HELP ME!!”

“PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP!!” The group just sang louder.

Joan began to scream and cry, collapsing onto her side and curling into a trembling ball as blood oozed out from between her thighs and she was hit with a storm of women’s toiletry items. She just kept wailing at the top of her lungs, absolutely horrified and traumatized about what was happening to her. And Anne could only watch from her shower stall as the poor child was terrorized.

“Hey! HEY!!”

The voice was booming thunder in the rain or mockery and tampons.

“Ladies! Ladies! What the hell is going on here?!”

Aragon pushed her way through mayhem to the front and set her eyes upon one of the musical’s young musicians shaking and sobbing and curled up on the tile in heap of her own blood coming from her vagina and pads and tampons. She stiffened and blinked, clearly not expecting this image of all things and definitely not having learned how to deal with it from her training to be a stage manager, but she set her jaw in determination anyway.

“Okay,” She breathed out, pushing her shock to the side. She took a tentative step forward, which was enough to make Joan flinch and flounder awkwardly in the mess around her. “Okay... It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

Joan didn’t seem convinced- she kept gasping and wheezing like she was having a panic attack and whimpering in distress. She huddled against one of the closed showers, trembling violently.

“Come on, stand up,” Aragon encouraged softly. “Let’s get you stand up.”

“N-no, I-I can’t!” Joan mewled. Like before, so desperate for comfort, she reached out to Aragon for help, grasping onto her yellow skirt with both bloody hands and hanging on like her life depended on it. Several of the gawkers gagged. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“Joan, come on.” Aragon tried again. If the period blood getting wiped on her skirt bothered her, she didn't show it. “Stand up. Can you stand up?”

“It hurts!” Joan wailed. Her grip on Aragon faltered and crumpled back into herself. “It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!”

Aragon, who was usually so headstrong and sure of herself, looked dumbfounded. “Honey, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Cathy, who had been watching silently, stepped up next to Aragon. The stage manager momentarily glanced at the stain on her shirt that matched on the ones on her skirt.

“I don’t think she knows it’s her period,” Cathy told Aragon softly.

“NO!!” Joan cried instantly. “No! No! No! No!” Her panic was building. Her shaking was getting worse.

“Cathy, leave!” Aragon snarled, glaring at the woman at her side.

“But-”

“You aren’t helping!”

Joan’s cries were getting louder and louder and more and more shrill by the second. She was practically heaving, her lanky little body jerking and spasming. She looked so much more thin without any clothes to cover her skeletal frame. Her stomach was sunken in and her ribs were slightly visible through her milky white, doughy skin.

“Joan! Joan!” Aragon shouted to the panicking girl, but nothing she said was getting through to her, so she promptly raised her hand and slapped Joan across the face.

Gasps whisked through the shower room. Joan’s screaming was cut off with a sharp, alarmed squeak. She tentatively touched her stinging cheek with a bloodied hand and then whimpered pathetically.

A light overhead exploded and shattered into millions of pieces.

There were several startled yelps as the women leapt out of the way of falling glass. A few were cut, but not badly. Aragon grit her teeth at the commotion her actresses were making.

“Everybody out!” She roared. “Right now!”

Everyone obeyed, shuffling out as quickly as they could, but not without a few final glances over their shoulder at Joan. Anne was the only one who stayed, remaining hidden in her stall, listening.

“Hey, hey,” She heard Aragon murmur in the gentlest voice she’s ever heard her use before. “Deep breaths. Come here.”

She took Joan into her arms and Joan immediately curled up like she’s never been held before in her entire life. She buried her face against Aragon’s chest, weeping softly.

“Come on, it’s okay. You’re okay, sweetie.” Aragon said gently. “It’s totally normal. You’re not in trouble. It’s okay.”

She just kept reassuring Joan again and again, cupping her head against her chest protectively and using the other hand to rub her back comfortingly. Anne watched them from her shower stall with a frown until Aragon eventually got Joan to stand up, get changed, and walk out with her. Then, she finally got to washing the rest of the shampoo out of her hair in an eerily silent shower room with a broken light and period blood spattered across the floor.

———

“Are you, uhh, feeling any better? Need some Aspirin? Some juice?”

“Juice? Really, Tony?”

The director raised his hands in a mock surrender, then peered back at the trembling girl sitting in front of him. There was a flicker of worry in his eyes, but he seemed more concerned about what this would do to his production. After all, a cast needed to be close to work best, and the actresses terrorizing one of their coworkers would definitely make things difficult to achieve that unity.

“Do you want us to just leave you alone?”

There was no reply once again. Joan was way too shellshocked to answer. Instead, she was just wrapping one of her fingers in the chain of her cross necklace and tugging on it nervously.

“Joan, honey,” Aragon knelt down in front of the chair Joan was sitting in. “I am so sorry I slapped you. I should have handled that situation better.”

Joan just stared up at her with big, sad silver eyes that looked so much like an injured lamb’s.

“You know, getting your period is totally normal.” Aragon tried to smooth her panic out. “Usually it just comes a little bit sooner.” She paused, hesitated, then quietly asked, “Is this your first time?”

Aragon wasn’t sure who looked more uncomfortable: Joan or the director. Both seemed supremely uneasy with the question, but the director was sweating awkwardly and kept trying to open his mouth to interject, only to think against it. Aragon shot him an irritated glower.

Joan herself was quiet for a long time, but eventually squeaked out, “M-my mama never t-told me about it...”

“Oh, baby...” Aragon cooed pitifully. She sat down next to Joan and set a hand on her shoulder, feeling her jump and then lean slightly into her touch. “Do you know what’s happening to your body?”

The director wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow.

“I...I thought I f-felt something m-move...down there...” Joan said softly.

The director’s eyes bulged so far out of their sockets that it was a miracle that they didn’t pop out completely.

“Honey...”

“W-well—” The director suddenly interjected. Aragon gave him a warning glare and he shuffled over to the water cooler in the room, poured himself a cup, took a drink, crushed it, and then tried again with speaking on the topic. “Maybe you could talk to a therapist! Or a nurse! At the A and E!”

Aragon looked at him as if he were crazy. He rubbed his palms against his pants and took a seat at the front desk, clearing his throat. He did his best to make himself look refined and sophisticated, but that was impossible with his lack of knowledge over a completely normal situation and from the way he kept making it even weirder than it needed to be.

“But what I want to know—” He said, attempting to steer away from the period talk. “Is who started throwing...the things.”

