#this is almost twenty pages in google docs

[bcdaily]

An Influx of James/Lily...stuff

So, this is the first week in...lol, a year?...that I haven't had mountains of freelancing to finish or grappling with utter burnout or just...yeah lol whatever life. So I'm at Starbucks now with the freedom to ~~write whatever I want~~ which has left me dazzlingly undecided, which lead me on a little foray into my Google Docs.

And the thing is...I've started so many one-shots or stories or somethings or another that are not going to go anywhere because I don't even remember what they were. And I'm too sad to delete them, so I thought I'd just...throw them up here under a cut?

So enjoy, these random paragraphs of the graveyard of Bee's Fics That Never Were:

Something AU? About Lily house/petsitting?? There are fish??

Everything was going swimmingly well until Lily almost killed both the fish and the heir.

"Whoah—whoah!" the latter had been shouting as Lily had been shrieking, the tidy bowl of fish in her hands rattling and sloshing water over its rounded rim as bodies collided inside the posh townhouse foyer, and Lily's instinctive reaction had been a sad attempt at weaponizing paltry plastic. Blindly, mid-shriek, she'd shoved the fish bowl like a battering ram the intruder's way, endangering both innocent marine life, most eardrums within range, and Euphemia Potter's pristine hardwood floors.

Also, Lily realises approximately twenty seconds too late, Euphemia Potter's similarly pristine only child.

Not likely to be keen on the destruction of either, Euphemia.

Hands down, Fleamont would care most about the fish.

"Jesus—shit. Shit." Lily jerks the bowl back, lifting it up to inspect the damage, her frantic gaze bouncing between the man she's just attacked and the tiny sea life she may have just murdered. "I'm so—are you—are they—are they alive?"

"Is this a burglary? Are you stealing them?" asks the heir, the hefty armful of papers and books he'd been holding now mostly scattered by his feet. A few industrious, aerodynamic pages are still floating down, lapping leisurely by their legs. He'd dropped them, back during the shrieking and colliding and shame. Now, he is standing very still, but nodding very specifically at the fish. "If so, I will not stand in your way."

"What?"

"Take them. Please."

"The fish?"

"Yes."

"I'm not stealing fish," Lily responds dumbly, eyes shifting from the heir back to the precious cargo he is honestly being a bit too generous in looking to offload. Her mind has quit whirling enough to concentrate on the contents. Immediately, she begins to tally up fish. Four, five, six...fuck, were there two of the blue ones? Is the orange one moving? Is that a death float?

One fish, two fish. Red fish, slew fish.

The heir is still talking.

"More of an art thief, then?" he asks. His hand lifts, elegant-looking and long-fingered, moving to straighten the trendy specs sitting upon his patrician nose, which had gone askew in the scuffle. "There's a bloody ugly statue of some tragic Greek in the dining room. Worth loads. Grab and go. I'll assist hefting, even. No charge."

"What?" There are eleven fish. Eleven, glorious, wonderful, still somehow living fish. Relief is a drowning tidal wave nearly pulling Lily under. Her knees go fair weak with it. She attempts to shake the remnants of shock and panic off like a sodden dog, but hasn't quite managed it when she gives her attention back to the man in front of her. He's quite tall. His hair is dark and haphazard, like Fleamont's. "That's not how burglary works."

"Are you certain?"

"Not from personal experience, but a woman can take some educated stances."

"So you're not a burglar."

"No." This is a ludicrous conversation. From the smile playing at his lips, Lily reckons the heir thinks so, too. She's trying to remember his name. Fleamont had told her it at some point, maybe even multiple points. It's something traditional, one syllable. She'd had some worry about that, with parents called mouthfuls like Fleamont and Euphemia. Fleamont's favorite fish was called Jeremiah Rumplestiltskin. "I'm Lily. The housesitter."

"The housesitter." He says the word with the flourish of a brightened lightbulb, ah yes, there it is. He bends, beginning to gather his belongings from the foyer floor.

++++

Something canon?? I actually think this might have been a sequel to a one-shot? Maybe??

It's become a game now, and they are both very, very good at it.

“What are you staring at?” she baldly asks that very first Monday morning, barely twenty-four hours after what James had quickly begun to refer to in his head as The Age-Old Snogging Incident (subtitle: Wildest Dreams Defined).

They are eating breakfast in the Great Hall, and save for the seven seconds it had taken James to thrust the wrapped Brewing Cauldrons record at her yesterday with a hurried “Happy birthday, Evans,” before scurrying off in the most pathetic of manners, this is the first time he’s encountered her. She looks much the same as she always does (brilliant), and he’s doing much the same as he always does (eating lathered toast, subtly watching her, hoping no one realizes he’s subtly watching her), but this time, she calls him out on it.

She’s seated across the table and two seats over. They are surrounded by people, but they may as well be alone. Noise buzzes in James’s ears as he stares fixedly at her smugly arched eyebrows, her tellingly quirked lips (the same ones that had snogged him). He is moments away from stuttering out an embarrassed, evasive response, likely flushing and bumbling at being caught, because she's right, he is staring...

But then he realizes something.

He is not the only one.

Lily Evans, that coy conundrum, is staring fixedly at him, as well.

More specifically, she is staring fixedly at his mouth.

Fucking hell, she’s thinking about it, too.

It's sudden, stunning awareness. It's wild, uncontrollable confidence. It's unproven, untested, unmitigated victory and arrogance, a feeling James is not entirely unfamiliar with, but never--never--in regards to her.

“I’m not staring at anything,” he somehow finds himself answering, slowly biting into his toast like it's a token power move. He takes his leisurely time swallowing. “What are you staring at?”

“Me?” Her eyebrows have arched even higher. She licks her lips. “I’m not staring.”

“No?”

“No.”

“My mistake, then.”

"That's right."

"Cheers."

Neither of them breaks eye contact. Neither of them even moves. It is a battle of pointed, heady, bloody fucking hell flirtatious wills, and now that James has realized she is not the only one with power here, he is damn well not going to give it up.

"What are you two doing?" Hestia Jones eventually asks, regarding them with vague suspicion. "What's going on?"

James bites his toast.

Lily stirs her tea.

"Nothing," they both say.

But ten minutes later, as James is somewhat giddily taking his time in exiting the Hall for Charms, Lily slinks up behind him, grabs his arm, and yanks him back as their mates sail unassumingly though the Great Hall toward lessons.

"You're so obvious," she hisses. "Control yourself."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," James returns loftily. "But for shame, Evans--can't you keep your hands off me for even a moment?"

James nods down to where her fingers are still curled around his biceps. He expects her to drop it immediately like a scorching hot pan, but instead she gets a wicked sort of gleam in her green eyes, curls her fingers around even further, and squeezes.

"Mm. So tense." The quiet husk in her voice sends a string of shivers straight down James's spine. One of her fingers has begun to stroke. "I know a few helpful ways to remedy that...but I'm afraid you're just a bit too young to hear them."

"Corrupter of youth," James accuses, though it mostly comes out as a choke.

Cruel, cruel witch that she is, Lily gives a jaunty shrug, lets loose his arm, and with nothing more than a conciliatory pat, stalks off past him.

The point, admittedly, goes to her. But James is nothing if not a sportsman.

Later that same afternoon, Marc Darndis spills an entire beaker of uncooked Brinstin Brew down his front in Potions, and James takes a moment in the ensuing chaos to turn around to the workstation behind him. He watches Lily as she diligently keeps working, then leans his elbows against the table top, sighs heavily, and says, "Poor Darndis. He'll be in the shower for ages trying to scrape that off. Unfortunate, I suppose...but then again, I am personally a very firm advocate for a nice, long shower."

Lily doesn't even glance up at this comment. Maybe her eye twitches a bit, but mostly she just continues chopping up her beetle parts.

"If you don't turn around and mix in your daffodil root," she says eventually, "you're going to need a nice, long shower. When your cauldron explodes."

"Nothing beats a good shower," James continues, like she hasn't spoken. "You know, when the steam starts to billow, and you take your first step in, and the hot water hits your skin, dripping down..."

James manages to get through a good thirty-five seconds of discussing raunchy bathing habits before Lily's face has gone so completely red, it very nearly matches her hair.

(Truly, if James's bothersome cauldron hadn't chosen that exact moment to go on and explode, he reckons he may very well have cracked her.)

(Still, it's worth the detention Slughorn gives him, and the victorious look Lily shoots him. Overall: Point Potter.)

That Monday sets the tone for the following weeks, unleashing this new, maddening dynamic wherein James is now not only allowed to flirt shamelessly and ruthlessly with Lily Evans...it is quite simply expected. The pair of them are both so grossly over-the-top with it, it is very nearly laughable.

She shows up to breakfast one morning with an extra shirt button undone and glossy lips, and James has to squint at the ceiling for a good three minutes before he's in a dignified enough condition to rise from the table.

He "accidentally" leaves his Charms textbook in his dormitory, inquires if he can look on with hers, and spends the entirety of the lesson invading her personal space to her ever-obvious reluctant delight.

They cross paths in the common room, where she promptly begins to read aloud from a Witch Weekly article entitled "The Sexy Art of Snogging" (with charade accompaniment).

James arrives back from Quidditch practice one afternoon, sweaty and still in-kit, and finds her gawking at him by the portrait hole. He loudly hums the chorus to "Mrs. Robinson" as he passes her by, and hears her muffled laughter as the Fat Lady swings closed behind him.

Somehow, they're sitting together during History now, and spend nearly every lesson shooting hurried, sloppy notes between them:

It's so sad how badly you want to kiss me, Evans.

I could weep with how much of a projection that is, Potter.

Shoot those lusty looks elsewhere, I will not be seduced. (how long did he just say this essay was meant to be?)

If I wanted you seduced, you'd be seduced. (I don't know I wasn't listening, go ask Remus.)

I'm too young for these types of conversations. How dare you. (two scrolls)

I guess I'll go find someone else to have them with for the next thirty-two days, then. (thks)

Speaking of mates...the lot of them know nothing. Or at least, James hasn't told his--he can't be certain what Lily has divulged. As far as the lads are concerned, James and Lily are merely engaged in a mysterious, extended battle of wills, their hushed conversations never disclosed, the prize an unconfirmed puzzle. Peter finds the anomaly entertaining. Sirius is primarily disinterested. Remus likely figured the whole thing out on day two, but is much too polite to intrude.

So on it goes, just the two of them--tempting and toying and teasing and TK.

James loves his birthday. He has always loved his birthday. It's the one day of the year when no one's allowed to tell you off for being utterly self-involved, and James has always been keen on that type of lenience. He fancies cake and presents and embarrassing traditions. He doesn't shy from attention or parties or mugs of beverages clinked in his honour. But this birthday...

January quickly shifts to February. February fades into March. James has never been so keenly aware of the days of his youth ticking by as he is at this particular moment. Last week, Lily had cornered him in the library stacks, had used that sad, predictable old ploy of reaching for a book beyond his shoulder in order to brush her body full against his, and James had very nearly threw the whole game and timeline out the window then and there. He was losing his mind. She was keenly enjoying it. If he wasn't very nearly certain the tricks and teasing were getting to her too, he'd likely have put a stop to them ages ago.

But Lily Evans is not the sort of girl who would even vaguely entertain a bloke if she wasn't interested. James, of all people, ought to know that. Yes, their blatant harassment of each other these past eight weeks has been so wildly extraneous in every way...but that doesn't mean there isn't something lying beneath. There is for James, in any case. And really, she'd started it. He doesn't exactly know what any of it means, but he reckons he can't be be castigated for counting down the hours until 27 March with bated breath.

It's Thursday, three days until his birthday. 

+++++

Some canon smut that never was??

"This," James mutters, as her mouth peppers his chin, "is an insulting cliche."

She hums a vague acknowledgment at this comment—or is that a groan?—but continues undeterred in wrestling apart the buttons of his shirt. The sharp half-moons of her nails scrape his chest in a scrambling kitten's scratch as the paltry buttons of his cotton school shirt pop. There is a cool June wind drifting in from the mooncast evening outside the nearby doorway, leading out onto the ramparts. It hits his now exposed skin in soft, brisk billows.

Her teeth bite down on his pulse point. James teeters to the right, nearly tipping back down the steep spiral staircase.

He grabs her around the waist, swinging them around until her back is pressed against the cold stone wall.

She gives a light oomph...then continues to nibble.

"The Astronomy Tower," James snarls.

She has made work of half his shirt buttons. Sighs. "James."

"Really. 'Meet me,' she says. Then drags me to the Astronomy Tower. I feel cheap and tawdry."

[aftermidnightspecial]

do you have any plans for a sequel to in fernhollow? i would love to know if anything else fun happens in the clan lands!

Oh this brought me so much joy. Thank you very much for asking!!

Initially, I wasn't sure Laz and that universe would be interesting enough or if anyone would even like my writing enough for me to dive in and continue that. But even when I was writing Fernhollow, I was compiling ideas and ended up with a twenty page Google Doc of lore and notes to expand that universe.

I would absolutely do a sequel for that story specifically. I'll add it to the request queue. And for some perspective, I have a few requests to write through, I'm about to post my NSFW Demon smut story, I have a SFW Gargoyle fic that is almost done, And then Part Two for First Date, & Part Two for Harpy Boyfriend Avery.

Though I will say, I really liked writing for Laz, sooo I may bump Fernhollow Part Two up on my list. :3

Again thank you for asking ❤︎ Made my whole day! -Midnight

[windturns]

still  here,  still  making  things  happen  —  would  azure  isle  even  run  without  thea salamanca  ?  the  twenty-seven  year  old  private  swimming  instructor  has  been  a  part  of  the  island’s  rhythm  for  one  year,  ensuring  that  everything  flows  just  as  effortlessly  as  it  appears.  you’ll  find  them  at  the  fitness  &  wellness  center,  where  they  handle  every  detail  with  the  kind  of  precision  the  island’s  elite  have  come  to  rely  on.  they’re  known  for  being  tenacious,  always  having  their  locket  necklace  nearby  —  and  spending  time  at  le  jardin  café  to  unwind  after  work.

01.　OVERVIEW

full  name.　althea  joy  de  los  reyes  salamanca　　/　　aliases.　thea　　/　　birthdate.　30th  march  (  27  )　　/　　hometown.　manila,  philippines　　/　　gender  +  pronouns.　cis  woman  +  she/her　　/　　orientation.　pansexual　　/　　zodiac.　aries　　/　　occupation.　private  swimming  instructor  @  azure  isle　　/　　face  claim.　maris  racal

02.　A STUDY IN ...

the  rush  of  caffeine  in  your  veins  first  thing  in  the  morning,  pushing  yourself  past  your  limit  now  and  suffering  the  consequences  later,  feeling  the  warmth  of  the sun  against  your  golden  skin,  turning  the  pages  of  a  crisp  new  book,  untanging  an  old  pair  of  earphones  and  making  things  worse,  the  jingle  of  coins  in  a  can  as  you  pour  them  out  to  count.

03.　THE SUMMARY

althea  joy  salamanca  is  the  eldest  of  three  girls  and  raised  by  a  single  mother.  her  mother  wasn’t  neglectful,  but  she  was  constantly  busy,  working  tiring  graveyard  shifts  as  a  call  center  agent  and  sleeping  throughout  the  day.  thea  took  it  upon  herself  to  look  after  everyone,  cooking  meals  for  them  when  she  was  old  enough  and  taking  her  sisters  to  school.  she  wasn’t  the  smartest,  but  what  she  did  have  was  determination  and  dedication.  she  got  good  grades,  was  on  the  varsity  team  for  swimming,  and  maintained  a  decent  social  life.  thea  graduated  with  high  honors  and  was  offered  a  scholarship  for  swimming,  where  she  attended  her  dream  university  studying  biology  in  the  hopes  of  becoming  a  pediatrician.  azure  isle  is  not  exactly  where  she  wants  to  be,  rather  only  there  to  help  with  her  med  school  funds,  but  hey,  at  least  the  pay  and  perks  are  good.

04.　HEADCANONS

her  mother  and  sisters  are  her  entire  life  and  biggest  priorities.  almost  everything  she  does  is  for  them,  even  going  as  far  as  to  send  a  cut  of  her  paychecks  to  support  them.

a  certified  coffee  addict,  thea  cannot  go  through  the  day  without  drinking  at  least  one  cup.  she’s  not  too  picky,  having  grown  up  with  instant  3-in-1  packets,  but  ideally  prefers  her  coffee  with  2  teaspoons  of  sugar  and  a  splash  of  soy  milk.

she  suffers  from  chronic  migraines  from  time  to  time,  typically  triggered  by  stress.

though  thea  is  proficient  at  swimming,  she’s  not  very  passionate  about  it.  she’s  expressed  multiple  times  in  her  life  that  she  has  no  interest  in  going  pro  despite  having  the  skills  to  do  so.

her most beloved and important possession is her heart-shaped locket necklace, gifted to her by her mother right before she left for azure isle. it contains a treasured family photo.

loves  makeup,  but  knows  next  to  nothing  about  glam.  she  can  and  will  walk  around  in  full  glam  wearing  sweats.

huge  on  karaoke.  she’s  not  the  best  singer,  but  she  can  at  the  very  least  carry  a  tune.  her  go-to  songs  are  no  scrubs  and  maybe  this  time.

