#once I get past the initial nerves since I'm not used to posting something that expl**it lol

[blubble-lake]

days are best with you! 🌄

[that-one-rat-in-the-cupboard]

Warning! Good Omens S2 Spoilers ahead!

I was listening to sad-ish love songs today at work and started piecing together a poem, which I quickly realized could be used for post-S2 Crowley, and then this was born. I really like it and I hope you all do, too! Az is literally just me. I dress like that, Az is my name, the only difference is hair but I'm getting mine done on my birthday the same way story-me has theirs done. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

P.S. I'll be posting the poem on its own right after I post this if you wanna ty and analyze it or something (:

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Talk, Don't Speak.

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

The pub was surprisingly packed for a Wednesday night. Nearly every seat was taken and the only reason Crowley had been able to secure a table to himself is largely because of the harsh glares he shot to anyone who dared try to sit with him. It was 7 p.m. when he finally found out why the pub had been so packed; there was a poem reading event tonight. His first thought was that this was something Aziraphale would probably really enjoy attending, maybe even being one of the readers. The thought alone nearly made him leave, but his curiosity won him over. He hadn’t seen anyone recite poetry since around the time Shakespeare was around. So he stayed, and he half-listened to the poets reading their works. None of them caught his attention very well, so he didn’t really bother listening much.

Then someone named Az walked onto the stage. They were dressed simply, but the outfit was still eye-catching. They wore a skin-tight black button-down, a loose white tie, a flowy black skirt that reached around their mid-thigh, white tights, and green high tops with various black sketchy designs drawn on the sides. They had a few piercings on their face and various bracelets lining their forearms. Some were leather, some studded, some were made of thread, and some even had beads woven in. They had a few silver rings along their fingers. Their hair was choppy and reached just past their shoulders, the very front pieces bleached white and the rest dyed black. 

What had initially caught Crowley’s attention was the announcer calling the person’s name, as it sounded like he was about to say Aziraphale, but, much to Crowley’s relief, and dismay, it wasn’t Aziraphale, just someone with an odd name. He rested his head back on his arms, fully intent on zoning out and continuing to drown his stomach with wine, but once they started talking, he couldn’t help but listen.

“Hello, everyone!” Az smiled kindly and waved to the crowd, one hand on the mic, “As you heard, my name is Az. I’ve been writing stories since I was a kid and I’ve been writing poetry since high school. Tonight I am going to be reading a recent piece of mine titled ‘Talk, Don’t Speak.”

They took a moment to take a deep breath, likely to calm any nerves they had, and then began to speak.

“I like you. Not in the way two friends like each other, though. No, I like you in the way whales like to sing. I like you in the way the stars like to shine. I like you in the way sea foam likes to border the shore. I like you in the way yeast likes to grow. I like you in the way I like like you…but it feels like you don’t like me the same. 

“It feels like you like me like a parasite. Feeding off me and keeping me here so you can grow and become stronger. You drain me of my blood, sweat, and tears, yet you keep me nearby. But that’s the problem, you don’t feel like a parasite. You being around fills me with light and warmth, two things I swore I abandoned years ago. Yet here they are, seeping into my lungs and my heart only when you are near. You break down the walls that I’ve built and warmed the cold blade of my heart. Then you left.

“It feels like a tincture but you’ve left me bleeding out on the cold wood of your living room floor. It hurts so much that I am compelled to say “Et tu Brute?” But if you were the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden, then I would be Eve, and I wouldn’t take just one bite. I’d devour you whole, unhinge my serpent jaw and swallow your smile, your laugh, your heart…saying it makes me wonder if ‘like’ is even the right word.

“…No. It’s not. It never has been, has it? I guess I just never noticed, but we both know I’m just a coward. I speak but I never talk. Can I talk to you one more time?

“I’ve avoided saying it for far too long, so I will say it now as my Holy Water tears burn canals into my cheeks and chin…

“I love you.”

The pub was quiet for a moment before people began snapping in applause. Crowley was frozen. Had this person been stalking him for 6 thousand years or something? Were they some demon or angel in disguise? They didn’t seem like they were…were they psychic? How on earth was their poetry so close to what Crowley had been dealing with lately? After Az took a bow, they exited the stage and the announcer took their place, announcing the next poet. Crowley’s eyes didn’t leave Az, though. He watched as they walked to a booth next to the stage with a few other poets. Az gathered up their coat and their leather bag before bidding farewell and hugging the walls of the pub before leaving. Crowley quickly followed.

They ended up stopping at a bus stop, sitting on the bench and patiently waiting for the next bus. Crowley sauntered over and sat beside her, “That was quite the poem.”

Az smiled softly and looked at him, “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it. Did it resonate with you?”

Crowley scrunched his face up a bit and shrugged, “Eugh, you could say that. Who was the inspiration for it?”

“Hm? Oh, no one.” Az smiled and turned their head back to the road. 

Crowley’s eyes widened and he quickly snapped his head to look at them, “What?”

“Yup,” they enunciated the ‘p’ with a pop, “None of my love-based poems are inspired by someone. Well, unless it’s a heartbreak one. Those are usually inspired by someone.”

Crowley sat up a bit more and waved his hand around, the one not holding a half-empty wine bottle, as he spoke, “So, that whole thing, not inspired by anyone? Anyone at all?”

“Nope.” she enunciated the ‘p’ once again. 

“Then how did you write it? Got the story from a friend and turned it into a poem?”

“Nope. I listened to sad love songs that aren't super popular. Love songs from people who aren’t famous or well-known or even have a lot of followers. I listen to songs from people who maybe have a few hundred or thousand followers.”

“Why?” Crowley didn’t understand, but he desperately wanted to now. 

“Because they’re the people I see every day. They’re the people that aren't rich. They’re struggling with things most other people do. They don’t have a trust fund and sometimes that music is the only thing they have to support them. They’re real. More real than nearly every famous person. I want to write for people who struggle and cry and laugh, and try to thrive when they’re merely surviving. People like me. I take what they say, as well as some of my own experiences, and before long the words are spilling from my fingertips and onto the page.”

Crowley stared at Az for a moment before leaning his head back to rest on the back of the bench, thinking. After a few moments, Az spoke once more, “You said you resonated with my poem, right?”

“Nn..yeh.” Crowly half-shrugged.

“Did you talk to them? Tell them how you felt?”

Crowley sat up, getting ready to leave as he felt deja’vu from his conversation with Nina and Maggie, “Course I did. Told ‘m everything and he left.”

“Did you talk to him, or did you speak.”

Crowley froze for the second time that night, his eyes gazing past his dark glasses and into bright hazel ones. He had spoken. It was unsaid, but they both knew. After a moment, Az turned to her leather bag and began to undo the clasps on the front of it, “I want you to have something.”

Crowley didn’t say anything as they pulled out a black, hard-cover book. Crowley’s immediate reaction was to say he didn’t read, but something ineffable convinced him to keep quiet, so he did. Az then held the book out to him, “You don’t have to read it, you don’t even have to open it. Hell, you can chuck it in the trash for all I care, but at least take it.”

Crowley saw from over Az’s shoulder that the bus was just rounding the corner. He hesitated, but they kept the book held out to him. He looked back into them and with how intently they were looking at him he could have sworn they were looking right through his glasses. Just as the bus parked in front of the stop and opened its doors, he snatched the book. Az smiled despite it and boarded the bus without another word. 

— — — — — — 

Rain pelted against the hood of the Bently, it being the only sound to accompany the intoxicated demon. His head was resting on the handle of the steering wheel, staring at the black book in his passenger seat. The back was facing up, and it only had a short sentence printed in white ink that read;

“Sincerely, 

Az R. A.

<>”

Crowley hadn’t touched the book since Az gave it to him over a week ago. It had sat in his passenger seat since then, collecting dust. He had debated throwing it out several times, but something in him refused to let him toss it. Finally, he decided tonight was the night he would at least read the title and open it. So he grabbed it, wiped off the little dust on it, and read the cover that was printed in the same white ink;

Az’s 

Total and Complete Collection of

 Love, Heartbreak, and Everything in Between:

A Guide.

Crowley huffed out a breath and flipped it open to the first page. On it was a short, hand-written note;

“To whomever I have given his book to, I hope it helps you. I wish you the best, and I hope the contents of this book provide you the words you need to Talk.

-Az R. A.

<>”

There was a date in the top right corner of the page. The note was from 2020. Crowley wanted to think about it for a moment, but that nagging feeling in him convinced him to keep going. To keep reading. So he did. There were poems about love heartbreak, and everything in between, just as Az had promised in their title. The book wasn’t long, but it was packed full of metaphors, clever lines, euphemisms, and most importantly…emotion. The last poem ended in the middle of the page with three dots, the right page completely blank, but the poem didn’t seem to be over. Hesitantly, though he didn’t know why he was, he turned the page to read the final line;

“In the end, this isn’t a guide. It is a mere suggestion.”

[brawlqueen]

checklist / note to myself *

gonna work this month on all fall related, halloween too , asks , so if anyone wants to send some, the meme is HERE ! don't be a stranger , i follow people for a reason ! i know i owe in that meme which is my focus because shorter things right now are my bread and butter , trunks, kizzy , etc ! it's still open all this month , as i'm someone who will write holidays long after the holiday is due .

in the past i used to punish myself a lot for just . . . not feeling it writing-wise. that doesn't mean i think i shouldn't say sorry if i have been keeping others , but just not to make it something toxic ; like a punishment or measurement of my worth as a writer.

i also think once i clear some of my drafts , feel comfortable enough to , i'd like to ask for a lot of people's interest trackers . i need to be more initiative (no pun) into getting to know new mutuals , all of you whom have tons of talent . that includes me plotting in time, mizuki's psyncing into your muse's brain if ... you'll let her . and don't worry, mizuki is sturdy as hell she's definitely equipped to see the unexplainable horrors . . she's lived it too.

i'm still working slowly on my thoughts, as my mizuki is aini divergent 90 percent , save aiba is her partner at present , shared with date of course ! but usually since she's more active in my canon , mizuki is someone i think would be a great longterm ABIS agent, but also someone who wants to go to college, and should . she's above average IQ in spades , but with running renju's talent agency and sunfish pocket , and also being a special agent to a secret organization within the police force ? she's busy.

of course there's also so much so so much to explore with her in the original, which is in my top five. lots of things i want to explore and many wishlists to be had . so yeah , i think mizuki needs a break before she starts college at some point, learns to balance all her responsibilities while still enjoying being a teenager .

that verse will probably be a long time in work , and aini will need to be replayed , and i'll try to keep the high salt about it turned more into something . . . productive ? like worldbuilding and story building for mizuki ! but yes , i love exploring all the ages she's been listed as, at present she's probably in the middle of being 18. i have to check the times of the games whoops. but please know if you're expecting only one version i switch between both equally . if you met her at 12, you'll likely get more of her at 12 unless we plot a timeskip. if you met her at 18 you'll get her at 18 ! rewinding to 12 might be a little weird unless your muse is a hidden psyncer boss didn't tell her about .

so yes, fall memes, draft clearing and some dropping, mizuki aini divergent verse , wish-list (over time) and reaching out to an interest checker or just honestly, send me an ask anytime. i may not get to it fastest , but i will . i have drafts as disorganized as i am. but this is kinda stuff that i'll be focusing on in the next few months, fall memes and fall things the primary for this one, albeit with some drafts !

please remember i followed you out of interest ! if we haven't interacted we just haven't found a chance !

i know this is long but i'm a lil foggy so this is as much for myself as others honestly ! i'll also at some point do a permissions post , so i know it's okay to do certain things with miss queen of the brawl. it's a long list, but i've divided what i aim to do and if i don't do it all in the time i set ? it's okay. thanks for being patient with me . for those that i haven't interacted with but i like your posts etc ? that's just lily giving you a little note of one, interest, two, i will work up the nerve to get to you !

[elemmacil]

UM EXCUSE ME I'M SO HERE FOR THE 1920s PZA au?????? That's such a good concept?? If you get around to posting it pls pls tag me I'd love to read it 😍 and the rest of your WIPs sound super cool! — @johaerys-writes

!!!! Aahhhhh!!! I will do so!! ❤️ So while I posed the initial idea in a Hades discord a while ago (though I think a more general jazz age au had come up once before that) the au as a whole really quickly took on a life of its own. A number of people have contributed to it and have written/are writing their own iterations, and drawing(!), it’s basically a collective effort that’s been super fun to watch unfold. Key items are Achilles being gender fluid him/her and Patroclus with a war injury that requires him to have a sexy knife cane haha. There were dayssss where nothing except jazz au was being discussed, it was glorious.

You should definitely check out this fic by infinitesle! But also since you tagged me for the wip Wednesday, I’ll take the opportunity to share a lil sumthin-sumthin from my own wip. 👀🤲🏼 (Tentative title????? “if that isn’t love it’ll have to do / until the real thing comes along”.)

