#Memory was super foggy it turns out

[hazyla]

I was gonna write this post abt how Michi should’ve gotten a chance to be a better person in mystreet because Zane (and the shadow knights) did but I kept putting it off anyways got to the episode where it turns out she’s a human trafficker

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

­“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just –”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

[houseofceline]

My Pretty Girl - T.N.

Starry Eyes

Pairing: Ravenclaw and sort of ditzy but talented Reader x Slytherin notorious playboy Theodore Nott

Warnings: None (yet ;))

“Starry eyes

What can I do for your attention.”

Summary: Theodore’s late to class but Snape blessed him with the opportunity of sitting next to a cute Ravenclaw who’s no help at all.

1 >

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

Clockwise or counterclockwise? 

You honestly didn’t even know anymore. No matter how many hours you spent on reading the thick potions textbook or wasting bottles after bottles of ink on notes you still barely passed the class. 

You were starting to get a headache from trying to picture the text in your head. Everything was starting to become foggy. You sat down, defeated, and began doodling on the parchment instead of writing detailed instructions on how to make the stupid potion. So much for a Ravenclaw. 

Hmm off shoulder or puffed sleeves?

 You bit your lip trying to decide which option would look better on the dress you sketched out. The classroom was calming with little chattering among your classmates in the back allowing you to work easier. You could never work or do anything in silence, it drove you crazy. 

Suddenly the door slammed open causing you to jump a bit in your seat. 

“Nice of you to join us Mr. Nott, although your presence was expected half an hour ago,” Snape drawled out in his infamous monotone voice. 

“Sorry I overslept,” he shrugged while adjusting his tie. Some students who were listening in laughed. With his messed up tie and ‘burn marks’ on his neck, it was clear that he was definitely doing more than just sleeping. 

Snape nodded and pointed at the empty seat next to you, not surprising anyone that he didn’t take away any house points from his house. 

Theodore eyed you as he walked towards your table. He would’ve preferred sitting with his house, but he could never pass up the chance to sit next to a pretty girl. White blouse with a lace neckline and sleeves, black plaid skirt, Ravenclaw tie, black sleek hair, and a white headband. You didn’t fit into the usual type of girls he went for, but you were cute. 

Theodore took the seat next to you before tapping on your shoulder. 

You turned to him and almost jumped when you found his eyes on you. Gorgeous blueish grayish eyes. 

So pretty, this might be my new favorite color. 

“So uh,” Theo cleared his throat ignoring the fact that he swore he just saw your eyes sparkle, “what are we doing?” 

You blinked. Under the pressure of a somewhat attractive boy it made your memory much worse. 

“Umm, we’re brewing a potion and writing?” 

You had hoped that didn’t come out as a question and hoped that he’d just nod and ask someone else. 

Theodore raised an eyebrow and glanced at your blue tie again. 

“Which potion exactly?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at you as if you were lying to him. 

“Antidote to potions. Wait, no poisons. The common one. Wait, maybe the uncommon ones. Well I don’t think there’s a big difference. I mean, shouldn’t the uncommon ones be stronger and still fix the common ones?” You rambled on, looking off to the side lost in your own thoughts. 

Theodore blinked. The sorting hat rarely makes errors, maybe you were high but then again Lovegood’s also a Ravenclaw. The looney population in Ravenclaw must be high. 

“Why can’t they just make a super strong potion that fixes every poison? That’d make our jobs easier and we wouldn’t have to memorize so many potions,” you giggled as you turned back to your sketches. 

Theodore looked over your shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of your paper but instead your sketches caught his eye. You may be no help in potions, but you sure can draw. 

“Are you going to make that?” He asked while you squirmed at the close proximity of his face to yours. 

“Yes,” you mumbled shyly, scared of the criticism that might follow. You loved designing and fashion. It was one of the only things that came naturally to you, but coming from a family of doctors you were vulnerable to criticism for not following in their path. 

“Cute,” he said before his eyes found your potions paper. 

Common poisons. Theodore noticed that you only had half the page completed and chuckled. 

He got up towards the ingredients cabinet and grabbed his ingredients and the ones you were missing. 

Potions came easy to him. Not only did the teacher bias his house, but his mother was a skilled potions maker as well. Matter of fact her entire side of the family were. He had spent most of his summers in his manor reading journals of potion experiments and advanced information that weren’t even in his school textbooks. 

He quickly prepared his ingredients and started on his potion while continuing yours on the side. Luckily you were both in the back and Snape couldn’t catch him. He wrote down his notes and instructions making a mental note to tell you to copy them down later. You’d need it. 

Maybe he was also placed in the wrong house. Today, Hufflepuff seemed more fitting. You were lucky that you’re cute. 

[mxlfoydraco]

Hello! I'm getting back into fandom after many years and was hoping you could recommend the best (or most popular) drarry fics to come out in the last 5 years?? The longer the better! I'm having such a blast re-reading old favs and would love more to read! Thank you so much!

I was also away from the fandom the past three years, we share the feeling! I'll go for +100k and skip super well known examples (e.g., Grounds for Divorce)

Alucinatio by alexmeg (127k)

"It's... it's not good," Harry tells them lowly. "They've given him a month's time, only." There is so much he needs to explain, but his head is foggy and exhausted and he can't think properly, can't think of how to relay all that he's learned. "Have you heard of Alucinatio?" is what he starts with. "The Daydream potion," Hermione says. "The person who intakes it experiences very vivid and realistic daydreams of all they could ever want, but is essentially in a severely catatonic state out in the external world, incapable of any basic functions." Harry nods. "Somebody's given it to Malfoy." He remembers the tattered remains of a black coak wrapped around Malfoy. "I think it might have been Professor Snape." They take a minute to process that. "And... the cure?" Ron asks. "Tears of anyone the experiencer craves love of," Hermione answers.

I Do Not Love You by Writ_and_romance (228k)

In 2013, a carefully-designed Obliviation leaves Harry reconfiguring his life and identity without any memories of true love; an act that’s essentially erased Draco Malfoy from his mind despite a wedding band and shared home. In 2000, Draco had expected Pansy’s relationship with Luna to bring the Gryffindors a bit closer to his orbit of quiet, carefully pacifistic existence, but he never expected to navigate such a transparent embrace into a unit of family, friendship, and love. A mystery, two love stories, and a reminder that learning to love never has an end date.

Nor All That Glisters by @sweet-s0rr0w (110k)

Lonely and frustrated on house arrest, with no prospects for the future, Draco begins brewing Felix Felicis in an attempt to improve his lot. Just in the short term, of course. He isn’t a total idiot.

But before long he finds himself with a thriving business, a nice flat, some actual (albeit irritatingly Gryffindor) friends, and a very satisfying sex life. What’s more, no-one is hexing him in the street. And Harry Potter is single, and gorgeous, and giving Draco decidedly interested looks.

Stop taking the Felix? You must be joking…

Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by @norelationtoatticus (104k)

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

Every Hour Has Led to This by @sassy-cissa​ (105k)

Banned from the wizarding world and sentenced to live as a Muggle for ten years, Draco Malfoy finds his world turned upside down. Navigating the Muggle world becomes easier thanks to help from some unexpected strangers who become family. But when his mother insists Draco fulfil an agreement set when he was a child, he finds himself married and a father. Then a divorced single father. After the war Harry Potter found himself without purpose, until an unexpected offer changed his life. Playboy, Quidditch star, war hero – Harry seems to have it all, until a Quidditch accident ends his career. Lost and without purpose, Harry’s life is lonely until a surprising event brings him to Draco’s door…literally. Running parallel lives for nearly 10 years, when they reconnect both Draco and Harry find the passion for life that had been missing. A story of love and loss and how the best things in life happen in their own time

Pages of You by @wolfpants (101k)

Summer, 1980. Harry is floating between university and becoming a Real Certified Adult. He's not ready. He really isn't.

In a desperate attempt to have the Best Last Summer ever, he takes a casual job at his godfather's bookshop in London, starts an illicit pen pal affair with a wordy posh boy that he's catching feelings for, all while dealing with the son of Sirius's business rival, one Draco Malfoy, insufferable know-it-all extraordinaire.

A story about trying to figure out who you are, where you're going in life, and who you want to take along with you.

Notes on a resurrection by newleaves (126k)

It was never Draco’s intention to raise Sirius Black from the dead.

The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (103k)

This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.

Turning Leaves by @kbrick (112k)

Draco and Harry have a one-night stand that ends in disaster after Harry tells Draco he's unable to move beyond their poisonous past. So when Draco finds an unusual Time-Turner in the Department of Mysteries, he seizes the opportunity to start fresh with Harry. Only instead of fixing things, he keeps making them worse.

Bolts by @lqtraintracks (114k)

Harry joins the Hogwarts staff as the new History of Magic Professor, while Draco has already been teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts for the past year. When Samantha, a first year, is being bullied one day and throws a made-up Truth curse at her harasser, only to accidentally hit Harry instead, Harry becomes cursed to tell the truth, and not only that, he has to regularly tell it to Draco Malfoy. Samantha is clearly gifted, maybe the most powerful witch or wizard to ever come through Hogwarts, and yet she has no idea how to take the curse off. As they work to remove it—and also teach Samantha how to control a power that's becoming more dangerous by the day—will Harry's truths become too much to handle? And will whatever’s going on with Draco just make everything exponentially worse?

Freedom to be by @quicksilvermaid (169k)

Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. 12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends. Only nothing feels perfect. Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

By the Grace by @letteredlettered (139k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Two to Shore by Lamplighter (204k)

Harry and Draco meet in Madam Malkin’s and instantly take a liking to each other. Just kidding. They don’t, but Harry does get sorted into Slytherin, and they do become extremely good friends.

Way Down We Go by @xiaq (109k)

The war was over. Or at least that’s what the papers said. They’d been saying it, for months, as if people needed reminding. Maybe they did.

In which Harry and Draco both run away from their pasts and conveniently choose to hide in the same tiny American town. It's super.

Nyctophilia by prolonged_autumn (107k)

Everyone's back for 8th year, and Harry and his friends seem determined to spend their last year in school running around at night, hyped up on coffee and alcohol and Honeydukes candy, doing all the childish things they didn't have the chance to do before. Draco watches as he's always watched: from afar, quiet and bitter and hopelessly in love. That is, until Pansy decides she's had quite enough of it.

Make Yourself by @anyaelizabethfic (103k)

Harry just wants to be safe within the freshly painted walls of Grimmauld Place, with his friends around him. But when he hears Draco Malfoy has been spotted at the local soup kitchen, he can’t help but encourage a different type of stray to come under his roof.

Kept Man by @drarry (147k)

A downtrodden Harry Potter in a serious dry spell is looking to be a kept man, and a lonely Draco Malfoy responds to his anonymous ad. A perfect storm of lust, scandal, and maybe even love. A Daddy Kink Magnum Opus.

The Ordeal of Being Known by @lou-isfake (146k)

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there’s unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It’s obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco’s never been able to back down from a challenge… especially from Potter.

Harry Potter and the Welcome to the World of Grey by @sobsicles (456k)

When Harry fails to keep his anger at bay and Voldemort possesses his mind, the events that follow lead him down a long road to realizing the world isn’t as black and white as it seems. Chaos, hilarity, and tragedy ensue with a Dark Lord being honest all the time, a rival becoming something else, and a world demanding to be saved. Featuring frightened Death Eaters, deep conversations with a monster, Pureblood traditions being ridiculous, and the fight to do the right thing with no true options. Harry’s life just gets more and more bizarre with each passing moment. ~~~ Or, the one where Harry’s life gets split in half, and he has to figure out how to bring it back together.