05.　CONTINUE READING

google doc 　　/　　pinterest board　　/　　wanted connections + wanted section

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Remember how I said I wanted to write a post about Mild!Miguel....

It's been sitting in my drafts for almost a month. It's there.

It's just...reallly...reallly. really...long.

I just put it into Google Docs for the first time.

It's 27 pages. TWENTY-SEVEN PAGES.

Six THOUSAND WORDS. DO you know how sad that is? I typed that in one sitting. That's despicable

It's still not edited. How the fuck am I gonna edit a 27 page dissertation about MIGUEL.

I really love the material in it but

Unimaginable torture. Seventh circle of hell.

I might make it a video ....if I can. Because it's so hard to describe the parallel between Hobie and Miguel's arc and like.. The intentional deception Miguel puts on just like Hobie does. In order to will himself into the 'Stern boss' he thinks is necessary.

Like UGH NOT BEING ABLE TO EXPLAIN IN CONCISELY IS KILLING ME

[Very short rant below]

It's like Hobie very specially follows a formula of Humor - Deception - Moment of Action - Underlying Support

That Miguel WILL go through.

We're shown Miguel Humor (first scene), Miguel deception (lair scene), Him chasing Miles being his NEGATIVE moment of action that will LEAD to him reconsidering and offering underlying to support from Miles in the next movie.

Him in the liar is him acting mean on purpose. And the same way Hobie contradicts himself in his intro scene 'I don't believe in x'. The movie places Hobies in a humorous light to let us know of this upcoming deception

Which is the same for Miguel.

Why else does he have that high ass platform??? That's so uncharacteristic of him. Why does he let Peter interrupt him like that.

Because we're meant to see that Miguel's act as boss is just that - an act. We're supposed to think he's ridiculous- because.., its not real he can turn it on and off on a seconds notice

So when he returns to that rational place in his redemption in the next movie it won't be a 180 because like

GODDAMN DO YOU GET IT IM GONNA START KICKING A WALL

HOW DO I EXPLAIN THAT EASILY THERE'S SO MUCH IM ANGRY

Hobie... hobie. Miguel. Deception.... Gabriella.. Miles.. parallel.. Miguel's meddling with children's suffering being his downfall... Empanadas cheering him up

It's all connected in a matrix of nodes - each one a strand- in the infinite web of the multiverse-

[iustitians]

ooc; headcanons - on Neuvillette's age, early life and relationship with humans, aka Neffi going insane for 4 Google Doc pages straight

Look, sometimes you just have a lot of feelings. This is something I've been thinking about for a few weeks now, and in a way, also a topic that I've wanted to properly sort out and organize for myself.

Spoilers below for Fontaine Archon Quest (in particular 4.1 and 4.2) as well as Neuvillette's character quest. Also warning because this is long and I just kinda went unhinged.

Neuvillette’s age & early life

So while we know - more or less anyway - how long Neuvillette has been living at the Court of Fontaine, we have precious little information on what he was up to before that. I say “more or less” because the descriptions of his term as the Iudex are frustratingly inconsistent, ranging from “(a little) more than four hundred years” (in his own words), through “almost five hundred years” (in Wriothesley’s words), to “five hundred years” (in Focalors’ words). Personally I lean more towards the 500 year mark - Neuvillette’s story quest implies that his perception on the passage of time and its consequences is somewhat skewed, so frankly his words I find least trustworthy on the matter. In addition there is difference between the length of his tenure as the Chief Justice and the events from his character quest. More on that in just a second.

We don’t have a lot of concrete info, but we have some hints:

Neuvillette states he never personally met Egeria, who died during the cataclysm. The invitation to become the Iudex came to him from Focalors, Egeria’s successor.

Neuvillette is close to the Melusines, but there is no implication of him ever interacting with Elynas, who also died during the cataclysm. He was there to deal with the Narzissenkreuz Ordo, however, which wasn’t much later.

And connected to that:

Neuvillette’s official introduction states that “the Melusines actually appeared much later than when Neuvillette took up his post”. Of course the definition of “much later” is up for interpretation, but we’re talking about what a human would perceive as such.

In his story quest, Carole states the Melusines stayed in their village “for almost twenty years” before Neuvillette brought them to the Court.

Egeria and Elynas both died during the cataclysm roughly 500 years ago. Some time after that, The Ordo and the Marechaussee Phantom clashed within the remains of Elynas, resulting in a violent explosion. Given the appearance of Alain Guillotin in Neuvillette’s flashback, and his words (“They're planning to reanimate the monster… We have to report this to the Chief Justice”), Neuvillette was already the Iudex by then. It was only after that explosion that the Melusines were born, and then according to Carole, some 20 years passed again before Neuvillette brought them to the Court.

So to sum up:

The cataclysm (~500 years ago) → Neuvillette becomes Iudex → battle against Narzissenkreuz Ordo within Elynas → Melusines are born → ~20 years pass → Neuvillette brings Melusines to the Court of Fontaine → institutional reforms that put society’s trust in him to the test → the Carole & Vautrin tragedy

Something that's interesting is that Neuvillette seemed to instantly know what he was doing as soon as he arrived at the Court. The guy didn't comprehend feelings or human customs, but he sure did know his way around both the work of a judge and administration, eventually rising to the position of Fontaine's top political figure. My theories and explanations for that are as follows:

As the Hydro Dragon, Neuvillette possessed innate knowledge and ability for these things from the moment he was born. Basically he's the "Dragon of Justice" in a similar way as how the Hydro Archon is the "God of Justice". This might be also supported by the game pointing out a few times how "the Iudex is the real him" and not just "a role he plays". Focalors also seemed to know from the start she could entrust this position to him.

Or more mundane: the Archon simply threw Fontaine’s legal code at him and he learned everything he needed quickly because he's just that smart. We do know he has an excellent memory.

It could also be a combination of both. 

With that said, it’s worth noting that - unlike what his story quest kind of implies - the political reforms he introduced that resulted in the Carole tragedy weren’t something he did right away. As I mentioned before, this would have happened at least 20 years after the Narzissenkreuz Ordo had been dealt with, with him already as the Chief Justice at that point. It’s not that he appeared at the Court, instantly introduced a new species to the people and turned the Fontaine system upside down - more that his introduction of Melusines and the subsequent uprooting of the old regime were the biggest tests for him and Fontaine’s trust in him at the time.

OK, cool. How long had he been around before becoming the Iudex, and what had he been up to? In all honesty I think the answer is “not much”. He came to the Court to search for the meaning of his existence, after all - before becoming the Iudex, there likely wasn’t one as far as he was concerned. There is next to no info about what he could have been doing before he was invited to the Court. That said, considering the Heavenly Principles’ treatment of the Seven Sovereigns, that may have been a good thing.

The way I see it, the hints I listed point towards Neuvillette being born either during or not long after the cataclysm. It’s not impossible that the Dragon of Water had reincarnated earlier, but if that is the case, I feel like he wasn’t active - for all we know, Neuvillette may have spent a period of time in slumber or something. He never mentions any kind of “awakening” for himself, but also he never really talks to anyone in game about his earliest years, not even the Traveler. At any rate, his beginnings would have been spent in seclusion; there probably exists some kind of underwater sanctuary that served as both his birthplace and possibly also the grave of the previous Hydro Sovereign, lost to time and history. 

And yes, that means he was quite young when he came to the Court of Fontaine. I personally believe that he literally didn't have a childhood - I don't think it's out of the ordinary for the Dragon Sovereign to reincarnate as an adult right away. He's not a new being, but a continuation of an old one.

As for what he would have been doing… again, probably not much. There wasn’t really anything of note for him to do, after all, when he didn’t understand the point of his existence. He probably simply lingered there. I imagine, however, that through the water, the whirlpool of emotions of Fontaine’s human residents would have reached him, causing him a lot of confusion. Upon realizing that these came from the ones who share his physical form, as well as how he found himself able to resonate with these emotions, he would have grown at least a little curious, and considered that maybe the meaning of his existence could be discovered there… which is how the letter from Focalors would have found him.

Neuvillette & humans

Which lets me segue into the next thing I want to talk about, namely how Neuvillette feels about humans vs how he used to feel, and just how huge a gamble Focalors had to take with this guy in order to try and save the people of Fontaine.

So here’s the first and main issue she would have run into: Neuvillette is a reborn Dragon Sovereign of Water. While he lost a large chunk of his memory, he did know from the start that his predecessor, alongside the other Sovereigns, was defeated by the Heavenly Principles, who then destroyed their world order and replaced it with their own, with humans as the species in control. He also knew that the Sovereigns’ power was forcibly seized from them and given to the Archons to maintain the Heavenly Principles’ control over the land. Neuvillette is in direct opposition to both the Heavenly Principles and the Seven - regardless of their stance on Celestia, they too are usurpers in his eyes. He had no reason whatsoever to think anything positive of either Focalors or the Fontainians. Several of his bios and voice lines that talk about this part of history are worded in a way that portrays these events and their perpetrators in a clearly negative light. Dainsleif also suggests how Neuvillette might feel about humans and the world order in his Collected Miscellany:

“From Neuvillette’s position, every conflict on Teyvat must seem like a comedy acted upon a stage. Fighting for territory that doesn’t belong to them, singing the praises of overlords who imprison them, and committing sins that will long outlive them…”

Neuvillette himself says something interesting on the matter at the end of Act II, while talking to Navia in front of Callas’ grave.

“There was once a time when I didn't want to believe that there could be anything more important to humans than life itself. No, rather than that, it's probably more truthful to say I didn't believe humans were capable of resisting the most basic instinct of living things. That they could rebel against their own nature, or consider certain things to be more important than their own lives. Which is also why I didn't stop your father from beginning that fateful duel… I believed that a truly innocent man would never throw away his life like that. That there was nothing… should have been nothing more important than one's own continued survival.”

What this tells us is that Neuvillette believed humans to be selfish. Which makes sense. They’re the creations of someone who stole his ancestors’ power and used it for their own ends, why wouldn’t they be as selfish as the one who destroyed the dragons’ world to make one for them? The quote above also suggests that Neuvillette considered humans to be… rather basic creatures, governed by instincts. He begins to wonder about that for the first time a little earlier, when Marcel begs to be taken to the fountain and claims the request is more important than his own life (“Humans… will they betray the instinct to live just to satisfy spiritual needs…?”). This is before Neuvillette’s story quest is unlocked, and as such, before he can discover just how much Vautrin sacrificed for him - but still, at this point the guy has been Iudex for around 500 years, and while his opinion on humans has grown better over time, he continues to hold such views of them. It does however also make sense when we remember that, as a judge presiding over trials and distancing himself from the public eye otherwise, most of his interaction with humans involves criminals, prosecutors and attorneys - people who come to the opera house, try to prove that they’re in the right and frequently have to be disciplined by him.

So why did he even accept the position among humans? We ask him that during his story quest, and he explains in detail - he became the Iudex to seek out answers regarding the meaning of his own existence. Trying to understand why he was born as a human, who he was and what he was supposed to do, by interacting with those whose physical form he shared and whose emotions he found himself able to resonate with even if he didn’t understand them. He, too, had rather selfish reasons for accepting this job - and right before Focalors’ execution he confirms that, at first, there wasn’t much else to it.

“In the beginning, I was uninterested in human existence, but these five centuries of living alongside them have gradually brought about mutual understanding between us, and I have even attempted to feel as they feel…”

He didn’t care. He accepted the position of the Iudex to see what was in it for him - hopefully, the answers he sought. The work he did, the position he held, everything else - at least at first and at least to some degree, it was something of an afterthought. He was told “while you’re at it, try to make Fontaine a good place to live” and said “ok”; and near the end of his story quest, he does explain that from his perspective, he just did what his job entailed and as far as he was concerned it was nothing special. If he actually started trying, it happened later, possibly without him even truly knowing; it’s not until he gets the speech from Wriothesley that he realizes just who he ended up becoming for Fontaine, and in all honesty, I believe that even post-Act V, he is still in the process of letting that sink in. He had been thinking of himself as an outsider for some 500 years, this stuff takes time.

This is the guy that Focalors needed to grow to care for the people of Fontaine so much that he would absolve them of the sin of being created from the power of the Primordial Sea. And the best part is that she did it. She placed an ancient dragon who had no non-selfish reason to care in the center of the country, gave him the chance to become part of the human society - of the audience, if you will - and created circumstances where the line between him and humans has become blurred over the centuries, and where he appreciates them and recognizes their strengths even as he continues to struggle to understand them.

She successfully got Neuvillette to care enough that he did what she needed him to do in order to save the Fontainians, while understanding and acknowledging that he was deceived by an Archon, something he would be fully within his right to be mad about even in spite of the fact that she did it to oppose the Heavenly Principles. She got him to value humans enough that he has begun to hand out Hydro Visions - something he is not obligated to do, but he wants to do.

God damn, Focalors. Good job.

[wallpaper-inside-my-heart]

i would love to whose perspective you had in mind for all of the spommy taylors version songs!!! unless they were picked solely on vibes which is also totally valid

Oh Anon you have no IDEA what you have unleashed by asking me this question! So thank you so much for that <3 and let's go!

(I have like almost twenty pages worth of google doc with assigned lyrics and comments for why (most of) these songs fit for them and in this playlist! I will try my best to keep this as short as my brain allows...)

As I mentioned in the original Spommy (taylor's version) post, the order that we put these songs in has it's reasons. So I will go through the different relationship stages and corresponding songs one by one. And try to briefly explain whose POV it's supposed to represent and maybe highlight a few specifc lines.

Colour coding the song's main POV:

Tommy

Spencer

both

(Song assignments under the cut)

small disclaimer: obviously we are talking about a fictionalized version of "canon" that is loosely based on/inspired by stuff they have mentioned in videos and their general internet personas. None of the thoughts I'm sharing here are meant as 100% fact or true "insight" to their personal lives. We're all just having fun! (Obviously we all agree on this kind of stuff, I just need to write it down somewhere, for my own conscience)

The Before Meeting stage:

You’re on your own kid

Anti-Hero

-> both of these songs feel super tommy-coded (the whole sexy baby/monster on the hill stuff, for example, reminds me a bit of the body dysmorphia he's mentioned in a few videos)

tied together with a smile

-> this one could work either with one or both singing this about themselves or the other imo

-> just the whole aspect of trying to hold yourself together while struggling with fullfilling expectations

2. The First meeting/Beginning stage

Everything has changed

-> both of them just being fascinated by eachother upon their first meeting

mirrorball

-> a theme for a lot of the more Tommy-centric POVs of these songs was inspired mostly by the aforementioned body image issues and also the fear of living up to his own or other ppl's expectations in terms of his own creativity etc.

(I'm sure others, like maybe Spencer, struggle with parts of these aspects as well, I just feel like Tommy has talked about it more)

-> also Tommy beginning to see Spencer as someone he doesn't have to "pretend" around

cowboy like me

-> both of them recognizing pieces of themselves within the other

3. The Pining Stage

-> this stage is mostly from Spencer's POV. I believe in Pining!Tommy rights as well, however I felt like these song examples just fit Spencer a bit better given the situation

gold rush

-> aka the mini denial stage, where he falls into a daydream of what being with Tommy could be like; but not wanting to let himself indulge too much in these thoughts

also "your hair falling into place like dominoes" sounds so much like a line that could be about tommy!

Teardrops on my guitar

-> the pining is now in full force, but sadly Tommy has a boyfriend and Spencer has to suffer through him gushing about it, while he feels his crush begin to grow more and more; tho he doesn't allow himelf to do anything about his feelings

you belong with me

-> Spencer's switch from the 'good ol' fashioned pining' to "Um, actually I would fit way better with you than he does! So why can't you see what's right in front of you and start dating me instead?!"