Flushed and laughing softly, Zagreus lets Achilles reel him in by her grip on his shirt collar. His knees sink into the sofa’s plush, patterned velvet cushions, and one of his hands lands on the jut of her hip. He can feel the band of Achilles’ lingerie, the floral lace, beneath his palm through the thin green silk of the dressing gown. He had something prepared on the tip of his tongue, something cool and clever. Whatever it was flees him beyond recall. From her heavy, hooded stare Zagreus’ eyes drop, helplessly, to where Achilles’ dressing gown gapes open. Her chest rises and falls, a little unsteady. Between the swell of his breasts, small whorls of hair glint like spun gold in the lamplight. A perfect match for the long curls hanging past his shoulders. Achilles shifts, slightly, and her gown gapes wider. The breath punches from Zagreus’ lungs. Someone’s already left a bruise, there. Patroclus. “The night isn’t getting any younger,” Achilles tells him, low and amused. “Just kiss me.” There’s nothing Zagreus would love better, just now. Or perhaps ever again. The flush must reach up to his ears, he can feel how hot they are; as their laughter subsided Zagreus’ nerves have risen again. But Achilles’ wine-red lips part slightly as Zagreus leans forward, and Zagreus’ heart damn near beats itself out of his own chest because of that alone. Oh, she does want him. She wants him. Isn’t that something else? Something that could drive a man mad. Make him leap as high as the stars. Fly him to the damn moon. Beneath his, Achilles’ lips are warm. Soft. Zagreus can’t help the sound he makes. So much and so little about Achilles is soft, Zagreus thinks; his grief cuts, her anger bruises. Even her joy is bright enough to hurt, if you stare overlong. Zagreus has never heard Achilles sing and not wanted to cry, a little. When they first met he thought there wasn’t a damn thing in the world that could touch Achilles. Not truly. But then Achilles began opening up to him, in fits and starts, little by little. Until Zagreus finally understood what Patroclus meant about diamond scratching diamond. ‘Cause Achilles is tender as anything, when his hand brushes Zagreus’ cheek in the hall. When olive eyes land on Patroclus’, across a piano. When Achilles used to let tears streak his face in the middle of the night, or when her breath hitched on the last refrain of Sweet as the Mourning Dew. When he laughs, rumpled from sleep and slumped over an armchair. Or when, as he is now, as Zagreus lifts a hand to brush her hair over her shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck, he feels the way Achilles begins to melt like butter left in the sun with a shivering sigh— Ain’t nothing in the world that could hurt Achilles, he knows, save for Patroclus. Save for Zagreus, now.

[sonic-spirit]

Arts and Stuff and Events

Man, it's so easy to freeze up. Or maybe, it's so hard to keep from freezing. But fuck. It's hard. I've been doing good about making art the past couple weeks, but I've been hesitant to post it, for some reason? IDK. Part of it is definitely me putting pressure on it again. Like, "If this is what I want to do with myself, I gotta make it work," and all that. Then just...not super loving what I'm making. Which could also just be from pressuring myself, because I could not point to what I'm not liking about the things.

I finally started painting again, for the first time since college, and for the first time for myself since probably middle school. It's nice. It's weird, familiar and really strange at once, nerve wracking and relaxing, giving me a really cool experience and feeling like I'm still falling short, but it's good. One of the things I really like about physical media is that it helps push me towards keeping moving...at least as long as I can get through my initial block of anxiety and start. And I've been good about not letting it get in my way, not letting myself tense up over "ruining" my supplies. The fact that I'm making sure to not spend a lot at a time, and that I'm also making sure to only get supplies I want to use is definitely helping. Springing for a small range of a higher reputation set of acrylic paints, instead of the Liquitex Basics I had the last couple times (and HATED) is def paying off. The fact that the set was both a more expansive palette than I wanted, and is missing some colors I consider essential (like a nice, dark purple. You gave me 3 dark blues, two of which that are nearly identical, and no dark purple...though I am getting WAAAY too much use out of that light violet!), is also nice for encouraging me to pick and choose what I replace and what I expand to and don't (ultramarine, my love, you are already nearly gone...!)

And then, like. I want to do events. I know I want to do events. Which events? Obviously furcons. And then I really like the picture in my head of vending at Ren Faires, and the like. And I really want to do the regular, local shows, especially as I get my legs under me for booth setup. All of those seem to have fairly broadly different, if intersecting enough, niches.

My current plan is to expand my Printify and Etsy, utilizing Printify's print on demand services for stickers, wearables, and any other kinds of merch that seems cool (I've been needing a new full zip sweatshirt, why not make a cool design for it myself?). I intend to continue making my Astral Deer series of paintings to keep working with the medium and getting myself comfortable, and to have a good place to experiment, and also branch into pet portraits and the like. I also want to make stall plaques for horses--their names and portraits painted on them, and also a slot to slide in a 3x5 index card for feeding instructions and such. And if that weren't enough I also want to start getting into leatherwork, making some kink items, like wrist and ankle cuffs, ponyplay things like bridles and halters, even harnesses and stuff, as I grow in skill and confidence. I want to make things.

I also still really love my job as horseback riding instructor, and I think my current mad plots synergize really well...well. Except for one thing: I'm down to working only weekends and Mondays...the same days of any events I'd want to plan to play in. So that sucks.

I'm pretty sure things will change with my schedule again soon enough. But also, it doesn't feel like something I have as much control over. It's frustrating.

Anyway. Current stage is to utilize the 4 days a week I'm not going out and busting my ass working with the horses and kids to make arts.

[sataniquepanique]

New York, I Love You.

Summary: Eddie plans a trip to NYC for your anniversary, but becomes distant once you land in the city that never sleeps. You know he's hiding something, but you're not sure what.

Genre: fluff, angst, older!Eddie

Warnings: mention of depression/intrusive thoughts

A/N: I'm getting married in 2 weeks (fucking yikes), so I wrote something based on my fiancé's actual proposal to take my mind off of planning shit for two fucking seconds.

“Have you heard about the theory that Van Gogh didn’t actually kill himself?” You chime, looking over the museum map, eagerly tracing an invisible tour path through the winding galleries.

“You’ve only told me about it a million times over the past seven years,” Eddie chuckles as he stares down the entranceway of the Museum of Modern Art. The two of you look incredibly out of place; stark white walls, juxtaposed with tattoos and leather. The soft squeak of your Docs reverberate through the winding hallway, adding to the anxiety that’s been building since stepping foot in New York City two days ago. Something was off with Eddie, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. It started at the airport, he had stopped talking after getting to the gate; chalking it up to nerves about flying, you ignored it. The first day in the city was the same, barely any conversation unless you initiated it, and even less physical affection on his part. Maybe he was still tired from the trip, or maybe he just hated the city? A third reason rears its ugly head and starts to burrow deep inside your conscious; maybe he was getting tired of you. After seven years of being together, of cohabitating in a small apartment outside of Hawkins, of two cats and a dog later, maybe the love of your life was pushing away. 

A hand on the small of your back snaps your attention back to the map. The 1880-1940’s collection is on the 5th floor, allowing you to traverse through the rest of the museum before seeing the one piece this entire trip was centered around.

———

New York City was actually Eddie’s idea, though it doesn’t seem so from his current disconnected behavior. A few months prior he had bounded into the living room, smiling like he had just won the lottery.

“Baby,” he sang in his best, most innocent voice, “how would you feel about going to New York City in July?” 

Your head slowly rose from the book you were buried in. His particular tone was usually only reserved for when he was already in trouble, or plotting something mischievous. 

“What’s your angle, Munson?” Shifting forward on the couch, your eyes narrow in suspicion.

Hand over heart, he looks at you with faux offense, “How dare you think so little of me. I just think we should do something cool for our anniversary this year.”

All your wariness fades to glowing endearment.

“Oh Eds, that’d be amazing! Of course I’d love to go to New York!” 

His face relaxes as he huffs out a relieved breath, “Oh thank god, ‘cause I already bought plane tickets—“

You smile at him, impressed that he had actually planned something ahead of time instead of waiting until the last minute like usual. You’ve been together almost 7 years, and as time went on celebrating your anniversary became less and less theatrical, now consisting of take-out from your favorite Chinese place and a movie of unanimous choosing. Low-key, comfortable, but still full of love, just like you and Eddie.

“—and I also reserved two tickets for the Museum of Modern Art.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your head, “That’s where—“

“—Starry Night is. I know, that’s why I’m taking you there.” He flops down onto the couch, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders as you melt into him.

For your entire life, or at least as long as you can remember, Van Gogh has been your favorite artist. Doing master-copies of his paintings in high school, trying to hard to get his technique just right, obsessing over his use of color to convey emotion. In college you majored in Art History, specializing in Post-Impressionism, spending long nights pouring over books about Vincent’s life and background. As much as you love his work, his story made him that much more intriguing. How a man struggled with such a tragic life and still managed to see the beauty in the world was nothing less than astounding. 

You’ve seen a few of Van Gogh’s pieces in person at museums in the tri-state area, but you haven’t traveled much further. Money’s been tight ever since you and Eddie moved in together a few years ago, but you’ve always had the bug, itching to go far away and see the world with all it has to offer. Eddie shares the same desire, always talking about dream trips and planning fake vacations, waiting for the day you can make them a reality. 

“Eddie, where did you get the money for this?” The thought of possibly spending rent money on plane tickets makes you panic, but he’s is quick to shrug it away.

“I picked up some extra shifts at the shop, we’re fine don’t worry.”

———

Eddie is usually very physically affectionate, constantly having a hold somewhere on your body; but through 4 floors of galleries he hasn’t so much as touched your hand. The lack of contact is all you can think about, barely able to take in any of the artwork you’ve traveled all this way to see. As you make your way to the 5th floor, Eddie trudges behind silently. The awkward tension is killing you, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

Turning into the 1880s gallery, a small crowd of people gather around the far corner. A glimpse of familiar cerulean and marigold swirls, the same brushstrokes you’ve studied for years, peaks over the top of their heads. You swiftly push to the front, and all of the air is crushed from your lungs. 

It’s other-worldly. 

Every photo you’ve ever seen of The Starry Night doesn’t do it justice, not even remotely. The peaks of paint that dot the surface of the canvas, the brightness of each color, none of it can be properly depicted on the pages of a textbook. After so many years of studying this painting, seeing it in the flesh is almost like seeing an old friend. There’s a calmness in it, admiration mixed with giddiness.

You’re close to tears as you feel Eddie’s presence beside you.

“It’s amazing…” his voice is low, partly because of the subdued setting, but also in awe.

All you can muster is a nod as your eyes drag over every inch of the painting, committing it to memory. 

You have to practically rip yourself away, buzzing from the entire experience. 

Eddie waits by the entranceway with his hands in his front pockets, “Do you wanna go get dinner? I’m starving.”

“Sure,” still unnerved by his demeanor, your tone is stoic and emotionless, “Where do you wanna go?”

He scratches the back of his neck, something only done when he’s uncomfortable, “Uh, there’s this pub across 52nd if that’s cool?”

An audible stomach growl answers for you.

Eddie keeps a few feet of distance between your bodies, weaving through groups of people on the crowded sidewalk. You’ve never seen this many people in your life, even at college in Indianapolis. Growing up in Indiana, your hometown was so small that everyone knew each other, same with Eddie’s upbringing in Hawkins. City life always intrigued you, and up until this moment you had thought of Indianapolis as a “big city”; but it was nothing compared to New York. After high school you moved away to college to study art, choosing Indiana University for its busier atmosphere. 

A month after graduating with your BFA, you met Eddie by accident. Moving back home to live with your parents was the last thing you wanted, but finding a good paying job was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. 

Depression started to sink it’s disgusting claws into your psyche; you felt like a failure. 

One night, in a valiant attempt to bring some joy back into your life, your best friend dragged you to a bar in the next town over; the promise of live music and alcohol extremely enticing. Hawkins wasn’t known for much, except for the weird rumors about mysterious disappearances over the years, so you weren’t expecting much from this hole-in-the-wall bar. The Hideout was kind of gross, but in an almost endearing way. The floors were sticky and the air almost unbreathable, but the staff was kind, despite their rough appearances. The bartender chatted the two of you up for while, making jokes and letting you sample whatever beer you wanted to try, all while some metal band played on the rickety stage in the back. 

A little before midnight, the band had packed up and the crowd inside thinned out to just regulars and a few drunk stragglers. As you sat at the bar and waited for your friend to get back from the bathroom, a stranger sat next to you and ordered a beer, greeting the bartender like an old friend. After exchanging a few light-hearted jabs, the stranger smiled and looked over at you. 

“Cheers—“ he holds out the neck of the bottle towards you.

Taken aback by his boldness, you return a small grin, “Cheers to what?” 

He shrugs, sucking his teeth in thought for a second, “To metal? To surviving another gig? I dunno.”

The guitar pick around his neck catches your eye, “Was that your band playing earlier?”

He gives a shy nod, smile stretching wider and accentuating a dimple on his left cheek.

“You guys sounded really good,” You hold out your own bottle towards him.

“I’ll cheers to that,” he taps against yours, a small clink echoing in the almost empty bar. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you, Eddie.” Normally, you would rather die than talk to a random person at a bar, but there was something about this boy that drew you in. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was how ethereal he looked under the neon bar signs, either way you were captivated.

You stayed at the Hideout longer than intended, long after your friend had decided to go home. Eddie made you laugh with stupid jokes and weird stories, sharing your mutual love of horror movies and fantasy books. You were so enthralled that you hadn’t even noticed it was closing time. Apologizing to the bartender, you asked to use their phone to call a cab. Eddie immediately offered to drive you home, promising he wasn’t a serial killer when you profusely questioned him. 