The Secret Keeper by @the-fools-errand (225k)

On Halloween 1981, Albus Dumbledore made a decision that would change the course of history, concealing Harry Potter’s survival at the hands of Lord Voldemort underneath a Fidelius Charm. But when Harry comes of age in the Muggle world, Dumbledore realises too late that the fate of the world may depend on a boy who has never held a wand. An unlikely team assembles to teach him everything he needs to know before the charm runs out, but only one of them knows the truth behind the Dark Lord’s return to power. If it were anyone else, Draco would have no problem turning them over to the Death Eaters, but there’s something about this certain bespectacled idiot that has him questioning everything he’s ever known. Will Draco seal the fate of the wizarding world by uncovering the Chosen One or will Harry save Draco from a fate of his own?

Dwelling on Dreams by @the-sinking-ship (135k)

Draco thought he could avoid Potter for the duration of his brief return to England. He’d stick to his schedule and be back home in Paris, where he belonged, in a few short months. No trouble at all. He had plenty to occupy him, what with the opening of the London branch of his successful apothecary, his innovative research, drinks with Pansy, a backlog of unread potions periodicals. Except Head Auror Potter is everywhere — in Draco's chair, at his door, in his dreams. All six feet of motorbike-riding, combat-boot-wearing, sex-hair-sporting Saviour of the World packed into one unfairly fetching uniform. Potter won’t leave Draco the bloody hell alone, won’t let him breathe, let him forget, let him sleep. Because no matter how fast Draco Malfoy runs, Harry Potter is always hot on his heels.

A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena (128k)

When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Potter. Hiding out with a taciturn Harry Potter, who has been missing from the Wizarding World for almost two decades after a shocking fall from grace, is nothing like Draco thought it would be. Draco has to navigate dealing with this Potter while being hunted by Dark wizards and wanted by extremists in the Ministry. When things take a turn for the worse, Draco has to decide whether he's going to keep running or find a way to protect the world and the people he cares about most.

Changing Tides by @carpemermaidtales (109k)

Draco has spent half of his life spouting the things his father has taught him without much thought about how he feels about what he says. When he unexpectedly comes face to face with the Dark Lord, he grapples with the harsh realities of the world and struggles with his changing views on life. Instead of doing what’s expected of him fifth year, he joins Dumbledore’s Army and learns how to defend himself, how to make his own choices, and how he can be something greater than his father’s example as he grows into his own man rather than his father’s shadow. The choices he makes change both his and Harry’s fates, intertwining their paths until they converge.

Taking Chances by @gracerene (135k)

After the war, Draco disappeared and started over in America, vowing never to return to Great Britain and the fraught past he left behind. Unfortunately, when his mates convince him to sign up for an exchange programme for the last year of their Auror Training, Draco learns that he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Graceless Heart by @orange-peony​ (132k)

Harry is lost and broken after the war. He has gone to countless funerals, broken up with Ginny, moved back into Grimmauld Place—which feels darker and dirtier than ever before despite how much he tries to fix it. He feels lonely and desperate, but he won’t ask for help, and he still can’t cry.

When he agreed to help the Aurors at Malfoy Manor over the summer, he thought that he would be breaking dark curses. Harry never thought that he would actually spend his days sorting out dusty books with Draco Malfoy, or teaching him how to cook.

Little by little, as they begin to navigate their life post-war, Harry and Draco become intimate…in more ways than Harry could have ever expected.

Brave Though The Stars They Make Me by @dwell-the-brave (108k)

After the events at the end of his Sixth Year, Draco Malfoy has been kept all but prisoner in his childhood home, Malfoy Manor. Alone, terrified, and desperate for some way out, he begins to have strange dreams - dreams of Harry Potter. Are they a trick of his mind? Or are they a way to change his fate, and a chance at redemption?

Always Already by @aibidil (170k)

Harry and Draco are perfectly fine, separately minding their business in 2004, when the Unspeakables conscript them into service... in the First War against Voldemort.

Come for mutual pining and forced proximity in a 1980 hotel room, stay for young Sirius and philosophising about immortality and wormholes. And an eighties cowboy soap opera.

He Comes Like a Thunderstorm by @korlaena (140k)

Draco is doing his best to balance the life he wants to live and the life he’s forced to live. He’s nearing the tail-end of a long, post-war probation when Harry Potter crashes back into his life with all the grace of a charging Erumpent, breaking through his carefully constructed rules and routine. Caught up in a whirlwind of sex and lust, Potter unwittingly shows Draco that his life as an Incubus doesn’t have to be as lonely and unfulfilling as he thought, but how long can it last?

Close Behind by @oflights (134k)

To rescue Draco from the Underworld, Harry has to look forward. Unfortunately, Draco has to look back

where all the veins meet by @saxamophone (146k)

It's the summer of 1998. The battle is over, and Voldemort is dead, but Harry still has more questions than answers. Who is he without a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head? What is he supposed to do now? His friends try to help, but the only thing that can hold his attention—one of the only things that ever has—is Draco Malfoy, out on parole and weirdly hanging around the British Museum. As they keep running into each other, Harry sees that Malfoy is different, and he wonders if he can be someone else, too. Featuring rumpled band shirts, poker games everyone hates, fumbling sex, and a Harry going a little mental over how wands even work.

[child-of-helios]

hello. I've a rather stupid question. I've only read the books once, as a kid, and I don't understand why people hate calpyso x leo. whys it so bad? why does everyone seems to hate it on here?

xxx,

eurydice

First of all, this is my first ever ask, I've made it mother :D Secondly, I'd gladly explain! Though please note that it really has been a good while since I've read the books too, so my memory is kinda foggy :] Warnings for: Slight mentions (but not too much) of rape, pedophilia and mental illness (oh boy this is a tough one)

So, I have made a post abt this before, but it was written in a fit of rage so not my proudest moment (but my most popular post, oops). Anyways, I feel that the hate towards Calypso x Leo is because of a few reasons. 1. It simply didn't get enough development to feel worth it imo. Similar to Jason x Piper, I felt like there wasn't enough there to warrant a canon ship. There is also the fact that personally, I thought that their dynamic was more of a familial or that of siblings, which made me uncomfortable. I would've much rather have them be friends. 2. The uncomfortable age gap. It feels very weird because while yes, Calypso was depicted as a teenager, she is thousands upon thousands of years old. The fact that she fell in love with a literal child is incredibly weird. It was weird enough with Percy, but at least they didn't end up dating. With Leo though, she did end up dating him and the age gap feels very odd. Its even weirder knowing she had a relationship with Odysseus, who by that point was a pretty old dude so she was probably very mature and an adult (though she doesn't act like it). 3. Calypso is kinda a rapist. In the Odyssey myth, she forces Odysseus (a married man) to sleep with her. I'm sorry, but I can't support any relationship involving a rapist unless its rapist x prison cell. It makes me uncomfortable because she could very well take advantage of Leo, a mentally ill teenager with self-esteem issues. 4. Her toxic treatment of Leo. Calypso was very pissed when Leo arrived on her island, rightfully so after what she had gone through, but even then her treatment of his was outright cruel, especially compared to that of Percy and Odysseus. She made him sleep outside, exposing him to the elements after he got flung through the air and ended up on her island, which must've caused some damage. Then after they started dating, I still felt uncomfortable reading about the two, because their dynamic just didn't work, and I don't recall her apologizing to him for her treatment of him. 5. Leo's arc was thrown away. I think the worst of all, is how this impacted Leo's character. He should've had an arc where he learnt to love himself, but because of Calypso he didn't. I think the moral was supposed to be: 'even if you're mentally ill or have problems, you still deserve love!' but it came over more as: 'ignore your issues and get all your love from someone else.' Isn't it more important for kids to learn about self-love? And as an extra: what could've been. I think that Leo shouldn't have gone back for Calypso, that that ship shouldn't have happened. I prefer him going back to Echo and them learning about self-love together as buddies (and maybe evolving into more than that). Echo was stuck in an abusive relationship with the Narcissist, so I think it would a good arc for them both. I also think that if you really wanted a romance, Jason x Leo would've been much better. We know that Rick can write good gay romances, we know that Piper turns out to be a lesbian, so why not make Jason and Leo gay? I think it would add much more to the tragedy of Jason's death, but that's for another post (and this one is getting too long already oops). In conclusion, I think Caleo is bad for many reasons, but especially because it didn't have enough time to develop and the dynamic was simply too creepy for me to get invested in. Sorry for the super long post- Have a lovely day :D

[amhrosina]

Afterglow (Matt Murdock x Reader)

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a/n: another taylor swift song fic lmfao i just cannot help myself, this one is so angsty i almost felt bad for Matt just writing it (someone pls give that man a hug, he NEEDS one) also i feel so bad about not posting that i didnt even send this one to my beta reader i just posted it and hoped for the best lmfao

Summary: Matt and Reader have an argument that feels like it might be relationship-ending after Matt's hectic lifestyle as Daredevil catches up with him.

warnings: ANGST BRO SO MUCH ANGST, matty really just deserves the world, angry matt at the beginning, soft matt and foggy convo, matt doesn't know how to accept love, super soft matt at the end, some religious imagery i guess, happy ending

-

I blew things out of proportion, now you're blue

Put you in jail for something you didn’t do

I pinned your hands behind your back, oh

Thought I had reason to attack, but no

Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

Chemistry 'til it blows up, 'til there’s no us

Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It's on your face, and I'm to blame, I need to say

The door slammed behind Matt in a fitful rage, and he was so pissed off, so intense in his anger that he wanted to turn around and slam it again, just to lash out a second time. It was so unlike him to be this way, so unlike him to allow the festering wound that was his soul show itself so plainly, but it had been a long night, long year, long life and he was fucking tired.

And you. You. You. You. You’d been caught in the crossfire. 

“Fuck.” Matt breathed, already regretting the argument that he’d started simply because he hadn’t been able to reel the Devil back in after a long night. The tight leash he held on the part of him that he hated, the part of him that you’d never seen because he’d hidden it so deep inside himself every night, was a ghost in his hands. The line between Matthew the person and Daredevil the vigilante had been blurring for months, but tonight was the first time he’d let it slip through the careful facade he’d been constructing around himself. He was a shattered window, ready to break at the slightest bit of pressure. 

The cold sliced into Matt’s skin as he stepped through the doorway at the front of his building, a sobering chill of wind that triggered the memory of your eyes welling with tears. He’d been relentless in his anger, and what for? Because he had a bad night? Because he couldn’t save everyone, and somehow that was your fault? 

Asshole is the word you’re looking for, Matthew.

Matt groaned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing Foggy’s number before he could talk himself out of it.

“It’s three in the morning, Matt.” Foggy said by way of greeting, voice still heavy with sleep. “You’re not somewhere dying are you?”

“Only metaphorically.” Matt replied, shuffling his feet. He lowered himself to sit on the stairs beneath him, huffing as his body settled against the concrete. The metal of the railing dug into his temple as he rested his head against it, an uncomfortable reminder that the only person to blame for this was himself.

“You okay?” Foggy’s tone had shifted from a sleepy annoyance to somewhat concerned. 

Matt closed his eyes. He didn’t deserve the love he received from his friends.

“I’m-” He started, but cut himself off when he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. Was he okay? No, he didn’t think so. 

“You’re kinda freaking me out here, man.”

“I fucked up, Foggy.” He deflated as he admitted it.

“With her?” Foggy pressed.

“With her. With everything.” Matt shrugged, blinking away the tears burning the back of his eyes. Your sudden return to his thoughts felt like whiplash, and he couldn’t catch his breath. “She deserves better than me.”

“Matt,” Foggy chided, and Matt could tell he was shaking his head, “Don’t say that. She loves you.” 

“Maybe not anymore.” Matt knew how ridiculous and juvenile he sounded, but the Matthew-Murdock-party-of-one pity party was in full effect, and he was leaning into the sad corner of his being so aggressively he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

“She loves you.” Foggy repeated. “I don’t think anything could change that. What happened?”