(tho he still doesn't actually voice this outlout, yet)

4. The Flirting Stage

new romantics

-> mostly as a set-up for both of their general attitudes at the beginning of this stage and for the dancing/club theme of Gorgeous

gorgeous

-> this one is actually splitting the POV across different parts of the song

-> Verse 1 is Spencer with lines such as "compliment/made fun of the way you talk" and "you're so cool, it makes me hate you so much" (also the last time the soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend is mentioned in the playlist)

-> Verse 2 by Tommy with "talking to everyone here but you" (which reminds me of his dating answer in hot ones; but if I start talking about my thoughts on that bit, this will get way too long) and also "Ocean blue eyes looking in mine" (literally about Spencer💙)

-> the chorus is first sung by Spencer, next one Tommy and the others by both of them at eachother

-> also "Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats… alone... Unless you wanna come along" is literally such a Spencer-coded line to me

-> also! if you or anyone wants to check out a fic of them with a slightly similar premise to this song, I can def reccomend Spencer vs Gay Panic by @soupy-girl 💗

I can see you

dress

-> with these two songs the daydreaming about the other and flirting increases

-> also I initially added this one to the list bc "flashback/your buzzcut and my hair bleached" are literally both accurate about Spencer lmao

i think he knows

-> I imagine the first verse mostly sung by Spencer and then the (pre) chorus by Tommy bc of lines like "He got that boyish look that I like in a man" and "Wanna see what's under that attitude" and of course later on"lyrical smile, indigo eyes" being about Spencer as well

5. The pre-dating stage

treacherous

-> I feel like this song has a constantly switching POV, in a duet sorta way. For example:

This slope is treacherous. This path is reckless.

This hope is treacherous. This daydream is dangerous.

but the bridge would be sung together, both deciding "I'll follow you home"

glitch

willow

jump then fall

fearless

Electric touch

-> I don't have a lot of notes on these 5 songs in particular, but the idea was basically them going from the insecurities that are still present in treacherous and seeing the thing that's developing between them as smth that just happened to them by accident, to then deciding to fully "jump into it" and letting themselves actually feel the excitement of it all in full force

6. The first few dates

begin again

-> the line "you throw your head back laughing like a little kid" fits both of them so well and I'm so soft just thinking about it

king of my heart

-> in the google doc I said that she wrote "Now you try on callin' me "baby" like tryin' on clothes" about this fic by @jovenshires and I stand by that

today was a fairytale

-> the whole first verse with "You wore a dark gray t-shirt You told me I was pretty when I looked like a mess" also feels so them-coded idk

style

-> I think this edit of them explains this better than I ever could 💖

I’m only me when I’m with you

-> it's about the "Well, you drive me crazy half the time"-but still being eachothers comfort person- of it all

snow on the beach

-> another duet style song where they take turns singing the verse and then chorus together; "Weird, but fuckin' beautiful"

-> also! I must admit that I was heavily inspired to add this song bc of this fanart by @urmxotive! which is so beautiful and reminds me of the "I've never seen someone lit from within" in this song

7. Dealing with Insecurities while being in a relationship

the archer

-> both, but especially bc "I cut off my nose just to spite my face" reminds me of what I briefly mentioned with Anti-Hero

nothing new

-> me and katie agree that this song is 100% tommy coded, but I don't wanna go into too much detail since this post is getting way too long already 🙈

peace

-> another duet-style song for them starting with tommy in v1 and then Spencer in the chorus

new year’s day

-> duet again, in the same order as the last one

stay stay stay 

-> mostly Tommy's POV and him being relieved that Spencer knows how to deal with his mood swings

safe & sound

-> and this song from Spencer's POV about essientially the same "issue"

mine

-> themacceptance of their insecurities and celebration of taking on the future together

8. Good ol' estabished relationship fluff

call it what you want

-> similar theme as peace and nothing new, but leaving those worries behind from tommy's side

-> and also "My baby's fit like a daydream" reminded me of spencer at 1:43 in this clip ( from this video)

daylight

-> also duet-style; "Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town" reminds me of tommy ripping up his headshots

you are in love

-> I think Katies fic explains the POVs for this perfectly 💜

paper rings

-> "I hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this" tying back into glitch etc

invisible string

-> both of them growing up in florida and also both being eye-ptach-kids?? makes me so insane when I think about it for some reason

sweet nothing

-> it's about the "You say, "What a mind". This happens all the time" and "To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it" of it all

lover

-> and, finally "Swear to be overdramatic and true" and "And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me" is literally them. I rest my case, your honor

So this post got wayyyy too long and was prob way more then you asked for, anon, but I hope you enjoyed my ramblings anyways 😊

I have so many more thoughts about some of these song choices (like Nothing new, peace, new year's day and several others) and their order, and also even more specifically assigned lines in my google doc for this playlist. So in case you or anyone else wants the link to that, feel free to dm me. Or if you have you're own ideas about some of these choices or are curious about some specifics, my asks are always open 🤗

[vostok3-ka]

For the tag game, I have to immediately go for Killashandra because it just sticks out so much. What happened in Ireland, Aisha???

Ahhh my favourite WIP! Thank you so much for the ask Max! I love this work so much, I'm so in love with the concept and idea and vibe and playlists and everything and yet- I have only written two google docs pages for it... This fic is about Steve and Bucky's Irish history and their relationship with the Irish revolution and the troubles, and the Irish mob in NYC. It is supposed to be really Irish-based, and explores the Soldier's involvement with the Troubles in Ireland. This one is fairly new, and I am so excited to work on it (after my exams, crying shaking sobbing) Here is a little snippet:

Gentle flowers rolled across the hills, blanketing the little country road with their sweet smell. A carriage, horse-drawn, held together with haphazard pieces of nailed-in wood, creaked and groaned its way along the path, large stallion bobbing his head as if in tandem to the noise. "We're almost there," the driver yelled over the racket, tilting his head backward slightly, addressing the man huddled between the bales of hay the back. "Thank you," the man muttered and hunched deeper into his jacket. His face was flushed a gentle rose, dark hair barely reaching the tips of his ears, and he bore the expression of a person who wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else. Beside him, to his left and close to the back of the carriage, was a large bag, wedged in between two particularly sturdy bales of hay. Loose straps, clearly made to be fitted around a torso or shoulders, fluttered in the breeze, buckles clicking against each other on the occasions they met. Sighing deeply the man let his head fall back onto some hay, squinting up at the bright sky. It was shockingly clear, with not a single cloud to be seen, and the sun smiled cheerfully down at his inquiring face. He raised an arm, and threw it over his eyes, blocking out the brightness. Next thing he registered was the chattering sound of a young girl, as well the lack of rolling wheels and clobbering hooves. Something banged against the side of the carriage across him and he shot into a sitting position, left hand making an whirring noise. He shoved it beneath his jacket across his torso, and glared at the offending source. A bright eyed girl, no older than twenty, laughed at his expression, before directing her gaze at the driver. "Where'd you find this one?" "Picked him up somewhere between here and there." "That doesn't answer my question," she whined. Hopping down from his seat, the driver clapped his horse on the back. The animal huffed, and the girl turned back to the man in the back. "What's your name?" "Slavik" "No last name?" "Morozov." The answer was curt, and Morozov stood up in the back of the carriage, tugging his bag free and slinging one of the loose straps over his shoulder so that the entire thing hung down at his hip. He slung a leg over the side, and leapt down in one smooth motion. The ground felt oddly still beneath his feet, and he swayed slightly. The girl laughed again, and he shot her an annoyed look. "Not used to carriages?" "No." The driver watched them with an amused smile. "Eh, Morozov," he grinned. "You'll get used to them soon enough living here." Morozov's face twitched at the mention of the word "living" and he peered around him. They were in what looked like a farm's courtyard a way away from the rest of the little town. Behind them, a farmhouse with an astonishingly large chimney cast shadows over the courtyard. A barn stood a little distance out, along with some other scattered buildings that disappeared behind the farmhouse. "He's going to live here?" the girl asked, surprise coloring her voice. "No." "Down in town," the driver clarified as he went round to the front of his horse, gripping the reins he had thrown forward.

Thank you so much for the ask and have a lovely day!!!

[lost-girl-2021]

🤗

What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

I actually really wanted someone to ask this question. I'll answer from two different POVs, a reader and a writer.

As a reader, something that turns me away from fics is punctuation/spacing. Something I learned in school was that every paragraph should be around 5-7 sentences. Obviously, with fiction writing, it's a little looser but try to steer clear from page-long paragraphs. They can be hard to keep up with, sometimes.

Usually, as long as it's nothing crazy, I look past spelling errors and stuff, but I personally use Grammarly (the free version) and just have it enabled on my laptop (it's also great for school papers if you're still in school, FYI). I honestly don't look over my writing more than once most of the time, but the big stuff is marked in red and I can usually catch it before posting.

Also, if you don't feel comfortable/don't want to swear in your work, just don't. I've seen some other people say similar things (and I don't see it nearly as often anymore) but when people use "#%@*(" instead of swearing it pulls me out of the fic. There's non-swears you can use as alternatives and they flow better in my opinion.

As a writer, I'd say don't force yourself to write things sequentially. A lot of the time when I get the initial idea for something, I write a scene and work my way around it. For Days Into Decades, I wrote my beginning, then wrote some nonsensical scene that'll end up as my ending, and did some big scenes scattered throughout as my middle. Now, I go back through my doc and reread what I've written to pick and choose what I want/don't want to use.

Also, don't write on social media when you're creating a post. What I mean, is use something like Google Docs, which saves automatically, in case your device crashes or lags and deletes everything. The amount of times I've flat-out rage quitted something because I've lost like 2k of thoughts is uncountable.

I really like Google Docs and work pretty much exclusively on there when working on my drafts. I'm bad at labeling my docs, but trying to work on it more given the sheer amount of 'untilted documents' I have to search through when I'm looking for a specific old project. It also just works well with what I'm using, because I have a Chromebook (mostly because it's the closest I could get to a Nokia-level of durability).

At the end of the day, what really helps is keeping with it. I cringe at the thought of this, but my OG fanfic was a PJO x Avengers Tower AU with my own OC named "Paxton, but everyone calls me Pax". It had clipart and I used Pic Collage and I had a linked Instagram filled with Batman memes. No part of it made sense and because I wrote on my (barely functioning) 2015 Samsung (in 2017) it was riddled with spelling errors and every other sentence was an Author's Note filled with random emoji's.

My writing compared to then, even compared to a year ago, has completely changed. I've probably written at least five pages a week since I was thirteen. Now, almost twenty, I feel really confident about my writing style and the things I publish. I also usually ask for comments so I can get feedback on what I've written (and because I really like talking).

If anyone has any specific questions or wants me to check out their work (doesn't have to even be fanfiction, or it can be for a fandom I've never even heard of) feel free to DM me. I'd be happy to check it out when I'm free.

[emtmercy]

God there’s such insane amazing drama happening around a couple of my favorite podcasts from the obsessed network

Like twenty page Google docs style drama

Sadly some podcasters I enjoyed are kind of evil but it’s almost worth it to experience this like it’s so crazy what all went down

Literally like terra newall who killed the man from the “dirty John” true crime story screaming at ppl at the con (great example of why making people famous for their trauma perhaps not ideal lol)

Raubia chaudry the real world lawyer for adnan syed was there and is making public statements with the podcasters she’s sided with

Podcast host and network founder pushing past a fan physically and calling her a bitch

Podcasters barred from the premises during the con

What a tale

[orwellsunderpants]

Scrivener is quite good for writing, but it's not as powerful as MS Word or even Google Docs for editing, formatting, or print page design, and you'll have to export the file to Word or PDF to share it with anyone who doesn't have Scrivener.

Scrivener runs on both Windows and Mac. It currently costs about US$60, and this is a one-time purchase, not an annual subscription. (I don't remember whether there's a fee for updates or not, but I think not.)

Scrivener also has a fuckton of really cool writing features that Word doesn't have, like the ability to import web pages and PDFs directly into your research folder, along with templates for screenplays and character descriptions/backstories. This allows you to keep everything for your project all in one place. You can also convert text files into .epub and .mobi formats directly from Scrivener, if you want to self-publish an e-book.

Libre Office/Open Office is the closest thing I've seen to Word, but I haven't used it in almost twenty years so I don't know what it looks like now.

Microsoft Office, like many companies in recent months, has slyly turned on an “opt-out” feature that scrapes your Word and Excel documents to train its internal AI systems. This setting is turned on by default, and you have to manually uncheck a box in order to opt out.

If you are a writer who uses MS Word to write any proprietary content (blog posts, novels, or any work you intend to protect with copyright and/or sell), you’re going to want to turn this feature off immediately.How to Turn off Word’s AI Access To Your Content

I won’t beat around the bush. Microsoft Office doesn’t make it easy to opt out of this new AI privacy agreement, as the feature is hidden through a series of popup menus in your settings:On a Windows computer, follow these steps to turn off “Connected Experiences”:

File > Options > Trust Center > Trust Center Settings > Privacy Options > Privacy Settings > Optional Connected Experiences > Uncheck box: “Turn on optional connected experiences”

[huntertales]

And Then Comes Baby In a Baby Carriage. | S12 Rewrite AU

Pairings: Dean x Reader (Series Rewrite Setting) Word Count: 12,041. Summary: You learn you're pregnant with Dean Winchester's baby. While the news is exciting, the months leading to your due date are anything but smooth for an expecting hunter. (Full description below.) Warnings: Spoilers for season twelve! (Takes place during the timeline of "There's Something about Mary" and "Who We Are.") Mentions of child birth, threats against the reader, canon violence and death.

Part One | Part Two | Drabble | SPN Rewrite Masterlist

Nobody asked for this...but I decided to write a second part to a little story that I wrote about over a month ago. (I wanted this up at Father's Day and I should be working on my current episode rewrite and not this. But oops.) This also kind of goes as a season twelve finale rewrite. I had a bit of inspiration from this particular scene for the plot. I had an extreme amount of fun writing this, but it does contain a lot of spoilers, I'm afraid. And if pregnant type of stories aren't your cup of tea, oh well. I hope you guys enjoy this! (I really did...and it comes with a very happy ending. ^_^)

Supernatural Season Twelve AU: What if the boys managed to kill Dagon with the colt at the playground? What if, as the result, Kelly gives birth to a healthy baby boy and lives to raise the child? Everything goes back to normal, well, the best that it can. Problems still linger with the British Men of Letters after one of their own suffers a fatal end, resulting in dire consequences for revenge. They want every American hunter eliminated. All of them...except for you.

Two months ago you heard the best news of your life; you were expecting, not one, but two little bundles of joy. You were still trying to wrap your head around the idea that you were being given the chance to bring another life into this world. You thought your life would be cut short by the age of thirty due to some hunt that went wrong. But here you were, sitting in a quiet little diner with Dean, staring at the ultrasound pictures of the fetuses that were growing in your stomach. It was the fourth month mark in your pregnancy, and the third doctor’s appointment you and Dean had just wrapped up not too long ago. You waited for Sam to come and meet you, as you had some exciting news to tell him. The doctor said at this point of your pregnancy the fetus has developed a lot of the important features and likes to stretch their tiny limbs and make some very strange faces. And, of course, you could find out the gender of the babies.  

 After wrapping up the doctor's appointment and finding out for yourself the exciting news, you decided to have a little fun for the announcement. You dragged Dean to the nearest toy store to find something that you could use to do a cute little gender reveal for Sam for this exciting moment. You roamed around for a while until you got the perfect shades that matched with the identity of the babies. And after forcing Dean to get them all nicely gift wrapped, you waited for the man to make his way to the diner. He texted you a few minutes ago saying he was almost here, but you were growing antsy for his arrival, wanting to tell him the good news. You distracted yourself for a few more minutes by looking at the pictures when Dean pointed at the funny face baby number two was making. Soon, you found yourself being so caught up in the idea of what the twins were doing, you didn’t realize some of your party arrived without saying a word.

 You glanced up for a moment, feeling like someone's eyes were on you, making you think it was the waitress who had come back to see if you made up your mind yet. Instead you saw a pair of blue eyes staring back at you from across the booth. Somehow, he always managed to sneak up on you without you realizing it, causing you to let out a gasp of surprise and the ultrasound to slip out of your hands and drift to the table.

 “Cas!” You hissed the angel’s name out as you let out a breath. You rested a hand against your chest, feeling your heartbeat slowly drift off to a normal pace when you realized the stranger was just him. After so many years, you thought you would be able to get used to his ability to sneak up on anyone. But you always managed to jump out of your skin every time. “Don’t do that, man.”

 "I thought we agreed you'd give us a heads up on when you were gonna start popping your feathery ass up." Dean said. He reached out a hand to grab the picture from the table as Cas mentioned something about how his phone died. The angel was quicker than the Winchester, he snatched the ultrasound pictures and took a moment to examine them. His eyes squinted slightly as his head turned to try and make out what your babies looked like. Cas made a remark about how uncomfortable Baby Number One was feeling right now. You rolled your eyes and leaned over the table, grabbing the picture from him. "Where's Sam? Thought he was with you."

 “He was. But he was interested in purchasing a few more things at the bookstore.” Cas explained to you. You nodded your head, understanding how much of a nerd Sam could be. The angel looked down at the shopping bag that you had resting on the floor and next to your feet. He took notice there were two small boxes in there, wrapped with a shimmery looking paper and a pale yellow bow to add a bit of decoration. “What’s that?”