The drive was filled with loud music and scream-singing on both of your parts, Eddie drumming on the steering wheel to the beat as you headbanged beside him. When he pulled up at your parents house, you quickly pulled a pen out of your bag, scribbling your phone number onto his forearm. He winked before driving away, having stayed a few extra minutes to make sure you got inside safely. Every thought for the rest of the night was consumed by Eddie; something was tying you to him, and you wanted to follow that invisible tether all the way to the end.

———

The 52nd Street pub was empty, something that was shocking upon entry, but you were nonetheless a little grateful for it. The quiet was a welcome change from the overwhelming sounds of New York, a small corner of solitude in the center of the city that never sleeps. Welcome almost as much, are the beers that you and Eddie down immediately. 

Though he normally cannot stop talking, Eddie is being uncharacteristically mute. You have to practically drag out any bit of conversation, forcing small talk until the food arrives and you can focus on that instead. 

After a silent meal, the portly older waiter drops off your check and strikes up a conversation with Eddie about your trip and why you were visiting. Eddie put on his polite voice, smiling and laughing along with man’s questions. This stranger was receiving more from him than you had in days. 

The nagging voice in your head struck up again: he’s tired of you.

You stopped paying attention to Eddie’s side-conversation as annoyance consumed you. There was an emerging throb in your head, the physical pain matching the emotional hurt of Eddie’s complete disdain towards you. At this point, all you wanted was to go home.

The sun was setting as you walk out onto the corner of 52nd, and you squint down the street searching for a cab. 

“Hey—“ Eddie smiled at you for what seems like the first time all day, “—wanna go to Central Park?” He points down the street, and you can make out the tops of the trees seven blocks away. 

You shake your head, “I’m really tired, and my head is killing me. I’d rather just go back to the hotel honestly.” 

Eddie’s face falls a little, and you feel slightly guilty, but then remember how uninterested he was all day. 

Again, he glances towards the park, “Are you sure? It’s just a few blocks away—“

“No, Eddie. I just want to go back to the room.” Your voice was stern, annoyed that he only now wanted to spend time with you. A yellow cab crested over the next block, and you raise a hand to get the drivers attention.

“I would rather share one lifetime with you—“ Eddie mumbles behind you. Only half listening, you swear he’s grumbling about not being able to go to the park, and it sets off a rage flare.

“—What?” You snap your head around to face him, eyes narrow and angry, bracing yourself for an argument.

He’s standing a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other holding up a diamond ring. Your lungs constrict, an audible gasp escaping as you stare at him wide-eyed. He grins sheepishly as you freeze in place.

“Eddie…what?” 

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone,” He repeats, returning your stare with his soft brown eyes. 

“…are you seriously quoting Lord of the Rings to me right now?” You laugh, all tension leaving your body. 

“Did you expect anything less from me?” His deep eyes search yours, silencing the menacing voice in your head, “Marry me, Y/n. I love you more than anything—“

“—more than Gollum loves his precious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and snorts, “Obviously, you fucking nerd.” 

Scoffing dramatically, you smile and take the ring from his outstretched hand, sliding it onto your finger. 

“Of course I’ll marry you, Eddie Munson. I thought you’d never ask.” 

Finally, after days of anxiety and frustration, he kisses you, smiling the entire time. You can almost physically feel the stress leave his body as you hold onto him.

Pulling back you grab his hand, interlocking your fingers, “Is this why you’ve been acting weird?”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I was super nervous. I honestly planned on doing it in front of The Starry Night, but I freaked out when I saw how many people were around.”

Your heart soars at the sentiment, and you look down at your hand in his, the little diamond sparkling in the fading sunlight. 

[elidelochans]

This is based off a post from @nestaarcher0n. @thewayshedreamed you replied asking for it too so here ya go!

I wrote this drunk and I'm on mobile. So any errors are my fault. Enjoy!

Cassian sat on an elongated chaise that curved with the alcove within the massive library. Sunlight beaming through the high windows, casting a soft glow in the silent space. Nesta laid out on the velveteen chaise with him. Her head resting in his lap. One wing hanging over the side, the other hovering slightly above her. Blocking out sun rays, so she could read easier.

Since being sent off to the Illyrian camps, this was the first time either had returned to Velaris. Rhysand had a matter to discuss with Cassian, which had to be explained. The High Lord and Lady of the night court had news for Nesta. In the letter, Feyre stated it was news needed to be told face to face. 

Now here they waited. Nerves rippling through Nesta like an underwater current treating to drag her down, down, down. Reading became difficult. Cauldron breathing felt difficult at the moment. Knowing in a few minutes her sister would show. No sisters and most likely the Inner Circle. For Cassian though, not Nesta. Never Nesta. She couldn't decide what was worse. The awkward reunion or Cassian, her mate, reuniting with them. 

The aching thought of seeing him happy with them and leaving her alone in this library. Only surrounded by rows upon rows of tomes and books. It reminded her of last Winter Solstice when he stepped away from Nesta to see Mor. How he paid the oldest Archeron no mind until she left. Nesta's chest felt heavy at past images in her mind. A vile churning in her gut thinking of him smiling and laughing at Mor. She tried to swallow the fire of rage building within. True they were friends, but Nesta and Cassian were mates. Nesta repeated it in her head, it did nothing to quell how she felt.

"Cassian, do that thing," she requested. Settling her book. Meeting the tender gaze of hazel eyes.

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that sweetheart," he teased, "You like a lot of things I do. Several of them I'm not sure we have the time for," he winked down at her.

"You're a prick," Nesta picked up her book. Playfully slapping him in the arm. 

He only laughed. The sound light and airy, like a soothing lullaby to her very soul. 

"And yet you cooked for me and accepted the bond," Nesta glared at him. Cassian only smiled at her. The one that made his cheeks rise and hers blush as red as his siphon, "What the thing do you want?"

"Play with my hair, unbraid it."

"Say please."

 Nesta rolled those stormy blues, "please," she said through gritted teeth.

He smiled again, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on her forehead. As he expertly worked his fingers through the put together braid, she did that morning. His hands undid her coiled style, strand by strand. Battle worn fingers ran through her silken tresses, like the first soft fall of snow. Cassian massaged deep into her roots. Nesta closed her eyes as she hummed her contentment.

"I know you're nervous-"

"I'm not," she argued back, fixing him a pointed look. 

"Nes, I'm your mate, in case you've forgotten, I can tell. Besides you kept your book on the two same pages since we sat down," he spoke with care and love in his tone. Continuing to brush her hair with his fingers.

Her only response was a deep-seated sigh. Damn him for knowing her so well. Too well in fact.

"We both know the last time you were here. Things...well, they weren't great. But you've grown and began to heal," he let out a breath before continuing, "You are the most important thing to me. At any point, you want to leave just say so. This is a big step. No one will blame you if you need to go."

She chewed her bottom lip. Meeting his warm, protective gaze. Swirls of amber, green and flecks of gold, like that of the finest jewels she'd ever seen.

"What if they don't?" Her tone was harsher than intended. If he caught it, Cassian didn't seem to mind it. 

He only continued to stroke her hair, reaching down to softly kiss her crimson lips, "Then I'll handle it."

Both of them were too preoccupied gazing at the other, to smell or hear the oncoming of all the footsteps moving throughout the library. Until they heard a whistle. Nesta froze in her position. Sure she planned to get through this day. Being caught in such an intimate way wasn't something she planned. To Cassian’s credit, he did not move. Only shifted the hand in her hand.

"Well this is surprising," Mor commented looking at the two of them. Her expression remained unreadable until Amren pushed between everyone. The Morrigan whipped her head at the smaller woman.

"It's not surprising. If you had eyes girl," Amren walked to a bookshelf, grabbing a tome half her size with ease. She looked over at Cassian and Nesta, "Took you two long enough," with that she was gone mumbling about longing. 

Nesta and Amren had yet to mend the relationship. If that fierce woman acted the way she used to around Nesta. Perhaps they could repair the friendship. 

Elain pushed past Mor running to her sister. Azriel standing in the shadows watching the seer as she wrapped her arms around Nesta. He said nothing, only giving Cassian an approving nod. Nesta squeezed her sister against herself. Taking in the floral scent that was naturally Elain. Elain noticed how healthy her older sister looked. Gone were the sunken eyes, sallow skin, and frail body. Nesta was glowing. Her eyes bright like ocean waters touched by sunlight. She regained a healthy weight. Honeyed hair was no longer brittle. Voluminous and full of life as it fell past her shoulders.

Elain pressed a kiss to her sister's cheek, "I've missed you. I saw you in my visions. You're happy now."

Nesta spared a glance at Cassian, "Yeah, I am," returning her attention to Elain," I've missed you."

Elain smiled bright and warm, moving to Cassian. Kissing his cheek as well, "Thank you for saving her when she needed it most."

"You're welcome, but she saved herself. I only held her hand," he replied still running fingers through her hair stopping occasionally to rub the pads of his thumbs into her scalp.

"Still. Being there and," Elain motioned to his movements, "loving her. It helped in ways you couldn't imagine. I'm glad you're her mate," she chuckled at Cassian’s shocked expression, "Seer remember. I had the vision."

Rhysand and Feyre approached behind Elain. Nesta felt her heart race watching them. The shouting between the three before she left was less than civil. She had been dreading this reunion since the day she left. Sitting up next to Cassian, his hands left her finger-combed strands. Opting to slip between her fingers. Offering a reassuring squeeze, which Nesta returned. One of Cassian’s wings rested around his mate. Acting as a security blanket of sorts.

"Hey, Rhysie, " Cassian said, flashing a charming grin. Keeping his thumb running ministrations over Nesta's knuckles.

"Brother," he commented in greeting, "I would say I'm surprised just as Mor. However, Elain told us of the vision. So we knew and we're happy," Rhysand turned his attention to Nesta offering a genuine smile, "The both of you. We can talk over lunch. For now, Feyre has something to say." 

Feyre approached, with a gown Nesta noticed was far looser than what she usually wore. Nesta recognized the same time as Cassian that her sister's scent was different. Feyre first hugged Cassian, thanking him in the process. Before sitting on the Lush violet chaise next to Nesta.

"Nesta I'm sorry for sending you away how I did. I didn't know what to do. I worried for you," she reached for the hand unoccupied by Cassian, " Rhys and I arranged a private lunch for us four to talk. If you don't want to…" Feyre trailed off.

"Is that the news?" Nesta questioned in a challenging tone, "Lunchtime?"

Rhys tensed behind Feyre. Cassian shot him a warning glance. A silent speech telling him to be patient and wait. Meanwhile, Feyre laughed shaking her head, "No. It's not. Nesta, I'm with child."

Nesta blinked several times, her voice rising in pitch, "I'm going to be an aunt?"

Feyre nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. Rhys nodded to Cassian, who kissed the top of Nesta's head, before following. Azriel and Mor trailed behind them. Leaving the sisters alone to catch up. It was Nesta initiating the hug with her sisters. Emirisissing herself in the solidarity of them. She looked from the corner of her eye as Rhysand clamped a hand on her mate's shoulder saying, "Archerons huh?" 

To which Cassian chuckled, turning back at Nesta. For once, since becoming fae, Nesta felt assured that things were looking up.

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[brideofcthulhu10]

Here we are, I apologize for the delay you guys but I can guarantee you it is so worth the wait! A humongous shout out to my incredible co-author @imlostinsantacarla for writing this with me, I had an amazing time and this is arguably one of the best written posts I’ve done so far. SO without further ado, I give you

Lost Boys Fem!S/O Gives Birth [3/4]

CONTENT WARNING: Offensive Language, Blood, Child Birthing Process, Intense Environment! READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Marko

The soft silver moonlight slithered through the cracks and crevices overhead in the hotel, illuminating your form in a tender glow. You laid casually atop the dusty old couch worn from years of perpetual abuse, staring up into the cave’s ceiling at the little slivers of sky you could see between them, fingers fondling the soft blanket wrapped around you. Nerves caused your heart to stutter as another set of cramps waded through your body, making you feel nauseated. However, you put on a valiant front, hardly batting an eyelash as your boyfriend Marko sat beside you, eyes fixated on your form in an adoring fashion, though there was worry mixed within his countenance, a deep groove carved between his brows. Granted when you had initially announced your pregnancy you could have gone about it differently, however you were met with a joyous response from your adoring vampire. Originally David had suggested they turn you whilst pregnant to prevent any foreseeable complications, but there arose a new set of issues. Your infant would be a hybrid of vampire and human, something none of you even knew was possible. The potential need for a live body could mean that turning yourself before the birth could kill him or her in the process. Even if the birth could result in your death, unfortunately, all you could do was patiently wait, as going to a hospital was surely out of the question. Nevertheless, patience was a virtue- one Marko had yet to achieve. 