“I had a bad night and yelled at her. It was stupid and I feel like an ass-”

“An asshole.” Foggy finished, and Matt couldn’t stop the chuckle that followed this observation. “Listen, did you tell her any of this?”

“Not yet.” The longer Matt sat, the more he hated himself for leaving. The words he had shouted echoed in his mind. “She should just leave. I’m never going to be able to give her what she deserves.”

“What about what you deserve, Matt?” Foggy asked, heated in the defense of his very best friend, “You deserve to be loved, too.”

Matt sat with Foggy’s statement for a second, letting the love wash over him for the briefest moment. Is this what it’s like for the kind of people who can easily accept the love of others? His body felt warm and fuzzy, an unfamiliar but comforting sensation that had him rubbing the heel of his hand across his chest.

“I should go apologize and hope to God she’ll take me back.” Matt sighed.

“She will, Matt.” Foggy assured him. “She will.”

Matt returned the phone to his pocket and turned, heading back into the place that held his entire aching heart.

It's so excruciating to see you low

Just wanna lift you up and not let you go

This ultraviolet morning light below

Tells me this love is worth the fight, oh

I lived like an island, punished you with silence

Went off like sirens, just crying

Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It’s on your face, don't walk away, I need to say

Hey, it's all me, in my head

I'm the one who burned us down

But it's not what I meant

Sorry that I hurt you

When Matt reentered the apartment, it had only been twenty minutes since he’d stormed out, but it had felt like hours. You were in the same place that he’d left you - curled up in a sitting position on the sofa - except now your cheeks were coated with salty tears that permeated the air around you. Matt tasted them on his tongue the second he opened the door, a twinge of pain shooting through his chest as he realized just how bad the situation was. You were so deep in thought, cycling through the words Matt had spat at you, that you hadn’t noticed his arrival.

“Petal?” Matt called softly, alerting you to his presence in the room. You startled, turning to look in his direction. The silence before you responded was deafening and anxiety inducing, something Matt had never handled well. He wrung his hands together and took a step closer to you. Finally, you spoke.

“You came back.”

Not a question, but not really a statement either. A simple observation that left Matt stumbling over his words. 

“I uh…never really left. I was just downstairs.” He scratched the back of his neck. “On the steps out front. I didn’t go far.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Matt’s lip wobbled as he inhaled sharply and asked, “Do you want me to go?”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. He listened to your answer anyway. He would listen to any words you had to offer, even if they were words that might kill him.

“You said some terrible things, Matt.” You sniffled, sighing heavily as another wave of tears coated your cheeks. “You said ‘If you can’t handle this, I don’t think we should be together anymore.’ And the funny thing is, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be handling.”

“Petal, I-” Matt began, shaking his head.

“No, Matt.” Your voice had suddenly become very firm and very loud, all at once. Matt flinched. “I’m not finished.” You adjusted your body, leaning your head back against the sofa before continuing. “I don’t know who you are anymore. My Matty would never keep things from me or disappear for days at a time or yell at me. The man I fell in love with is missing, and I don’t know what to do to get him back.”

The hold Matt had on his tears was obliterated as you admitted your feelings to him. Warm tears fell down his face, every droplet an admission of guilt. You were right, of course. Matt hadn’t felt like himself in months, and instead of trying to get a grip on himself, he had been leaning into the suit every night, forcing his mind to focus on other things. He always took on the brunt of the pain in any situation - he’d been doing this his entire life - but he had not realized how much of that pain was being transferred to you every time he forgot himself.

“Baby, I’m- I can’t even say how sorry I am.” Matt sank to his knees in front of you, pleading. “You’re right about everything, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be good enough for you or come home to you after work like a normal boyfriend would and I’m sorry for the things I said. I never wanted to hurt you the way I did. I will never, ever, deserve your love.” He swallowed a sob as he admitted what he thought was the truest thing he’d ever said out loud. “Foggy told me I deserve love but I’ve thought and thought about it and I can’t imagine a world where your love will ever feel like anything but a gift to me.”

You sighed again, sniffling as you lifted your hand to cradle Matt’s wet cheek.

“I know I’m fucking it up. I’m sorry I can’t be more. This is all I have to offer, and I know it’s selfish to ask you to keep loving me but I can’t be without you. You’re all I have.”

“I don’t understand, Matty.” You shook your head, furrowing your brows.

“You’re the only thing that brings me home. And I don’t mean physically. You’re the only reason I can find my way back to myself. You remind me of the love the world is capable of. Not even Foggy can do that for me the way that you do. Can’t you see that you’re it for me? Without you, I am just a man walking hand in hand with the Devil. There is no point without you.”

“Matty.” You sighed, caressing his cheekbones as tears cascaded down his face. 

Matt wasn’t sure what he wanted you to say. That he did deserve love, or maybe that you weren’t going to leave him after tonight was over, or maybe anything besides ‘I don’t love you anymore’. 

“Don’t leave me.” He begged, barely above a whisper, so tired of the war raging in his mind. If there was anything he was capable of doing tonight, it was pleading with you for this. Beyond that, he was useless. “Don’t leave.”

“Will you lay with me?” You asked, and Matt nearly collapsed into your hold. It was not what he was expecting, but he would take it. The inevitable self-hatred and doubt about this moment echoed in the back of his mind, but he was ignoring it for once. All he wanted to do was lay with you, so that’s exactly what he did.

Tell me that you're still mine

Tell me that we'll be just fine

Even when I lose my mind

I need to say

Tell me that it's not my fault

Tell me that I'm all you want

Even when I break your heart

I need to say

I don't wanna do, I don't wanna do this to you (Ooh)

I don't wanna lose, I don't wanna lose this with you (Ooh)

I need to say, hey, it's all me, just don't go

Meet me in the afterglow

Matt was on the verge of tears again, lying next to you in the bed that you had shared with each other for so many nights. He was so afraid of losing this, losing you. He wasn’t entirely sure he would survive if you asked him to leave after this. He wasn’t entirely sure that mindset was healthy, either, but that didn’t stop him from contemplating it. He was here, and you were here, and if he was destined to live in this doubt forever, then at least he would die next to you.

Your tears had long dried up, but the ache deep inside you was palpable and overwhelming and he didn’t know what to do. The hand you had led him here with, the one that you still held, the only thing connecting your body to his was his safety blanket. This was what people called a safe space, he thought. For the first time in a long time, Matt began to silently pray.

He prayed for you, and he prayed for himself, and mostly, he prayed for love. He prayed that the night would last forever, so that he could lay next to you for the remainder of his life. He prayed for forgiveness, and begged for yours. He prayed for the strength it would take if you didn’t grant it to him. Because if you asked him to leave, he would. It would hurt and possibly - no, definitely - kill him, but he’d do it, because you deserved that, at least. The possibilities of the night were endless, and that was the scariest thing to Matt. Anything could happen.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, lightly squeezing his hand.

“I’m praying.” He murmured, squeezing your hand back.

“About what?”

“About you.” 

“Oh, Matty.” 

The smile on your face, the steady thump of your elevated heart rate, felt like a win. Comfortable silence overtook the room, and you were so still for so long that anyone else might’ve thought you had fallen asleep, but Matt knew better. You were thinking, contemplating every word that had been shouted, pleaded, and begged tonight. All the while, Matt prepared himself for the worst.

“The sun’s coming up.” You murmured.

“Yeah?” It was all he could muster. Everything hurt, and he never wanted this moment to end.

“Yeah.” You swept your fingertips over his cheeks, following the path of the sun as it draped itself across both of your bodies. 

Matt swallowed, opened his mouth to ask the dreaded question, and then closed it and swallowed again. The gentle caress of your fingers felt like a brand in his skin. Finally, in a thick voice he asked for the second time in a matter of hours, “Do you want me to go?”

“Oh, Matty.” You whispered, tears welling in your eyes, and Matt’s heart sank into the ground below him. He thought he could do this, but he couldn’t. He was just supposed to leave what you had built with him? After everything, he was just supposed to count his losses and move on? No fucking way. His breathing had picked up, and he was so focused on his pounding heart that he almost missed the rest of your sentence. “I never wanted you to go. I just wanted you to understand how lonely I’ve been without you. I’m upset with you, but I’ll always love you, and I’ll never be the one asking you to leave.”

Matt stopped breathing for a moment, soaking in the warm relief as it crashed through him. He didn’t have to go, and you loved him. You loved him. You loved him.

“Are you sure?” He forced himself to ask, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

You let out a small giggle and pressed your lips to his forehead before responding. “Of course I’m sure, Matty. But it has to change, okay? We can’t do this to each other again.”

Matt could hardly believe the words coming out of your mouth. He would do anything to keep you here, holding him, keeping him safe, loving him. Anything.

“I promise.” He murmured, grabbing at your face to pull it closer to his. “I love you.”

He pressed a million kisses into your face until you let out the melodic laugh that he felt he could get drunk on. He would do anything to hear that sound again, to be the one causing that sound. Anything.

-

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @soft-emo-enby @purple-amaranthe @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @alina02 @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @thedevilwearsblack @merleisapartygod @legocity2 @violet-19999 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @shoxji @layazul @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @lazyxsquirrel @honeysucklepotter @m0nster-fvcker @matthewmurdockswhore @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @scoliobean @infinityisbright @myguiltypleasures21

@thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @goddesspsyche @mxxnligxt @ladamari68 @dnxgma @evyiione @twsssmlmaa @gpenguin666 @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @ginnysculture @ryebreadsworld @freakinfairykind @blue-03 @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt

[ensemblesongs]

⟟ TRIP album directory.

🐝 NA NA NA SUMMER NIGHT BeeAT | -Corner- | Noisy:Beep | Crazy Roulette | RISKY VENUS | Honeycomb Summer | Ariadne At My Fingertips | PARANOIA STREET | Helter-spider | Crazy Anthem | Be the Party Bee! | -Exit- | Thrill Addict | Eyes on me, Hold me tight | Petal's Resolution | Yummy・Tummy・LOVE!!

🐇 *Dream Opening* | Light Spectrum | うさぎの森の音楽会 | Parallel Maze | Love it Love it | FALLIN' LOVE=IT'S WONDERLAND | Sunny Day Sugar Wave | *Happy Closing* | Centre of the theatre | Hopping on the music notes! | SUPER SPACE STAR☆ | Sketch of Me

🎭 Nebula | Foggy Night | Sleeper Mystery Train | =EYE= | Stippling | Secret of Metropolis | Bye-Bye Buddy | No Name Yet | Handcraft | HELLO, NEW YEAR! | CROSS SHINE

🕊 Angelic Grace | Sunlight | Never-ending Stage!!! | Love is Primavera! | The Tempest Night | Ghostic Treat House | Dreaming Ocean | Gloaming | Dawning Angels | Feathers of Ark | Crystal Heart | Wandering Clown | Treasure Memories | Welcome back, dear moment

🌹 -Open the cover- | Library of Blessings | Eternal Weaving | Turn a page | Acanthe | Electronic Labyrinth | Le temps des fleurs | Beautiful Nightingale | -Close the book- | Amor Vincit Omnia | Dreaming Architecture

🃏 DiZZineSs | Black Out See Saw | Kiss of Life | Living on the edge | Distorted Heart | You're speculation | VERMILION | Hysteric Humanoid | Believe 4 leaves | UNDYING HOLY LOVE | Tsubasa Moratorium | SOLID SOUL | I LOVE "LOVE" ♡ | Raise the Velvet | Starlight of Faith

🎧 J△MMinG☆ | Twinkle Aerial Battle | Fighting Dreamer | Love×me⇄monsteR | Turbulent Storm | POLYPHONIC WORLD | Swee2wink Love Letter | ∞AB+DUCT+I→ON∞ | GO-AHEAD SIGNAL | A WAY OF LIGHT

🦇 Tsumi no Soko | Resurrection of Soul | Nightless World | Savage Love Affair | No one knows... | FORBIDDEN RAIN | Sustain Memories | Fiery Scream | SURF ON SMILE | ENGRAVE LIVES | BURNING BODY

🍁 (Yet to release) Fuuga | Ito | Akatsuki Iroha Uta | Natsudori no Uta -Summer Bird- | Gekkou Kitan | Konjiki Senya Yumebutai | Yozora, Saritote Kasasagi wa | ROCK ROAR | Unpredictable Reincarnation | Kurenai Henrei | Uta Seishin Keppuroku

Post will actively be updated...🖋 low quality of certain older uploads to be fixed in due time!