 “It's a secret.” You told him. You looked ahead to see that Sam had finally arrived at the diner with a paper bag full of books about lore, you probably guessed. You waved a hand in the air to catch his attention, a smile spread across your lips in anticipation as Sam headed over and took a seat next to Cas. “Well, it’s about time. Dean and I have some exciting news for you both.”

 “You're having triplets?” Sam joked. His brother looked a bit horrified at the thought of having yet another one added to the mix, the thought of twins was a bit nerve wracking in itself. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “So, how’d the doctor’s go? Everything look okay?”

 “Everything is absolutely perfect. They're healthy and growing right on track. I’m doing well, too. Twins are usually a risky pregnancy, not to mention, I'm not exactly in my twenties anymore. But the doctor said everything should be all right if we keep up with the appointments. Also...I found something that might help us start decorating the nursery." You said. You managed to bend down and grab the bag from the floor. Handing out the wrapped presents, you gave one each to the men sitting across from you. “Uncle Sam and Uncle Cas, you get to find out if we’re having a girl or a boy.”

 “Oh, that's easy. It's—”

“Cas, don't.” Dean warned the angel, stopping him from blabbering it out like it was common knowledge and have you become angry at the hard work you put into these gifts. “I didn't spend the last hour and a half with Y/N strolling around some girly shop to hear you say it. Just open the damn box and find out yourselves.”

Dean pretended to be annoyed at Cas from his attempt at being helpful. But to be honest, he wanted to see his little brother’s reaction to the news. With each appointment and month that passed on the calendar, he was growing more excited at the thought of having children to raise. It wasn’t that long ago each of them were kicking back and talking about leaving a legacy behind for them to do whatever they want. And here it was, actually happening. He leaned back in his seat and draped his arm over the cushioned seat, letting it rest on your shoulder, leading you to scooch yourself closer and rest against him.

The both of you watched as Sam started to open the present, Cas followed behind a moment later. It took a second before the table was covered with ripped wrapping paper and bows. Sam inhaled a quiet breath and took off the top of the box. Peering inside, a smile stretched across his lips as he picked up a small bear, the fur in a pale pink.

“Oh, dude. You're in for…” Sam examined the bear for a moment and looked over at Cas, thinking that you were carrying twin girls. He noticed the angel was holding a stuffed bear that appeared to be almost identical to his, all though, there was a slight difference in the fur. As the angel’s was in the shade of blue. Sam furrowed his brow and looked at the both of you from across the table. It was your turn to smile. “Wait, are you saying—”

“They're having fraternal twins. One boy, one girl.” Cas explained to the younger Winchester, who had known since just last week. But he kept the information to himself, despite offering it as your doctor’s appointment came up. You shook your head and mumbled a thank you to Cas for the very supportive help. The angel didn't realize you were being sarcastic with him. “You're welcome, Y/N.” 

Sam let out a small chuckle from the angel’s awkward behavior that he would never grow tired of hearing be exchanged between you and Cas. He held the bear tighter and looked at looked at it for a moment, a smile began creeping at the ends of his lips again, it was the kind where all of this seemed to be too surreal. He'd always wanted a bit of a normal life, back when he swore off hunting for good, chose all nighters for tests instead of research and the stress of almost dying for a job as a lawyer. But here he sat, almost twelve years later, everything that he'd never thought would happen was coming true. His mother was alive, the bunker turned into a safe haven that almost felt like it was built for all three of you, and he was becoming an uncle. Perhaps life wasn’t so bad anymore. Him and his brother had a true reason to keep on fighting. 

+ + + 

To say your pregnancy was uneventful would have been a lie. You managed to find the colt again, kill a prince of Hell, save Kelly Kline and her unborn child. All while in the process you’d had one fatality: a British Men of Letter. While the events didn't lead in that order, you were forced to being benched out for most of the action, leaving your only sight the walls of the bunker when the boys were out. There wasn't a chance you were going to put yourself in danger, but you were going a bit stir crazy.  But you were finding things seeming to start growing more hectic with each month that you crossed off on the calendar.

Kelly Kline was on top of your priority list to make sure she had a happy ending, you didn't want to see her unborn child get hurt in the process, despite it being the literal spawn of Satan. While she jumped around from town to town, you managed to find her exact location, and a way to save her. You were put under lockdown for safety and thrown back into your old job of research, something you did before hunting with the Winchesters. It took a trip down memory lane before you realized how to save Kelly. 

Her child was a nephilim; half human, half angel. You hadn’t dealt with something like this before, but you would be damned to let the only outcome end in murder. It took a bit of time to figure out an exact plan, but you did it. How did an angel get their wings? From their grace, of course. If you had managed to find her in time and take away the baby’s grace, it might become a human again. While you had found the solution, the outcome was anything but easy. Dagon, a pesky demon that had been keeping Kelly on the run, had posed as a challenge. The boys, Eileen, a hunting buddy you had become friends with just a few years ago, and Mick along with another British Men of Letter hunter had come face to face with Dagon. But it didn’t end with a victory.

It was an accident when Eileen tried saving the day by grabbing the colt and shooting Dagon. Instead, she shot Mick’s partner, almost resulting in her own death after the brainwashing he’d been through from the Men of Letters and their precious code. Thankfully the boys managed to calm Mick down. But that didn't make you let it slide, with your raging hormones, you ripped him a new one when you saw him later that night. 

Dagon was killed just a few weeks ago after that incident. Sam had been the one who put a bullet between the demon’s eyes and saved the day. It was just a few days ago that Kelly gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Jack. You had gotten a few photos from Cas after he decided to stay with Kelly and make sure she was doing all right. While you had put the end of the world to bed, you had more trouble brewing with the British Men of Letters.

Through the process of saving the world once again, you were growing more and more, to the point where you were uncomfortable in your own skin. You couldn't do a task that seemed normal before like putting on your damn shoes before needing some extra help. None of your maternity clothes fit properly anymore, your back hurt all the time, and you ate just about anything that wasn't nailed down. Your last appointment with the doctor was just a few days ago, and he reassured you that everything was going as normal. You should be soon to deliver in the next two weeks or so. Much sooner than you were expecting to hear.

As you gotten into your third and final trimester, you had buckled down on getting the bunker baby ready. The nursery for the babies were almost done; you painted, gotten the best crib money could buy, bought all sorts of clothes the twins would grow through in a few short months and had an army supply of diapers on hand. While you were materialistically ready and had all the books on hand, you were starting to grow nervous with the familiar worries that clogged your head when you couldn't sleep at night and the babies punched and kicked for room. What if you weren’t a good mother? How the hell were you going to raise them in an underground bunker? Were you going to raise them to know about the supernatural? 

Lucky for you, Dean had been nothing been short of supportive. He helped you with the back pain and listened to your every woe and anger when your hormones gotten out of control. He was a bit nervous himself at the idea of fatherhood, but he reassured you everything was going to be okay. But someone that you had been a bit hopeful in being part of your pregnancy wasn’t around for most of it. 

Mary had been growing distant with you ever since she had started working with the British Men of Letters, and when she found out you were pregnant. Everything for her had been a hard pill to swallow since she had been brought back from the dead, learning that her oldest son was about to have twins, making her grandmother—now that was something which took some time for her to process. She tried her hardest over the months to pretend that nothing was wrong. When Mary was around, she was helpful, and actually seemed joyful at the idea of having a little one at her disposal whenever she wanted. You were a bit hopeful that she would come back around, you wanted someone like her around. As she had been a mother of a six month old when she passed. And you wanted to get closer to the mother of your husband and best friend. 

While you and the boys had tried giving her the space she wanted, you were more urgent than ever to find out where she was when things started growing eerily suspicious. It started off when you heard about the mysterious death of Eileen a few weeks after Kelly had given birth. She went back home to Ireland after she killed that snarky Brit. You had known it was just an accident, but she was afraid of the consequences that might have followed her. While you had talked to her just a week and a half ago, you had gotten a call from Jody Mills that Eileen's body was found in the middle of the woods in South Carolina a few nights ago. From the crime scene pictures Jody had sent over unwillingly after the boys had gone down to see it for themselves, it was easy to suspect that Eileen was killed by a hellhound. 

But the pattern didn't start with Eileen, she was just one of the several hunters that seemed to have been dropping like flies. You and Sam called around, talking to other hunters to see what was going on, wondering why people with decades of experience were meeting bloody ends. You couldn't come up with much, but after a trip to the post office, you had gotten a letter from Eileen four days before she was killed, asking if she could bunk with you and the boys after arriving back in the states. She had expressed about how she was scared for her life. She told you that she suspected her phone and computer were being tapped into, the only suspect that she could think of was the British Men of Letters. And the dots connected themselves. 

If they wanted her dead, who’s to say they didn’t want to do the same to the brothers? After all, they had been the reason why she managed to escape. And why Mick didn’t put a bullet in her like how they wanted. You helped the best you could to sweep the place, but from how big your stomach was getting, you quit halfway through and left yourself to relax in the war room. You leaned back in the seat as you watched the boys tear this place part from top to bottom. They searched in every single little crack and overturned whatever object that might appear small enough to sneak a device into. Sam was busy playing around with the radio Dean circled around the table, his hands checking underneath to see if he might find anything besides the loaded gun that was kept for emergencies. All these months the Brits had wanted you on their team, but it seemed they revoked your invitation when you screwed up. 

Dean decided to crouch down on the ground and look underneath to see if he could finding something. And he did from how his face changed ever so quickly into caution when the tips of his fingers ever so lightly brushed against something foreign. You didn't need to see for yourself that he'd found exactly what you had feared. Dean waved a hand at his brother, catching the man’s attention as he pointed a finger at the microphone hidden underneath the table. Sam headed over and took a look for himself. This wasn’t good. Not at all. You subconsciously rested your hands on your stomach as the boys exchanged a look. 

"Those hunters you were talking to, was one of them Terry Marsh?" Dean asked his little brother out of the blue. You furrowed your brow at the man and mouthed what he was doing, he shook his head at you, knowing it'd be better to keep your lips sealed on this one as he gestured for Sam to play along. If they wanted to play games, so could the boys.

"Yeah, Terry Marsh from Missouri.” Sam continued on with the little charade, keeping his anger hidden for a few moments longer, letting the people listening in on your conversation into believing that you were going on with your  life like normal. “I talked to him. He, uh, he's also thinking it's not monsters doing the real killing.” 

"Okay. I got a text from him. He's been nosing around, says he got a fair idea of what's going on." Dean said. His brother wondered what it might have been. "He doesn't feel safe talking on the phone, he wants to meet. The old ironworks on the interstate. Tomorrow night at nine. He says park off the road by the warehouse. I think I’ve got the address written down somewhere.”

Dean gestured a hand at you to grab some paper and a pen. You looked around until you spotted the supplies just across the table. Sliding it over to him, you watched as Dean wasted no time in writing down something before tapping the pen against his message. You leaned over in your seat to read what he had scribbled. “Y/N needs to get out of town. Somewhere safe.” 

It was pretty easy to assume there was an unfair war brewing between the Americans and British hunters from what was going on here. If they were picking off the American hunters, you couldn’t just sit here in the bunker, waiting for them to reveal their full plan. Dean was right you needed to get out of here before things went south. You had two little lives to think about, also. It was going to be tricky to figure out where the boys could send you off for a while until they could figure this situation out. One in particular had popped up into your head. You'd talked to her not that long ago, and things for her seemed completely fine. Full Time sheriff, part time hunter, mother of two wayward girls—and she was only six hours away. 

You reached out and written a name on the paper that came to mind. “Jody?”

+ + + 

The very next day, you and the boys wasted no time in getting the plan into action. You knew it wasn't safe to be around the bunker. It was proven over the past few months that the British Men of Letters could just come and go however they pleased. Dean wanted to drive you down to South Dakota himself to make sure you got there safely. But he wouldn’t make it back in time for the deadline by tonight. And while you thought you would make it on your own, the three of you made a compromise. The boys would trail behind for the first half of the ride to make sure that you weren't being followed before all of you would depart ways.

Jody Mills might be a bit surprised to see you from the last time you met, as you weren't eight and a half months pregnant and asking to crash for a few days, but with the things all of you had been through together, you were sure she wouldn't mind. After all, she was always asking when you and the boys were going to come back down for a visit. You had been wanting to see Claire and Annie again, too. If a cop, a hunter and a vampire couldn’t keep you safe, nothing could. And it wasn’t like you couldn’t pick up a gun and shoot someone if you needed to.

Three and half hours, you were already halfway though Nebraska with no complications. The boys had turned around after you had wrapped up a phone conversation with Sam to let them know, yet again, you were completely fine. One of the blessings of having a car that wasn't made twenty years before you were born was that you had all the bells and whistles of new technology to make a phone call without even lifting a hand from the steering wheel. You made it to the four hour mark and just a little closer to the border when you looked to see how you were doing with gas. You should have been fine for a little while longer. You noticed that you were starting to get dangerous low. Letting out a quiet sigh, you were a bit annoyed at the inconvenience that was going to set you back a few minutes, but it was better than being stranded in the middle of nowhere when you neglected to fill up. 

You were driving through a small town when you pulled into a gas station that was in the direction of your way. You pulled up to one of the pumps and shut off the car, reaching for your bag, you found yourself struggling just a bit with your stomach constantly making you feel out of breath. You persisted on as you got out and paid for a full tank. While waiting, you tried, yet again, to see if you could get ahold of Cas by phoning him after you texted the boys saying you were making a small pit stop. But the angel’s phone rang...and rang, until you gotten the same voicemail. You let out a frustrated sigh and left him another message, telling him to call you back. It was urgent. Rolling your eyes at how out of touch the angel could be with the world, you shoved your phone back into the bag for safekeeping. 

You pulled out your wallet after getting your credit card back from the slot. All though it was a fake card that you had stolen off someone, like you’d been doing for well over a decade, this one of the only forms of money you had, minus the hundred dollars in bills you carried for emergencies. You were about to slip it back into the slot when you accidentally lost your grip on the plastic, letting it slip to the ground. You clenched your fists at what you had done. It was almost impossible for you to bend down and grab anything, you could barely put on shoes without having one of the boys help you. Looking around the gas station parking lot, you realized that you were alone, and running out of options here. You contemplated on heading into the gas station to ask the person behind the counter to help you. But it seemed that you had bystander in the mood to do their act of kindness. 

“Need some help, love?” 

Peering slightly over your shoulder, you looked down at the pavement to see your credit card was gone, but replaced with a pair of spotless oxfords that were too expensive looking to be from this side of town. The accent alone should have been a signal that something was wrong, but ever so slowly, you dragged your gaze up to see the person standing in front of you. The sight of his face alone made your blood run cold as your eyes widened slightly from the sunglasses that you hadn’t taken off since the car ride began. It was enough to conceal your surprise as you quickly reached for the gun that you had in your bag to try and use the only form of protection you had against any sort of threat. But your fingers barely grazed the top of the bag before you felt his hand roughly yank your arm so he could see it. 

You froze directly in your spot when you felt the barrel of Ketch’s gun press against your stomach. The look on his face seemed to have been nothing short of pleasure, he gotten you exactly where he wanted you to. Letting his grip from your arm loose, he tested his luck by reaching out and pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head, wanting to look at you directly in the eye. Maybe he thought you were going to cower in fear. You stared at him directly in the eye. While you had contemplated on screaming, as it was your last card to play, you happened to glance down at his shirt to notice something. There was a small stain on the cuff of his shirt, and with a closer inspection, you noticed the dark color was blood. And you had a feeling it wasn’t his. Looking up to face him again, Ketch’s grinning face of satisfaction was the last thing you saw before you felt a sharp pain in the side of your head, causing your vision to go black. 

+ + + 

You narrowed your eyes slightly on the clock from across the bunker, wondering what time it was, and how long ago your ass had fell asleep after sitting here since getting back. Everything was a bit blurry. Perhaps it would was a small concussion Ketch gave you after bashing your skull in, or maybe they gave you something to keep you compliant. You concentrated hard enough as your vision started to focus again, managing to read the time that it was just a little after midnight. You knew the boys should have been back home around this time after their own adventure. You could hear the lock from the top of the staircase beginning to turn, and a second later, the door opened up with a few pairs of boots descending down the staircase and Dean’s voice echoing through the bunker. 

You moved your eyes away from the wall to stare at the man that was next to you from the corner of your. If you could be quick enough, you might have been able to grab his gun and shoot him in the head. Just because you were eight months pregnant and had your hands tied in front of you didn't mean you were weak. But your thoughts of an escape died when you felt the barrel of Ketch's gun press against the temple of your head, a subtle warning to keep quiet. Even though they wanted you very much alive, for reasons you didn’t understand quite yet, you had a feeling he wouldn’t be too upset if he just shot you to make some kind of point. The longer you had gotten to know him, you had a feeling there was something absent in Ketch’s conscious. 