The months of waiting grew heavier on him as time ticked by, whilst the haunting lack of knowledge grew more frustrating with any passing discomfort he witnessed. His inability to help you outside of a shoulder to cry on when your cramps became too unbearable to sleep through made him feel helpless, a sensation that not only was he unfamiliar with; it was one he absolutely loathed. The boys did their utmost best to be accommodating to the situation, and one certainly had to give them credit for the amount of effort they had gone through. Dwayne had gone to the library for a few books for yourself and Marko, including one or two children’s books for the baby. Paul had spent his free nights shoplifting for supplies you’d need. No one could dismantle and sneak out an entire crib like Paul could. The guy had created a craft in the endeavor. David, with the help of Dwayne, had scoped through the caves and old hotel rooms still salvageable and managed to reinforce one of the rooms closest to their own cave. You eagerly draped the walls in colorful fabrics, finding an old dresser for your child’s clothes with a surface now cluttered with stuffed animals. Toys were crammed into a wooden chest, a massive rug laid across the old wooden flooring to deter any stray splinters from harming you. Watching Paul and Marko stubbornly argue over the crib instructions was certainly the highlight of your pregnancy while David was barking at them to move out of the way when he came carrying in the glider chair in one arm and a mass of pillows in the other. Although, you had to draw the line once Marko had smacked Paul with a two by four. Surely, that was uncalled for. But according to Marko, not so! Best friend or not, no one said he had the building skills of a drunk monkey!

Tonight was the night that would mark round about the eighth month of your pregnancy, and, - if it were truly possible -, Marko nearly had a heart attack when your false contractions came into play a few weeks ago. This ignited a vigilant nature within him, motivating him to remain much closer to you than he had previously been, which resulted in a lot of checking up on every unusual sound that you made. It was impossible for it to be helped. Well, that's what he kept telling you anyway. ��

"You know, I can skip out on the hunt tonight…" Marko trailed off, cool fare fingertips dancing along the soft flesh of your arms, creating goosebumps to rise in their wake. The contrast between body temperatures was ghastly and you shivered, more at the electric shock that raced through you whenever he touched you. 

"Babe, you skipped out on the hunt last night, and the night before, and even the night before that. Marko, you must be starving!" You sighed irately, tipping your head back in frustration before turning it in his direction. Ever since the news of your pregnancy, Marko's primal instincts to protect you and your child had grown in vast numbers. It was pleasant to begin with, almost endearing… Though, as months sped by it had grown a hindrance because the young man was hardly even caring for himself now, and he hardly ever left your side. Honest to God, it was smothering, leaving you almost agitated at the sight of him. He was aware of this, yet still could not resist the urge within him that called for him to aid you in whatever way he could. There was an ample amount of anxiety over future happenstances such as your water breaking, uncontrollable cramps, the ACTUAL birthing of the child! You were understanding of his concern, but there was only so much that could be done. After all, you wanted your baby just as badly as he did. But he couldn’t allow his health to decline due to his own worry, you needed him. And frankly, your sense of unease was bordering onto the bandwagon of fear when you saw Marko’s ribs sticking tightly against his translucent flesh, a plethora of dark circles sinking his blue eyes into his skull. He wasn’t eating, he hardly slept, and soon he wouldn’t be able to control his frenzies.

"I don't know, baby girl," Marko began hesitantly, his round eyes widening as they peered into your own thoughtfully. Worry had never been a good look on Marko, and now, you longed for the days where reading him had been more difficult. His anxiety was like a fungi, infecting your very aura at the same time. "I don't wanna leave in case something happens you know? I mean, yeah, I guess I'm kinda thirsty but that stuff can wai-" You interrupted him with your fingertips gently silencing his lips, your eyes having shut as you breathed deeply to calm your nerves. This boy was driving you nuts. 

"Marko, I know how worried you are. I am too. But babe, I can tell that it's getting harder for you to be around me because you haven't fed. I really don’t want to start smelling like a fillet mignon to you, and if you’ve been looking at me like some mouth watering steak, we run the risk of the baby becoming appealing as well, I know you don’t want to risk that." You quipped with a quirked brow, lips tucked up into a wry smile as you stared straight at him. Your case was a good one, there was no doubt about it. There could be a very good chance that Marko, albeit not on purpose, could harm you or the baby if he smelled the scent of blood or even heard a too hasty of a heartbeat. And if there were to be an accident such as that, Marko would be plagued by an immense amount of guilt for all eternity. “Besides, it’s only the seven and a half or eight month point right now. I’m not having the baby for at least six more weeks. Right now, I need you to be at your best. Please babe.”

"But-" Marko began to protest.

"She's right, Marko." David piped up lazily from across the room, his eyes never leaving the book that he had been reading. He turned the page briskly before continuing, "You need to feed. It's the basic terms of vampire-hood. If you don't, you die! Now, what good would that do anyone then?" He inquired sardonically, a trace of a smirk in the air. 

"Yeah, bud! David and Y/n are right! Just go on one feed with us." Paul grinned from ear to ear at his bestest pal in the whole world, despite the horrifying fact that said best friend had hit him in the head with a two by four. Excitement had been rushing through Paul's entire being during this whole process. He was going to be an uncle man, how could he not be excited?! It had been such a bummer since Star left with Laddie, it’d be cool having some new tiny mind he could influence. Not that he'd even get as far to really influence the child without getting a brisk smack to the back of the head by David before you and Marko could even lift your fingers. No, he would not be teaching your child about the world of “Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll” at five years old!

"I mean-" 

"With the way you're going, you're gonna be a shriveled prune." Dwayne muttered out of thin air as he slowly rolled past Marko and yourself on his skateboard. The hulking raven haired vampire came to a standstill  as he stepped slowly off of his board. Dwayne was also right. Marko wasn't looking his brightest. Feeding was a nightly routine for a vampire in order to ensure they took in the right nutrients their dead bodies could not produce for themselves. Especially since they weren't capable of absorbing those nutrients through human food any more. Marko had to feed, there was no whisking his way around it, no matter how many excuses he could come up with. 

The trio of boys stared at the curly haired blonde, your eyes also capturing his form. There was a stretch of intense silence that flooded through the hotel as Marko thought over his options, pushing a mesh of frizzed blonde hair away from his face. He didn't want to risk going out and a possible complication occurring with the baby or yourself. But he also didn't have a strong desire to cause a catastrophic accident whilst going into a frenzy when your heart rate started skyrocketing due to cramps or whatever. Already his mouth was watering profusely as he stared down at his worn hands beginning to wither from lack of nourishment, the consistent thudding of your heart and the delectable rush of your blood in your veins made it practically impossible for the man to focus for much longer. 

"Man, just go! I'll stay with her." Paul finally interjected, slightly irritated that his buddy was being such a pansy about the entire situation. "If anything happens I'll scream at the top of my lungs or something, man. I got this! Scouts honor!" Paul added sarcastically, flattening a palm over his heart as he raised his free one up by his head. The entire thing looked comical, it made the others laugh. 

"Yeah, sure, let me get the flowers early for the funeral," Dwayne muttered, settling himself on another dusty old couch with a soft sigh. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dick breath?" Paul roared, brows pulled together in anger, punching Dwayne’s shoulder.. 

“Can you even give scouts honor if you were never in it?” you asked with a laugh to your tone, raising a brow at the blonde trying to rapid punch the utterly indifferent vampire planted in place.

"Dwayne has a good point, Paul." David sneered at his comrade, blue eyes lit up like torches watching Dwayne yank Paul into a headlock on it’s way to a noogie. "You remember the last time we-" 

"Ow! Okay, I didn't know she wasn't allowed to drink alcohol! But she never drank any so I don't get why you guys keep bringing this shit up!" Paul muttered, managing to wiggle himself out of Dwayne’s iron grip. With stubborn stomps he huffed, flopping onto the edge of the fountain in the middle of the room, his chin resting on his hands. He stared at you and Marko for a moment before continuing. "Man, I swear I won't pull another stunt like that again! I can take care of her! Dwayne told me the gist of what she can and can't have. I can do this, buddy." it was practically the most pitiful thing you had ever seen, it even tugged a little at your heartstrings.

You looked to Marko for confirmation and from the twinkle in his eyes, you could tell he was thinking the same thing as you. 'Let's just let him do this so he can stop pouting like a brat.'

"Alright, alright!" Marko stated, gloved hands raising up in the air in defeat. "You can watch out for her, but if ANYTHING happens, man, you've gotta go and find me. No fucking around and no fucking weed either!" Marko was firm as he spoke, eyes boring seriously into Paul's. 

The sun broke out onto Paul's face, his pearly whites glinting from the fires scattered around the hotel. You could tell in that moment that Marko had made Paul's entire century. "Fuck yeah! Scouts honor, dude. Just like I said before!" the blonde rocker was practically bouncing in his seat like he needed a piss. He hardly looked like a badass biker vampire that went out murdering people left, right, and center every night. He looked more like a baby rabbit. 

“I fucking mean it man,” Marko firmly repeated. “No weed, no booze, no being a dumbass.” Although he was being firm there was a slight twitch to his mouth. Being stern with Paul was often impossible but you had to admit, Marko was doing a grand job without the two by four!

Paul threw his hands up in the air in such a rushing motion that you were surprised they hadn't flung out of their sockets. “God damn, trust me man. I’m not gonna let anything happen! You guys need to gimme more credit here, who’s the one that stole a fucking crib for you assholes?”

With a tenacious huff, you wedged your hands behind your back feeling that the full weight of your belly was determined to keep you jammed between cushions, but nevertheless, you managed to heave yourself up and off of the dusty old couch with an audible grunt. The four boys' heads turned to watch you, instinctively with brows furrowed. They thought they'd insisted that if you needed to be moved, they would help you rather than let you strain yourself any more than you had to. But you were impossibly stubborn! You had insisted on multiple occasions that it was necessary for you to move, even exercise to keep you and the baby healthy. None of them were willing to humor you but you’d found that tuning out their protests was the best course of action in most occasions. And by impulsive habit, Marko dove over to offer you assistance, though you only responded by swatting his hands away from you. You were fine!

“I’m fine Marko, don’t worry I can get up on my own. Anyway, Paul’s right,” you agreed, looking over at your friend who beamed with delight at your praise, arms crossed over his chest with a nodding head of total satisfaction as if you had just given a mighty speech. “He’s not gonna let anything happen. Besides, what could really go wrong in just a few hours?”

"Babe, don't say shit like that, you could jinx it!" Marko cried incredulously, eyes practically bulging out of his head. 

"Babe get a grip. There's no such thing as “jinxing” things." His worrying was really starting to bug you. And what did you do in turn? You did and said the exact opposite of him, a way to subconsciously counteract the apprehension that oozed out of him like a foul smell. Carefully you took his hands into yours and placed them on your taut belly. “See? Feel for yourself.”

For the past several months Marko had attested to being able to hear your unborn spawn within your stomach. Not necessarily thoughts, but emotions. Cluttered, wild, uncertain emotions that would come in jumbled waves. There was a weary contentment within you, sleeping soundly in a cradle of water kept safe within. Finally his muscles began to relax, tension beading out into limp arms as Marko pulled you in for a firm hug, holding you against him.

“You promise me.. If anything happens, you scream for me immediately. No toughing it out because you’re worried about me eating.” He mumbled sweetly into your hair, taking in a slow inhale of your heavenly scent. It was the one thing that could soothe his soul instantaneously, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Marko-”

“Please, Y/n.”

 His plea made your heart ache with slight agony. It was a desperate rasp, his arms almost trembling. There was a rush of relief filling him when you wrapped your own arms around him with a tender smile. “Okay. Alright, I promise, if anything happens I’ll call for you,” you hummed in tender response. For a moment you had to take a moment to pause, feeling a low and deep, sharp pain stretching from your abdomen to your back. Instead of making a fuss you tried to ease your breathing before Marko could notice. You weren't prepared to allow a few false contractions to get the better of you and stop him from getting his fill of the blood he so desperately needed at this point. And you also weren't going to play into any of Marko's anxieties either. You could do that when he returned from his hunt. Gently you lifted his chin. His cold lips felt cracked against your own, cementing how desperately he needed to feed. Even his kisses grew hungry, and you had to pull away from him before this grew into a horror show. “Go, you goof.”

It had taken some further convincing for him to leave, by the time he finally left with David and Dwayne it almost felt otherworldly in that cave. The lack of presence was almost spooky, though thankfully Paul was nice enough to loan you his walkman to curb the initial silence. Playing his Def Leppard tape you sat back into the couch, breathing through the occasional cramps that would continue to sneak up on you in a pulsing fashion. Hysteria was always your favorite album, as the dulcet tones of the rock ballad began to lull you into a half sleep state. But the continuous bombardment of contractions had begun to grow concerning. They weren’t slowing down, nor consistent in their spaces between as they should be. Cautiously you sat up, counting out the seconds between the first and the next. One minute, two minute, three… and again. For a full minute your muscles spasmed and ached, almost drawing an audible gasp from your mouth. Again you counted. One minute, two, th- no! Now it came again at a two minute interval. In a haste you peeled the headphones from your ears, grasping your stomach as you leaned forward suddenly. Your legs buckled, every time you tried to stand the pain just dragged you back down. “Fuck.. oh go- Paul!”

The blonde vampire was so lost in his own world he was nearly jolted out of his seat by your panicked cries. “What, what’s up you- JESUS!”