[niphredil-14]

hey so how do you think the rottmnt boys would deal with their s/o mutating into a beautiful yet strong creature like a non poisonous snake but sharp teeth or tiger. It was painful. S/o isn’t going to be in their right mind for the next day. If the boys attempt to touch s/o or move them, s/o bites if snake/whacks if tiger, at their boyfriends arm as a warning and lets go while hissing. A day passes and s/o feels like themselves again yet they don’t remember what happened and they go find their boyfriend and are very confused and panicky, but they’re normal mentally again, “what happened? You’re the last thing I remember. Why am I a tiger/snake? What happened to your arm?” ?

I know this took forever im so sorryyy

Raph:

Realistically, I think that in the moment of the mutation, Raph would handle it the best. His years as leader really gave him the ability to compartmentalize, and to stay calm in the moment, and break down later. His focus would be on getting you out of the situation, and to somewhere safe enough to address what had happened. He would be at a loss for what to do. He is the brawn, and while he does have strategy skills, I don't think something as technical as a mutation would really be something in his skillset. He doesn't know how to guide you through it, all he can do it stay nearby and do his best to stay calm while trying to comfort you with sweet words, spoken softly. After you change, and are still in a foggy, confused mental state fear and anger, he will still not leave you. Even if you attack him. All I can imagine is him holding you close to him until you physically calm down, even if you're still not calm mentally, much lie how you would with a small, scared animal. You can scratch, bite, and attack him all you want, but he loves you, and will not leave you, no matter what. When you come to once more, right in your mind, but very different physically, I would imagine that you'd panic again, afraid. At least until you realize that you're being cradled by Raph, who is sitting against a wall, not fully asleep but having a little doze. His eyes would snap open upon feeling you squirm, and he would begin questioning and checking on you rapid-fire. You'd barely be able to get a word out. When he realized that you had no memory since before mutating, he would explain the situation as delicately as possible. Would honestly be great at caring for and supporting you post mutation. He's super sweet and understanding, and if anything, I think he might be a bit more comfortable dating a mutant because it would make him feel a bit less monstrous. Though I think he would love you regardless.

Leo:

Portals you out as soon as you begin mutating. I think that Leo would want to be close and hold you and comfort you while you turn, but when you begin attacking him, I think he would resign himself to sitting at the other end of the room from you, or observing through a portal in case you need anything. His heart would break, he is the type to want to sacrifice himself so that his loved ones never have to suffer anything ever in their entire lives, and the fact that he couldn't save you hurts him deeply. I think that once you were back to being yourself, he would be super attentive, but would try to seem a bit more chill than he was feeling. He would answer all your questions seriously, but would throw in a ton of jokes, to try to lighten the mood. This would be borderline infuriating, as it would likely be to such a degree that you would feel as though he wasn't taking you seriously. You would need to express this to him, but once you did, he would tone it down and be much more serious. I think that aside from a slight learning curve, your new form wouldn't really change your relationship.

Donnie:

Donnie would be full fledged panicking. Leo or Raph would probably have to slap him, and yell orders for him to snap out of it and get you to safety. He would bring you to his lab so that he could best monitor and assist you during your mutation. He would do his best to say physically with you, but once you start attacking, he would probably have his bots move you to a more secure part of the lab, where he would be safe behind some kind of glass while still being able to speak to and watch you. When you were once again in your right mind, he would explain everything that had occurred, and would give you time to process that before going over options with you. If you were fine to continue on as a mutant, it wouldn't change the way that he views you, but if you wanted to be human again, he would start working on a retro-mutagen. All in all I think that he would love you regardless, but would follow whatever course of action you wanted and would make you feel best about yourself.

[littlexscarletxwitch]

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲

paring: florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff, based on endgame by taylor swift (you don't understand how much i'm loving this song), cute gf flo

warning(s): grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 2.2k

note: omg, it's finally here. I'm so sorry it took me sooo long, it just I was super busy. Was this inspire by Ms. Taylor Swift? Yes, yes it was. I really hope you guys like this one. I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Love you all so much <3

note 2: guys, I'm currently reading 'Delilah Green doesnt' care' and it's giving me so many ideas for fics. So would any of you be interest in more mum!florence? Please let me know. Xoxo, M

requests are open! + check my rules here + masterlist <3

Your eyes were closed, your head was on her chest listening to her steady heartbeats, a soft smile formed on your lips.

“Promise me this is forever,” you whispered. 

You knew she was awake, she was doing the same thing as you, enjoying the moment, living in the present.

Your eyes found hers already looking at you. 

“I promise,” she said, her smile mirroring yours. 

Her lips found yours as if sealing the promise forever, but nothing ever lasts forever. The kiss that was first sweet and soft and filled with love, turned bitter, harsh and cold. You pulled back confusion written all over your face. 

You blink once then twice, and suddenly you were waking up on your bed, alone. You cursed yourself at the stupid memory. It was so pathetic to still think about Florence that way. You two were history, long forgotten, just a memory of your adolescence. 

You shook your head, trying to wake up your foggy brain from the nap you had taken. And decided to get some work done as a way to clear your head from your silly old fantasies.  

You made yourself a cup of tea, grabbed your notebook and put your headphones on. You only had three more months to finish your second album. The deadline wasn’t much of a concern of yours, what bothered you was the lack of inspiration. Every lyric you would write down was just trash, it was as if you were missing something. So far you had only five finished songs, and you needed ten more to have the album finished. 

You were humming, moving your head to the beat as you let your brain come up with the right words, but it felt as if you were stuck.

“I wanna be your endgame,” you sang to the beat. “I wanna be, I wanna be your… ” you threw your head back in annoyance, frustration getting the best out of you. 

You had been sitting on the floor for the last hour, trying to finish this one song but you were not even close to it. You took a deep breath trying not to lose your shit. Your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a new notification and that took your whole attention. 

“Y/n Y/l/n and Drew Starkey spotted out for dinner,” you read out loud and couldn’t help rolling your eyes at the link your manager and best friend had sent you.

According to the news, you were dating both Drew Starkey and Joe Keery. You also almost got engaged the week before to Rudy Pankow, but apparently cheated on him with Maya Hawke. You knew better than to actually pay attention to fake news, but you couldn’t help to. After all that was now your life, the life of a startpop in the making, so much for a boring Oxford kid. 

Your reputation precedes you, in rumours you were knee-deep. But there was nothing you could do about it. Exhausted from your social life and the poor lack of motivation to do the one thing you loved the most, you decided to go out on a walk, hoping it would help to clear your thoughts about both the fake news and Florence, who you tried to ignore from thinking of. But ever since that dream you found yourself thinking about her more often. 

You knew she was as famous as you were, maybe even more. You had to admit to yourself that some nights you found some kind of comfort in her movies, watching her cute pouty face, the one she was most known for. 

She was your first love, she taught you how to love, what it was to be loved. Of course it wasn’t easy to forget about her, even after all these years, some part of you still craved her love. It wasn’t that you didn’t love each other when you both decided to go separate ways, it was because things weren’t so simple anymore. You two weren’t just two teenargs in love, you were slowly becoming adults. She had booked roles and you were making your way into the music industry. 

And without the two of you knowing you two just drifted apart, the two of you too caught up in your careers. But you loved her, so you decided to let her go, hoping and praying to the universe that maybe she would come back to you one day. 

Your thoughts were interrupted as you opened the door to your local cafe and someone bumped into you. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t… “ but you stopped cold once you saw the strangers eyes. 

“Y/n?” she asked, her voice as soft and raspy as you remembered. “What are you doing here?” a smile formed on her face, as if she was genuinely happy to see you. 

You shook your head trying to clear out your mind, was Florence really in front of you? “I, um, I lived here,” you blinked once, twice and she was still there. “Just around the corner,” you added, cursing yourself for being so awkward. “What are you doing here?” 

Was this a sign of the universe? Have your prayers been answered? 

“Visiting my family,” right her family, you thought. “Well, not just that, I’m also working,” she scratched the back of her neck. “I was actually hoping to see you, too.”

“Really?” that had to mean something, the universe couldn't be messing around with you this cruelly. Right?

“Yeah, I have, um… I have been thinking about you.” she smiled at you and you felt the butterflies in your stomach. “I think we should talk.”

“I, um,” what were you supposed to say? Were you willingly going to agree to spend time with the love of your life as if the two of you were going to be just friends? What was that supposed to mean?

“Yeah, sure. When are you free?” you finally agree.

You mentally checked your schedule, you were supposed to finish your songs but taking a break wouldn’t hurt anybody. Plus, you were going to get your coffee and get back to it right away. 

“Um, what about now?” 

Shit, you thought. She wasn’t going to give you any time to prepare yourself. Well, you better get into it, rip it off like a band aid. 

“Okay, I was going to get a coffee and then we can…”

“Yeah, yeah, take your time. I’m going to find us a table.”

You order your coffee while mentally preparing for the conversation the two of you were going to have. What was she on about? Was it really a big coincidence? Did the universe put her in our path for some reason? You shook your head, you needed to stop thinking about the universe’s way of working for a second.

They handed you your coffee and now you had no more excuses to avoid her, not that you wanted to. Some part of you long to be near her, but you were scared of what this whole thing was about. 

“So, um, what’s up with Drew?” she tried to pretend she didn’t care but was actually dying to know if you were actually dating him, not that you noticed it.

“Who?”

“Drew? Starkey?”

“Oh, yeah, Drew,” you chuckled, silly you for forgetting your own friend. “He’s just a friend, a really good friend,” was it your imagination or did she just let out a breath of relief. “What about Ashley?” you asked before taking a sip of your coffee. 

She smiled at you, “She’s also a really good friend.”

“So, um…”

“Listen, Y/n…”

The both of you chuckled. 

“You go first, Flo”

That nickname. It was stupid because everyone who knew her would call her ‘Flo’, but coming out of your lips felt different. She had missed hearing her name on your lips, she had missed you. 

“I’m just going to say it, okay?” you only nodded. “I lied earlier, I’m not here for work or visiting my family. I came here to find you,” your lips parted in disbelief. “Ever since we broke things apart, I had been feeling like something was missing, Y/n. And I recently realised it was you. Well, I saw the article about you getting married and all I could think of was that something wasn’t right.”

“Florence I…”

“No, please let me finish,” she cut you off. “I understand that  we are strangers to each other, but I would love to get to know you once again. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, it can be like a fresh start. I just really need you in my life, Y/n. I miss my best friend.”

You took another sip of your coffee, stealing time before giving her an answer. The truth was you already knew what you wanted, you knew it the moment you sat at the table, but you wanted to mess with her just a little bit. 

You put your cup down, and finally your eyes found hers, “I would like nothing more.”

[...]

Ever since that day, Florence and you had been spending everyday together. Catching up with each other and going back to old habits. 

The more you hang out with her, the more you could feel your old feeling coming back. But you didn’t want to rush things just to ruin them again. But one particular afternoon you couldn't hold back anymore and decided to do something about it. 