Aragon rolled her eyes at his behavior. She expected nothing less from men.

“It was Jane Seymour, Maggie Lee, and Katherine Howard. Then everyone else joined in.” She said.

“Julia-”

“Joan.” Aragon corrected firmly.

“Joan.” The director said again. “Did those three girls start this?”

“Don’t call them ‘girls’, Tony. One of them is a grown ass woman.” Aragon said bitterly.

“But the other two aren’t,” The director said, then turned his gaze back to Joan expectantly.

Joan opened her mouth, looked up at the director, then closed it and shrunk back in her chair. She suddenly found the floor a lot more interesting.

“Sweet pea, you don’t have to defend them.” Aragon told her. “What they did was unforgivable and awful. You won’t get in trouble for telling us the truth.”

“I-I won’t g-get f-fired?” Joan sniffled feebly.

“No, no, honey,” Aragon tucked a stray lock of wet hair behind Joan’s ear and this time she definitely felt the girl lean into her touch. “Of course you won’t. You’ll still work here.”

Joan nodded, but she still wasn’t able to speak up. She gave Aragon a deeply apologetic look and then lowered her head uselessly.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like June-”

“Joan.” Aragon snarled.

“Joan—” The director corrected himself quickly, eyeing Aragon warily, as if he were expecting her to leap over the desk and strangle him. “—is going to point any fingers, so Catalina I’m going to let you handle this with the ladies. Let the punishment fit the crime.”

“Okay,” Aragon nodded. “I’ll fire them.”

The director floundered. Aragon smirked. Even Joan made a tiny, amused sound that wasn’t quite a giggle, but it was something else from her usual whimpers and distressed noises.

“What? No!” The director warbled. “Not that!”

“Why not?” Aragon said dismissively. “We have understudies for a reason.”

“You can’t fire an entire cast! The understudies are not as good as the all-star cast! That’s why they’re understudies! They’re good, but not good enough!”

“I-I think the understudies are really good,” Joan offered meekly. Aragon smiled at her and she even cracked a ghost of her own on her pale lips.

“They are, aren’t they?” Aragon said.

“You are not firing our stars.” The director said firmly. “You can do anything else! Just not that!” He cleared his throat, calming himself. “Now. Due to this...issue...Joan,” He glanced at Aragon when he used the correct name, “I’m going to have to call your mother to pick you up for the day.”

Joan stiffened like she had been struck by lightning. She went horrifically pale- paler than she usually was.

“Wh-what?” She whispered.

“I’m calling your mother,” The director said again. He furrowed his eyebrows at her distress. “You’re a minor, Joan. Your parents have to be called when something is wrong. And you need to be picked up. I know it’s basically the end of rehearsals, but you probably shouldn’t stick around any longer than you have to.”

“No,” Joan said in a voice that’s strangled with fear. Her eyes are wide, like she’s already predicting a million different futures where this goes horribly wrong and gets her in trouble or humiliated again.

“We have to get your mother involved.” Aragon said gently, hoping to get through to the frightened girl. “She needs to know.”

“No!!” Joan cried, and then the water cooler against the wall burst apart.

———

Bernadette Meutas was as sickly as her daughter, but less so physically, and more so mentally. She had wide, wild, and bloodshot moss green eyes that were sucked into their sockets and sunken cheeks that made her head look more like a dead person’s skull. Her lips were frayed and bloodied from constant chewing on the flesh and her wrists were covered in scars, some old, some new.

Joan always hated the scars on her mother’s wrists. They made her feel guilty, like it was her fault that they were there.

“So, you’re a woman now,” Bernadette muttered.

She and Joan were sitting in the car outside their shabby house in the far outskirts of London. The building cast an eerie black shadow across the unkempt lawn. Behind it, the setting sun glowed blood red.

“Y-you should have told me, mama.” Joan said, voice shaking.

Bernadette clenched her jaw for a long moment, then roughly unbuckled her seat belt, threw open the car door, and stormed inside. Joan was left alone in the car, sniffling, trying to hold back tears.

“Maggot Meutas! Maggot Meutas!!”

Her mother had moved them all the way out to the sticks of England in hopes they could get far away from all the sinners and unholy leaches, but she didn’t seem to do a good job because there was a little neighbor boy on the other side of Joan’s window, shrilling like a bat out of hell.

“Maggot Meutas! Maggot Meutas!” He changed again, then pressed his nose against the glass and made what he thought was a good impression of a maggot’s face.

Joan clenched her fists with a pathetic whimper. Her blood was starting to boil.

The boy cackled loudly, twisted his bike around to drive off to celebrate his success of tormenting the city’s local freak, but didn’t get very far. Because Joan twitched and, suddenly, the kid is toppling over very ungracefully into a heap in the grass. He looked up at Joan, just as startled as she was, then scrambled to get his bike back up and rode off screaming.

Joan stayed very still for a long time, staring at her hands. Then, she’s wiggling out of her seat and walking slowly into her house, unable to ignore the confrontation with her mother any longer.

Bernadette was sitting in the kitchen with her back to Joan, rereading the Bible for what was probably the hundredth time and smoking a cigarette. The overhead lights were dim, but Joan could still see bloodstains on her mother’s green sleeves. She whimpered softly, but quickly bit her tongue when she glanced fearfully up at the large crucifix hanging above the dinner table. It was usually used to discipline her for her perceived infractions, and, because of that, always made her nervous whenever she stepped anywhere near it.

“Mama,” She spoke up softly, stepping warily into the kitchen doorway. “Y-you said y-you’d stop cutting yourself...”

She knew, deep down, that that promise was nothing but a hollow lie, but she liked to comfort herself with the thought that her mother would get rid of her self destructive habits and they could be a happy, normal family like she always wanted them to be.

“And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Bernadette recited instead of replying. Her voice was hollow and drained. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called sin.” She creaked around slowly in her chair to stare at her daughter. “Say it.”

“Wh-why didn’t you tell me, mama?” Joan asked quietly.

“Say it.” Bernadette merely said again, rising to her feet.

“And the raven was called sin,” Joan said and the words were horribly sour on her tongue. She shook her head. “Why didn’t you just— why didn’t you tell me, mama?” She tangled her fingers in her cross necklace like she always did when she was nervous. The cold metal lacing bit into the back of her neck when she tugged on it. “Mama, mama, please. It hurts, mama. It hurts, it hurts!”