"Just so we’re clear. You call Ketch and tell him if he wants to see you alive, he gets his prissy ass over here.” 

“Interestingly, his prissy arse is already here.” 

Ketch stepped out from behind the library wall with his other partner, surprising the boys with his appearance that they had partly expecting to see. Sam didn’t back down when he drew out his own gun and pointed it directly at the man. But the Brits were just a few steps ahead of them. Not only did they have a few more men that appeared from each entrance of the bunker, surrounding the Winchesters and their special guest, Toni Bevell. But he had a bit of leverage himself. Ketch took a step over to the side, keeping his gun pointed at the brothers as he outstretched his left arm to the other side of the wall to retrieve something. You could feel yourself being dragged to your feet and into the open. Before anything else could happen, Ketch pressed the barrel of his gun against the side of your head, making sure to the power in his position. 

“Ah, ah. Hands where I can see them, Dean. Wouldn’t want to cut our fun so short for a foolish move.” Ketch warned Dean as he got ready to pull out his gun and shoot the man directly in the head for the stunt he pulled. A smirk spread across his lips at how easy it seemed that he had gotten things. He directed his gaze to his fellow partner and asked her to do the simplist of a task to get this show on the road. “Lady Bevell, would you mind disarming them?” 

Toni seemed all too pleased to do so from the smug little smirk that started to grow on her face. Sam slowly reached his hand away from the gun and tried to offer up his surrender. But you knew these brothers like the back of your hand, they weren’t going to give up so easily because they were surrounded. All it took was just one simple look in the eye before hell broke loose. Toni reached out to grab the gun from Sam, but he managed to overpower her, grabbing his free hand to tightly embrace her into his grip, shooting one of the guards directly in the forehead. Dean was smooth himself, not even having to lift the gun directly out from behind him to shoot another. You could feel a smirk starting to spread across your lips at what they done, but it only lasted for a second before you being thrown behind the wall as Ketch opened fire. 

Gunshots broke out as everyone ducked for cover You were back where you started as Ketch peered over the wall, trying his hardest to get a clear shot at one of the Winchesters when Sam took Toni as a hostage. Everything went silent for a second when everyone regrouped, trying to figure out how to handle this. Ketch waved his gun at one of his men to go on, as an  attempt for a sneak attack neither of the boys would expect, but they knew this place better than them. Dean wasn’t no second in following behind, disappearing from sight. You heard a few more shots go off, Ketch tried to take a hit at Sam, as the other retaliated, trying to keep him busy. While Ketch drew back his fire for a moment to figure out where he could hit Sam next, the younger Winchester knew that he didn't need to do much more work. 

You could always count on Dean for being quiet. You didn't even see him approach yourself until you moved your head just slightly to see his figure come out from the corner of your eye. You watched as he didn't break from his concentration, and like a predator sneaking up on his prey, he went in for the kill. Dean took one step before before he was on his knees, smoothly gliding himself over and snatching the gun right out of Ketch's hands. Now it was Ketch's turn to see how it felt when his own gun was pressed against the back of his head. 

“Get up.” Dean ordered, forcing the man up to his feet. You managed to get yourself to your feet after Dean forced Ketch to untie your hands before pushing him to the small steps that lead to the war room. You pressed a hand against your stomach, feeling the twins kick and punch, obviously, it seemed the both of them had been excited at what had gone down. “You all right, sweetheart?” 

“Fine. I’m fine. They’re just overwhelmed with what’s gone down today.” You said, reassuring the man. You stepped out to the open to see that you might have Toni and Ketch exactly where you wanted them, but you lost count of how many other people you’ve seen come through. “How many more of your goons are in here?” 

Ketch didn’t answer, so Dean tried another question. “Our mom—where is she?!”

All you gotten in return from the man was more silence. But it seemed you gotten your answer when you looked behind Sam to see it was Mary herself, a small smile stretched across your lips at the sight of her once more. She must have known something was going on when she came out from behind Sam with her gun drawn out and pointed it at, who you were presuming, was Ketch. 

"Ah, speak of the Devil." Ketch thought it was smart to make a remark, not seeming to be afraid of the position that he had landed himself in. 

“Perfect timing, Mom.” Sam said, keeping his back to the woman with his own gun still on Ketch. 

“Just stay where you are.” Mary instructed with a calm tone.

Ketch didn't feel like playing fair tonight. He tried his hardest to bend down and grab the gun that was just mere inches from his feet. But Dean was quick to grab a hold of the man and press the gun harder against Ketch's head. "Hey!" Dean warned the man. “You heard her.” 

Mary looked at her son with a calm, almost void expression from what she said next. "I was talkin' to you." 

You furrowed your brow in concern when you looked her way to figure out what had gotten into her. Mary had been gone for weeks at a time, and you given her all the space that you needed to get her to adjust to the twenty-first century. But the woman standing across the way wasn't the same person you had remembered. You were about to ask her what was going on, but the only noise that came out of your mouth was a sharp gasp of surprise when she took another shot, a warning when it was aimed just a foot from where her own son was standing. Dean flinched, not expecting that to happen, but it was enough for Ketch to break free. He managed to snatch the gun out of Dean's hand and grab his own, all before you felt Ketch press the barrel of his gun against the temple of your head and his arm wrapped around your neck, pinning you in place. 

“Hey!” Sam didn’t waste a second in pointing his gun at the man, his face hardening at what he was trying to do. “Ketch, stop.” 

Of course, the man didn’t listen, he had all of you exactly where he wanted. You watched as Mary approached Sam to take the gun out of his hands. And just like that, the tables had been turned on the three of you all over again. You glanced over at Dean to see that he was growing more worried about the outcome of this situation than the anger he once felt before. His mother wasn't herself,  the mother of his children was being held at gunpoint, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

“Mummy was always a talented hunter.” Toni said, stepping away from Sam when she was finally free from his grip. You turned your gaze over to her to give the bitch a deathly glare. She just stared at you with a smug smile, knowing she yet again her plan had been executed exactly as she had planned. “Just somewhat...confused about obeying orders.” 

“What did you do to her?” Dean questioned the both of them. 

“Lady Bevell cleared up that...confusion. And I suspect she told you that the American hunters are a dying breed. Well, for this generation, at least.” Ketch decided that it would be more comfortable by roughly taking ahold of your arm, but keeping the gun close to you as he continued on moving forward to the staircase. You didn’t have a good feeling about this. “You know, I’m not a personal fan of children. They’re messy, scream and whine for attention. And when I heard Mrs. Winchester was carrying two, I have to say, I was a bit disappointed. She could have made a great addition to the British Men of Letters.” 

“You son of a bitch.” Dean nearly growled the insult from what he was hearing. You noticed that he was trying his hardest to remain calm about the situation and figure out a way to get all of you out of this without getting hurt. His eyes wandered to your prominent stomach, you could see the fear glaze over in his eyes at the thought of something happening to you, or worse, the twins. "I swear to God, if you hurt—" 

“Oh, I’m not all that heartless, Mr. Winchester. Y/N is very much good alive to us than dead. She’s harboring something we want very much. Who would've thought there would have been another generation of Winchesters? These twins have hunting in their blood. And their parents are one of the best I’ve seen in the business. I believe they’re destined to become one of us. A hunter.” Ketch explained the true reasoning of why he had wanted to see you alive. They wanted your own children, for the sick idea of raising them to become like him. “We’ll see that Y/N is kept under only the best conditions until her due date. We want these buggers nice and healthy, now.” 

"If you even lay even just one finger on her, or try anything..." Sam spoke very slowly, but there was no caution in his voice as he tightly clenched his fists. "I'll kill you. I'll kill all of you." 

Ketch let out an amused chuckle from the threat that stayed just as words that were supposed to make him terrified. But he wasn't. You could feel the horror of the plan settle into your mind. tried your hardest to somehow fight your grip out from Ketch, but he proved to be stronger, forcing you to take the lead up the staircase. You looked over your shoulder to give the boys a look, perhaps it was an apology for not being careful enough, or maybe it was pure fear from what was going to happen. Sam tried his hardest to remain strong, but Dean, poor Dean was slowly falling to shambles with an expression that could appear cold and hard. But you could see his true feelings in his eyes. As Toni began walking to the staircase, presuming her job was done here, Ketch stopped her before she could take another step by pointing his gun at her. 

“Oh. For heaven’s sake, where do you think you’re going?” Ketch asked his fellow partner. Toni looked at the man with a confused expression, wondering what he was doing. “Remember at Kendrick's, how they taught us that we were all expendable? That wasn’t idle chat.” 

You winced in slight pain when Ketch ushered you again to keep walking by squeezing on your arm again. You knew there was no fighting this, as Ketch kept the gun pressed against you and Mary followed behind with her own finger on the trigger. You gave her a pleading look, somehow trying to figure out if the woman that you had to grown to know over the past year was still there. But there was just a voidness in her eyes, an emptiness of a soul. 

“Mom.” Dean called out to the woman, hoping he could somehow get to her. Mary peered down at her own children from the top of the staircase with each gun pointed at them. Dean wondered what the hell they did to her. And why she was acting like this. “Look at me. It us. Please. What’s wrong with you? Y/N's carrying your own flesh and blood. Your grandchildren. Mom!"

“Your bunker is an excellent fortress.” Ketch said, taking a chance to look around at the interior of the place and admire the details. “An even better tomb.”

“What? No. No, you can’t do this.” You looked over at Mary, somehow hoping if you pleaded with her enough, make her realize what she was about to do was going to end with her own children dying and her grand kids becoming something she never even wanted for her own family. “Mary, please! Snap out of it!”

“She’s long gone, Y/N. Don’t waste your breath on trying to save her. Why not say goodbye to the boys. As it’s the last you’re ever going to see of them. While the three of you were gone we did a bit of an update around the place. We’ve rejiggered the locks, we’ve shut off the water, and once we leave, the pumps that bring in the air shall reverse. Your oxygen should be gone in...two days, maybe three.” Ketch said, giving the boys and Toni a bit of a rundown for what they were ahead for. Your jaw tightened in anger as you tried your hardest to fight off the tears that threatened to escape from what was going on. “You dying in here, it’s almost...poetic.” 

“You're a sick bastard. You know that?” You hissed at him between clenched teeth. “I’m gonna kill you myself first. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’ll presume that’s the hormones talking. I hear pregnant women always can get a bit fussy before they’re due.” Ketch muttered, brushing your threats like they were nothing. He yanked you forward to the exit of the door, sealing your fate to the nightmare that was ahead for you. “Come along, Mary.”   

This was supposed to be a special moment that you never would have expected to happen for you. It wasn't supposed to turn into a nightmare. You could feel one of the twins kick against the side of your stomach, as if they were wondering what was going on from the sudden activity that was going on they weren't used to. You winced at the sound of Dean pounding on the door to try his hardest at opening it, but when he realizes he was locked in here for good, he yelled on the top of lungs. You pressed a hand against the side of your stomach and quietly shushed your twins, whispering to them that everything was going to be okay. 

+ + +

Three days. It'd been three days since the last you've seen of the boys and thrown into this room with almost no human contact throughout the day. Except for the times where they gave you meals, checked your vitals and made sure you were properly bathed. They wouldn’t want to risk a chance of having the twins get sick or hurt because they were neglecting their prisoner. But you felt more like their prized animal they were grooming for the slaughter. The idea of having them keep you alive until your due date, rip you open and take your own children made a shiver run down your spine from how heartless they could be. Yet, it was funny, seeing a few familiar faces that came through to check your vitals and see how the twins were doing. Not all of them were trained hunters like Toni and Ketch. Most of them were just the brains of the operation. They didn’t even know how to handle an alpha vampire that went rogue. Being six months pregnant and you saved a few of their asses from being sucked dry. And this is how they thanked you. 

Suppose you could have overpowered one of them and held a gun to their head to try and bargain your way out of here. But you didn’t have much energy lately. You were tired, and it wasn’t because you were carrying around a set of twins that were demanding on your body. You suspected they slipped some medication into your God to keep you compliant to their liking. All you did most of the time was just sit here and stare off into space, or sleep. You kept yourself occupied by lying on the bed they provided for you and rubbing patterns into your stomach, telling stories to the twins about their father and uncles of all the crazy things you’d done over the years. It seemed they liked it from the punches and kicks you gotten every once in awhile. Most importantly you told them all of you would be reunited again. 

On the third day you slipped into a deep sleep that brought a dream that felt too real. You weren't pregnant anymore, but instead of being stuck in the British Men of Letters, you were back in the bunker with the boys, and the twins were born. You didn't know what they were going to look like, but they sure were going to be tiny and have little faces squished up. You were calmed at the dream of going throughout the day of taking care of your own children and being with your husband. It still made a smile spread across your lips whenever you said it. You lazily began to twirl the rings on your finger and try to get yourself to doze off again and get back to the comforting fantasy. Your body was starting to grow heavier, and while it seemed like you could snag some more sleep, you were brutally shaken awake from the sounds of footsteps stomping across the hall, and if you were sure, gunshots just a split second later. 

You furrowed your brow in confusion as you slowly got up from the bed and began walking to the door when you wondered what the hell was going on out there. You pressed your ear against the door to try and listen on the chaos that seemed to have been growing outside with each passing second. It seemed something was going on. Your eyes drifted away from the metal door to see the lights on around in the place shut off, engulfing your vision into complete darkness. But the precious seconds that you had made an idea cross your mind. Inhaling a deep breath, you quickly reached out to open the door, thinking the Brits weren't expecting this. Or maybe they were having a bit of a technical issues. Whatever it was, the lock must have been electronically, because when you tried to open it this time, it slipped with ease. You had mere seconds to enjoy this brief victory. The lights kicked back on a second later. Your eyes jumped to the hallway when a hue of red fluorescent lights illuminated the place and a shrilling sounds of an alarm pierces your eardrums for a brief moment before it shut off. It seemed the place was in lock down mode. Someone was here. 

You peered around to see the hall was completely empty, you hesitated to step out and explore the place to see what was going on. Maybe it was a small technical issue…Or maybe someone was trying to break in. Biting your bottom lip, you had a feeling this was too good to be true. There was no way the boys could get out of that bunker. You were on your own for this one. You decided you had nothing to lose anymore. One of those snobby Ivy leagues said you were were very soon, as in you could be here for another week. Or you could start having contractions tonight. They could have easily cut you open and take what they wanted, but to be safe, they were letting nature take its course. Whatever it was, you knew it was better than waiting around like a caged animal. The worse consequences you were going to be faced with was an eye roll from one of the guards before they shoved you back here. 

You began wandering down the hallway to explore what you could, all while making sure to keep yourself quiet as possible. The halls were empty with almost no soul in sight, which was beginning to make you wonder what was going on. Usually this place was crawling with guards. You turned the corner to continue on exploring, but you stopped right in your tracks at what you saw next. It was a gruesome sight you would've never expected to find. Bodies were lying on the floor, a few of them were in uniform, and another one was dressed in flannel. You peered over to see if you could take a look at the face. It was a familiar one. You realized it was someone you hunted with a few times before. An American hunter? You heard footsteps approaching the corner from where you came, and before you could realize it, your hunter instincts kicked in. You were about to grab the gun, but you suddenly reached out a hand to steady yourself on the wall when you felt a dull pain suddenly hit you in the lower abdomen and back. You let out a sharp breath, presuming it was one of the babies fussing around for more room. You shut your eyes and tried to remember that breathing technique Kelly taught you. Sometimes it was normal to have false contractions, the pain started to slowly disappear a few seconds after it started. You tried your hardest to keep yourself on your feet, but you almost forgot someone was coming in your direction. You were expecting it to be a guard, but your eyelids ripped wide open at the familiar voice. 

"Holy…you weren’t joking around. She is pregnant, all right.” You looked over to see a face that you have almost five days ago. But there she stood, Jodie in all of her glory, eyes focused on your stomach that barley was being contained in the shirt you were wearing. Along with a face that you thought you'd never see again standing right next to her. “Thanks for giving me a heads up.” 

“Sorry. If I had it my way, I would’ve told you sooner.” You told her, your hand wrapping around one of the bars that was conveniently behind you. You felt the pain keeping on for a few seconds longer, all before it disappeared. You let out a breath, wondering if that was what you thought it was. “Oh, this isn’t good.”

“What? What’s not good?” Sam nervously asked, approaching you as the man tried to help balance you back to your feet. You let out a quiet laugh as you looked at him with a bit of a smile, giving him a bit of a hint of what it could be. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Now?" 