She had fallen asleep 30 minutes ago, you chuckled as you realised her current state because she had picked out the movie but turns out she was more tired than what she let you see. 

You headed to your small studio and decided to get back to the song you were working on before running into Florence. You  knew exactly what you wanted to say, having found your new inspiration a few weeks ago. 

You pressed play and the music started playing, you already had a few things written down in your notebook you just needed to put all your ideas together. 

You were so lost and immersed in finishing the song, going at it back and forth, changing some lyrics, singing some ideas, writing and crossing out some bits, that you didn’t realise someone was watching you just when you were about to finish. 

You had already recorded the whole song and were just checking it out when Florence leaned in the frame door. 

Florence smiled as she listened to your sweet voice. She wondered who this song was about. 

Knew her when I was young, reconnected when we were little bit older

Both sprung, I got issues and chips on both of my shoulders

She didn’t want to get her hopes up.

Reputation precedes me, in rumors, I'm knee-deep

The truth is, it’s easier to ignore it, believe me

She felt her heart shrinking in her chest.

Even when we'd argue, we'd not do it for long

And you understand the good and bad end up in the song

She listened closely to the song as you hummed to it.

For all your beautiful traits and the way you do it with ease

For all my flaws, paranoia, and insecurities

Her heartbeat and body temperature were rising.

I've made mistakes and made some choices, that's hard to deny

After the storm, something was born on the 4th of July

I've passed days without fun, this end game is the one

With four words on the tip of my tongue, I'll never say it

She couldn't take it any longer. 

“I like it,” she said, getting closer to where you were sitting. “It’s catchy,” she said, trying to shake her feeling away. That song could be about anyone.

“I feel like something’s missing,” you scrunch your nose.

“Sing the corus to me, please,” she looked at you with her doe eyes and you swear you could have melted in that moment. 

You shook your head with a smile on your face and compiled, “I wanna be your endgame, endgame,” you finished singing the chorus. “And then it goes. Big reputation, big reputation. Ooh, you and me, we got big reputations, ah,” you sang, trying to not look at Florence. 

“You know, it sounds awfully familiar,” she teased, wanting nothing more than for it to be true. 

“And you heard about me, ooh. I got some big enemies,” you kept on going.

“What are you trying to say, Y/n?” she kept on pushing you. 

“Big reputation, big reputation. Ooh, you and me would be a big conversation, ah. And I heard about you, ooh. You like the bad ones, too,” you finished, trying to tell her that you were thinking exactly what she was thinking. 

She was so close to you now, her knees brushing against yours, sending electricity throughout your body. You could feel her hot breath on your lips. 

“I want to…” she didn’t finish her sentence because you were already nodding and she smashed her lips to yours in a second. 

You felt as if a wave of cold water was washing over you. Her lips felt both familiar and new at the same time. You felt at home as she wrapped her arm around your waist and her other hand cupped your cheek. You didn’t want to ever stop kissing her, but both you and her needed to breathe so ultimately pulled apart. 

She rested her forehead on yours, both of her hands cupping your cheeks, caressing your skin with her fingertips. 

“I wanna be your endgame,” you quietly sang to her. 

She chuckled before kissing you again and again and again. 

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! &lt;3

-M

[darl-ingfics]

Sicktember Day 16: Toxin/Poison

Fandom: BTS

Sickie: Taehyung (general illness)

Caregiver(s): Seokjin

Word Count: 670

Notes: Prepare for a super cheeky take on “poison”

Seokjin heard the shuffling steps on the stairs, punctuated by a few coughs and congested sniffles, before he saw Taehyung round the corner from the stairs. The young man looked like an absolute mess, face pale, bags hanging under his eyes, clothes (correction, pajamas trying to pass for clothes) disheveled, his hair sticking out at odd angles because he hadn’t brushed it in the past 48 hours. In fact, Seokjin hadn’t even seen Taehyung for the past 48 hours, since their solo schedules were out of sync. Not to mention that Taehyung had slept through 40 of the past 48 hours. Jimin had been the one to tell the rest of the group that Taehyung was sick, and Seokjin had tried to take a step back and not fuss too much because Taehyung had been making comments recently about being an adult and not wanting his hyungs to baby him anymore. 

But seeing the younger man now, looking pathetic as anything, Seokjin knew there was a difference between wanting to be fussed over and needing to be fussed over. Taehyung looked about three seconds from keeling over into a feverish, sniffly puddle of stress. He didn’t acknowledge Jin sitting at the kitchen table as he passed through the living room on his way to the door. Which was weird. Seokjin set his book down suspiciously.

“Hey, babe, what are you doing?” he called. Taehyung paused, turning slowly to look back at Seokjin, as if seeing him for the first time. His expression didn’t change, but Seokjin assumed he was taken by surprise at his presence. There was probably too much of a haze in his head to care. 

“Going out,” he replied plainly, voice gravelly and even deeper than normal. He slid on his coat.

Seokjin's eyebrows knit together. “Where are you going?”

“We’re out of milk.”

The older man shook his head, resisting the urge to laugh. “No we aren’t. Get back in bed. You’re drunk.”

“But I didn’t even drink anything…” Taehyung replied hazily, sorting through the foggy memories he had of that morning. “Not even water… well, actually yeah, water. Jimin gave me water, but Jimin doesn’t spike drinks…”

“Tae, it was joke,” Seokjin replied. “And the fact that you didn’t get it means that you’re way too sick to be out of bed, and definitely too sick to go out for milk.” 

“But…”

“No buts,” Seokjin cut him off, sliding his chair away from the table and gliding over to his sick friend. “Jimin would probably kill me if he knew I’d let you out of the house, or even out of bed. And you don’t want Jimin to go to jail for murder right?”

“No.” Taehyung shook his head vehemently. Seokjin smiled, quickly placing his hand on Taehyung’s forehead to confirm that, yes, he was probably very delirious, but nothing serious enough to warrant an adventure to the hospital. 

“Then why don’t we go back upstairs?” Jin offered lightly, smoothly pulling the coat from Taehyung’s shoulders and stringing an arm around the younger man’s waist before leading him back to the stairs. Taehyung simply nodded in response, allowing himself to be moved. Seokjin probably could have gotten him to do a lot of things right now, to say some pretty hilarious shit, but that would’ve been very cruel. Funny, but cruel.

The stairs were much easier to traverse than Seokjin had expected, Taehyung still in full capacity of movement despite how heavily he was leaning against Seokjin as they climbed the flight. 

“Alright, Tae,” Seokjin grunted as they reached the room the younger vocalist shared with Jimin. He gave Taehyung a very gentle (don’t want to hurt him now) push towards the bed. “Climb on in.” Taehyung did as instructed, curling up on his side and coughing roughly into his wrist. “Want some more water? Promise I won’t spike it.” 

Taehyung smiled up at him, sincere and sweet. He’d remembered that joke. “Thank you, hyung.” 

Seokjin smiled back from the doorway. “Anything for you, love.”

[ccstiles]

(moonrise au: whether things got spicy or not is up to you)

Seth wakes the morning after his first transformation. It takes a moment for him to register the fact he’s lying on his side and isn’t still chained up. There’s a quilt cover draped over him, mildly musty from sitting in Doll’s closet for who knows how long.

The events of the previous night come back. It’s kinda foggy, seeing as he wasn’t really all there, but he remembers some stuff. Like how Doll laid down a futon and a couple sleeping bags for him to sleep on so he wouldn’t wake up on the cold hard floor.

He sits up and realizes his clothes are torn up. Shit. Probably should have thought about that. Dammit, he really liked this jacket. At least his dog tags only came undone and didn’t completely break.

Seth looks to his left. Right, Doll insisted on staying down there with him. Good thing for that day bed. Looks like they’re out like a light. He can’t necessarily blame them, they were up for hours. They’re just lucky the shop was closed that day.

Omg, more sillies!

When Seth first woke up, he didn't know where he was for a moment. All of last night was a blur as his brain was still catching up to him. Looking down, he sees that underneath the old quilt that was covering him, his clothes were torn to shreds.

'oh great' he thought to himself, assessing the state of his clothes, and cringing as he realized the state his jacket was in. 'dammit, this was my favorite jacket'

When he tried to get up, though, his arm bumped into something solid. Turning to see what was laying next to him, he froze.

Peacefully sleeping right next to him, was Doll. And right as he realized that, was when the memories of the previous night came flooding in.

His face burst into color before he hid it behind his hands. He couldn't believe what had happened! He had been trying his hardest to stay away from them so that way he didn't accidentally hurt them, but it seems like luck wasn't on his side.

"stupid mutt" he sighed into his hands, cursing the werewolf that he could hear laughing at him in his head. He wanted to kill that stupid thing. Sadly though, he wouldn't get the chance.

Doll started to stir right next to him, yawning as they sat up. Looking up at Seth, they smiled.

"good morning! How did you sleep?" Doll smiled at him as they stretched out their arms.

Seth couldn't understand how they could act so normal after all... That! It was surprising to him that they weren't teasing him or asking any questions.

Before he could say anything, Doll had stood up from where they had been sleeping, turning to face Seth and noting the state of his clothes.

"I'll go grab you something to wear and then start on breakfast, ok?" Doll smiled at him before turning to leave the basement, leaving a very confused Seth behind.

"what just... Happened??" Seth asked out loud, before getting a not so unexpected answer.

"that, boy, is what happens when you actually let people in" Seth grumbled as his werewolf answered him.

"I wasn't talking to you!" Seth wished that werewolves were more like in the movies, so that he didn't have to deal with a super old, super annoying werewolf that always made comments to him.

"whatever. You know I did a big favor for you" the werewolf mused, "if I didn't, you would have never told them how you felt"

"yeah, I know," Seth sighed as he started to take off his jacket and peel the remnants of his shirt off of him, "and I wanted it to stay that way."

"you know, we aren't as dangerous as you think. And they're not as fragile as you think either" his werewolf continued to reason with him.

"you don't know that," Seth snapped, "I don't trust you. Sure, you were nice to them last night, but don't think I fully believe you."

"Seth?" A voice came from the stairs. Looking up, he could see Doll had returned with a change of clothes.

"I tried my best, but they might be a bit tight on you" Doll said as they handed the clothes off to Seth.

"oh uh, thanks sugar" Seth thanked them as he began to put the shirt and sweatpants on.

"I'll start on breakfast now, how do you like your eggs?" Doll smiled at him as he finished getting dressed.

"oh, you don't have to do that-" Seth tried to stop them, but his stomach interrupted him with a loud growl. "... scrambled is fine."

Doll only giggled as they led him back up into their house and sat him down at the kitchen counter while they started on breakfast.

"see? They're perfectly fine, there's nothing to worry about" never the type to let go, Seth's werewolf continued to pester him.

"will you shut up?" Seth whispered, trying to keep Doll from hearing, but they heard it anyways.

"is something wrong Seth?" Doll asked him as they started on the sausages.

"oh, nothin. Just that stupid flea bag" he huffed.

"oh is the werewolf being mean?" Doll giggled, "tell him I said to stop it, maybe that'll help"

"thanks sugar, but nothing shuts it up" Seth sighed, putting his head in his palm, "trust me, I've tried"

"well," Doll said as they placed the plate in front of Seth, "have you tried working with your werewolf instead of against it?"

"huh?" Seth asked, "why would that make any difference?"

"Because, from my understanding, the werewolf is supposed to be a part of you," Doll spoke as they ate their breakfast, "if you fight against it, you're only fighting against yourself. So it's only going to be a losing battle"

Seth thought about what they were saying before they went on again.

"if you accept the werewolf, and let it in, you won't have as many problems with it," Doll smiled, "or at least, that's my theory"

"hmmm," Seth hummed as he finished his food, "I guess I never thought of it that way."