Bernadette is unfazed by her daughter’s desperate pleading. “And the first sin was intercourse.”

“I’m not Eve, mama!” Joan wheedled. “I-I didn’t sin!”

“You were showering with other women.” Bernadette said exasperatedly. She looked sick when she spoke that sentence. “You were having lustful thoughts.”

“N-no, no, mama!” Joan stammered, eyes widening in fear. “I-I wasn’t, mama! I promise!”

“You were having lustful thoughts about women.” Bernadette oozed scathingly.

“No! No!” Joan shook her head. “E-everyone has to shower! I-I was j-just cleaning myself up because I was sweaty after rehearsals!”

“So it’s this blasted play that’s doing this to you,” Bernadette mused, not even hearing her daughter. “It was a mistake. I thought putting you into homeschooling would give you more time to focus on your prayers. And you had been doing so good that your reward was to be in this damned show, but clearly you don’t deserve that.”

“No!!” Joan cried. “No, mama, please let me stay! Please! I-I promise that I’ve been a good girl! I do my schoolwork during any free time I have and I always pray! Always! I promise!”

Even if it earned her awful ridicule and teasing.

“But you sinned.” Bernadette seethed. Her voice remained dry and hollow, sending several chills down Joan’s spine.

“I didn’t!” Joan said. “I-I’ve never sinned! Never ever! N-not at school, not at home, no at the theater! S-so please don’t take me out, mama, I love to play mu—”

Joan was cut off when her mother hit her across the head with the Bible. Her frail, lightweight body instantly crumpled under the force of the heavy book and she toppled to the ground with a cry of shock and pain.

“And the first sin was intercourse.” Bernadette said blankly, gazing down at the shuddering figure of her young daughter.

“I didn’t sin, mama!” Joan just said again, hoping she would eventually get through to her mother.

“Say it.” Bernadette said. “The first sin was intercourse.”

Joan stammered, choking on her words.

“The first sin was intercourse. The first sin was intercourse. The first sin was intercourse.”

“Mama-“

“The first sin was intercourse.”

“The first sin was intercourse!” Joan sobbed, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “Mama, I was so scared! I-I thought I was dying! A-and e-everyone was laughing and th-throwing things at me—”

“And Eve was weak.” Bernadette said. “Say it.”

“No!!”

“Eve was weak. Eve was weak. Eve was weak. Say it! Eve was weak. Eve was weak.” Bernadette chanted over and over again.

Joan covered her ears, pulled her knees tightly to her chest, and wailed, “Eve was weak! Eve was weak!”

“And the Lord visited Eve with a curse,” Bernadette whispered. “And the curse was a curse of blood!”

“You should have told me, mama,” Joan wept. “You should have told me!”

Bernadette suddenly dropped to her knees in front of Joan, making her flinch away. She ripped Joan’s hands from where they’re over her ears and held them tightly in her own.

“Oh, Lord!” Bernadette howled, shaking Joan. “Help this sinning girl see the sin of her days and ways! Show her that if she had remained sinless, the curse of blood would have never come on her!”

“No, mama,” Joan whined weakly, wriggling in her mother’s grasp.

“She may have been tempted by the anti-Christ, she may have committed the sin of lustful thoughts—”

“M-Miss Aragon s-said it h-happens to every girl!” Joan said. “Th-that they all get it a-and it’s normal!”

“No, no,” Bernadette shook her head. She held tighter to Joan’s hands, digging her long fingernails into sensitive flesh and causing her daughter to sob in pain. “Don’t you lie to me, Johanna. Don’t you know already that I can see inside of you? I can see the sin within you.”

“P-please stop, mama, you’re hurting me,” Joan whimpered.

“You need to pray.” Bernadette suddenly said and Joan’s teary eyes shot open wide. “Come. Get in your closet.”

“No! No!!” Joan struggled against her mother as she was forcefully dragged across the floor to a small storage room underneath the staircase. She kicked and screamed, but it did little to free her as she was thrown into the cramped space like a worthless sack of potatoes. She tried to get up and run out, but the door was slammed in her face and promptly locked.

Banging on the door and screaming was fruitless. Joan gave up after a few minutes and curled up in one of the corners of the room, staring fearfully at the dozens of photos of Jesus’s death around her. The statue of him on a cross was by far the worst, though.

Pain seized her lower stomach and she whimpered. It felt like a demon was trying to claw its way out of her belly.

Joan curled up tighter, rocked herself back and forth slowly, and cried.

[aidenhollow]

( KAT MCNAMARA, CIS-FEMALE) - Have you seen AIDEN EVELYN HOLLOWAY? EVIE is in her SENIOR year. The Journalism Major is 24 years old & is a SCORPIO. People say SHE is CARING, COMPASSIONATE, JEALOUS and SARCASTIC. Rumors say they’re a member of WINTHROP SOCIETY. I heard from the gossip blog that EVIE has a two-year old daughter that is back home with her parents and she hasn’t told the dad about the child. She makes money by being a burlesque dancer .  (KT. 21+. PST. She/her.)

Hello! My name is KT, Im 28 and currently awaiting a transplant! Im pretty chill, whenever Im at appointments or anything, Im always lurking on mobile and I also have discord! Which will be a better way of getting a hold of me, because I don’t ever log off out of that thing. Uhmmm, Im getting ready to get a bone marrow transplant but I have my computer with me and will bring it to the hospital once I go in. Also, feel free to message me and hit me up for plots! Here a few things on Aiden <3

Bio:

Aiden Evelyn Holloway was born to Jackie and Hank Holloway, making her the youngest child and made her younger than her twin brother, Adam by five minutes. Their older three brothers Jack, Kinsley and Felix were excited to have a pair of twins in the family.  You can say that the Holloway house was filled with laughter, crying, screaming, cursing and they got hurt a lot. Aiden and Felix were known to be double trouble when they were younger, since Felix was the youngest boy and Aiden was the youngest, the two of them bonded rather quickly. They would chase each other in the yard, while Jack and Adam worked on their cars in the garage while Kinsley worked on his motorcycle and the two youngest sometimes would climb their parent’s apple tree. In which, resulted Aiden getting her hand split opened and the four boys rushed their sister to the hospital, where their mom found out that they were climbing the tree after her and her husband told them not to. All of them ended up grounded, the three oldest brothers had to take the youngest ones to school and picked them up from their after-school activities and had to come straight home.