"Relax, Sammy. This is the first one. If I get one in five minutes, then we should start panicking." You brushed off his concern when he realized you had a contraction. You inhaled a breath as you looked straight down the hall, your mind focusing on something else that was more protective. "If you guys don't mind, I'd like to kick some British ass and get the hell out of here."

 + + +

 It turns out the boys were capable of saving the day this time without your help. While it took a few days, a failed attempt or two, they finally figured out how to get out of the bunker before it was too late. Dean and that stupid grenade launcher was the reason why you were sitting in the Impala with his little brother, driving away from the British Men of Letters bunkers that would be soon in shambles. The boys had decided that if the hunters from across the pond wanted to fight dirty, they needed all the help they could get. They rounded up all the American hunters that were still alive, and even found Mary before she could try and kill Jodie. Unfortunately Dean wasn’t here with his little brother. His leg had gotten pretty busted up after the explosion. And Toni decided she owed the boys a favor. She had a way to reverse the damage that was done to Mary. But it required going deep into her conscious, pulling out the true Mary, and not the killing machine they turned her into. 

You were growing nervous when you arrived back at the bunker. Every single British hunter was dead, except for one. You reassured that Sam you were feeling somewhat fine, the contractions were coming on and off the past half an hour during the drive back. Most of the baby books that you read yourself said that early stages of labor weren't something to stress about. But Sam still wanted you to go the hospital. You promised that you would, but you wanted to get your overnight bag. Not to mention, you wanted to make sure Dean and Mary were all right. The contractions came every half an hour, and after you gotten over the initial shock, you would be fine. It gave you some room to stretch your legs and see the damage done to the bunker after the boys got loose. And make sure Arthur Ketch was dead. 

You wandered through the bunker, taking a shortcut through the garage when the doors were still locked from the outside. You told a little white lie that you would wait when Sam headed inside himself to see how things were going. Part of you was hopeful you would stumble upon the sight of Dean hovering over Ketch's dead body, but when you got closer to the library, your blood ran cold when you heard a noise echo through the air, it sounded like a groan of pain. You didn’t waste a second of following the sight to the library. 

It was there you had saw a terrible fight had broken out; a few tables were broken, shelves were knocked over, and Ketch’s back was turned to you. He was enjoying himself too much of how Dean was lying on the ground in pain. He honestly thought he was going to get out of this with everything he wanted. “Oh, what? Did you honestly think you'd get it all? A wife, a couple of screaming brats. You’d fix Mummy all back to normal and everything would be all right.” Ketch taunted the man as he took a few steps forward to him. “Sorry, Dean. Not how this ends. This ends with me, taking your happiness and destroying it. Your kids are gonna be the best hunters we ever had. Perfect little killing machines. Y/N will turn out exactly like Mary. She’ll join us.” 

“I’m gonna kill you.” Dean hissed at the man as he struggled to get up to his feet. He looked up and gave the man a smirk as he let out a chuckle, trying to use the horrifying thoughts as motivation to strangle the life out of him. But he spotted a piece of wood not too far from where he was lying. Both of the men were bloody and bruised, nearly at the edge of calling defeat, yet each of them had a reason to keep on going. Dean managed to wrap his hands around the wood and push himself to his feet, thinking he was going to win this fight once and for all. He stood tall with a smile spreading across his lips. “When you left us alone in the bunker, told us that plan, man, I knew you were psycho, but I didn’t think you were stupid.” 

“I may be many things…but I’m not stupid.” Ketch said. In the blink of an eye, Dean found himself staring down the barrel of a gun after the man pulled it out from his ankle. He tensed up at the situation that looked grim. Ketch’s lips stretched into a grin as his finger moved to the trigger, but when a gunshot noise echoed through the bunker, it wasn’t from him. 

Dean’s eyes went wide in shock to see that Ketch was hit in the shoulder, wounding the man just enough for him to drop the gun right out of his hands. Both of the men looked over to see who was standing at the other end of the library, holding the smoking gun. It was someone that Dean would never see again, with that big old stomach he thought he’d never to lay his eyes on again. You stood with your hands wrapped around the gun and your finger on the trigger. 

"Y/N?" Dean asked with a quiet tone, disbelief clear in his voice from what he’d witnessed. 

“Eight and half months pregnant and I’m still saving your ass.” You tried to make a joke, but you felt another contraction hit you, marking this closer together from your last one. You flinched in discomfort as you nearly dropped the gun, you managed to recover and concentrate hard enough long enough to keep the gun directly pointing at Ketch. Dean, bloodied and bruised, hobbled over to you, making sure to kick the gun out of the way before Ketch could do something stupid. You looked at the man on his knees who was trying his hardest to keep his shoulder wound from bleeding out. “You know what happens in the wild when animals try to mess with a mother’s babies? They get slaughtered. Every single one of them.” 

“You think you’re better than me, Y/N, but you’re not. You still have a bit of that demon in you that truly never went away. You’re a killer. Both of you are.” Ketch said. “Your children are doomed for the same fate." 

"No," Dean disagreed with the man. "They're not." 

You didn’t waste a second before you pulled the trigger, landing a bullet directly into Ketch’s head, killing him instantly. His body dropped to the floor with a thud, not even  a second later, you dropped the gun, wanting the weapon far away from you as possible. It might have been a stupid move, but you knew damn well every single one of the Brits who had stepped on American soil were dead, and you were once more safe. You looked over at the man standing next to you with a growing smile, all while, he stared at you with initial shock that wouldn't leave his face. Both of you thought you lost one another. You didn't waste a second in letting out a soft laugh when Dean didn't waste a second in pressing his lips against yours, giving you a kiss that was filled with nothing but passion, wanting to show you of how much he missed you in the best possible way. 

You felt yourself being lost in the sensation, almost forgetting about the news you were about to give him that lead you here in the first place. You were quickly reminded when you felt a weird popping sensation hit you down below. Not exactly a contraction, yet it was fairly important. You furrowed your brow into the kiss when you felt something wet start trickling down your legs. As you tried to pull away from Dean, he seemed too lost in wanting to let you go. You mumbled his name as you placed your hands on his chest, making him give you some space. He gave you a worried look, wondering what could be wrong, but when he noticed you were looking down, his gaze followed of where you were looking.  

“Y/N, you didn’t…” Dean looked back up at you, trying his hardest not to sound insensitive as he asked. But you cut him off before he could get the wrong impression.

 “My water broke, you idiot!”

 + + +

 You weren’t the type of person who handled pain well. Whenever you needed stitches or gotten a bullet in you from a hunt that went a bit wrong, it took both of the boys to help you through without clawing their throats out. The birthing process was no exception. You screamed and cursed, threatened everyone that looked at you a bit of a funny expression and regretted thinking having children was a good idea. After sixteen grueling hours in the delivery room, your little bundles of joy were brought into this world. It seemed that you really didn't figure it out that you were about to become a mother until you heard the screams coming from baby number one, a healthy boy. Five minutes later, you pushed out baby number two, a little girl. It took about an hour until things were finally under control. You were in your own private room in the hospital with the twins swaddled in their blankets, eager to meet their parents who fought tooth and nail to make sure they were safe.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you.” Dean cooed at the whimpering bundle in his arms. You'd never seen Dean so happy in his entire life. He was with you every single step of the way and ignored the concerned nurses who suggested he should get checked out a bit more thoroughly. He would, the man just wanted to hold his children first. He was a bit terrified, thinking that he was going to drop one of them, but the nurse helped so he was holding the both of them comfortably in each arm. He stared at them for the longest time, trying to get the idea that they were really his, that a little part of him was going to be kept in the world. You could feel a smile starting to creep at the end of your lips at how he looked when Dean finally tore his gaze away from the twins when they finally quieted down and gotten comfortable in his embrace. “I think they like me. Can we keep ‘em?” 

“Considering all the trouble they’ve been causing before that even got here, you better.” You glanced over to the doorway of the hospital room to see Sam was standing with a grin of his own, happy to finally be granted access to see his niece and nephew after being shunned to the waiting room for the past several grueling hours without an update. "By the way, look who I found." 

“Cas!” You shouted the angel’s name as a smile spread across your face with joy. You were happy to see that Cas was okay, but it didn't mean you were going to excuse his absence when you needed him the most. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been trying to get ahold of you.” 

“I’ve been spending my time with Kelly. I knew your due date was soon, so I’ve been trying to learn much as possible from her. She’s been very helpful. And she’s a single mother’s mother, too. A few blogs of mothers that I read had explained how difficult it can be. But she’s doing quite well with Jack.” Cas said, giving you a bit of an update on the woman who had almost given birth to the antichrist. He walked inside the room with Sam, but it seemed he didn’t come empty handed. Your eyebrows raised up when he showed off a bag with a baby themed print all over it. “This is from Kelly. She would have liked to be here, but Jack has been keeping her busy. She says congratulations, and good luck.” 

“Aw, that’s so sweet of her.” You muttered underneath your breath from the gesture. But you didn’t focus on much more of the thoughtful gift, your smile grew wider as you gestured for the men to step father into the room to take a closer look at the twins “Uncle Sam, and Uncle Cas, I’d like you two to first meet your nephew, Robert John Winchester.” 

You and Dean had discussed baby names while you were still pregnant. There were dozens upon dozens of options that you could choose from, but you decided to do what Mary had done to her own children, and named them after your parents. Sam cautiously stepped forward to his nephew and examined the little face that was his family, a second generation Winchester. He seemed a bit hesitant when you told him that he could hold the baby. Dean seemed to like the idea of getting at least one of his hands free from a child as one of them was starting to grow numb. You watched as Sam, very carefully, and awkwardly, tried his hardest to cradle the neck just enough so he wouldn’t hurt his nephew and supported the body just enough.

“Wanna give it a try, Cas?” Dean offered up a chance to hold his daughter. There was going to be plenty of times that he could hold the twins. The angel seemed a bit overwhelmed at the thought of holding the newborn, but before he knew it, Cas was cradling the baby. She fussed around a bit until she gotten comfortable. “See? Ain’t so bad. Both of you are naturals.” 

“So,” Sam looked up from baby Robert and to his niece, who was slowly falling back asleep as Cas slowly began rocking her back and forth, saying how much she liked it when he did it. “You guys pick a name for her yet?”

“Well, it was a bit of a hard decision to make. But Dean and I thought one name was a perfect fit for her. Say hello to Mariella Grace Winchester. She's named after two very strong women in our lives. I think my mom would be happy with the choice. But I still have one more person to ask." You looked over at the hospital room doorway to see Mary was standing there. After everything that had happened, you couldn't hate her. She was brainwashed to do all those terrible things. And she found the strength to come back to reality with Dean's help. She proved herself that she wanted to be apart of your lives. And you couldn't dismiss the chance for her to see her grandchildren, scary as it was for her from the look on her face. "Mary, is it okay?"

The brothers and Cas turned to see that Mary was in fact standing hesitantly in the hallway, not sure if any of you would object of being here. Dean gave her a soft smile, giving the woman a bit of confidence to slowly walk inside and head over to the twins. She hesitantly looked at them from a safe distance, but when you told her it was okay, that she could hold them, you could see the happiness flood into her face. It'd been so long since she could hold a baby. It didn’t take too much convincing until she was sitting down comfortably in the rocking chair and holding her two grandkids. You didn’t think you had ever seen the woman more happier than right now for the past year of her being back than right now. 

“So, mom? What do you say?” Dean asked his mother, a smile of his own spreading across his lips at the sight that he thought would never happen. “Mind if we name our daughter after you?”

"You're serious?" Mary hesitantly wondered, you could see the tears starting to form in her eyes when you nodded your head. She looked down at her grandchildren and let out a quiet laughter, trying her hardest not to make too much movement when Robert started to fuss a bit. “I can’t believe I’m a grandmother. This is…”

“Weird? Tell me about it.” You agreed with her. "Who thought any of this would've happened."

It was funny how life could work for you. Just a few days ago, it felt like there was no way out of this nightmare, your children could have been doomed for a life that you would have done anything to stop. The boys were near the edge of death and Mary was locked in her own head. But here all of you were. Three generations of Winchester's sat in this hospital room. You looked over at Dean when he approached your bed and reached out your left hand, reminding you when his finger grazed over your wedding ring that he was all yours. Your eyes shut for a few seconds when he bent down to give you a soft kiss on the lips. 

Who would've thought that you, considering your past and record of a failed pregnancy before, could be given the chance to bring another pair of human lives into this world. You were married to the man that you loved, his mother was here to stay, and your best friends were right at your side. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad, after all. 

“These kids are gonna have the best parents looking out for them.” Sam said. You looked away from the twins and to the younger Winchester. You could see that he meant it from the bottom of his heart. Even he was a little bit excited of having another Winchester running around the world in the near future. “Don’t ever doubt yourselves for a second.” 

"It also helps that they have an uncle who's going to love them and probably let them get away with just about everything." You said. A quiet laugh escaped you when Sam rolled his eyes at the accusation you were already giving him. You looked over the twins when one of them began to start fussing and quietly crying. 

“I believe Mariella is hungry and Robert is in need of a diaper change.” Cas said, being helpful to help decoding what went on in a baby’s mind. 

“You’re the best, Cas. All of you are.” You said with genuine honesty. “I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to be stuck with.” 

You gave everyone a smile as your gaze wandered over to the twins for one last time. Suddenly, out of randomness, an old rhyme popped into your head. It was one of those old tunes that you would sing on the playground to try and annoy someone. But to you, it couldn't have been anymore perfect to the situation right now. Dean and Y/N sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage...and then comes baby in a baby carriage.

[mackenzielovee]

sixth sense: part one

synopsis: "keep your money in your wallet, and your wallet out of my bar."

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption mentions, one sleazy boss, and potential academic dishonesty

wc: 4.3k

a/n: hiiii<3 i hope you guys enjoy this and pls let me know if you do so i know if i should continue it. many thanks in advance <3

     Taking a course titled Sociological Aspects of Aging was supposed to be easy. It’s an elective for you; one that you thought you could blow off and never attend, only doing the busy work after late night shifts and boosting your GPA in the process. 

However, when your professor made attendance mandatory, and given the fact that the room is almost too small for the amount of students present, your knee starts to bounce. It continues at a more rapid pace when your boss texts you and asks for you to come in early since you left early on your last shift. This, combined with the mind numbing lecture, and the fact that you’re sandwiched between two frat boys, has you ready to scream. 

You glance at the clock. Twenty-one minutes until this shit is finally over. Then, you can race back to your apartment to change, and head to work. You won’t be that early, but your sleazy boss doesn’t deserve another moment of your time.

Twenty minutes now. You can get through this. You just wish the guy to your left wasn't wearing so much cologne, and a part of you considers telling him this. Your knee bounces faster when you tell yourself you shouldn’t. 

“The healthcare system stresses you out, too, huh?”

You freeze. Blinking slowly as you turn your head and look to your right. He has his laptop out in front of him with his notes open, only about half a page or so. He also has a small notebook out, which confuses you but you don’t question. You raise a brow at him as you allow yourself to scan over his face, catching on his blue eyes for a beat too long. 

“Excuse me?” you mutter. 

“Your knee,” he whispers back, pointing down, “You’ve been anxiously shaking it up and down for the past five minutes.”

You halt your actions then, facing forward to avoid the smirk growing on the frat boy’s face. You refuse to respond, so you cross your arms over your chest and sink down in your seat. He chuckles beside you, but you ignore him. 

Seventeen minutes now. You glare at the professor in hopes that he will catch on and end early, but he’s way too into his lecture to even notice you in the crowded room. 

“Want me to send you my notes?”

You suck in a deep breath and look over at the boy again, a look of disbelief combined with annoyance crossing your features. 

“What?” you snap. 

“My notes,” he repeats quietly, gesturing to his laptop, “You haven’t taken any. We have an exam next week.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, “No, thanks. I’ll be fine without your half-page Google Doc.”

He frowns, but you face forward and try to pretend to be engaged in what’s being said. 

He doesn’t speak again for the remainder of the seventeen minutes, not even when your leg starts to bounce again out of habit. You see him bite down on his pen to hide a smile, but you don’t dare acknowledge it. The sooner you can get out of this class and away from him, the better. 

One minute before time, your professor excuses the class. You suck in your first real breath and stand immediately, giving Frat Boy next to no time to pack up his things. Your shoulders sink as you stare at him, watching as he leisurely closes his laptop and tucks his notebook into his backpack. 

“Can I just get by you?” you ask him, impatience evident in your voice. 

His eyes flash up to yours, and that color of blue seems to hit you right on the chest. Your frown only deepens; staring at him intently and waiting for him to make room for you to leave. 

“Got a hot date?” he teases. 

Your eyes narrow, causing his face to fall. You watch him silently stutter for a second before nodding to himself, then sliding his laptop in his bag. He pushes the desk back down between the chairs and stands up, giving you a shy smile, and a peak at his height. 