Without missing a beat, Paul slipped on the floor beneath his feet, barely having the reflexes to catch himself before his face could meet the ground with a harsh smack. The floor was soaked! Seriously, who spilled water everywhere? “Damn man, what happened here? Why is it all-” again, his words were paused, almost as if they'd been caught in his throat whilst he looked over your doubled over form clutching your profound belly. “Oh- oh shit! Oh fuck no way! Shit, holy fuck shit are you-?? Is it?!”

“Yes! ” You cried out incredulously, cutting off his panicked questioning in a hasty fashion. A sudden cry escaped your lips whilst you gasped in desperation, your spine going erect as you flattened your palms out behind you to stabilize yourself. "Oh god!"

"Oh shit man, I better get Mark-" Paul began, face having dropped to terror. 

"No! I swear to go- ow! Paul, if you even dare- I swear I will stake you myself! Ow!" 

“What, are you crazy?!” He demanded, jutting his arms in your direction. “You swore you’d call him, dude! This is big, man, he’ll kill me if anything happens to you! Oh fuck but he’ll kill me if I leave you alone- Fuck!” Paul swiftly kicked over one of the tables, running his hands through his mess of hair. The thing looked more like a lions' mane in all honesty. “Bed! We gotta get you to your bed, like now!”

"And how are we gonna do that, asshole?"

Paul's face soured immediately at your insult and with a swift motion, he swung you up into his arms bridal style, paying little mind to your plethora of protests. “Shut up already. I’m not doing this for my fuckin’ health! But you gotta be in bed! I may be a dumbass but I at least know that much!” He muttered, carefully tightening his grip as you attempted to wiggle out from it. He rapidly stepped over tunnels and rocks whilst he swung his way into the cavernous nursery where your bed was nestled into a corner, his calloused fingers on one hand releasing your legs as he pushed the black curtains that draped heavily over the frame. And with that, he placed you gingerly down on the bed, staring at you with a perplexed expression with a hint of something else. Was- no, that couldn't be embarrassment. 

"What're you staring at," you questioned, a nervous twinge to your voice. You rolled on your side to relieve some of the pulsating throbs that ran rampant through your muscles.”

"Uh- well- shit! I mean, we need to take off your pants, man. What if you start pushing and the baby suffocate or something?"

“I can’t even start pushing until I know how dilated I am,” your voice was quivering, clutching your stomach. “If I were to push too early it could kill us both.” 

"Oh fuck! Where's Marko when you need him?!" 

The dreaded predicament was growing increasingly deadly the more your body warned of its approaching birth, and soon you were left with a terrifying decision. Wiping away the thick layer of sweat misting your flushed cheeks, you managed to breathe out a hesitant response. “Paul.. You have to go get him.” 

"I’m sorry, WHAT?!" Paul’s voice echoed in the caves at a high pitched octave. “No! No freaking way, I am not leaving you here, you’re having a fucking baby! What if something happens to you? Fuck Marko being haunted, there’s no way I would be able to live with myself!” Paul ranted on, throwing his arms in the air whilst he paced around the sides of your bed in an antsy motion.

Sobs made your chest spasm uncontrollably, rolling over again onto your back. No position provided relief anymore, the contractions following still at an even two minutes each. “It could be hours before I’m actually ready to give birth! We have to know h-how far I am a-and the only way to do that…”

“...Yes? What way, c’mon maybe I can do that!” Paul stopped dead in his tracks to face you, serene as he had ever been in his entire life.

“You’d have to stick your fingers in me,” you groaned with imminent embarrassment, receiving an equal look of humiliation and horror from Paul’s pale face. He looked down, then at the cave’s entrance. Guilt plagued him, this kind of decision had never been put in front of him before.  He knew his options were slim, but he also knew where they hunted, if he could catch Marko’s scent outside he could easily find him. But again, he looked at you writhing in pure agony on top of your bed in tears. A knot tore at his own gut like someone was trying to rip them right out of him, his throat aching when he swallowed, a dryness had developed from nerves. “You sure you can handle it until I get back. You fucking swear you’ll be okay? Just for a few minutes.”

You could only nod in response as the pain was so debilitating it rendered you utterly speechless!

“Please, just go get him.” You managed to squeak out intensely. The expression of pain mixed with fear that captured your beautiful features truly did break his heart.

Paul sighed deeply in defeat, his fingers gently pushing your hair from your face. “Stay tough kiddo, I’ll be fast as fucking lightning.” You hadn’t even seen him leave, a huge gust of wind caused  the bed to shudder, leaving you utterly and completely alone.

 Kicking away your soggy jeans, you promptly pulled yourself to the top of the bed with your back pressed against the headboard. With every passing contraction you fought to breath evenly through it, fingers tightly clutching the sheets beneath you. “Fuck...god Paul hurry please!”

Paul flew as speedily as he could carry himself through the air, his nocturnal eyes aflame, rapidly scanning the ground for any sight of his buddies. The fresh scent of blood wafted through the cool night's air which coaxed him closer to the boardwalk, perhaps a mile or two north. The fucking sand dunes, of course! Sure enough, amongst a towering, crackling bonfire stacked high with the charred remains of surfboards that belonged to screaming Santa Carlites currently being devoured, there he spotted the trio of vampires tearing and ripping into the flesh and bones of unfortunate victims. Their blood spraying in odd directions, splattering across their clothes and hair. "Marko!” Paul yelled far louder than he needed to, panic evident on his countenance whilst he clumsily crash landed into the  wind whipped rouge sands below. The display caught the attention of his brothers immediately as they finished off their prey in a geyser of crimson fluids, leaving the ground stained.

Marko dropped the lifeless shriveled up human carcass he had been cradling savagely in his arms to the ground with little interest for it any longer. His previous frail lineament now long gone, replaced with a healthy  complexion. Although Marko felt he was back to his full capacity, he couldn't help the immediate apprehension and terror that sparked within his chest as it panged in his gut nauseously. "Paul?! Dude what the fuck are you doing here, where’s Y/N?? What's wrong?" He asked, panic straining his voice. 

"Dude! Fucking hurry up! I think Y/n's in labor, man!”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Marko demanded, grabbing Paul by his jacket. “You fucking left her?!”

“Marko, man, listen! One minute she was okay, the next she's screaming bloody murder and the fucking floors drenched!" Paul panted, doubled over as he'd flown here with all his might. "Before you ask, she's on her bed, okay? I took her there myself, even with her kicking and screaming. Dude I swear I didn’t just ditch! I swear, man I didn't wanna leave her but she said she needed someone to stick their fingers inside her or fucking whatever cuz if she pushes the baby will die, I dunno man but I'm not itching to do that ever!"

Marko said nothing, primal instincts kicking in full throttle as he sailed through the air and headed straight for the cave. His mind wandered to perilous details in furious cluttered thought, things that already created all the more apprehension to to twist in his gut, turning them round and round. His thoughts immediately went to the fact that you were alone in the hotel, in the purest of all agonies, having to go at this on your lonesome. The closer he sailed over the coastline the more he could hear. Your voice was just in the distance carried on the winds in gut wrenching cries that tore him apart. His next thoughts dwindled on your safety as well as the babies. He was very aware that there was no doctor involved in the mix, which meant no hospital and certainly no pain killers. He was terrified as his mind blasted through the worst of the worst. Didn't women used to die of childbirth back in the day? Was there a possibility that you could die? 

Marko hadn't even noticed that the others boys had been hot on his heels, prepared to offer aid wherever they could.

 "Marko, man! Slow down!" David called, struggling to keep up with the pace in which his pal was flying. The little bugger had gotten a head start, fueled by his pessimistic contemplation. But Marko didn't halt or slow down for that matter. There was no time for any of that! He had to get to the hotel and into your room as swiftly as possible, he wouldn’t dare slow down! What the hell was David even talking about anyway? Slow down?! Slowing down would do nothing but increase the chances of something else going wrong. He knew that the moment you'd spoken the words of, "what could go wrong in a couple of hours", that you had completely and utterly jinxed the entire night! 

His body dove and swerved through the hotel passing caves and holes, nearly crashing as he sped to a desperate stop inside the nursery. Your screams were crystal clear, as though they were right there, yet the sound rattled his ribs until he thought he would pass out. Still hidden away behind pitch black curtains, he could almost see your pitiful form writhing in limitlessly excruciating anguish. Rapidly his steps carried him to your bedside where you were still smothered in fresh blood, wrenching away the curtains. The sight was a visage of carnage torn straight from hell itself! Yet you only saw your dearest prince, and it was truly a sight for sore eyes left distorted by cruel tears. His coarse hand clutched yours immediately, providing the first rare moment of sanctity you had felt. The sudden motion and contact from him startled you tremendously, causing you to shriek when another contraction sent you into a panic. "Hey, it's me, baby girl. It's just me." He cooed comforting down at you, his free hand smoothing your damp hair from your sweat slick face. He probably looked like hell, still covered head to toe in his latest victims blood. That probably wasn't the most hygienic state for him to be in during the birthing of his child. But he had to work with what he had. There wasn't exactly running fresh water in the hotel anyway. It was almost unbearable for him to watch you, the color drained from your cheeks, grasping his hand until he swore he heard bones begin to crack.

“Marko.. I-I can’t push yet.. I d-don’t know how far I am,” You choked out, pressing the back of your head into the mattress when pulsating rivers of agony wove through you in cruel waves. The pain was now a disarray of spontaneous choreography, a violent tempo swelling and spreading throughout your entire body, leaving your brain foggy and black spots waltzing at the corners of your vision.

Before Marko was able to utter a word, the three boys bounded into the room, breathless and covered in a film of dampness, no doubt most likely from the crashing waves of the sea that battered along the cliffs' edge. The intrusion was noisy and agitating, leading to Marko's eyes becoming beacons of flourishing orange and his head whipped towards the guys. "Will you guys get lost? I'm not about to have you guys stand there like the Triplets of Fucking Bullshit while I try to figure out how dilated Y/n is!" he practically roared, the cave was shuddering for a moment as specs of dust flitted sporadically to the ground.

“Marko, baby, please calm down," you begged him, placing a hand on his forearm. The sight of him still smeared in blood was one thing, but such rage even at his brothers almost frightened you, his head practically whipping around to face you with fangs bared and piercing white hot eyes tearing into your own. It felt like he had stared straight through into your soul which was certainly not what you needed currently. The petrified expression left plastered across your palored cheeks made Marko feel incredibly remorseful, running his fingers through his hair. He was running on little sleep and barely had enough to satiate his lingering appetite, leaving him still quite exhausted.

"It's fine. We'll clear out. C'mon boys." David stated, Dwayne having already left. He stared pointedly at Paul though, who was staring at you in fright. He felt as though he should be there, however, with David staring at him so intently, he glanced over your way. You could only give him a weakened smile, your gaze assuring him you were safe now. Paul hung his head low and squeezed past the spiked blonde boy briskly. And David followed suit, not sparing another glance your way. It seemed cold but truthfully, David wasn't entirely sure what to make of the situation. Heightened emotions made him uncomfortable. David was better away from this specific spotlight, and currently his friend was in a frenzy he wasn’t willing to have escalated in such a delicate moment. He'd deal with the aftermath once the storm had passed. Marko could deal with the storm singlehandedly if that's what he so desperately desired. I mean, David hadn't knocked you up, so why get his feathers ruffled when he wasn't wanted there anyway?

“You… owe th-them an... a-apology,” you managed to pant out, wearily smacking his arm when a moment of relief between contractions allowed your voice to return. 

Marko huffed, shimmying off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair as he climbed on top of the bed with you, shutting the curtains. “I’ll make it up to them later babe, now’s not the fucking time.” Marko grumbled indignantly, his vampiric features morphing back to his human ones.

It was incredibly important for Marko to ensure that you were dilated 10 centimeters. This was not just for the babies sake but also for your own. If you pushed too soon it could prove fatal for you and your child. There was an instinct in you that told you to push, though Marko insisted adamantly that you hold off on pushing for the meantime. Stress riddled Marko to the core as he knelt down in front of you on the bed, his fingers comfortingly stroking your inner thighs prior to pulling back and nearing your entrance. To begin with he slipped in a finger, pushing softly as the books had told him until he reached the surface of the cervix which if he hadn't been reading the books that Dwayne had given him, he would have thought it didn't exist. Instead, he was met with a rubbery balloon-like texture which he knew was the bag of waters that held your baby. He slowly retracted his finger and added a few more, until he was certain that you were way past the 5cm mark. "Ow! B-babe! Tbh-that hurts!" You complained loudly, back arching off the mattress as you flinched, brows knitted together in contorted pain. 

"Really?" Marko snapped, eyes meeting yours whilst his fingers froze within you. "You've had much worse in there and a few fingers hurt? Sheesh!" He stated slowly, his expression flattening momentarily. And suddenly, as if by magic, the tension that had been suffocating the pair of you lifted somewhat, causing the pair of you to chortle for a moment before you winced, a grimace clouding your expression. 

"Shut up you complete asshole, h-how about I sh-shove a watermelon up you butt, s-s-see how you like it,” you breathlessly laugh, leaning your head back against your pillow. “So, c-can I p-push now, or not?" 

"Yeah, I'm pretty certain that you're 10 centimeters now, babe."