DEATH TW

You can say that the Holloway family had the perfect life, until one rainy night where their father was coming home from his office when a truck rear-ended his car. Jackie was working twelve nights straight that night and had to see her husband on a stretcher. Throughout the night, they didn’t know if he was going to be able to make it.  That December, they had to bury their father, and nothing was the same again. Aiden noticed that her mom worked overtime a lot more, her older brothers picked up other jobs and her double trouble buddy ended up distant and cold. She knew that Adam was struggling, she was struggling herself. As she grew up, Aiden often turned towards superheroes, skateboarding and anything that would catch her attention more than five seconds.

DRUGS, DEATH TW

About three years after Hank’s death, Aiden started to notice that her mother would wear makeup and bring a duffel bag to work. She started to follow her with her bike, until she saw that her mother was going on secret dates and seeing someone new. She sped home and told her twin brother about what she had seen, and j was asleep in front of the tv. She would go onto the roof to look at the stars, hoping that they would some kind of answers and then she would go on a search for a party, knowing that she can get score some drugs and alcohol. Nothing would help her cope with the loss of her dad, but that didn’t mean she gave up trying. She met a guy named Roman, who you can say is the “bad boy” of the school and had been living with his grandmother. She wouldn’t say it was love at first sight, it was more of a toxic relationship and she was addicted to it. They would often fight for two days and make up like they never said hateful words to each other. However, that all stopped when Aiden spotted Roman with another woman and turned out that he was also dating the girl. So, that kind of made her straighten up a bit, along with her brothers holding an intervention for her to get help to cope with their father’s death.

PREGNANCY TW

Two years later, Aiden graduated from high school with a GPA of 4.0 and full ride (Thanks to George for helping her out a bit) to Yates. Aiden didn’t want to leave without her twin, so she asked Adam to tag along and he got accepted into University of Vermont-Johnson, that way she wouldn’t get home sick. Aiden also got accepted into the Winthrop Society, where she felt that she belonged and called home for the next four or five years. However, one thing that Aiden didn’t plan for, was having a daughter at twenty-one. One night, during a heavy make out session in the parking lot of the Sugar Shack, a burlesque club where she was working, she snuck away with some guy after her shift and ended up having a one night stand. She quickly slipped out of his car when she noticed that he was on the phone and headed straight to her car, with her clothes in her hands. Fast forward nine months later, she welcomed a beautiful baby girl named Odette Evelyn Holloway and promised that she was going to give her a great childhood like she had when she was younger. She never contacted the father, since she doesn’t remember the name and figured that it would be a waste anyway, she accepted that she would be a single mother and knew that she could do it. Especially with the help of her brothers and friends. However, she knows that Yates has a reputation to uphold, she made a deal with her brothers that they act like Odette is their baby sister in public but behind closed doors and to close family & friends, she’s Aiden’s daughter.  Recently, Aiden’s been sending money to her brothers and Odette, to make sure that they’ll keep a roof over their heads while she’s studying Creative Writing. She also thought of a book idea, which can be considered as a Young Adult novel.

 WANTED CONNECTIONS:

sex money feelings dies - a one-night stand but on top of that a frequent hook up. every time they say that they won’t hook up with each other again. it’s not healthy, you both want past the relationship and let it go, but the moment y’all see each other from across the bar or at a party you just know you’ll end up in each other’s bed again. -OPEN

 i saw you in a dream - they were close. so close. thought there would never be a time they wouldn’t talk, but one thing lead to another and Aiden’s left thinking about them when it’s just her and her thoughts. without them in her life really hasn’t been the same, but is it worth getting past what happened to pick up the phone and call them?- OPEN

painkiller  - best friends forever. literally. this person knows Aiden inside out and she can’t see a day without them. they’re essentially her painkiller. She tells them everything and them back to her. they can tell if she’s feeling down just by the way she send her snapchat streaks that morning. She can’t see a day without them.- OPEN

 call your girlfriend - this one is pretty messy. one of them is in a relationship, but there’s a huge flirtationship between the muses. the flirtationship essentially becomes to both of these people attached to each other and maybe... even in love. but there’s still that relationship that’s in the way... YIKES- OPEN?

Looks a lot like a tragedy now- details will come soon <3- Miles

perfect places- party buddies but make it you guys just getting lost in the vibes because you don’t want to deal with life. it’s a good friendship. you guys get the thoughts in your head to go numb, but at a point it’s like what’s the point ?- OPEN

will add more if needed <3

Interesting Facts on Aiden:

Wears a leather jacket, along with sometimes combat boots but she’ll wear tennis shoes.

Has been working as a Burlesque dancer for three and a half years, goes by the name Cherry Bomb. Her parents doesn’t know that she’s been getting her money from there.

Has a two-year old daughter named Odette Evelyn Holloway, born on the 9th of December. She makes sure to Facetime her every night and ends up reading her favorite book to her, which she has a lot of favorite books.

Has a rough time trusting people right away because of past trauma, but has a few people who she trusts with her secret and her life.

Sometimes skateboards to classes or to her brothers’ house, learned how to skateboard back in her middle school days.

Won’t pass up the chance to put someone into their place, though she comes off timid when you first meet her. 

Has a rose tattoo on her right hip, wanting to get a sleeve on her left arm, but isn’t for sure.

Wears wigs when she’s working and covers up her tattoo with makeup. 

[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.   

[queenofcats17]

Tired Lawyers Who Love Their Joey’s

@randomwriteronline sent in this ask, and now I’m writing it

Most of this was their idea

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

Malcolm Mcnamara wasn’t used to having weird things happening to him. Weird things were more Joey’s thing. Or, evidently, the trademark of the Grosso-O’Flannel family. He’d gone after Niamh because he needed to tell her about a lawsuit that was being brought against her by someone she’d beaten up. It was a rather serious matter, hence why he’d been so intent upon catching up with her. No matter how loudly he yelled, though, Niamh didn’t break her stride for even a second. It was incredible how quickly her tiny legs could move. 

Eventually, he had to stop to catch his breath. Almost immediately, he froze. Something felt...wrong. He’d been so intent on catching Niamh that he hadn’t noticed that his surroundings didn’t...feel right. The hallways around him looked the same, but they didn’t feel the same. Something was wrong. He was sure of it. But what was it? 

.