“Sorry, bad joke,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. 

You draw back, “Right. I couldn’t have a hot date.”

His eyes go wide and he shakes his head, “No, shit – that’s not what I–”

“Look, it doesn’t matter. Just move, all right? I have to go.”

He sighs and reluctantly turns, tossing his bag over one shoulder before he leaves the aisle. He steps back once he reaches the end, holding his hand out and gesturing for you to go ahead of him. 

You avoid eye contact and bite your tongue when you even consider thanking him; instead just gripping the strap of your bag and hurrying away. 

“See you next Friday?” he calls, but you don’t turn back. 

     Black Boar, your place of employment and one of the most popular college bars in the area, seems to be in full swing tonight. That fact bodes well for you in terms of tips, but not in terms of your stress level. 

While, yes, you do work the bartending job for the money, you know you’d rather do almost anything else than have drink orders screamed at you by your drunk peers, who then yell at you when their drink doesn’t come out fast enough. 

“Dude,” your coworker, Bryn, tugs on your arm to gain your attention, “Jamie just told me I’m not showing enough skin.”

You roll your eyes, leaning down to speak into her ear, “Fuck him. You look incredible, and we couldn’t be any busier than we are right now.”

She snorts, “Don’t jinx us.”

You just laugh, then hand off the drink you just mixed to a guy who clearly didn’t need any more. He tipped well, though. The drunk guys usually do. 

You take a moment to regain your composure, angry that your boss, Jamie, could say such a thing, then look up to take the next customer. Immediately, you’re drawn into those eyes. You curse, you’re not sure if it’s in your head or out loud, but he grins when you do. 

Instead of asking him what he wants, you turn to the guy beside him and take his order. You can feel those eyes on you, burning into your skin, but you refuse to look up. You just push down your annoyance that he showed up here, that this is your job, and that he won’t quit looking at you. 

Next, you serve a polite, mildly-drunk girl, then another frat boy after that. Just as you move past him to collect your mixer, he calls out to you. 

“You’re messing with me.”

You ignore him. Finishing off the drink, you hand it off without a word, then move to take another customer. 

You hear him laugh faintly over the crowd, but you don’t look over. As the minutes roll by, it becomes easier to ignore him. A sense of power rolls over you, getting to watch him squirm as he stands there. 

“Is this because of the hot date comment?” he questions you, “Because, I really didn’t mean it like that.”

You don’t even spare him a glance. You hand off two more drinks, then look over to Bryn to check on her. She’s smirking at you, raising her eyebrows suggestively when you catch her eye. You shake your head slightly, shutting down whatever she’s thinking in her head. 

“I mean, you could definitely have a hot date, I’m sure–”

“What do you want?” you stop him, your tone clipped. 

He blinks rapidly, stuttering slightly before he says, “What?”

“To drink,” you groan. 

“Oh,” he nods slowly, seemingly shocked, “Um, right. Vodka soda, I guess–”

“Ten bucks. Tip isn’t included.”

He holds his card between his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips now that his mind seems to have caught up with the conversation. 

“I’ve never paid ten before,” he says, his tongue poking his cheek to hide his smirk. 

“You’ve never been served by me, then,” you snap, “Ten.”

He just nods, accepting the price and inserting his card. You watch as he taps a few times, sure he’ll leave you an awful tip because of your attitude, but you don’t care. When he pulls his card out, you snatch the reader back and start moving on his drink. 

“Thanks,” he says, giving you a smile. 

You let your eyes meet his for a split second, opting not to reply as you fix up his drink. You make it strong, sure a frat boy like him can handle it, and set it down on the bar the second it’s done.

“Have a good night,” he calls after you, watching you walk away from him without a second thought. 

You grab a new shot glass from under the bar where Bryn is standing, looking up at her as she smirks down at you. 

“Who’s the guy?” she asks. 

“Some douche from one of my classes,” you explain. 

“Hmm,” she hums in amusement, “He’s cute. For a douche.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head at her, a laugh escaping your lips before you can help it. 

“You serve him next time, if you think he’s so cute.”

She laughs, “I’ll try, but I couldn’t get him to look my way.”

You shake your head once again, opting to not ask what she means by that. Instead, you just walk back to your position, taking the next drink order. 

     The night comes to a close around two in the morning, when you and Bryn make your way into the back office to clock out. Jamie, your boss, is seated there, punching numbers into a calculator. 

“Great night, tonight, ladies,” he smirks at the two of you when you walk in. 

“Thanks,” you mutter. 

“Bryn, I’m gonna take that shot glass you broke out of your tips, yeah? Can’t have those just being broken left and right.”

Bryn’s head snaps up at you, her eyes wide. You furrow your eyebrows, glaring at the back of Jamie’s head. 

“You bumped into me, it wasn’t my fault,” she defends. 

He shrugs, “Accidents happen. Doesn’t mean we just let go of materials. That’s not how a business is run.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs, but doesn’t say another word about it. Instead, she just clocks out, then moves out of the way so you can do the same. 

“Y/N, you made out tonight,” Jamie continues, “Someone even tipped you big on one drink.”

You stand up straight, “How much?”

“Twenty. Why did you charge ten for a vodka soda, though?”

Bryn’s head moves so fast, you swear she must have whiplash. You groan, unable to believe he left you twenty fucking dollars. 

“It was a triple,” you lie, “Come on, Bryn.”

You toss your bag over your shoulder and grab Bryn’s elbow, leading her out of the office and away from Jamie. 

“Goodnight, girls. Bryn, don’t forget what I told you! You can make twenty with a lower top, too.”

“Prick,” Bryn mutters under her breath, earning a laugh from you.

Once you’re both outside, the sight of your car and some alone time feeling like heaven to you, Bryn nudges your shoulder with her own. 

“What?” you laugh. 

“The douche from one of your classes tipped you big,” she teases, “What are you gonna do with all that money?”

You roll your eyes, “Buy a house in Hawaii. Move the fuck away from here.”

“Oh, come on,” she groans, “You act like it’s so awful here.”

“It is.”

“Maybe,” she sighs, stopping once she reaches her car, “You just need a little perspective.”

“Perspective, huh?” you laugh, “I’m giving him that money back.”

“Y/N, no you’re not. That’s your tip, and you worked your ass off tonight.”

You shake your head, walking toward your car, “Nope. It’s charity. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”

You hear her laugh, which makes you laugh in return. She opens her car door, but doesn’t climb in just yet, calling to you over the hood. 

“Get off your high horse. He tipped you. Just let it be.”

You shake your head, yelling out a ‘goodnight!’ to her before you hear her get into her car and close the door. She waits for you to arrive at yours and climb inside before she drives off. You follow suit, ready to get back to your apartment and sleep for the next twelve hours. 

     You almost forget about it. Almost. Your week goes by with no hiccups, no problems, and no blue-eyed frat boy. That is, until you’re getting ready to head to your Friday class, the one you share with him, and realize that you need to give him his money back. 

Asking yourself the question of why it bugs you so much when you’d usually take the money without a second thought is one you refuse to answer. The idea that he would think he could buy you in any way upsets you, given that Jamie and almost every other man in your life has felt this way, makes your stomach turn. 

When you withdraw the twenty from your account, holding it between your fingers and cursing, you wonder why he couldn’t have just left you a normal tip, like a normal person, and walked away. A part of you thinks he may have done it just to get under your skin. Well, he definitely accomplished that. 

     You arrive at class with four minutes to spare. Your professor is setting up and the room is just as cramped as it was last week. Too many people, and just enough chairs to occupy them all. Quickly, you sign in, then glance around the room for him. You find those blue eyes in no time, a smirk across his face as he watches you. 

You pull the twenty from your pocket, ready to tell him off as you approach him. His eyes never leave yours, and the way he leans back in his chair makes him look calm and collected. Your mouth twitches, words dying to flood out, but somehow, he speaks first once you’re close enough. 

“Saved you a seat,” he says, smirking wide, “It was getting pretty full.”

You freeze, staring at the way he’d set his backpack in the chair next to him so nobody would sit there. Your jaw falls open only slightly, a few stuttered syllables coming out as you attempt to understand why he’s doing any of this. 

You blink and shake your head, drawing yourself out of whatever this is, then slap the money down on his desk.

“I’m not taking this,” you snap, “Keep your money in your wallet, and your wallet out of my bar. Understand?”

He clenches his jaw, “Clear, boss.”

“Great,” you mutter, stalking off to find another seat.

Any other seat. 

The thought of him being out of your life forever, now that the money’s been taken care of, seems way too good to be true. Yet, when it seems that he had literally saved you the last available seat in the room, you groan internally. 

Glancing at the clock, you have less than a minute before class starts. Groaning, you turn and sigh, letting out all of your frustration, and return to his row. 

His eyes flicker over immediately, and when he turns his head, you swear you can see the victory in his eyes. He grins, but you’re sure he knows better than to say anything. He just removes his backpack, then nods his head for you to sit. 

Something about this entire thing feels humiliating to you. When you sit, you cross your arms over your chest and resign to just sitting there for the next hour and a half. Your eyes flicker to his desk before you can help it, the twenty still sitting there beside two pencils. His laptop and notebook aren’t out, and you curse yourself for noticing that. 

“Did you forget?”

He’s whispering now, given your professor is going to start speaking any moment, and the room has gone quiet. 

“No,” you say stubbornly, even though you couldn’t be further from knowing what he’s talking about. 

He laughs quietly, “You forgot.”

“No, I didn’t,” you snap. 

“Oh, yeah?” he grins, “Okay. What year was the National Health Service established in the UK?”

Your eyes widen when you realize why he’s asking you this. Your professor stands up, stack of exams in hand, ready to pass them out.

You haven’t done one minute of studying. Between working and your other classes, plus avoiding even trying to think about this one, it had slipped your mind altogether. 

“The answer,” he continues, “Is 1948. That’s definitely going to be on there.”

Briefly, you wonder when frat boys actually started studying for their classes. Your head falls into your hands, realizing that you’re never going to get that GPA boost, and you’re sure you can kiss graduate schools and any other further education goodbye. 

“Shit,” you mutter. 

“Relax,” he says, handing you his spare pencil, “We’ll do it together.”

Your head shoots over to him, your eyebrows so furrowed, you’re sure there’s a crease in your forehead. He chuckles as your professor starts handing out exams, lecturing everyone to keep their eyes on their own paper and turn it in to him when they’re complete. 

“What?” you hiss. 

“Just look at mine,” he says quietly, “Then, change one or two at the end so he doesn’t notice. You’ve got this.”

Before you can argue back or ask him why the hell he’s doing this, your professor reaches your row and hands him a stack of exams. The boy takes them with a small ‘thank you’, one that makes you actively not roll your eyes, then gives you a smile when he hands them off to you. 

You swallow, your mouth suddenly bone dry, and pick up the pencil he’d given you. You bite down on your bottom lip and watch as he starts writing his name at the top of his paper, but you look away before you can be caught. 

You do the same, taking your time writing your name and letting your eyes dart around before settling on your professor at the front of the room. 

He’s on his computer, paying absolutely zero attention to any of you. You stare at him, spacing out as you try and figure out how to do this properly. When you feel a slight nudge on your elbow, you glance down. 

He’s already done with the first page? Eight questions, and he knows the answer to all of them in the span of two minutes. You sigh, quickly scanning the sheet that he’s angled out for you, and start circling. You change one of his answers on the front, both of you flipping to the second page at the same time. 

You steal a glance at the boy, seeing a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sets his test back down and gets to work, barely reading over the question before he circles the answer. In no time, the second page is done. Ignoring the guilt weighing on your chest, you take in the answers again, and flip to the third page. 

This is how the two of you continue; this being almost too easy for your liking. Briefly, you wonder if he’s messing with you. Maybe he’s picking all the wrong answers and plans on laughing at you for so blindly trusting him. 

However, this thought is put to rest when he stands up, tossing his bag over his shoulder and making his way to the professor to hand in his exam. You swallow as you watch him leave; your throat tightening when he steals a glance your way as he walks to the door. He winks discreetly, smiling slightly before he escapes. Your throat tightens at his actions, and when you stare down at the completed exam, you almost want to cry. 

You should’ve failed this miserably, and if not for some guy who is seemingly too nice for his own good, you would have. You debate changing a lot of answers. Getting the grade you deserve rather than the one that had been handed to you. But, you decide, you need this, and you’ll thank the guy profusely, and study very hard for the next exam. That’s exactly what you’ll do. 

You wait ten minutes and then stand to turn in your exam, the room only about one-fourth empty by now. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you escape, hurrying out of the room as if it’s about to suffocate you. 

When you exit the building, you find that the frat boy didn’t leave at all. He’s leaned up against a column on his phone, presumably waiting for you. You bite the inside of your cheek and approach him, tail between your legs. 

“Hey,” you say quietly, earning his attention. 

He grins and tucks his phone into his pocket, keeping himself propped up against the column as he takes you in. 

“We’re like a well-oiled machine, huh?” he jokes. 

You force a smile, “Look, I owe you, so–”

“No, you don’t,” he shakes his head, “It’s fine. You just forgot, that doesn’t mean your grade should suffer like that. Don’t worry about it.”

He shrugs, as if he didn’t just do you a huge favor without even knowing your name. Remaining stubborn, you cross your arms over your chest. 

“It’s not fine,” you argue, “That’s a big deal, what you just did.”

“Ah,” he chuckles, standing up straight, “So, you’re feeling guilty.”

“Guilty?” you question. 

“Yeah. For being so dismissive to me last week. In class and at the bar.”

You clench your jaw, trying desperately to figure out if that’s what you truly are feeling. You take a deep breath and lick your lips, trying to shove the frustration down. 

“I don’t–” you shake your head, starting over, “Is there something you want in exchange for what you just did? Free drinks at the bar or whatever?”

He laughs again, “No. You don’t owe me anything, all right?”

You exhale a sigh, then cross your arms over your chest in defense mode. He does the same, smirking while he mocks you. He laughs when you narrow your eyes at him, dropping your arms to your sides again. 

“I don’t even know your name,” you sigh, “I mean, you–”

“Rafe Cameron,” he says proudly, “That’s my name.”

You nod slowly, “Got it.”

“You’re not gonna tell me yours?” he grins as he asks. 

“Yeah, um, it’s Y/N,” you reply. 

“Got it,” he mocks with a smile, “Y/N. The girl who cheated off of me–”

“Stop!” you groan, “It was your idea.”

He laughs loudly, “That’s true. So, we’re both going to get kicked out for academic dishonesty, then?”

He’s teasing and you know it, but your expression falls. You swallow back that rising guilt once more, biting down on your bottom lip. 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he says immediately, “Didn’t stop me, though.”

Your eyes meet the blue you’ve become so accustomed to over the past week, even if it was in an unwanted way. You want to ask him why he’s being so nice to you; why he’s tipping you a lot and letting you copy his exam. The questions seem to get lodged in your throat, unable to come out as you fear the answer. 

Before either of you can speak again, you hear Rafe’s name being called by a guy approaching the two of you. 

“Rafe!” he yells, “Yo, Cameron. Dude.”

Rafe spins, and you watch as the guy grins and holds out his hand for Rafe to dap him up. 

“Hey, man,” Rafe greets, “Would you hang on–”

“I’ll see you next week, Rafe,” you say, his name feeling foriegn on your tongue. 

Shyly, you turn to walk away from the boys. Being shy feels like a new emotion for you, having not been this way in years. The weight of what Rafe has done, however, seems to overcome your stubbornness and your confidence, leaving you shy and feeling as if you owe him something. 

“Y/N, wait,” he calls after you, jogging easily behind you until he reaches you, “Wait.”

You stop and turn, glancing quickly at his friend. He’s smirking, watching the two of you without shame. You feel uncomfortable under both of their gazes, and you’re sure your squirming gives you away. 

“What?” you question him. 

He pulls the twenty out of his pocket and holds it between the two of you. 

“I want you to take this back,” he says quietly, “You earned it.”

“No,” you shake your head, drawing back, “I don’t want it.”

“Come on,” he groans. 

“No,” you reply, feeling some of that stubbornness come back, “Besides, what’s your friend going to think when he sees you handing me money?”

You nod your head to the side, indicating who you’re speaking about. Rafe shrugs easily in response. 

“He already knows about it. He came to the bar with me. Please, take it.”

You push that sentence out of your mind, telling yourself not to analyze it at all. Not now, not later. 

“I really don’t feel comfortable taking it. Especially after what you just did for me,” you confess, reaching out and pushing his hand back into his chest. 

Slowly, he nods, “Fine.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you in class next week.”

You give him a small smile and turn to walk away, sighing in relief after a few steps. 

“Y/N,” he calls after you, not surprised when you don’t turn around, “You’re leaving me no choice but to come back to the bar and try again.”