Now that he was actually thinking about it, Doll was right. Even though it felt like they were two different beings sharing a body, it was really only Seth, just two versions of him. The more he fought against it, against himself, the harder it was to control.

"thank you sugar, you might actually have a point" Seth looked at them and smiled.

"thanks! I don't get paid to just sit at the desk and look pretty, I do have some smarts" Doll giggled as they too finished their food.

Seth just smiled at them as they took both of the plates to the sink to wash them. As he watched them, though, something else started to bug him.

"hey, uh, sugar?" Doll looked up at him as he started to talk. "About last night. I... Uh"

"we don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to" Doll gave him a soft smile as they spoke, "I can tell it's hard for you, so we can wait till you're ready to talk about it."

Seth didn't know what to say before he just smiled at them. "Thanks sugar. What did I ever do to deserve you?"

Doll just smiled back before they both went back to sitting in a comfortable silence, basking in each other's presence.

(dang that was way longer than I thought it would be-)

[moonxmagix]

MCR Songs & their vibes

MCR songs and whether I think they’re day, night, sunrise, or sunset songs.  Also adding seasons.  If you get it, you get it. If you don’t then idk what to tell  you homie. I do get carried away & include scenarios I personally picture with the songs. It took me a couple hours to write this so please read. This might make more sense for my fellow autistics though:  

First album: Bullets

As an overall album I don’t have a set season for it BUT if I had to pick it would be a transition from Summer to Fall. It’s also more of a Day album for me but not ever sunny. With exception of sunsets. 

Romance - Sunset but when the sun is almost down, Summer but transitioning into Fall 

HTMIBHFTBOU - Night but just after Sunset, still that Summer to Fall transition  

Vampires - Night, but sometimes fits a cloudy rainy day, Fall

Drowning Lessons - Night, probably around 9pm, then again I get rain vibes, Fall but  exceptionally chilly this day

Our Lady of  Sorrows -  Night, Fall, i imagine being aggressively drunk to this song in  some small shitty venue 

Headfirst for Halos - Day but slowly transitions into sunset, nice fall day

Skylines and Turnstiles - Day but super rainy/cloudy to where it looks night,  Fall

Early Sunsets Over Monroeville  - Day and night because it starts  off nice then progressively gets darker, winter

TITBDE - Sunset/night but  like right after the sunset, i imagine being at the fairground & setting the firewheel ablaze, Summer transition into Fall

Cubicles - Day but cloudy, Fall but getting close to winter, being miserable at a shitty  corporate office job, coffee & cigarettes 

Demolition Lovers - Day into night, Winter, blood in the snow

Second Album: Revenge  

Easily a Fall album with SOME Winter exceptions. From the story we know I get lots of vibes of murder and suicide. I get lots of screaming and yelling between a couple vibes too. Definitely a Night time album overall.  

Helena - Day but rainy & cloudy, funeral vibes but that’s so obvious, peak Fall

Give ‘em Hell Kid - Day but very cloudy it’s almost night, Fall,  definitely ‘just got out of school 4 the day’ vibes

To The End - Night,  a very eerie night somewhere in the woods bc you & your friends found a vampires mansion and the lore to the house is that a husband & wife lived there but they killed each other, Fall

YKWTDTGLUIP - Night but you're in prison so you don’t care what time of the day it is, Fall but it’s a bit chillier because it’s ALMOST winter 

I’m Not Okay (I promise) - Day, cloudy school day with light drizzle, Fall but a bit warmer but it feels like summer because the gym teacher made you run laps outside & you threw up on the side

The Ghost of You - Day/night but cloudy (Kinda going  off MV), Winter probably 

TJLIGKY -  Late Night, downtown somewhere sketchy in a hotel, missing person vibes tbh, rain, Fall transition into Winter 

Venom -  Night but early on, I imagine fighting for something you want/to keep living/fighting for love even if it’s not necessarily romantic love

Hang ‘Em High -  Day, Sunny fall day, emo cowboy vibes idc!, Sunset later on in the song though, very sinister & hungry eyes, possession comes to mind here

Fashion Statement - Night but just turned, graveyard, crawling out of coffin in ground, Fall but foggy

Cemetery Drive -  Day but cloudy and rainy, when you were found on the bathroom floor though it was night, staring out the window like a movie, Fall

INTYWIDFAL - Dead of the Night, lots of mania & killing, Staring at the mirror with blood on your hands, Fall

Third Album: Black Parade

This album is Winter through and through! Definitely a transition into Day from  Night. Themes of death obvi  and incompletion and self hatred. Lots of fire and potentially setting stuff ablaze, so arson! Memories on memories. 

The End - Day but you’re in an auditorium watching a play/musical until Night, lots of screaming & agony, Fall but just about Winter

Dead! - Day but it’s cloudy, lots of dreaming & being taunted by death, Winter

TIHID - Night, being in the woods late at night, walking in snow barefoot & blood trailing behind, seeing ghost, Winter 

The Sharpest Lives - Night but it’s  2am, drunk, cigarettes, trying to comes to term w/ your career & how you won't achieve anything, Winter

WTTBP - Day into Night, cloudy, dead of Winter but lot’s of fire to keep warm, seeing death finally 

I Don’t  Love You - Day but cloudy & rainy, Fall transition into winter, painful breakup but we knew that

House of Wolves - Night but downtown vibes so the lights keep everything alive, running  from cops vibes, personal rebellion against church & religion, reminiscing on running the streets with friends when young, the memories are Summer but song is Winter

Cancer - Right after Sunrise, patient dies early in the cloudy morning, body stays in bed until Night though so family can visit, lots of flashback of memories, Winter

Mama - Night, arguing with family, lots of anger, war flashbacks, rainy Winter

Sleep - 4am Night,  nightmares, sleeping in shitty hotel, haunted hotel,  creaky floorboards, sleep paralysis, Winter

Teenagers - Day, Fall, zombie like & judgy teenagers, reminiscing on teenage years, violence  

Disenchanted  - Night, drinking yourself away, disappointment, feeling like you didn’t do enough, Winter, around Christmas

Famous Last Words - Night 12am, realizing your memory will forever live on, coming to terms w/ death, Winter but the fire is enough to keep you warm

Fourth Album: Danger Days

If you say anything else but Summer you're just wrong. Blazing summer heat & just sweaty musty & dusty mf’s.  Themes of fighting for what’s right, the power of friendship & love. Partying in the desert. Obviously a Day time album. 

Na Na Na - Day,  blazing hot in the desert, partying at some underground rave, hanging head out window to shoot the corporation ppl, robbery, Summer

Bulletproof Heart - Sunset, lots of smiling & laughing w/ crush, trying to runaway with crush to somewhere better, one of the lovers dies because of Korse, Summer but it’s very breezy 

SING - Night, “I’m gonna save the world” vibes, sneaking  around,  cool Summer night

Planetary (GO!) - Sunset but it’s just about to be night, partying, lots of colorful lazerbeams and strobe, very sweaty,  Summer 

TOHFMIY - Sunset, fighting for friends & showing them love, taking pictures with friends on a desert cliff, Summer

Party Poison - Day, pompous ass character, fighting for what’s right, protest, Summer

SYIHTB - Day into Night, fighting off the Exterminators, stealing cars & sneaking off, sneaky make out session, helping friends get away from Exterminators, Summer 

Scarecrow - Day almost Sunset, feeling safe, finding a place to rest & collect thoughts, maybe mourn the people you lost, being found &  have to keep moving, Summer but it’s not humid

Summertime - Day into Night, so much love, finally got with crush, telling story of them, sappy,  laying in the desert/on-top of car & staring at the stars, hot Summer day but chilly night

Destroya - Day, horny, so hot you had to get almost naked, fighting against corporation  by holding a concert of sorts to raise awareness, borderline dehydration, blazing Summer heat

The Kids From Yesterday - Sunset, reminiscing hard, missing childhood/younger self, living in the moment, hand holding w/ friends, realizing you’re not actually alone, Summer into Fall

Vampire Money - Day, causing chaos with friends, so many crimes, more crimes,  scary teenagers, selling soul for fame, Summer in Los Angeles 

[workplacecomedian]

graaaAAA desperately need to draw this but [insert excuses] so i'm just writing this out for now to satisfy the monkey in the braincage

Far Flung AU, where Martin does indeed land Somewhere Else, but during their fall he's just become a blended smoothie of fear power, unable to identify as truly human nor avatar. This is wholly an excuse to let Martin go overpowered bonkers off the wall in the Protocol universe with many pinches of edgy and angst and next to no regard for canon as i'm not made for writing :] various rambling details on Martin's powers and whatnot below

in regards to powers, he's mostly an amalgamation of the Lonely, the Web, and the Eye, of course. again with the whole 'fear smoothie' role the specifics are a bit lost.

his form can have a bit of an afterimage, like someone playing a video or animation twice. like if he waves his arm, theres a second arm following the same motion. this is usually easily hidden when in public (especially since he can just will himself to be unnoticeable) but it can also flare up, intentionally or not. when this happens, the afterimage appears more inhuman, kind of gangly. at its peak, the second limbs can manipulate physical objects, but still make a habit of following the other limbs around. his face becomes disorienting- both for him to manipulate and whichever unlucky soul is looking at him to stare at. and, of course, this means sometimes he may get extra eyes that linger around longer than they should. this is a pretty solid mix of the three fears

speaking of eyes, he's able to...well. i wouldn't call it Knowing, but something close to it, and those afterimage eyes appearing are a telltale sign he's getting extremely vague information beamed into his brain. while he certainly helped serve Beholding, he also helped end its reign of terror, so any 'help' from it isn't super useful and isn't often, not unless it can serve the Eye in some way.

sticks to walls like spiderman. because i said so :] it's actually more, uh...spider friends sticking him to the wall, probably? not as crazy powerful as actual spiderman (spidermen?) but it's a fun power to imagine him having. watching from the building walls Ominously

he can drop into the Lonely/his domain at will, and i do mean 'drop' literally. bc again its funny and would look cool. im right <3

he can lock into people's memories, or like....make people become lost in thought, kind of? like when you get stuck daydreaming, in a way...still thinking on this one

design wise (admittedly most of this also works as my general headcanons too):

listen to me carefully. one side of his glasses is in decent shape; that side is where the afterimage eyes appear. the other side has a crack in them. its in an asymmetrical X shape, with three more lines around the center, like the world's shittiest web. when hes feeling A Lot, those eyes glow like sunset. blood redorange. pair it with the fog, and its like a really creepy version of a sunset through a densely foggy forest. do u see my vision. martin apparently doesn't, with those fucked up glasses. i think a chunk of panopticon debri smacked his forehead on the side with the cracked glass; give homie a fun little forehead/eyebrow scar. oh AND AND again when he's feeling Many Things, the crack in the glasses follows where he looks, to keep up the scattered light rays (dream logic and what have you!)

when martin worked with peter, peter would put his hand on the back of martin's neck in that way thats supposed to be friendly and comforting, but in hindsight just felt disgustingly controlling to martin. that spot- at the bottom of his hair, around his neck- is where i think the white hair would appear. when he has a hood up and he's feeling foggy, it turns into a kind of creepy mimicry of fuzzy/furry hoods, blocking his eyes (except for when they glow >:) (bonus: he gained a nervous tick of rubbing the back of his neck, after he first left the Lonely :)

and one more ability i think Martin would/could have, both in this AU and in (head)canon:

i have a very vivid idea of Martin being able to manipulate his domain for travel (and his domain is a foggy damp forest but that's besides the point). as in, in an emergency he can pop himself halfway into the Lonely and time is slightly slowed, but he has to be careful of where he does so- if there's a physical obstruction in his path on the physical plane and he doesn't clear that space in his domain, there's Consequences. like getting half buried in whatever material he just failed to walk through! actually i just remembered i wrote something out for this in a friend's dm...and since we're already waist deep in rambling:

Mr archivist took a hit on the leg, only half awake, maybe theyre running from like. Vampires or something bc its so funny vampires exist but are NEVER returned to. So martin is helping him with an arm wrapped around him, but their route gets blocked off. As they run up to a deadend wall, jon "politely" reminds him of such, but martin just yell-asks him how thick the wall is and tosses him over his shoulder. Eye does its thing and jon responds automatically as martin gains speed, busting into the lonely just before they run face first into brick, and its suddenly dead quiet in there, besides martin panting as he counts his running steps, and as they exit the fog he reacts like he just got gut punched and winded but keeps trying to run, footsteps leaving little foggy prints.. it buys them only a little time, but the disconnect from the eye or something shakes jon awake enough. Martin maybe pulls the foggy trick one or two more times to avoid the vampires coming back up to flank them, but it drains him each time, and at that point he tells jon hes gonna need some help, barely able to jog now in his stupor, and as he runs jon sits up against martins shoulder (or 'sits up' as best he can in that position) and gets to do his whole ceaseless watcher baloney and. Idk. I loved the visuals of someone on a motorcycle while their partner is on their lap shooting at pursuers behind them. Cursed and fucked up and evil version of that with martin running out of the fog and jon pulling a fun little pointing pose in martins grip as he curses the shit outta their own pursuers

anyway ty for indulging my rambling <3 have a nice day

[jellycreamjammedart]

Lost and Found (Super)Stars

PT. 3 (index/parts) (Tag: desktop/mobile)

FNAF Security Breach Ruin, post-"betrayal" elevator ending hurt/comfort, Found Family, something I like to call "Hopeful Horror"

Summary: Having had her kindness stomped on then spat back at her, betrayed by who she thought was her friend, and now stuck at the ruined remains of Freddy Fazbear's Mega PizzaPlex, Cassie tries to find the slightest bit of meaning and worth in all of this.

Everything was foggy at the seams, colors blurring together, but Cassie could make out a birthday cake before her (carrot cake, her favorite,) with a familiar wolf and bear as they both sung her a birthday song, a boy clapping along to the tune. She can feel her own face beaming with a wide smile before she blows the candles on the cake, somehow blowing everything and everyone around her as if everything was smoke of several colors, the singing fading away.

-

Cassie opens her eyes and blinks, looking up to see Roxy looking down at her with what she could imagine was a worried expression if she still had her facial features. She could feel the wolf's hand on her back, likely to stop her from being flat on the floor. "Huh... what happened?" She asks, bringing a hand to rub her eyes with her thumb and index.

Roxy's ears gave a light twitch, glad to hear the girl's voice. "It looks like you suffered a dizzy spell. From hitting your head in that elevator, I assume." It wouldn't be a stretch, given Cassie clearly had blood trickling down her head every now and then.

"Dizzy spell?" Cassie parroted, trying to sit herself more upright. "How long?"

"Not long. Around two minutes." Roxy, being a robot, could be sharply precise at counting time, but rounding it up seemed far more useful. "How are you feeling now?"

Cassie, took her hand away from her face, blinking her eyes a few times as she contemplates Roxy's concern. "... better. I think the dizziness passed." She looks down, seeing the V.A.N.N.I mask resting on her lap. Wordlessly, she puts it back on, immediately getting greeted by not only Helpi, but M.X.E.S as well, as the two digital beings look down at her along with Roxy.

"Oh, hey! You're finally awake!" Helpi exclaims, his blue eyes twinkling in relief and joy. "You had us worried there!" He glances back at the cybernetic rabbit. "Isn't that right?"

M.X.E.S rolls its eyes, crossing its arms as it glanced away. It didn't refute Helpi, however.

Helpi just chuckles slightly, winking at Cassie. "Don't mind them! They just need to get used to sharing the V.A.N.N.I system with me!"

Cassie blinks at the little bear. Sharing the V.A.N.N.I system? Helpi seemed to sense her inquisition. "When you configured the mask into a security node for them, it allowed them integration into the V.A.N.N.I system, just like me!" He paused to give Cassie a bemused smile. "It sure is something I've never considered possible, or considered at all! No one thought of this before. But perhaps it is good that you did." Helpi goes a little more serious, despite his adorable looks. "... their integration into the system appears to have expelled something else from the system." From serious, the tiny bear also expresses remorse, his smile fading a little. "... if I ever said or did anything that misled you and contributed to your plight, I am terribly sorry. That... might not have been truly me."

For an AI programmed to be just a work tool full of that soulless corporate talk, Helpi really does look like he feels guilty for unwittingly setting Cassie up, even though it's likely that he either didn't notice something was wrong or had no say in it. With M.X.E.S integrated into the V.A.N.N.I system, it seems the rabbit turned into an extra protection for the system including Helpi's AI. "I don't remember those moments really, though; it seems that in the process of securing my AI from further interception, my memories from those moments got corrupt. They might be repairable, but I don't see it happening anytime soon."

Well, bummer, if he could remember, he could pinpoint exactly when that thing intervened to lie to Cassie, but perhaps it's the price to pay for a more secure system thanks to M.X.E.S. The rabbit was single-handedly keeping both their minds safer.

Helpi shakes his head at himself, trying to switch back to his more peppy self. "But enough feeling bad! We have work to do, and you've proved to be cut for the job with your thinking outside the box! You'd make an excellent Faz-technician, if you were old enough Fazbear Entertainment would hire you on the spot!" Okay, that's a bit of the corporate talk junk, but beggars can't be choosers.

But either way Helpi was right: they have work to do.

"Think you can stand up?" Roxy asks cautiously as she felt Cassie stirring, keeping her hand on the child's back just in case. The girl lets out a positive hum in response.

"Yeah, I don't feel dizzy anymore."

"Good!"

But Cassie was careful anyways as she stood up to her feet. She looks from Roxy in her holographically reconstructed self, to Helpi, then to M.X.E.S, before briefly glancing to the bunny's server now up and running okay... then to that Glamrock Freddy backpack close to a collapsed vent. She picks it up in her hands, staring down at it. "It is Gregory's."

The name prompts a very low growl from Roxy somewhere behind Cassie but she doesn't say anything. She stares rather intently at the little nametag close to the bottom of the backpack, before her gaze shifted to what looked like muddy smudges from the vent. "I'm pretty sure this is his, too." She pulls out the Freddy-talk from her pocket, which she had collected from the other room before Roxy saved them both from being flattened by a boulder. The same Freddy-talk that thing used to lure her in.

Her grip on the cute little device tightened, her hand shaking slightly with a feeling of bitterness.

It's Gregory's fault that all this happened in the first place.

He was so careless in not only leaving his Freddy-talk behind but also his entire backpack. This carelessness was what gave that old thing an opening to reach her.

Why does Gregory get to commit such mistake and get away with it, but she has to be punished not only for hers but his as well? Why does she have to pay for what was his slip-up so that he can wash his hands at her expense!?

It's not fair.

The longer Cassie stared at the nametag, the more it was as if she was looking at the most insulting word in the entire vocabulary. "He was never my friend." She mutters out bitterly.

She would've thrown the Freddy-talk to the floor in frustration, but couldn't bring herself to do it due to Glamrock Freddy's image. Instead she tucks it back into her pocket to free her hand, then she tugs the tip of Gregory's nametag with her nail until she can pull it, ripping the adhesive off the backpack like a nasty bandaid. She crumples the little tape into a fist and tosses it away, before glancing back at the other three. "Finders keepers."

That seems to amuse Roxy, who barely suppresses a snort. "Hah! It's just too bad it's not a backpack with my face." She says mostly jokingly. But otherwise pays it no mind; Truth be told, she does miss the bookish bear, along with all the good times of the PizzaPlex. "Either way, that will sure come in handy. You're risking losing things from those tiny pockets of yours." Seriously, why are pockets in female clothes borderline unusable?

Cassie opens the backpack, and proceeds to tuck in both the Freddy and Roxy-talkies, then her Faz-Wrench and flashlight, as well as anything else she may have found along the way, then things she had shoved at the bottom of her pockets, which turned out to be a little bunch of cereal bars; Hey, she had prepared a little for what she thought would be a straightforward rescue mission!

Roxy's ears perk up at the sight of the treats; Those kinds of snacks might be the only things in the PizzaPlex that are still safe for human consumption... if they find any more of it. That's something the wolf keeps in the backburner; Cassie certainly will need to eat at some point, being human and all.

"So," Cassie turns to fully face Roxy, as well as Helpi and M.X.E.S, tucking her arms through the backpack's straps to carry it on her back. "- are we ready for that race, after all?"

Roxy's torn up chest emulates a puff forward in pride towards her twice number 1's initiative. "I thought you'd never ask." She gathers Cassie up into her arms then onto her back. "Hang in there, it's a bit of a bump road ahead!" She heeds, leaving the basement room through the hole back into the earth tunnels up which led back to the remains of the old pizzeria. Cassie had to slide the mask up off her face since that area was out of the V.A.N.N.I network zone, but she knew Helpi and M.X.E.S weren't far off.

To Be Continued...

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

i would like to hear abt monster au specifically evelin or dave if you have any info on them :3 /nf

EHEHEHEHEHEHHEHHE okay so-

Evelins deal. She was human, born in Mandela (being the reason she's albino actually, cause it's more likely to be born as such within Mandela's borders!), and she dated Adam for a while, like in canon then also broke up with him. Did NOT know he was a werewolf. One night, she heard a voice outside her window, telling her to follow the "screams". She didn't know why, but. ended up deciding to do so anyway. She ended up at Adam's house, walking into the home to find Adam turning into a werewolf. soon after, Evelin was attacked and killed by him, though. ended up. waking up in the morgue post autopsy. Now she works at MandelaTECH due to it being one of the few places she remembers due to her SUPER foggy memory. She's harmless. most of the time. occasionally she does get a tad. peckish, and for some reason she never craves normal food.

Now Dave. He's a shapeshifter (specifically with woodland animals) that came from the forest, made by the Willow itself (actually used to be a common raven before he was turned into a big bird man, and then into a human.) He's been around since the early 1900s, and founded MandelaTECH in 1981. However! MandelaTECH in this au is actually more of a thrift store that primarily sells tech, but also random knick knacks Dave found and thought were cool enough to sell. (He mainly collects these things on midnight trips, flying around in his bird form to random abandoned places to look.) He took Evelin in after she walked all the way to the store, right after leaving the morgue. Just. decided he'd do what he could to protect her and keep her safe, due to how vulnerable she is. Plus he just wants to make sure no one finds out she's undead, as a safety thing.

[saiilorstars]

Ch. 33: Back to Triumph

[Story Masterlist] // [Aitana’s Masterlist]

Fandom: Criminal Minds // Pairing: Spencer Reid x OFC

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag​​​​​ @arrthurpendragon​​​​​ @anotherunreadblog​​​​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​​​​​ @stareyedplanet​​​​​ @averyhotchner​​​​​​ @foxesandmagic @kmc1989 @midmourn​​​​​​

If you’d like to be a part of Aitana’s taglist, please let me know!

Also available on Fanfic ○ Ao3 ○ Wattpad

As it turned out, Aitana did not have allergies.

It was the ruddy flu. She was bedridden for a whole week. All she did was stay in bed and feel awful. Her body didn't have the energy to do anything else, not even feed her poor fishes or water her plants.

Penelope Garcia immediately volunteered to visit her first and with her she brought necessities. Aitana saw her bedroom surrounded by oddly colored trinkets and new kinds of plants that Penelope swore were for good luck. Her bedroom began to look more like a botanical garden more than anything else.