Esther glanced at her watch as she walked toward the door to the studio. Traffic had been light, so she was pretty early for her meeting with Joey. He was probably busy anyway, so she could kill some time speaking to the employees. Or she could insist on helping him with his paperwork. He’d never been much good at that. She smiled to herself. She was glad they were connecting again. She worried what might have happened if she’d let him continue on the path he’d been on.

When she opened the door, she found a man she didn’t recognize standing in the entryway. He was looking around, a distraught expression on his face. She had seen that many a time when seeing tourists in the city. 

“Sir?” She walked over to put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you lost?” He started at her touch. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He smiled sheepishly. 

“Is there someone you’re looking for? Maybe I can help you find them.” Granted, she didn’t know everyone in the studio, but she could ask Joey. 

“Her name is Niamh O’Flannel.” The way the man spoke told her that he didn’t expect her to recognize the name. And she didn’t. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I know her.” Esther smiled gently. “But I could ask Joey about her if you like.”

“You know Joey?” The man frowned, confusion flashing across his features. This itself wasn’t too surprising. Most of the studio residents weren’t too terribly familiar with her.

“I’m Joey’s sister.” She explained. The man stared at her. His expression was a strange mix of confusion and revulsion. 

“Sonja?” He asked, his eyes narrowing in what she assumed was suspicion. 

“No...” She said slowly. “My name is Esther.” They were back to confusion now. Although, Esther was pretty sure she was starting to understand what was going on here. 

“Why don’t I get you some tea?” She suggested. “We can figure this out in the break room.”

.

It didn’t take long for them to figure the whole thing out. The man was named Malcolm Mcnamara and he was from another dimension. A dimension where Joey had also had a sister, although one who was considerably more horrible than Esther. This was about what Esther had expected. With that figured out, they began to just talk, seeing what they had in common. Which was quite a bit as it turned out. 

“So, you’re a lawyer too?” Malcolm said over his cup of tea. 

“I am.” Esther nodded. “It was a nightmare to get my license, but I eventually managed it. It pays well, even if I don’t get to see my kids as much as I’d like.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“Two.” Esther pulled out a picture from her purse showing two brunette children, a boy and a girl. The girl looked older, with lighter hair. The boy had darker hair and was smaller and a bit heavier. 

“Rachel is older, but Isaac is the voice of common sense.” Esther smiled softly as Malcolm examined the picture. “She can be so reckless, just like Jojo.”

“Jojo?” Malcolm looked up with a frown. 

“Joey. It’s my nickname for him.” Esther explained a bit sheepishly. “I suppose the nickname stuck because I didn’t see him for almost twenty years. He didn’t really age in my mind.” She’d almost called him Jojo in a business meeting and that had been rather embarrassing. 

“You two certainly have a better relationship than my Joey and his sister.” Malcolm pursed his lips. “At least, I hope you do.”

“It’s not perfect, but we’re trying,” Esther said with a long sigh. “I wasn’t there when he needed me when we were younger. I want to be there for him now.”

“I’m sure he’s glad to have someone in his corner.” Malcolm smiled softly. “Anyway, your kids sound wonderful.” He handed the photo back to her. 

“Do you have any of your own?” Esther asked as tucked it back into her purse.

“One. His name is Charlie.” Malcolm’s smile was equally tender. “He’s such a creative kid.”

“What does he like to do?” Esther leaned on the table. “Write? Draw?”

“Both. He loves listening to Joey’s stories and making up his own.” Malcolm laughed. “He’s even created his own character to run around the studio.”

“That’s very cute.” Esther laughed as well. “Does he spend a lot of time with your Joey?” 

Malcolm nodded, taking a sip of his tea. “Joey takes care of him when I can’t.”

“The two of them must be pretty close.” Her smile turned a tad mournful. 

“They are. They’re so adorable together.” Malcolm sighed. Esther watched him, wondering to herself whether this man had feelings for his own Joey. She hoped their relationship was as wonderful as Malcolm made it sound. It certainly seemed like his Joey had someone in his corner. And she was glad to hear that. 

“I’m still introducing Jojo to Isaac and Rachel.” Esther rested her head on her hand. “Rachel doesn’t quite trust him, but Isaac adores him. He wants to be an animator when he gets older, so finding out Joey is his uncle was a dream come true for him.”

“He and Charlie would probably get along really well,” Malcolm said, meeting Esther’s gaze. He reminded her a lot of herself, she thought. That tired smile, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his son.

“They probably would.” She agreed, allowing herself a big genuine smile. “I would suggest we try to arrange a playdate but, well, that’s not exactly an easy thing to do in this case.” Both of them laughed. 

“Well, who knows? If your Joey can send me back, maybe we can figure out a way to meet up again.” Malcolm suggested. 

“Maybe.” Esther nodded. She did like that idea. She and Malcolm hadn’t been talking for very long, but she rather liked him. He felt like another sibling, or at the very least a kindred spirit.

They both went to take another sip of tea, only to find their cups empty. 

“We should probably be getting you home now.” Esther got up, collecting their cups. 

“Probably.” Malcolm nodded, standing up as well. 

Once she’d put their dishes away, Esther led Malcolm to Joey’s office. A few of the studio employees greeted her, although most gave her a wide berth. A lot of them still thought she was a bankruptcy lawyer there to shut the studio down. Which was honestly understandable. The studio’s finances were in shambles and she felt pretty awful for Grant. But that was beside the point for now. 

“Joey’s office is pretty far up,” Malcolm remarked as they climbed another flight of stairs. 

“It is.” Esther had to stop for a moment to catch her breath. “I keep telling him he needs to move it, especially with his health. He keeps saying he’s fine, but I know he’s not.”

“He’s stubborn, I’m guessing.” Malcolm laughed in between gasps for breath. 

“Yep.” Esther smiled wryly and kept going. “Then again, so am I, as my husband likes to remind me.” Stubbornness was a Drew family trait, after all.

After a few more minutes of stair climbing, (why had Joey put his office at the top of so many flights of stairs?) they finally reached Joey’s office. 

“That was...an experience.” Malcolm leaned against the wall, breathing a bit heavily. 

“Agreed.” Esther nodded, equally out of breath. They were both middle-aged and that had been a lot of stairs. 

“Alright.” Esther turned to the door, knocking. “Joey? Can I talk to you?” There was no reply. Frowning, Esther tried again.

“Joey? I need to talk to you.”

Still no reply. She tried the door and found it locked. 

“Maybe he’s not in.” Malcolm suggested.

“I called to make sure he was here before I left the house.” Esther began rummaging in her purse before pulling out a key. “He’s in.” 