Some form of twisted relief washed over your soul in that moment as you let the instinct to push was over you. There was a slow, long drag pulling through your back. It was like a tiger had dug it’s hooked claws into you and was pulling them down through your flesh.  The endeavor was tiring, grueling in fact, leaving you dizzy and exhausted. But yet there was a set determination that took over you whilst you pushed desperately. Your toes tightly curled in place, grunts and panting replaced by blood curdling screams that sent chills down any who heard it. Tears made it impossible to see, the salty concoction of tears and sweat staining your face. Everything burned, you were fearful you may pass out. Though as soon as you pushed you found yourself holding your breath, to which Marko had to coach you through how  to breathe. A deep breathe in and another deep breathe out. In through the nose out through the mouth. Well, more like, in through the mouth and back out again. He also had to remind you when to rest,especially when he took note of exhaustion blanketing across you. 

“Marko- I can’t! No, no! Fuck I can’t it hurts so fucking bad,” you cried out until your throat was raw, having to be snatched by him before you launched up, pinned precisely in place by his steel grip. “No, god, I can’t do this! Please, I-I can’t I can’t it h-hurts!” 

"Come on, baby girl you can’t stop now! You have to hold still, it’s gonna be okay, you've got this." Marko encouraged ceaselessly, offering his pale hand to you to hold. Using his other he cemented you in place, knowing one wrong move could kill the baby. Your strength caught him by surprise when you snatched his hand tightly, grateful he couldn’t feel the crushing grasp of your fingers as his dead bones began to crack. Fortunately for him, years of rigor mortis and rot had decayed most of his nervous system by now. He held your head back on his chest, continuing to coax you with tender words. “Almost there baby, almost I know it hurts, I know, I’m so sorry baby." He whispered softly into your ear, his cool breath fanning across your hot flushed skin. You swallowed thickly, almost as though you were in a trance as you continued your strained pushes. A pinkish liquid spilled out and onto the sheets in a cruel, seeping motion. Marko noted it’s scent carried a heavy copper tone and glanced down as the pale salmon tint deepened into a dark crimson hue. Your screams had nearly numbed his ears by now, although it was not a sound he desired to grow accustomed to. 

Marko softly unwound his arms around you, though he kept his left hand in your ironclad grip. He needed to ensure that blood was the baby’s head crowning and not some horrendous miscarriage. He wouldn’t dare mention the alternative to his mate mid-birth, pushing away the blankets covering your legs and to his amazement there was your baby's head crowning momentarily before slipping back inside. From what he'd read, this was a completely normal process, your pushing, in conjunction with your contractions would continue to shift the baby down the birthing canal and out of you. Your heels dug into the mattress with your back arching upward as your mouth was aghast in treacherous suffering, a hideous cry drawing tears from your eyes. The room began to sway, the pace of your heart was that of wild horses unleashed on an open plain. Heat grasped you from every angle, it was getting harder to breathe the more you fought through it. Fear grabbed hold of your lungs, squeezing violently, picking up your heart rate until Marko could hear it thundering beneath your rib cage like a frightened animal wanting to be let loose of its cage. Your rapid labored breaths carried a concerning pace that had him beside you once again.

“Marko.. T-the room..,” you tried to whimper out between screams, head swaying to the side staring at the pitch black curtains that somehow seemed to be seeping into your surroundings. You could feel the drag pulling down your back into your birth canal, you were so close but the sheer exhaustion tempted you to faint at any moment. “I..I can’t..” you gasped out under your breath so quiet he almost thought he'd imagined the words.

"Just one more push, babe," Marko pleaded, brushing his hand over your damp forehead. In a sweet, yet ardent motion your hair was pushed back from your face. You clung to his hand, pressing your forehead against his frigid palm savoring the relieving rush of cold. The sight of his wide eyes connecting with yours forced a momentary breath of air, those perfect blue pools gave you something to focus on. The blackness was scattered, a last scream forcing it's way out of your throat as you gave one final push, the dragging motion within you halting. Light faded in and out of your vision, rapid black splotches flickering around the room, the pain becoming dull and pulsating. You hardly even noticed the muffled, shrill cries emitting from your newborn, or the fact that Marko had already had her wrapped in a towel once he'd cut the umbilical cord. Your chest shuddered when you breathed, the small pink infant squirming beneath white fabric making whimpering grunts. Small fingers stretched out, clutching at Marko’s shirt.

“Marko.. Wh-what are they,” you groaned our, flickering lashes barely keeping you conscious.

Marko hesitated to glance between misted eyes, choking out a stunned laugh. “A girl…”

The blood stained her red skin, and before he could wipe away the sticky red substance off her fingers she suckled at the red liquid, eyes bright white just as his were when his fangs were bared. She had yet to form her own, and when there was none left on her hand they had faded back into little grey, uncolored orbs. The lack of food had become noticable, and she let out a fussy whine, kicking her feet against the blanket in a fit. So that's what she needed to feed on. Marko gently bounced her in his arms, nuzzling his forehead against hers until her tantrum was subdued. “Shhh shhh, it’s okay baby girl.. Plenty of time for that later... Daddy will bring you a big ol bag of blood when mommy feels better, I promise.”  

You blinked away tears as she was delicately passed into your arms, weighing no more than eight or nine pounds just as weary as you were. “Wilhelmina...,” you choked out, brushing your fingers across her plump cheek.

“Billie huh?” Marko asked, laying on his side beside you with his bent arm elevating his head, his fingers reached out to brush against the blonde dusting of hair on the head of his daughter, a grin plastered on his face, an exhausted twinkle dancing in his eyes. "I like that... Wilhelmina it is.."

He now felt like finally, in these eight months of your pregnancy, that he could catch some shut eye. Time had become distorted, he had no idea whether it was daytime or night time any more, the two may as well have been blurred together. In your safe haven of thick black flowing curtains, Marko placed Billie delicately into your heavy arms, slumber already having wrapped you tightly in its deep and vast embrace. He curled his fingers around the dark fabric, pulling it skeptically out of the way. The room was swallowed in darkness, however, his nocturnal eyes easily scoped out the shut door at the other end of the room. He thought for a minute, capturing his bottom lip in between his teeth. He chewed on it for a moment before pulling himself up and off the bed. Truthfully now that his territorial rage had fizzled out he knew he owed the guys for how much of an ass he'd been when confronted with your unexpected labor. 

With tentative steps, so as not to disturb you, Marko flitted towards the shut door, no light seeping underneath the crack of the door. He twisted the knob carefully, a low squeak creeping into the air as he opened the door. He stepped out into the passageway leading to the main cave and began a somewhat hurried stroll. Honestly he was ecstatic to tell the boys. To show them his daughter was something he was practically bouncing on the spot for he couldn't wait! 

Marko, briefly unaware with his contemplation cluttering his mind, did not fully register the danger as he stepped forward into a stream of sunlight just up ahead cutting clearly through the decrepit roof of the hotel. It wasn't until the searing sizzle of his flesh did he register that he was caught aflame from the sun's rays. With a shriek he recoiled, battering at exposed flesh to kill the flames. He smoldered for a moment, back pressed to the wall as he peered into the vacant lobby of the ancient hotel. He sighed, shaking his head in dismay. "Dammit! Well... I guess they'll just have to meet Billie tonight then," he concluded with finality, not giving it much thought before he turned and made his way back to your room with heavy eyelids, finally content. As he padded softly into the room, shutting the door behind him, Marko couldn't help but feel relief wash over him. It was an enormous weight lifted from his shoulders now that he'd be able to go out to feed without fearing something could happen to you. That was more than enough to cure him of any and all anxiety that had previously immobilized him.

As he settled himself underneath the covers, he brought you closer, baby Billie placed tenderly between you both and he grinned half halfheartedly, a dopey, wide grin that pulled on his heavy eyelids. "I'm kinda glad you jinxed it, babe." he breathed into the air before he allowed the weight of sleep to shut his eyes and encapsulate him in its lulling motion.

[yetanotherreader]

Useful—3

Genre: College AU

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N, slight Dean x Lisa

Summary: The school's most popular boy wants to be friends with Y/N, out of the blue. It definitely doesn't have anything to do with her hot best friend, though.

Word Count (For the chapter): 2,712

Warnings (For the chapter): None.

[For some reason, some of the tags aren't working. I'm sorry about that.]

[[ Also I'm sorry for the no Read More thingy because it doesn't happen on the phone app :-(]]

Useful Masterlist

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Mondays.

You dreaded them. For some reason, they were never good. They were sleepy, tiring and grumpy and unfortunately you couldn't do shit about it. You always had to wake up extra early for a hopefully refreshing shower, take the supposed-to-be small bus ride to the uni, which just got longer because of the Monday traffic and run to the lecture hall, only to have the professor glaring at you for coming late to the class.

Mondays.

Today was no different. You woke up extra early, took a hopefully refreshing shower, took the supposed-to-be small bus ride—WHICH was surprisingly not as long as always—and still ran to the lecture hall. Fxckin' tiring mess. The sleepless sleep still showed in your eyes and you would have given anything to have an extra hour for it that morning. But well, same old—Mondays. 

And suddenly, today was different.

"Come on…" A group of annoyed whines were heard from the lecture room just as you entered the hallway.

"What's wrong?" You asked a very pissed Rhea, or was she Akira?

"Morning classes got cancelled. We woke up for nothing."

Honestly.. what the fxck was wrong with the university? Mumbling and whining to yourself, you made your way to the cafeteria, maybe some coffee would help. Tried enjoying the warm sunshine on your face, keyword: tried, as you slowed down your steps near the playground. Or maybe you could just sit in the sun and make the most out of your oh-so-lovely Monday morning? Taking a seat in the bleachers, you decided on reading the book you were, at that time, reading.

Just halfway through the chapter— "Good morning, nerd. I see you're doing some fun stuff over here." You sighed, not wanting to get into any kind of argument at that particular time, or day- or life.

"You're back at it, aren't you?" You looked up at the still smirking Dean, dressed in his black and blue football jersey. A sight for sore eyes.

"Back at what?"

"Being a dick?" You looked back at the book still tired, "Look, Winchester, I'm so not in the brightest Monday sunshine mood right now. Don't bother."

"And here I thought we were friends." He sighed feigning sadness as he turned around to make his way back to the other side of the ground.

"You're here for practice?" He turned back to you, grinning adorably, just as you rolled your eyes.

"Yep but it doesn't start until at least a couple hours."

"Why so early here then?"

"Apparently, there's an emergency board meeting that all the HODs need to attend. So, delayed."

"Oh...that is why" You concluded why your classes got cancelled, "God. Don't you just hate it how they don't inform us about anything beforehand." You groaned.

"Not having the best morning?" He chuckled, as you gestured him to take a seat next to you.

"Nah. I'm the happiest I could ever be," You said with a yawn, "Should we go to the cafeteria before I die or we just let me die?"

"You're such a mood," He laughed toothily shaking his head, "Let us."

Sitting in the cafeteria, you sip on your coffee awkwardly trying to ignore the very obvious gazes of the people around you. You couldn't even make out how Dean looked so unfazed by all the attention, or maybe—obviously, he was used to it.

"You know," Dean started, seemingly, figuring out your awkwardness to ease the tension, "You could have just asked me on a date instead."

You chuckled, thankful for some words, "You wish, Winchester."

"Honestly...I don't" He said winning a laugh out of you.

Time flew by quickly, filled with laughter, corny jokes and sassy remarks with you not even realizing that all that attention didn't bother you anymore. Quite honestly, you didn't even realize they were there. To your surprise, you really did enjoy a Monday morning. 

"Oh," Dean exclaimed as his phone buzzed, "Totally lost track of time. It was fun, but Y/N, I gotta hurry now. I'm late."

"Well I still have an hour to kill. Good luck with the practice."

"Oh yeah, there's still an hour to the class," Dean said as he hurried, "You wanna come see the game?"

"Oh, no no. I don't understand it. I'll rather read my book here."

"Nerd," he smiled at you, "Alright then, see you in the class."

"Yeah" You smiled back, as he went. Maybe Dean wasn't all that bad after all.

You just started with the chapter, again, that you were rudely interrupted... again.

"Look who's trying to get some attention, there. Whatcha think guys? What does she think of Dean's charity? That he got the hots for her or something?" You flinched at the ear-piercing group of laughter came from the direction.

"Tss. Geez, Cassie, mind toning down that screechi- sweet laugh a lil bit? Kinda trying to concentrate." You gave her a sweet smile and turned back to your work.

"Hey, Y/N. How's you? Long time no see." She came and sat where Dean sat not even a couple minutes ago.

"Was doing just good." You muttered as you kept your eyes in your book.

"You were? Obviously, you were," she started taking ahold of Dean's cup, playing with it, "Y/N, stop trying, darling. Dean is very out of league for you. I'm saying for your good."

"Sweets. You know the only reason I'm replying to you, Cassie, is just because it's rude not to?" You looked up at her at annoyed, managing a sarcastically polite smile, "Now if you could excuse me, I'm kinda in the middle of something.

She stood up rolling her eyes as you spoke up again, "And well, don't worry. I'm no threat. Dean and me, nope. Not happening. Also, stop acting like he's your property. The guy's got a life of his own to live, about time, you get one for yourself too."