You bite down on your bottom lip to hide a smile, stepping forward once again, and away from Rafe Cameron. You call back over your shoulder to him without stopping, not wanting to see that grin on his face.

“I know.”

Tags: @goldenjo @onmykneesforrafe @valeriiecameron @lovedetlost @storytellingwitht @lurkymurker @scenesofobx @itsalexwin @notdisneychannel @abrunettefangirlnerd @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess

*not sure who to tag bc new series but if you wanna be added lmk bc i just tagged the babes <3

[bbloveseevees]

I HAVE WRITTEN ALMOST NOTHING ABOUT THE CULT ITSELF BUT YOU CAN HAVE HER CHARACTERHUB PAGE

I’LL GET TO WRITING RIGHT AWAY (I say with twenty drafts in my google docs)

I offer you and your cookie Oc one of my highest honors…

A shitty doodle :) (featuring MY cookie Oc, Fondant Cookie!)

I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THIS CULT FONDANT COOKIE RUNS BECAUSE TOFFEE TRUFFLE COOKIE MIGHT JOIN XDDDDD

Also IM HERE FOR THE FIRENDSHIPS

[thekristen999]

 I worked on this story for hours and google docs took it away. I thought the whole point of google docs was it saved everything?

 But I was almost done and did some type of weird key stroke that made all the text go away. I have no idea what I did. Then when I tried to hit ‘go back” .I accidental hit refresh and it was gone.

I found some 'history' but all it shows is blank pages. WTF? Seriously?  I can’t find a previous version? All I need to do is go back twenty minutes. What the every loving fuck?

[mahi-does-some-art]

I’ve long since mentioned I’ve been working on a Fem!SlothMahi fic right? And that I’ve been working on it since December of 2020 yeah? (It’s august 2nd, 2022 at 4 in the morning rn)

Well ya bitch just finished chapter twenty five, which clocks in a work count of uhhhhhhhh hold on a sec i gotta check--

oh.

oh holy shit.

11K-- ALMOST 12K IN A SINGLE CHAPTER PLEEASSEEEE

this chapter is 28 pages long im going to cry, its so close to being single-spaced too. This is insane!!!! Im not gonna finish this year EITHER!!!! THIS THING IS GONNA BE TWO YEARS OLD BEFORE I EVEN START POSTING IT!!!!!! This is the motherfucker that proved to me that google docs has a file size limit!!!! this monstrosity of a fanfic!!!!! God fears me!!!! whoever says fanfiction doesnt count as anything shall be smitten where they stand!!!!!! I am the SlothMahi God!!!!!!

OH BY THE WAY I HAVE LIKE TEN SEPERATE DOCS JUST TO HOLD ALL OF THIS WRITING, THIS IS ONLY THE DOC I WRITE ON!!!!!!

[sophie-i-guess13]

End of the Line

uhm yeah. its literally just sylvia and tim being friends again after not talking for a while. domestic fluff, little bit of angst, lots of detail and i am so sorry. this was 7 pages on google docs lol

words : 2858

characters: Tim Shepard, Sylvia, Original Characters

genre: angst + fluff, rekindled friendship

Tw : cursing, slight religious imagery, slight mention of domestic violence and murder, canonical character death menttion

tag!  @mjmacchio1991 @pepsi-and-cigarettes @james-fucking-hates-dallas  @ralphmaccchiato @patrickslayze @outsiderslamb @frypansgirl  @unorginalchocolatemilk @jackettslut @johnnycadesjeanjacket (ask to tag or be removed :))

He can’t tell what colour her eyes are. Whose eyes did she end up with, anyway? She doesn’t have her momma’s hair, that’s for sure. Those indescribable eyes follow him as her momma paces the kitchen, muttering as her bare feet slap against the cold tile floor. 

“I woulda thought you’d taken me off your bail-me-out list.”

Tim Shepard scoffs from the brown sofa. The apartment is small and smells of a million different things he can barely name. Cologne, cigarettes, hairspray, and weed, to name a few. As a cloud of smoke blows past the window to his right, he realizes where the weed must be coming from. Toys are cast in every direction on the carpeted floor, dolls and alphabet blocks in front of the television, a few Lego blocks make a trail from the box in the corner, ending beneath his feet. The coffee table sits in front of him, a Lego house paperweight pinning invoices and final warnings to the table, to be ignored just a little while longer. 

“It’s easy to get off the list,” he replies when she bumps the fridge closed with her hip, dark eyes narrowed to daggers. “When I call, don’t answer.”

Something rips, a microwave is flung open. For a moment, and a moment only, he considers standing and taking the baby off her hip. Like an ember, the idea dissipates in an instant when the microwave hums quietly, warm yellow light the only thing illuminating the kitchen. She leans her shoulder against the wall, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You aren’t the only hood with my number, Tim.”

She’s quiet for a moment; the microwave’s steady hum is replaced with a sudden long beep, and the furious stomping from the person upstairs in response. “Thought you were someone else.”

There’s a bottle in her hand when she comes back, lifting her chin and gesturing to the lamp beside the sofa. He turns it on in silent understanding, soaking the room in a soft, warm glow as the girl he’d known his entire childhood coos quietly, guiding the bottle to her daughter’s lips. 

Sylvia, not even in her best of moments, was ever seen as nurturing. It’s at that moment Tim realizes just how long ago those days were. It’s damn hard to be a kid when you have one of your own, ain’t it?

“How’d this happen?” He asks, gesturing vaguely. His question is answered with a condescending tilt of the chin. 

“You’re twenty-one years old, an’ you really don’t know where babies come from?”

“Y’know what I mean.”

She smiles, combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair soothingly. It’s short and brown, curled into tight ringlets around her face. When Sylvia looks back to the man on her sofa, her smile is genuine. “Lori- Loretta. Buck thought it would be nice, an’ I was too doped up on meds to really care. So Loretta it is.”

The bottle is still three-quarters full, but her eyelids are heavy and her head lulls to the side. She settles into his leather-clad arms almost instantly, heartbeats falling into a steady synchronized rhythm.

“Remember when I came by, told you I was leaving?” Sylvia asks, tidying the living room, placing blocks and toys on the table, burying bills and documents spread there. Tim has the bottle in one hand, the other on her back. Loretta’s full head of curls just beneath his stubble. 

“Yeah, ‘course I do,” he scoffs. “Said you were leavin’, didn’t think you’d ever be back.”

He leaves out the part where she asks him to go with her; that he’d done all Tulsa could ever provide and it was time to move on. She never said before he ended up like Winston, but Syl had always been like that. Between the two, some things were better left unsaid. 

“Went down to Charlie’, since you didn't feel like comin’,” she says in a sing-song voice. Tim knows the bar well enough- not because he’d ever been, but because it was the only place in town Curly thought he could get a few drinks without word getting back to his older brother. “He was watchin’ me, I was watchin’ him. Had a few drinks, danced to a few songs…”

She smiles at the memory, her hands finding a home in the back pockets of her blue jeans. Her eyes wander from the table and bills, to her daughter and old friend. Then, to her own bare feet. “One thing led to another, an’ then we were in his backseat. Nine months later, we’re in an apartment on the south side.”

Tim looks up from the body on his chest, sleeping peacefully. “Dad still around?” He asks, voice painfully void of emotion. If it weren't for the windows sealed shut, Sylvia would have blamed her goosebumps on the autumn wind. His eyes are on her, the left a bit bruised, but still narrowed. She swallows once, turning on her heel and raking her eyes across the floor for anything she may have missed. Sure, all those toys were hand-me-downs from Ruberta in 5C, but they were still Lori’s toys. 

“Uh-huh. Y’know how guys are, though… Flakey.”

He’d been gone when she got home, leaving skid marks in the parking lot where the Lincoln was supposed to be, car seat and all. 

When she turns to face him again, Tim is staring down at Lori as her fists clench and release, milk and drool staining her cheek and dribbling down onto the cold hood’s red shirt. “An’ who is he?”

She brushes the question off her aching shoulders with a subtle shrug and scoff. “No one important,” she reasons – more to herself than those bold, blue eyes. “You uh, you remember the Dawson boys, don't you?”

“Sylvia, I swear to all that is fucking holy-”

Tim Shepard has always been a hypocrite. Invoking holy wrath, all so he can throw the word fuck in the mix. Even as she stands there, tasting blood and bile in the back of her throat as she stares at the seven-hundred and fifty square feet that have become her life, she was almost grateful. Some things, no matter how long, or the circumstances that drive you apart, never change. 

“-You coulda gotten out, an’ instead you get knocked up by Billy fuckin’ Dawson? You move in with him?”

If it weren't for the baby pinning him down, Tim would've been on his feet some time ago. Pacing the living room, hands limp at his sides, jostling with every step. Had it not been for the baby, he knows Sylvia would've been long gone by now, too. Like they planned when they were younger, when the responsibility of making sure the siblings had enough to eat and Dad got to work in the morning seemed like it would vanish when they turned eighteen. 

If it weren't for the baby on his chest, Sylvia would've been a million miles away instead of playing house with a wannabe thug. 

“He’s settled down now,” she justifies, “has been ever since Harvey went away.”

Tim throws his head back, running his tongue over his teeth. It was quite the day for the press when Harvey Dawson went down; put away for years over an illegal firearm, personal vendetta, and shitty aim. That waitress was never supposed to get shot, he’d been screaming that when the cops drug him out of his house at four in the morning, but it doesn't change the fact he went to the Dingo to kill someone. He was seventeen then, last year, and it'll be a long damn time until he ever gets out. Sylvia’s right, watching that better be sobering. 

Her arms are crossed over her chest now, eyes narrowed. “Don’t look at me like that- like I’ve never dated a fucking greaser before.” She scoffs again, hands pulling at her dark green shirt before she turns. “Hold on a minute,” she spits, “thought Ma was lying when she said chafing was the worst part, gotta take this bra off.” 

His voice carries down the hall, echoing off the paper-thin walls. Even if it’s only eight o’clock, she knows her neighbours are gonna have something to say about all the ruckus on her way to work tomorrow. “He’s nineteen, Sylvia! He doesn't know the first fuckin’ thing about takin’ care of you or your baby.”

A silence rests heavy in the air then. Lori stirs on his chest, settling when he drops one scarred hand between her frail shoulders. Tim Shepard had never been one to be around babies as much as kids and teenagers. When his siblings were still babies, his mother was still at home and taking care of them to the best of her abilities, even if her children would all come to resent her in a few years time. Tim never had much experience with babies, being as cold and tuff as he was, but that didn't mean he didn't like them. Especially when they were sleeping like this. 

Doors and floorboards creak when Sylvia comes out of her bedroom, down the hallway left of the kitchen. She curses under her breath as she rifles through every cupboard and drawer, face whiter than the linoleum tiles. “Nononono,” she repeats like a mantra, oblivious to the dread curling in Tim’s stomach when he stands, cradling Lori to his chest. “You motherfucker, you wouldn't-”

The telephone, red paint already peeling rests between her shoulder and ear as she dials furiously. Standing in the kitchen now, Tim stares at the refrigerator. Magnets hold parking tickets, schedules, phone numbers on its yellowed surface. 

“Shirley? Yeah, it's Sylvia-”

The counters are cluttered. Dishes air dry in the sink while coffee mugs and empty cereal boxes, a single wilted flower, take up space in the corners and windowsill. 

“No, Lori’s alright, it's Billy. I-I don't know where he is-”

The phone is slammed back down, with enough force for the body in Tim’s hands to jolt awake for a split second. His hands move automatically, tracing small circles on her back; like Angela and Curly always asked when they couldn't fall asleep. Sylvia moves past them wordlessly, eyes set on the brown purse hanging on the back of a chair. Her hands tremble as she pulls at the clasp and zipper, sending wrinkled bills and coins falling to the table. To anyone else, her shaking hands and blank stare wouldn't mean much. Not unless they'd grown up together. She drops into her chair and holds her head in her hands, not moving. Not even when the second chair is pulled out, creaking from the sudden weight. 

“What’s goin’ on, Sylv? You can tell me.”

“He took the money,” she mumbles into her sleeves. “Had the rent an’ everything in an envelope on the bedside table, an’ now it's gone.”

Bloodshot eyes bore into him, blood stains her lip the more she bites at the dead skin. Her hands move to her hair, pushing and pulling until white knuckles poke through the strawberry blonde. “His momma hates me- doesn't even really think Lori’s her granddaughter. She wouldn't tell me where he is, even if she knew.” Four eyes linger on the money on the table, the apartment growing darker as the sun sinks further below the mansions to the west. “Forty-six fifty,” Sylvia answers weakly. “Emptied the bank account for groceries and rent this week, took the rest out tonight to pay your bail.”

“Why did you bail me out?”

They were six and seven when they first met. Lived only four blocks from each other, passed one another in the halls and on the playground every day. It wasn’t until he was ten and she was nine that they finally spoke, the Shepard kids breaking bottles and tossing rocks against the asphalt when she came down the street and asked to join. A silent understanding, alliance, even was made that day. After all, kids only ever came to the lot if it was better than being at home. 

Dallas, Johnny, and even Bob Sheldon's death left an ugly red stain on Tulsa. Eden years after, when it seemed that things were starting to move forward, it lingered. Everyone knew of Bob and Dallas, two polar opposites, killed by their enemies only days and a few blocks apart. It meant no one was safe. No one was as invincible as their childhood had led them to believe. 

“How’d you get my number?”

Billy Dawson was meant to be a fresh start. A God-given sign her life in Tulsa wasn't over. And like the fool that she was, Sylvia dove headfirst, forgetting that even the Devil was an angel at one point. Maybe that's all he was ever meant to be- a lesson. A lesson to avoid temptation and stay on her path, before she cut off all her roots and was left in an apartment with a baby and not even fifty dollars to her name. 

“Asked around,” Tim answers nonchalantly. “Eventually ran into your momma downtown, got it from her. Got your address, too, but figured you were gettin’ sick of me at that point. Y’know, if you were willing to move across town and have a kid without tellin’ me.”

“I know you'd be mad at me once you found out who I was seein’,” she says suddenly. “Billy an’ the rest of his boys have never been your biggest fans, either.” She almost smiles. The idea of being eighteen now, and some silly little rivalry from her youth still dictating her life was enough to make her forget about the money for a moment. “I don't even know why I did it- guess I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Tim chuckles tiredly across the table, raising one hand to rub his eyes. She sounds like Angela, he thinks. She tries too damn hard to solve her own messes, Lord forbid her brothers come along and lighten the load. “I was never mad at you, Syl. Jesus, if you wanted to move out, I woulda helped you find a place! We woulda helped you move! We woulda found you a better guy than Billy Dawson, too, that's for damn sure.”

They stay there longer than they should've. Until it's too dark to read the clock hanging behind Tim’s head, until it's as if nothing had changed at all and they'd never been forced apart by circumstances of their own design. Sylvia holds her daughter now, in the dark, cramped kitchen, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The apartment creaks and groans the longer Tim walks around it, hands pushed deep in his pockets and the collar of his leather jacket almost touching his jaw. He studies everything he can see, from Lori’s finger paintings on the kitchen floor beneath the table, to the fist-sized hole in the living room wall. It's beside the door and makes him wonder how the hell he missed it when he first came inside. 

He wraps one hand around the doorknob, unlocking the deadbolt before he twists it and comes face to face with a cramped beige hallway. “Remember when we were kids, an’ you used to come over all the time?”

She laughs. “Between your place and Buck’s, I didn't need to go home. You woulda thought I was an orphan.”

He nods, smiles a little- the ripped skin on his cheek shifting is proof. “I, uh… I meant what I said, ‘bout the couch being yours if you needed it. Hell, we can do some rearranging if we need to stick a crib in Angela’s room.”

“Don’t make offers I might have to take you up on,” Sylvia groans as she crosses the floor into the living room. She follows his eyes until she finds the hole in the wall, exactly parallel with her face. “Rent’s due on Friday an’ I don't get paid ‘til Monday. Even then, it's not like it'll be enough when all I do is flip switches all day.”

“You should come over tomorrow night,” he answers as he steps over the threshold, “it's Curly’s turn to make dinner an’ we need a neutral party to tell him he fucking sucks at it.”

“I'll see if I can fit you in my schedule. Call me when you get home, yeah? It can get pretty rough around here at night.”

He rolls his eyes and reaches to close the door. “Jesus, Sylvia, you're forgetting who you're talking to, doll.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get outta here, I gotta put the kid to bed.

“It was good to see you, Syl.”

She smiles back at him, using the back of her hand to stifle a yawn and pull Lori just a little bit closer. “It was good to see you, too, Shep. Not that I missed you or nothin’-”

Just as he had always been, Tim pops his collar before making his way down the hall, waving with the back of his hand as the stairs grow nearer. “‘Course not.”