She fitted the key into the lock and opened the door, opening it triumphantly and opening her mouth to begin berating Joey for not letting them in. But she didn’t. Because Joey hadn’t been sitting behind his desk brooding as she’d expected. He was asleep. He’d fallen asleep at his desk on a pile of paperwork. 

“Oh, Joey.” Esther sighed. She set her purse down on a chair, taking off her suit jacket to drape it around her brother’s shoulders. He looked so much younger while he was sleeping, the wrinkles far less obvious. Malcolm watched from the doorway as Esther removed the paperwork from under Joey’s cheek. It seemed this Joey was in good hands as well.

“Does he do this a lot?”

“More so lately.” Esther settled in the chair opposite her brother. “At least he’s working hard. I just wish he wouldn’t push himself so hard.”

“You said he was stubborn.” Malcolm chuckled.

They talked for a few more minutes before Joey finally woke up. He sat up and looked around blearily. 

“Essie?” He mumbled, squinting owlishly at her. 

“Good morning." Esther turned her attention back to her brother. “Did you sleep well at your desk?” Joey looked down at the desk, then at Esther.

“....No.” He said slowly. “I...I’m sorry. I just thought I would rest my eyes for a moment...”

“You were up all night doing paperwork, weren’t you?” Esther’s expression softened.

“I wanted to get them finished for our meeting.” Joey cleared his throat, looking at Malcolm. “Anyway, who’s your friend?” 

Esther narrowed her eyes at the forced topic change but introduced Malcolm nonetheless. “This is Malcolm Mcnamara. He’s from another dimension.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Malcolm held his hand out. 

“You too...” Joey awkwardly reached out to shake his hand. “Do you have a Joey in your dimension too?”

“Yeah. He’s my brother-in-law.” Malcolm laughed. Joey stared at him for a second or two. On one hand, this man was very handsome and had a connection to another version of him. On another hand, when he looked at Malcolm he inexplicably felt like he was looking at his sister.

“Interesting.” Joey smiled slightly. “You, uh, probably want to be sent back to your dimension, right?”

“That would be nice, thank you.” Malcolm withdrew his hand with an apologetic smile. “I have to get back to my son.”

“Of course.” Joey opened a drawer in his desk, bringing out an old tome. He quickly flipped to a page he’d bookmarked and soon had a portal open. Esther raised an eyebrow at how easily he’d been able to do this. Better to bring it up once Malcolm was gone, though. 

"Well, there you go.” Joey sat back down. 

“I had a nice time talking to you,” Esther said, putting a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Hopefully we can find a way to arrange some sort of playdate.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Malcolm smiled and stepped through the portal, which vanished behind him.

[bamby0304]

The Hart: Chapter One

Summary:  When Lizzie was just a few months old, she lost her father. Fifteen years later she lost her mother, and then her sister. Now in her early twenties Lizzie spends her days and nights hunting things and saving people. When the Winchesters meet the bright eyed and bubbly blonde they don’t realise what they’re in for… and neither does she…

Part Twenty: Eight

Masterlist

Warnings: Nope :):)

Bamby

EPOV

In the backseat of the Impala, I watched as Sam and Dean talked amongst themselves. It had been a couple of weeks since they'd dealt with the trickster. A couple of weeks since I'd managed to convince both of them and Bobby that me being on the road would do me some good. Turns out I was kind of right.

No, my headaches were not gone. I was still feeling pretty crappy. But the guys served as a distraction. They made me feel better.

Then there was Sam. We hadn't spoken about it yet, but I knew we both wanted to talk about what the demon had told me. There were a million questions both of us wanted to ask the other. But what I really wanted to know was, what ability did I have?

Could I hurt anyone with it? Could I kill anyone with it? I didn't want to become a monster, and the idea of me being able to harm some innocent person scared the hell out of me.

"All right, tell me about Highway 41."

Sam looked down at the file in his hands, flashlight shining on the words so he could tell Dean about the case we were headed for. "Twelve accident over fifteen years. Five of them fatal. All of them happening on the same night."

"So what are we looking at? Interstate dead zone? Phantom hitchhiker?" Dean asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Not quite." Sam answered. "I mean, year after year, witnesses said the same thing made them crash. A woman appearing in the middle of the road being chased by a man covered in blood."

"Two spooks?"

"Not unheard of." I noted.

"Thought you were asleep." Dean adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could look back at me. "How you feeling?"

"Fine." I lied. "We nearly at the hotel?"

As if right on cue, he turned into the parking lot of the hotel and found a spot to park the car. "Stay here. I'll get us a room." Dean offered as he got out of the car, leaving Sam and I alone.

Sam turned around to look at me. "You wanna tell me the truth? How are you really feeling?"

I shrugged, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. "The headaches aren't as bad. I'm better at keeping my food down."

"What about..." it was clear he was a little unsure how to word his next question. "Have you noticed anything else? Anything different?"

Opening my eyes again, I looked over at him. "You mean, am I seeing the future or electrocuting things I touch? No, Sam. I'm not one of the psychics. Not yet at least."

A bang on the roof of the car had me jump as Dean poked his head through his window. "I got us a room. Let's go."

DPOV

Liz dumped her bag on the floor before she dropped onto the couch. She looked exhausted and nowhere near healthy enough to be on a case. It had me really concerned.

Shaking my head, I grabbed her things, moving them to one of the beds. "You're not sleeping on some lumpy, uncomfortable, crappy couch. Take one of the beds."

"But-"

"Dean's right." Sam cut her off. "You need it more than we do."

Sighing, she pulled herself up and moved to the bed where I'd put her things. Crawling on to the mattress, she rested against the headboard, watching as Sam and I grabbed our things to head out again.

"We're gonna go see if we can find anything that might help us with the case." I explained. "You stay here, get some rest. We'll bring back food." I assured her as Sam and I headed for the door. "Don't go anywhere."

"I won't." she nodded, sliding down the bed to lay down.

As I closed the door I kept my eyes on her until I no longer could. I didn't like leaving her alone, but I knew she needed the rest, and we couldn't put the case on hold.

SPOV

I sat in front of the computer in the library as Dean stood behind me, looking over my shoulder to the screen. We'd found some old news articles on the Highway that dated back to the beginning of all the accident.

"'February 22, 1992. Jonah Greely and Molly McNamara both died tragically in a highway accident on Highway 41'." I read. "It says Molly spun off the road after she lost control of the car and hit Jonah. Her husband David was the only survivor."