Before she could retaliate, you made your way out of the door, leaving her processing what you said. Not gonna say that you had got bad blood with her but you had got bad blood with her. Honestly, you wouldn't give two flying shits about her if she wasn't the one with the brilliant idea of throwing you into the pool on your very first day. And if that wasn't enough, she had the nerve to bully you about it for the next few months too. Initially you ignored for a long time, hoping she would end it herself, but was she one to? When you had enough of her shit, all it took, then, was one punch to the wall and an angry 'next time it won't be the wall' for her to stop. Not that she ever was a trouble for you later, but you were her glare dart ever since. You were kinda looking forward to her passing out of the college— one year without her unnecessary glares and hushed whispers but she just had to get a year back for her last year. Oh, your life. 

Practice was tiring, and since they had gotten just one hour for it, they didn't even get any breaks. On top of that, Dean might have sprained his neck. Maybe Y/N's bad day was contagious. Maybe she passed it to him.

Y/N. The thought of her bringing a faint smile on his lips. Damn, she was awesome. He wondered why she kept to herself, her personality sure would get her a lot of friends. That morning, Dean had actually enjoyed himself after a long time. He'd been so lonely for the past few months, he had almost forgotten how to laugh like he did today. She could be an amazing friend. Not to mention, he was still not over how she helped him back at Jo's without even mentioning it once today. Y/N was a good person, he could say that. Mysterious, but nice. He hoped that they actually became really good friends.

His eyes wandered to find her sitting by herself, in a corner as he made his way into the almost empty classroom, "This seat taken?"

She looked up from the book and, for once, smiled, "Hey..yes..no, please sit."

He smiled in return as he sat down beside her, lowly groaning in pain.

"You okay, there?"

"Yeah, I don't know, I think neck strain."

"Oh, geez. Want some help?"

He chuckled humorously, "And what will you do to make it better?"

"Well, they do say I have magic hands." She chuckled in response too, getting up to stand behind him. She started lightly massaging his neck and shoulders, pressing her fingers to his shoulder blades whilst her thumbs worked on his neck. She did the motion a few times as she felt his muscles relax, his knots loosening. He felt himself relaxing, the pain still there but better. How was she always good at whatever she was doing? She stopped her movements abruptly, as he realized a loud moan escaped his lips, only to burst out laughing the next second, "God, Winchester, what the hell?" sounding a little embarrassed.

"S-sorry. Damn it, your fault. What can I say, you do have magic hands." He laughed out, too.

The day went by quite fast after that. They didn't cross paths post the class again. It was the last lecture when Dean met with Cas and Jo. Finally.

"Hey!" Jo chirped as she came after the class, and hugged Dean from behind, Cas copying the action, "Dude?"

"Hey, strangers." Dean said, not in any mood to have a happy-go-lucky conversation with them.

"What's wrong?" Cas asked, clueless. Jo elbowed his ribs gently.

"What's wrong? Nothing." Dean walked ahead, rolling his eyes as the two of them followed him.

"Dean, come on. We're sorry, okay?"

"Well, don't be. Not that it matters anyway." Dean said coming to a stop, "What? You guys didn't go somewhere private, again?"

"Okay, first of all, stop taunting us, jerk. And second of all, we're sorry. We didn't mean to-"

"First of all, don't copy Sammy. And second of all, I called you two how many times, Joanna?"

"What can we do to make it up to you? Jo is right Dean, we're genuinely sorry. We just had a tiring night, so we slept in. Really really tiring." said Cas, blushing a shade of pink, as Dean's lips lifted in a very surprised smile.

"So...you finally, finally did it?" He looked from Cas to Jo grinning, "So you finally did our virgin angel, huh?"

"Shut up" she grumbled, trying to stifle a laugh of her own, blushing a few shades herself, "What about you and the specsy?"

"Who? Y/N? What about us?"

"Don't act innocent, De. Coffee dates and massage and all, huh." She said, cocking her brow, piquing Cas' interest in the conversation too, "Didn't think you'd go for her."

"We're just friends," said Dean, thinking about it from all the angles, "I think."

"You think?"

Dean shrugged, unable to come with a proper answer.

The rest of the day went pretty okay for him. Cas and Jo finally did spend time with him but it wasn't like before at all. They were different and he expected this, as much as he shipped them. They were a couple now, dynamics changed. He wasn't the same for them like earlier, he was the lesser priority. And single.

"So, you're telling me you're single?" You said, surprising yourself with the subtle, unnoticeable relief you felt. Dean and you had bonded pretty well over the past couple of months. You had never thought you two were ever going to be friends, but he was nicer than he made himself look. You learned a few things about him, and about the first day dare too. Oh boi, weren't you just ready to whack his butt with a spoon.

"Yeah. Well, that sounded judgy, Y/N."

You grinned apologetic, "Hee, sorry. It's just it's hard to believe is all."

It was funny how you two became good friends so soon. You were not really one for friends. For a long time, you'd been alone, convincing yourself you liked the quiet. Although you did, it was undeniable how loneliness got to you every time you wanted to talk to someone about something going on in your life, a bad day or even something as normal as your new favorite TV show. It sucked, now that you were admitting to yourself. It sucked how you had no one to talk to. It sucked how you couldn't even complain about it to anyone. And it sucked to spend your weekends alone in your dark room, trying to distract yourself with a book or fanfic, pretending that it was all okay.

And now here you were. Not in a dark room, not alone and not pretending. Here you were actually talking to someone about the random-est things on the planet, laughing with him and actually enjoying yourself. You both still weren't on the we-tell-each-other-everything stage and you highly doubted you ever were going to be but it was still nice. Yeah maybe you hadn't told him shit about yourself yet, but he was still the closest you'd ever been to someone in years. You had Lisa and you cared about her, you did. But where was it written that the person you care about would care about you the same way too? You were never in the list of her priorities, never even close. But she trusted you, and that's why you were...friends? You didn't know exactly. She would come to you after a break up or when she was having a bad day. You had helped her so much, for so many years, it became your instinct to do it. She had friends, she was loved and she had a life you would never. She was Lisa Braeden. She was she, and you were...you. Plain, dull, unattractive Y/N. That's it. That was you in three words. And honestly, you didn't mind. You had come terms with it a long time ago, terms with no one caring about you.

Until two months ago. Dean was a good friend. He was nice, sweet, protective and funny. And most importantly, he...cared. He would tell you jokes on Monday mornings, give you ice pack when your clumsy ass ran into the closed door and invite you for movies with his friends which you always refused to. When Dean realized you didn't like going out with strangers, he invited you over for a movie night to his place. It was, maybe, the sweetest thing someone had ever done for you. He made you snacks and then you guys talked about random things the entire night only to pass out on the couch later. After that, it had become your Friday night tradition.

And with all these sweet things, could you blame yourself for starting to feel something more for him than you should? You, very well, knew this would never happen. Dean had a type, a taste in girls and you were far from that. You had too few/many curves than what looked beautiful, you didn't have the most beautiful hair or skin and you were not pretty. Simple. He would never feel for you. And you, too, only had a silly little crush on him, which would go with time. Right?

You woke up, cuddled with a warm figure on the couch, head under the blanket. You struggled to pop your head out of the covers and once you did, you were met with a beautifully freckled face sleeping soundly. He looked so peaceful that you never wanted to wake him up. Your eyes just briefly glanced at his plump lips, wondering what it would be like to touch them or maybe, feel them against your own? And in a matter of seconds, your eyes were back at the blanket, hiding your little secret you kept from yourself. A secret only your late night or early morning self knew, which you would conveniently deny to yourself later during the day. A secret you would pass off as nothing but your sleepy head's made up story.

Nothing, but a story.

___________

Chapter 4

A/N: Alright, I don't know how it turned out. It took me more than a week for this chapter, and I couldn't even think of anything. I'd write a few sentences and close the document. A writer's block, I think. Well anyway, I didn't have anything in mind so it's mostly a filler chapter which I somehow used to make the little-st progress in the story. Mostly their friendship. I think I'll make it stronger before I do the shit I have planned. Please don't hate me for the chapter coz I already do :')💔

Tag list:

@bi-danvers0 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @itsjaybro16 @mml232 @blablatiti @stilltoomuchafangirl @bat-shark-repellant @bluebell-24 @shortwinchester @always-money-in-the-banana-stand @soullessbabee @ima-be-a-mongoose

[lemonayyyyyde]

Party Like the Dead

Chapter One

I apologize for it all being one big chunk without any "read more" areas- sadly I am confined to mobile at the moment. Either way, here it is! The first chapter of my exclusive writeblr WIP Party Like the Dead! I hope you enjoy it. :)

---

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Chilled October air filled Alexandra’s lungs as she asked the same question she had been repeating all week. The one she always seemed to ask when Nick was involved.

She shrugged her jacket up closer to hide her skin from the wind that picked up and whipped past them, turning her gaze over to Nick as he laughed.

“I’m sure, Alex. You’re starting to sound like my mom’s old Beatles record- you really gotta stop repeatin’ yourself.” Despite his teasing words, there’s a smile pulling at Nick’s lips as he spoke. “It’s just a party- a Halloween party in the most boring town on earth for Christ’s sake!” 

Alexandra forced a laugh at that, high-strung with the remnant of nerves. Nick's voice dropped to a more sincere tone as he reached over to give her hand a light squeeze of reassurance.

“We’ll be fine. It means a lot that you would do this for me.”

Alexandra couldn’t help but give a true smile at that, pulling him into a side-hug only to have to pick off some toilet paper that stuck to her skin from his costume when she pulled away. She made a face as Nick dissolved into a fit of giggles, scrunching up her nose as she glared.

“What are you laughing at, mummy boy? You’re the one who looks like a mom’s DIY project gone wrong.”

Nick gave a scoff of faux offense, holding a hand to his chest. “How dare you make fun of my costume! For your information, this is brand name toilet paper! No DIY mom would spend the money on that!”

Alexandra laughed again, for real this time,  trying her best to ignore the stares of the kids that were beginning to trick-or-treat. The sun was setting fast, peeking from behind the two-story houses of the neighborhood. It painted everything in a soft orange light, beautiful and eerie at the same time- which was exactly the same feeling that stopped Alexandra dead in her tracks, joy melting out of her and replaced by nothing but a cold pit of fear in her stomach.

It wasn’t as if Alexandra was a stranger to this area. Quite the opposite, in fact. She had driven this road many times, spent many sunsets and nights playing on these streets. Yet that never seemed to change the feeling of unease that would wash over her when her eyes landed on the Walker country house.

Menacing and decrepit, the Walker house had been there for as long as Alexandra could remember. Perhaps even longer than it was possible for her to. Back in it’s day, the house could have been beautiful. Its bricks may have once been spotless, column’s standing tall in brilliant gleaming white. The windows would have had curtains, not moth-torn fabric hiding the broken panes of glass from kids looking to have a little fun.

Now, however, the house was something out of a horror film: overgrown with vines and weeds that twisted up the walk to the house as if they were claiming back what was rightfully theirs. Everything about it screamed ‘Danger’, including the signs that were posted out front reading ‘DANGER: KEEP OUT!’.

The press of Nick’s hand jolted Alex out of her thoughts, forcing her eyes away from the house. His eyes were full of concern, brows knitting together as he spoke. 

“You alright, Alex?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s just…” Alexandra trailed off, glancing back at the mansion-esque house lurking in the distance. “You know the rumors about this place.” Nick raised a brow, causing Alexandra to elbow him lightly before continuing. “I’m serious! That shit’s terrifying.”

“I do know the rumors, Alex. But that’s just the thing!” He let go of her shoulder, his face returning to the smile that so often graced his face. “They're just rumors! Come on, do you really think they’d leave an old cult’s stomping ground just sitting in the middle of town?”

Alexandra bit her lip, thinking over what he said. It truly would have been weird if the town would keep something as sinister as that as a centerpiece. “I suppose not. Though you have to admit, that place is fuckin’ creepy. Just look at it!”

Nick laughed, beginning to walk again as he shook his head.

“Everything will be fine. I promise. I wouldn’t take you here if it was dangerous.” He paused for a moment before continuing, a nearly sinister smirk spreading across his face as he turned to face her once more. “Unless of course, this was all a ruse and I…” He jumped towards her, arms raised in a childish recreation of claws,  “was a ruthless cult leader leading you to your doom all along! Five years of friendship, all leading up to this whole moment! The whole town's in on it!”

Alexandra couldn’t help but startle a bit at his sudden movement, glaring at him as he began to laugh and she settled back down. Her anger didn’t last long though- how could it when he was working so hard to calm her nerves with a bit of fun- and she pushed past him with a laugh of her own.

“Don’t even joke about that! I don’t even want to imagine the hell my life would be if I went into Forensics in a cult town.”

Nick had to jog to catch back up to her, a small smile on his face as he slowed down to a normal walk when she waited for him. “I mean, it would be good for business!”

Alexandra simply rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Nick.”

Nick laughed and pointedly did not shut up. “You love me. Don't even try to hide it.”

The two joked in a similar manner the entire time they made the trek down the road to the Walker House;, Nick doing his best to keep their spirits light in order to distract Alexandra from her initial fear. All of that hard work was quickly unraveled, however, when they were standing at the edge of the walkway to the house.

Being closer certainly didn't do the house any favors, especially since the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon, as if on cue.