"What about Greely? He have any relatives?"

"Ah, yeah. A wife. Marion. But after she collected her husband body she disappeared."

"Well that's great." he sighed, shaking his head as he walked away from the computer. "She'll be the only one who knows where he's buried. Can't burn the bones if we don't know where they're buried."

"Look, we'll just go out there tomorrow night and look for them."

He didn't look too sure. "Tomorrow? As in the anniversary of their death?"

"It's the only night they appear." I noted. "What, are you scared?"

"No, I'm worried about Liz. She'll stay at the hotel while we're researching, but the moment she thinks we're heading out on the Highway, she'll be right there. No way she'll let us go off without her."

He was right. Lizzie cared about our health and safety just like we cared about hers. If she thought there was any way we might end up in danger, she'd want to be there to help even though she could hardly help herself at the moment.

I was worried about her. I'd had some headaches and migraines, but none of it had been as bad as what she was going through. It was as if the blood from Meg had accelerated everything, catching Lizzie up to where the rest of us were.

The whole thing made me feel guilty. I knew it was the demon using my body that turned her life upside down, but that didn't ease my mind. I'd been right there. Screaming inside. Trying to tell Meg to stop. I'd seen the fear and confusion in Lizzie's eyes. I'd felt the blood pool into my hand and then into her mouth. It wasn't me, but I was there.

I shrugged. "Look, we'll go talk to Molly's husband tomorrow, Lizzie can come. If she does okay, then we'll take her to the Highway."

"And if she doesn't?"

"We'll deal with that when the time comes."

EPOV

I hugged my coat to me as I walked between the brothers. We were walking up to the front door of David McNamara. He was the widows husband of Molly who died on Highway 41 fifteen years ago. She- along with a man- were the first to die on the highway since all the incidents started. So naturally, Sam and Dean guessed she was one of the spirits.

We were at her husband's house in the hopes that he could tell us where her bones were buried. Posing as FBI investigating the many deaths, we hoped David wouldn't be too suspicious seeing as it had been fifteen years.

"You okay?" Dean asked, looking down at me.

I nodded. "I'm fine."

I wasn't too bad, really. My head throbbed a little, but the cool fresh air was helping me. My stomach wasn't twisted in knots, so that was a bonus.

"If you need to leave, just let us know. We'll understand." Sam told me, not for the first time.

"I know."

Raising his hand, Sam knocked on the front door before taking a step back. We waited in silence.

The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man. "Hi, can I help you?"

Pulling out my fake badge, I smiled at him. "I'm Agent Ramis, this is Agents Murray and Aykroyd." I gestured to Dean and Sam. "We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions?"

Walking back on to the path, Dean shook his head, clearly agitated. "So much for burning her bones."

Turns out there was a problem in our master plan. After talking with David, we found out Molly was cremated. That meant there had to be something holding her back from moving on. Some kind of unfinished business.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, but then what's keeping her here?"

"Whatever it is, we have no choice now." I shrugged, walking to the car. "We all know the only way to finish this job is to go to the Highway. We need to find where Greely was buried, and we needed to find Molly's spirit. So, did I pass the test? Are you gonna let me come?"

Dean opened the back door for me once he reached the Impala. "Could we stop you?"

"Nope." I answered, popping the 'p'.

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Thought not."

"Looks like we're going for a late-night drive, boys." I nodded, stepping into the car.

DPOV

Driving along the road, we hit Highway 41 at around ten o'clock. The three of us were keeping an eye out for any signs of life. Or well... you know what I mean. It hadn't taken long before a woman suddenly ran out on to the road.

"Stop! Stop!" she screamed.

I slammed my foot on the brakes. "Holy-" as the car came to a stop, we only just missed her.

Once she'd recovered from the shock of almost being hit, she looked up at us. "You've gotta help me."

I recognised her from the newspaper article, and a picture David had shown us. It was Molly McNamara.

"Guys..." Sam looked confused and surprised as we watched molly hurry over to his window. "I don't think she knows she's dead."

"Please, please." Molly frantically knocked on Sam's window, her voice desperate and scared.

"All right, all right, calm down." Sam told her as he wound the window down. "Calm down. Tell us what happened."

"My husband and me. We were in a car accident." she started, getting more and more worked up.

"Hold on." Liz slid across her seat, over to Sam's side, before she opened the door and stepped out to join Molly on the road. Grabbing the woman's arm, she tried to calm her. "Start from the beginning, and just try to keep calm."

As Molly nodded and took a breath, Sam and I got out of the car as well, listening to her story. "We were driving when a man stepped on to the road. I swerved and we crashed. And when I came to... The car was wrecked. My husband was missing. I went looking for him, that's when the man from the road started chasing me."

"Did he look like he lost a fight with a lawnmower?" I asked earning disapproving looks from Liz and Sam.

Molly frowned, confused. "How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess." I shrugged.

Before Molly could ask any questions, Sam spoke. "Ma`am, what's your name?" he knew who she was, but we weren't too sure if she did. I mean, she clearly didn't realise she was dead.

"Molly." she answered. "Molly McNamara."

"Molly, look, I think maybe you should come with us. We'll take you back into town-"

She cut Sam off, shaking her head. "I can't. I have to find David. He might've gone back to the car."

"We should get you somewhere safe first. Dean, Lizzie and I will come back." Sam offered, trying to convince her to leave with us. "We'll look for your husband."

But she wasn't having any of it. "No. I'm not leaving here without him." she sighed. "Would you just take me back to my car, please?"

Sam and I shared a look, both of us knowing we had to get her off the highway. It would make the case a lot easier. But we also knew she wasn't going to leave. Not when she thought David was out here.

"Of course." Sam nodded.

Liz gestured to the car. "Come on."

SPOV

Dean stopped the car where Molly told him to, parking it on the side of the road before the four of us all climbed out.

"It's right over here." Molly gestured to where the ground slopped down.

Heading over there, we looked down at found no car- unsurprisingly to Dean, Lizzie and myself. It had been fifteen years. The car was long gone.

But Molly just looked confused. "I don't understand. I'm sure this is where it was. We hut that tree right there." she gestured to a tree at the bottom of the slope. "This doesn't make any sense." shaking her head, she started down the hill.

"Guys, we gotta get out of here." I noted, keeping my voice low so only Lizzie and Dean heard me. "Greely could show up at any second."

"What are you gonna tell her?" Dean asked.

"The truth." I didn't see any other way.

"She's gonna take off running in the other direction."

"Dean's right." Lizzie nodded. "We can't tell her anything."

"I know it sounds crazy, but I crashed into that tree." Molly called to us, pointing to the same tree. "I don't know who could've taken it. It was totalled." she looked so desperate. "Please, you have to believe me."

"Molly, listen, we do believe you, all right?" I assured her. "But that's why we wanna get you out of here."

She shook her head. "What about David? Something must have happened. I have to get to the cops."

Dean gave a sharp nod. "Cops. You know, that's a great idea. In fact, we'll take you down to the station ourselves. Okay? So just come with us. It's the best way we can help you and your husband."

She still looked unsure, but eventually Molly nodded. "Okay." she agreed, heading back up the hill and heading for the car.

EPOV

I sat next to Molly, watching her as she looked ahead but not at anything. She looked so down. So lost. Her unfinished business was clearly her husband. She missed him. She was worried about him. Her confusion about the situation meant she had no idea he was alive, and actually remarried.

"We're supposed to be in Lake Tahoe." she told us.

Sam looked over his shoulder to her. "You and David?"

"It's our five-year anniversary."

"A hell of an anniversary." Dean mumbled.

Ignoring him, I rested a comforting hand on Molly's shoulder. When she'd showed up on the road, I'd taken my iron ring off and slipped it in my pocket, not wanting to hurt or scare her even though it could help if Greely ever showed up.

Out of the two, I was more concerned about crossing her over. She was confused, he was violent. Violent was fine, I could deal with that. But seeing someone hurting like Molly was, it was almost too much to bare.

"Right before, we were having the dumbest fight. It's the only time we ever really argue, when we're stuck in the car."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, I know how that goes."

The confused and offended look Dean gave him didn't go unnoticed by me. In fact it put a little smile on my face.

"You know the last thing I said to him? I called him a jerk. Oh, God." Molly looked so guilty and ashamed, wiping the smile off my face. "What if that's the last thing I said to him?"

"Hey." I shook my head, feeling so bad that I couldn't tell her the truth. "We'll find him. I promise. We'll figure out what happened."

It was at that moment the radio turned on and began to play House of the Rising Sun by The Animals.

Dean looked to Sam. "Did you...?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

"Great." Dean sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"This song..." Molly leaned forward, listening to the music. "It was playing when we crashed."

The station on the radio started to change again as a voice spoke. "She's mine."

"Dean..." I did not feel good about this.

"She's mine." it repeated. "She's mine."

"What is that?" Molly asked, completely clueless.

I looked up from the radio, looking to the road when suddenly Greely appeared. "Dean!"

"Hold on." he warned, pushing his foot onto the accelerator.

Molly grabbed his shoulder, watching the man on the road as Dean neared him. "What are you doing?!" But Dean just kept driving until he drove into Greely, breaking the spirit apart for the moment. Turning around, Molly looked out the back window to see where he'd gone. "What the...? What the hell just happened?"

"Don't worry, Molly. Everything's all right." Sam assured her.

But the car started to make a noise as the engine shut off.

"I think you spoke a little too soon, Sammy." Dean noted as we rolled to a stop. he tried to start the car again, but it just wasn't happening. Giving up, he spoke the words I'd been thinking. "I don't think he's gonna let her leave."

DPOV

"This can't be happening." Molly shook her head, climbing out of the car.

Liz, Sam and I headed for the trunk as Molly stood off to the side. If we had to deal with an angry spirit like Greely, then we were going to need weapons. We need to be ready for anything.

"Well, trust me, it's happening." I told her, unlocking and opening the trunk and pulling out a gun.

"Well, okay, thanks for helping, but I think I got it covered from here." turning around, we saw Molly backing up, her fear now directed towards us.

Liz sighed. "She saw the guns and she's freaking out." she mumbled so only Sam and I heard.

Unable to let her go, Sam stepped forward to try and get her to stay. "Wait, Molly, wait a minute."

"Just leave me alone."

"No. You have to listen to me."

"Just stay away." she warned, turning around to walk off.

Having no other choice, Sam decided to tell her the truth. Or at least part of it. "It wasn't a coincidence that we found you, all right?"

She stopped. "What are you talking about?"

I shrugged, standing next to Sam now. "We weren't just cruising for chicks when we ran into you, sister. We were out here. Hunting."

"Hunting for what?"

When Sam couldn't come up with a lie, I told her the truth. "Ghosts."

Sam turned to me, shaking his head. "Don't sugar coat it for her."

"You're nuts."

"Really? About as nuts as a vanishing guy with his guts spilling out." I may have been a little harsh, but we had a job to do and we didn't have much time. "You know what you saw."

Leaving Sam with Molly, I headed back to the trunk where Liz was leaning against the car, looking both unimpressed and amused. As Sam kept on trying to convince Molly to stay, I stepped up to Liz, the two of us talking amongst ourselves.

"Somethings going to go wrong here. It always does."

"Probably." she nodded. "It's not like we've ever had an open and shut case before."

"Yeah, but this time you're not a hundred percent. You gonna be okay out there?" I asked, nodding to the tree line.

"Well I'm not staying by the car, if that's what you think." she told me matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument.

"You feel like you need to stop, you tell me. Sam can go on ahead."

She cracked a smile. "What? You gonna babysit me, Winchester?" biting her lip, she looked me up and down.

My thoughts instantly turned bad. Actually, they were nice thoughts, but I shouldn't have been thinking about them at that moment. Yet here I was, picturing us in between sheets and alone, instead of out here in the cold.

It had been awhile since we'd slept together. The last time was during the week Sam had disappeared on us. We'd both been worried and needed a distraction. But despite how long it had been, I still remembered every detail of it. It was engraved in my mind.

She groaned, pulling me from my thoughts as her hand came up to rub at her forehead.

Moving closer to her, I rested a hand on her back for comfort and support as I watched her with worried eyes, all other thoughts gone as I concentrated on her here and now. "On a scale of one to ten?"

"Eight. So, it's not too bad."

"Eight is bad." I argued.

"Not when I've been dealing with tens for days at a time."

"Everything okay?" Sam asked as he and Molly moved back to the car.

Liz nodded, lowering her hand as she looked up at him, a small and forced smile on her lips. "Yeah. So, we doing this thing, or what?"

Bamby

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