Alexandra hesitated as Nick began to start up the steps, only beginning to move again when he turned to give her a reassuring smile and extended his hand. He squeezed lightly when she took it, voice gentle as he spoke. “You'll be fine, Alexandra. I promise.”

Taking a deep breath and forcing it out slowly, Alexandra nodded and tried to imagine all of her previous anxiety melting away. Normally these things wouldn't have been so scary for her; in her high school days, she'd loved anything abandoned and creepy with the chance of paranormal encounters. Now, however, she was not quite as fond, and it certainly didn't help she had not been in this area since…

Alexandra was disrupted from her thoughts once more as Nick gently elbowed her side, obviously trying to shift her mind in a different direction, as though he could tell the dark path her train of thought was taking.

“Are you excited for your first college Halloween party? I'm sure there's going to be plenty of beautiful ladies looking for someone strong to protect them…” He winked at the last part, causing Alexandra to snort and hit his arm lightly.

“Gross, Nick. Just because I like girls too doesn't mean I'm as weird about it as you are! Besides, I thought you told me this get-together was with just a few friends and friends of friends.”

Nick opened his mouth to answer but before he could, the double doors they had wandered up to swung wide open, revealing a messy-haired and grinning Gavin - Nick's best friend.  He was wearing a cheesy cape and pointed fangs he had haphazardly glued on. Fake blood dribbling down the side of his mouth, the stark red of obvious face paint.

“‘Velcome to ve house of horrors, my friends!”

He greeted, pleased when Alexandra covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Nick merely shook his head, stepping inside and making a big show of doing a flourishing bow.

“I am honored to be welcomed into your home, Count Gavin.” He said, purposely dropping his voice a few octaves to sound more manly. “Thank you for inviting us on this wonderful All Hallows' Eve night.”

Gavin couldn't help but cheer, clapping Nick on the back when he returned to full height before pulling him into a hug.

“Nick, my man! I can always trust on you to liven up the party- you're the first one to actually bite the bait!” 

Nick shrugged, though he was obviously gleaming at the compliment. It took him a moment before he noticed he had yet to introduce Alexandra, who was awkwardly standing off to the side as she watched the two friends.

“Ah! Gavin, this is my friend Alexandra. Alexandra, this is Gavin.” 

Alexandra waved before indicating Gavin's costume with one of her hands. “Love the fangs!”

Gavin grinned, doing an over-exaggerated bow of his own before bouncing back up. “Thank you! I love the…” He trailed off, and Alexandra  grinned as she realized that he was trying to find a way to compliment her on her own ‘costume’.

Digging her hand into the pocket of her khakis, Alexandra pulled out an (admittedly hastily done) fake badge. “FBI agent Alexandra Strike on the case. Undercover agents aren't as flashy as you may think.” 

Gavin nodded, though he was obviously a bit thrown off by the casual attire. Which, to be fair, was what Alexandra has figured would happen. She didn't have the time to hit a Halloween store between studying and working.

He recovered swiftly to her under-dress though, turning his attention back to Nick as he began to walk into the home. The entire foyer was vacant of furniture and the lightbulbs hanging above on the fragile chandelier only offered a soft, dim glow of light.

Black and orange streamers were thrown wherever people could reach, weaving around the staircase railings like the vines that claimed the home outside. Overall it was dark, grimy, and pathetically covered in harmless decor to mask it's true identity- the perfect place for a Halloween party.

“Come on in! The party's just getting started.” Gavin said before waving down a girl who was resting against the wall, scrolling through something on her phone. When she caught sight of Gavin she smiled, pocketing it and coming over.

"Hey Gav- and new party peeps!" The girl gave a quick smile to both Alexandra and Nick respectively. 

"Hey Celine! This is Nick and his friend Alexandra." Gavin said, motioning to the two of them but continuing talking before they could get a word out themselves. "Where is everyone? I thought we were getting the Ouija board ready."  

“Ouija board?” Alexandra looked from Gavin to Nick, glaring at him when he shot her a grin. He knew she didn't like the whole 'talking with spirits' thing; she may not truly believe in them, but something about her mother's stern words again poking fun at something you don't understand had stuck with her. You don't fuck with Ouija Boards. 

"What, are you scared?" Nick asked teasingly, jumping away from her attempt to hit him on the arm in response. He raised both hands in defense. "Ah, okay, okay! I'm sorry I didn't warn you sooner! I didn't think you'd care!"

"Like hell you thought I wouldn't care! You know my mom doesn't like me messing with spirit stuff!" Alexandra huffed, turning to look at Gavin as he laughed.

“It's nothing to be worried about, Alex. Just an old hunk of wood we picked up from Andy's- a toy meant to make kids scared of the dark." 

Alexandra bit her lip at the mention of Andy's name, the owner of a small antique shop in the center of downtown. How old was this thing?

Celine interjected before Alex could put much thought into the question, rolling her eyes before her gaze focused on Gavin. "Be a bit more respectful of the dead, Gavin. You never know who might be listening, and I, for one, don't feel like pissing them off." She gave Alex a small wink, who despite the small flutter of butterflies in her stomach gave a nervous laugh. She then turned her attention back to the original question afterwards. "Everyone's off exploring the house- Sure you could find them if you look."

She twisted a strand of the green half of her hair around her finger before pointing up towards the stairs. "See! I think that's Lucas and Brittany right there. I'll go ask if they've seen the others."

"Alright, thank you, Celine." Gavin said, sighing once she was gone. There was the faintest hint of a comfortable grin on his face.

Even with the friendly aura, Alexandra couldn't help the low sinking feeling that settled in her gut. What was she thinking, agreeing to go to something like this with Nick?

She didn't know anyone here, she was in a house she had hated since she was young, and celebrating a holiday she hadn't enjoyed since 9th grade with Lillian.

Her heart dropped as the thought crossed her mind.

Lilly…

That was a name she hadn't thought about in a while, but she should have known the bittersweet memories would reappear.  Being in this part of town always brought them back.

She really, really didn't want to be here.

Clearing her throat to get Nick and Gavin's attention since they had been having a conversation during her silent musing, Alexandra forced a smile. "Hey, uh, does there happen to be any drinks? We walked here, and I'm a dumbass who forgot to bring a water."

Gavin laughed, shaking his head as he indicated up the stairs, the opposite direction Celine had gone. "Refreshments and snacks are in the room up there; want me to walk you up?"

"I should be good finding it myself, thanks." Alex said, her fake smile shifting to real. "Not as helpless as I look."

Gavin raised both of his hands, backing up a bit. "Wasn't saying you were." He said, though his voice still had a teasing tone to it.

Alexandra merely laughed and walked towards the stairs after muttering a quick 'I'll be back' to Nick. The moment she got up the stairs and veered to the room to the left, her body sagged in relief. No one else seemed to be in here, and a moment alone was exactly what she needed. 

Grabbing a solo cup from the table, Alex dipped it into the punch, watching as red liquid filled it.

It only took one sip for Alex to know what it was, grimacing at the taste of the alcohol that wasn't drowned out by sugary sweet syrup.

"Wow. Hawaiian punch and vodka. Classy." She chuckled to herself before taking another sip. Their dedication to the Halloween aesthetic was... admirable, to say the least.

She let herself relax as she took the seat that was in front of a desk, setting the cup down and taking in the area around her. There was a musty smell to the place, and just like everything else about the house this room seemed to give off a strange feeling of...foreboding. As though she were trespassing in a home that very much was not her own, one where she was an unwelcome guest. Even the paintings that hung upon the wall seemed to be glaring at her, gazes prickling her skin as her eyes skimmed over one after the other until it landed upon one she simply couldn't look away from.

It was a family portrait painted by a fine hand, artistry so transfixing that Alex couldn't help but admire it. A woman was standing in the middle of the frame, hands resting on the shoulders of what seemed to be two twin boys. Her face was stern, anger lines set as deep wrinkles and a small frown upon her face as she fixed her gaze on what would have been a camera in the perspective it was painted. 

Alex hadn't really noticed that she had been inching up out of her chair until she was fully standing, making her way towards the painting to get an even closer look. Unlike who she assumed was the mother, the two boys' faces weren't nearly as clear. It looked almost as if the paint that once depicted their faces was worn. Like someone had taken their nails to it and scratched out all of their features. The thought of that sent a chill down Alexandra's spine, and just as she went to look back into the woman's eyes a loud thud caught her attention, a small scream breaking from her as she spun around to see what had caused it.

A small book that had been resting on one of the shelves on the wall laid upon the floor, the pages it had opened to full of faded ink. She looked back up at the shelf to see a large rat staring at her, which quickly scampered away once they made eye contact.

Alex exhaled in relief, the fear that had been clutching at her moments before quickly melting away into embarrassment. It was a rat. Of course it was a rat. What kind of abandoned building would it be if it didn't have some sort of animal calling the place its home? 

She laughed to herself as she went back to the desk, shaking her head and downing the rest of the punch in one chug. 

"Easy now, Alex. Don't go getting too into that brain of yours. You'll just freak yourself out." She chided softly to herself as she wiped her mouth, tossing the now-empty solo cup into the waste bin beside the desk. 

Walking over to the book still laying discarded upon the ground, Alex leaned down to pick it up, surprised to find that its case had the coarseness of genuine leather. She thumbed loosely through the pages that seemed to be stained with time. Most were covered in faint penmanship, messily scrawled cursive that Alex perhaps could've deciphered if it weren't so old. 

It wasn't until she got to the last pages of writing that it became more legible, dark and confident pen strokes a stark contrast to the ones before it. It was almost familiar, the handwriting, and Alex found herself tracing it absentmindedly with her finger. Who had she known that wrote like…?

"Alexandra."

Alex jumped as she heard a faint whisper of her name, nearly dropping the book in her panic as she looked around. "Hello?" She asked, voice wavering nervously as she found that no one was in the room, the entrance still mostly shut. "Who said that?"

A terrifying beat of silence, and inexplicably Alex's eyes were drawn to the painting once again. If she didn't know it was crazy, she could have swore the woman was staring right at her. Creeping closer, Alex kept eye contact with her as she took one hesitant step after another. 

She was almost close enough to reach out and touch the painting when the door behind her swung open. "Alex!"

Another scream ripped free from her throat as she turned around, wielding the book as though she were about ready to chuck it at whatever assailant had barged into the room. She let it fall back down harmlessly to her side when she saw it was just Nick, brow raised and lips upturned slightly in amusement. 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you, you were just taking a while- We've almost got the board all set up. Figured you'd want to be with us while we played." He leaned against the doorframe as he spoke, so completely at ease despite the stuffy feeling that Alex felt was suddenly flooding the room. 

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, sorry. There was a rat, and I was looking around the room…" Alex trailed off, biting her tongue at the urge to spill about the odd painting and whisper of her name. No need to make more of a fool of herself in front of him than she already did.

"No worries, I totally get it. This place has so many cool little nooks and crannies that I could get lost for hours just checkin' it out." Pushing off of the doorframe and instead moving to grab the doorknob and open the door wider for her, Nick flourished his arm towards the exit with a grin. "Ladies first."

Alex forced a small smile for him, sending back one last nervous glance at the painting before walking out of the room.

She could've almost sworn she saw that the women's frown had turned into a smirk before the door clicked shut behind them.

[kanrakixystix]

So ah, I've been finally trying to muster enough courage to try and bug my favorite FF writers about a fic I've put a lot of thought into... But since I'm such a small blog my asks for a signal boost or review or anything seem more like vain attempts to gain followers... So my courage is wasted and I honestly want to sob right now? ;w; I thought the fandom was better than this... I thought I'd get support... Why'd I waste my time and nerves on it... I'm stupid lol...

Now that I am actually at a computer and can properly respond to this…

First and foremost, anything that you’ve worked on, be it writing, art, photography, cosplay, literally anything that you put creative effort into, TAG ME. I want to know what you’re working on. I want to see how you’re using your creativity and your interpretations. Even if it’s something you don’t think I’ll have any interest in, tag me, so I can share it with someone who might. 

We were all small blogs once. I still consider myself a small blog. In comparison to the blogs that have a thousand plus followers, I’m barely pushing the cusp of 700. I know that might seem like a lot, but you know how many I had before I started posting my stuff and writing for the Final Fantasy XV fandom? A steady flux between 240-250 for a solid three years. So in the six months that I’ve been creating content and sharing it, I’ve gained about three times the followers that I had before. 

Don’t ever feel like you’re bothering anyone. I reblog my stuff AT LEAST ONCE after making the initial post, if not two, three, or more times. I try to ensure that I have covered as much of my audience on my end as I can. After that, it’s up to Tumblr to spread the word. Sometimes my stuff takes off and it gets a lot of attention, sometimes it doesn’t, and both of these things are okay. 

Please, don’t let the recent toxicity in the fandom discourage you from sharing things. There are always a handful a people in every fandom that try to bring it down, and some have succeeded. Yes, it’s messy right now, but we have to move past the hate. 

Don’t ever feel stupid. I’m so happy and proud of you for mustering the courage just to send this to me, and I know that whatever you share with the world is going to be beautiful. Dry your tears, and remember that while things aren’t ideal right now, they will get better. Share your work! If creators don’t support each other, no one ever will.