JJ was more level headed and brought groceries. She even brought over some cooked meals. Aitana reminded JJ that she had no stomach for anything but JJ never left the house without making sure that Aitana had something to eat, whether it was crackers or soup. Emily was a little more busy to visit Aitana as often as Penelope and JJ. She apologized profusely to Aitana because it was all due to her re-certification. The one day that all three women were able to visit together, Emily explained more thoroughly how her training was going.

"Morgan is making it difficult," she muttered. "He's being an ass, basically. He's going to make me redo everything."

"I think that's probably more the FBI than anything else," Aitana said. She laid in bed with several blankets over, half of which were gifts from Penelope. "I mean, I don't think Morgan made the training booklets, right?"

Emily playfully rolled her eyes and reluctantly agreed with her. "It's still just annoying! And it's the reason I can't visit as often too. So blame Morgan."

"And not the cases, right?" Aitana chuckled, her eyes flickering to JJ and Penelope on her other side. "I get it, you guys. Work is work and our work is even more. You do not have to worry about me right now, alright? My mom's been around and Angel helps me a lot. And besides, you've all been alternating. Penelope," she reached for the blonde's arm, giving it a gentle pat, "came two days ago. Emily," she crossed gazes with the dark haired woman, "was here yesterday. JJ's been here all morning. Morgan dropped by yesterday and Spencer came by after. Rossi says he'll come by with a plate of pasta! I even got a small text from Hotch wishing me well. So trust me, I am all too well. Spoiled, actually."

"Well we can't wait for you to come back," JJ said, "Things are a little hectic at work right now. The boys—"

"Spencer and Morgan," Penelope muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"—are annoying the hell out of all of us with their little prank war," JJ said, shaking her head. "Honestly, not even Henry gives me this much trouble."

Aitana smiled lightly. "They're still doing that?"

"Yes," went all three of the women with the same irritation.

"They don't go that high but it's still super annoying," Emily muttered. "They won't stop until someone pulls the best prank."

"Mm, and what's the wager?" Aitana curiously asked. She had vague memories of her "assistance" on their pranks the last time they were on a case together. She wasn't all that mad about it, maybe just the decent annoyed. She was no stranger to being used for petty pranks since her brothers were notorious for doing it multiple times when she was younger and didn't understand what they were doing.

"Whoever wins owes the other one a favor," explained Emily. "Everyone else be damned, I guess."

"Interesting. You know, I guess this is also partly my fault," Aitana said, "My mind was so foggy the last time I was at work. I helped them one-up each other and I didn't even know it."

"Oh, I'm sure," Penelope said disapprovingly. "And trust me, I almost pulled both their ears for it."

"Well," Aitana hummed ever-so-innocently, "If you're interested in helping me get a little payback, I'd be all for it. Now that I've got all my senses back, I'm planning on letting them know they used the wrong gal." Her words made the other three women curious but Aitana elected to hold off on what she had in mind for the time being.

~0~

Spencer wasn't even surprised anymore that his things were going missing at work. There was no mystery; he knew exactly who was behind it. The only thing is he had to go and find them which was more of a pain than anything else.

"I know Morgan has them," he said seriously while Emily just sat at her desk and shook her head. He was ransacking his own desk in search of his missing items. "He took my stapler, my pens, my stapler remover."

Emily had no intention of listening to the lame list of missing items. She looked away and happened to see JJ and Aitana walking into the bullpen. "Oh, Aitana's back!"

Spencer briefly paused his search to confirm with his own eyes. Soon as he saw Aitana, he went back to opening drawers. "Honestly, this isn't even a prank! It's downright theft!"

"Hey, look who I ran into?" JJ brought Aitana up to pair, the latter chuckling with flushed cheeks.

"Gosh, I feel so special the way I'm being welcomed," Aitana remarked. "Even security noticed."

"Welcome back." Emily got up from her seat to hug Aitana. "Don't mind Reid here, he's going through another session of Grand Theft Desk." She shot Spencer a smirk that he didn't really appreciate.

"What?" JJ asked, watching as Spencer slammed shut another of his drawers.

"Morgan took my stuff!" he cried.

JJ groaned and shook her head. "Oh boy, it's too early for this guys. Can we just — can we have one day off?"

"Yeah," Emily said with heavy emphasis as she sat back down.

"It's not a prank if you're just stealing!" Spencer continued to search through his second level drawers. "And Morgan's welcome to back down at any time!"

"Funny, we could say the same thing about you," said JJ purposely.

Aitana watched silently as Spencer went through the other lines of drawers. Finally, she made a suggestion. "Did you check the bottom right drawer?"

Spencer moved for that specific drawer when her words hit him. He stopped altogether and met Aitana's eye. She had the smallest of smiles but a knowing one at that. Slowly, Spencer reached for the drawer she said and pulled it open. He froze again.

Emily tried leaning over her desk to see what was inside. Aitana grabbed JJ's arm as the blonde went to do the same.

"Did you find it?" Aitana asked Spencer, still calmly and with a smile.

Spencer didn't say anything. Instead, he reached inside the drawer and pulled out a big plate out of it. When Emily and JJ saw what it was, they burst into laughter.

Aitana remained absolutely calm.

Stunned, Spencer put down the plate of jello on his desk. He had found his things now. They were located inside the bright green jello.

"The girls mentioned you like jello. Was green okay?" Aitana inquired like she hadn't stuffed office supplies inside a wobbly jello herself. She never thought she would have to but she wasn't upset that she got the chance to do it.

Spencer was absolutely stunned. Not even JJ's and Emily's laughter shook him out at first. And they were laughing pretty loud.

"You...you did this?" He eventually sputtered out a few minutes later.

Aitana giggled and raised a hand in the air. "Guilty as charged! I have always wanted to pull that joke but my mother would have killed me if I used her kitchen for these kinds of things so I couldn't do it when I was younger. I guess I should thank you for the amazing opportunity."

Spencer stared at her, both bewildered and utterly confused. To add onto those two feelings, a loud horn broke through the entire bullpen. It stopped JJ's and Emily's laugh and froze everyone else.

Once again, Aitana was calm. "That would be Morgan."

For a second, Spencer was genuinely afraid. And then Morgan came storming out with a bullhorn still having remnants of duct tape on the bottom.

"REID!" He was coming straight for Spencer.

Spencer's hands shot up in front of him. "It wasn't me!"

"Like hell!" Morgan couldn't come down the steps any faster.

"Actually, it wasn't him. It was me," Aitana waved her hand. "Good morning, Morgan." She smiled sweetly.

Like Spencer, Morgan froze altogether. His head turned in Aitana's direction, eyes narrowing as he decided whether or not she was being honest.

Aitana's smile widened. Her eyes flickered to JJ and Emily, both of them struggling not to laugh again. "Ta-da?" Aitana made a gesture with her arms open.

"You did it?" Morgan finally concluded she was very much guilty.

Aitana nodded. "Aha!"

"Why?"

Aitana raised an eyebrow at him, no longer playful. "Really?" She stepped forwards, putting her hands behind her back. "You're asking me why I did such a thing?"

Morgan nodded expectantly at her. He couldn't understand why she would decide to pull pranks herself.

"You," Aitana pointed at him, "took advantage of my state during a news broadcast," she said, watching Morgan lower his head immediately. "And you," she pointed at Spencer next, "used me to get back at him later. Naughty boys. I had to get back at you for that."

"Well done," JJ clapped her hands for Aitana.

"How'd you pull this?" Spencer curiously asked. He wasn't going to even argue against Aitana's statements. They were true and he should be sorry. He was.

"Oh that was easy," Aitana waved him off. "I came in yesterday night, with Hotch's permission of course."

Morgan's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Hotch let you do this?"

"Aha," Aitana nodded. "He's very tired of your little war as is everyone else."

"Yes," went both JJ and Emily together.

"I love watching the Office and the jello prank that Jim pulled was always so funny to me so I figured why not do that one for you, dear old Spencer," Aitana smiled sweetly at him. "A classic, am I right?" Before Spencer could think of an answer, because right now he had nothing to say, Aitana switched to Morgan. "And the bullhorn was something my brothers pulled on each other. That's right, you guys forgot I grew up with two brothers. I was always caught in their pranks so eventually I had to learn. Ladies and gentlemen, I think I win." Aitana did a curtsy bow for the group.

"Nu-uh," Morgan was quick to wag a finger, "You didn't win anything. You are not a part of this."

"I believe the terms were whoever pulled the best prank wins," Aitana pointed at JJ and Emily for their support. "Right?"

"Right!" Emily was happy to agree.

"Nowhere in those terms did you explicitly say that one of you had to be the winner," Aitana went on, flashing smiles at the pair of men.

"I think she won, fellas," JJ said. "Learned your lessons?"

"You didn't win," Morgan insisted. "You—"

The door to Hotch's office opened to let out a striding Penelope and Hotch. Their grim expressions cut the conversation short, but Morgan vowed it wasn't over.

~0~

"We have a child abduction in St. Louis," Penelope started the meeting urgently as the situation demanded for. "Bobby Smith, 9 years old, vanished 48 hours ago from a residential area, where his mother, Marlene Smith, claims to have dropped him off."

"Forty-eight hours and we're just learning about it now?" Morgan asked, slightly irritated. Half of the group suspected his irritation had nothing to do with the case. He kept shooting Aitana glances, clearly still holding his stance about her winning status.

Penelope didn't know what was going on so she just nodded. "Yeah. That's because mom didn't know her son was gone. She assumed that he was with the grandmother and just left him there."

"So, she's not exactly on the short list for mother of the year," remarked JJ. "What about the father?"

"Uh, he was convicted of embezzling from his workplace 2 years ago. Currently cooling his heels in state prison."

"If it's a stranger abduction, the first 24 hours are critical," Spencer said, not that they didn't already know how high the stakes were.

"This kid's already been missing twice that long," Rossi said, checking the file for the original time the mother had called it in.

"Which is why we shouldn't waste any more time," Hotch said, prompting the team to close their files. The jet was leaving almost immediately.

"Hey Hotch," Morgan called as he hurried to catch up with Hotch before he walked out of the room, "A word?"

Aitana snorted a laugh as they disappeared. "He's going to ask Hotch about the bullhorn."

"That was you?" Rossi gave her a pointed look until Aitana nodded proudly. He smiled. "Good. I was getting tired of it." On his way out, he looked directly at Spencer.

"Seriously, well done," Emily reached over to give Aitana a congratulatory pat on the arm.

"Well done with what?" asked Penelope, head turning between the women fast enough to make her dizzy.

"Aitana put an end to the prank war," JJ said, eyes glued on Spencer. Unlike Morgan, he had yet to give his opinion on the matter. "Isn't that right, Spence?"

"Um," Spencer cleared his throat, hands reaching for his file on the table, "I don't really think we should be discussing that during a child abduction."

"Mhm, you still lost," Emily said, "Women can multitask."

Spencer grabbed his things and left in a hurry. The women high fived Aitana afterwards and they began offering ideas on what Aitana could ask of the pair for winning. Penelope hated that she had missed the whole thing but after Aitana suggested to go through the camera feed, Penelope seemed more inclined to help celebrate the triumph.

~0~

"Who do you think he's talking to?" JJ whispered the question to the others while Rossi entertained some kind of conversation over the phone. It had been going on almost as soon as the jet had taken off.

"Isn't it obvious? A special friend," Emily giggled but immediately stopped when Rossi ended the conversation and turned around to see all of their collective smiling faces.

"What?" He cluelessly asked.

"Nothing…" Emily said, clearly struggling not to say more but in the end she lost. "Just somebody's got a lot of extra pep in their step this morning, that's all."

"Probably doubled up on his vitamins," remarked JJ.

"Oh, he doubled up on something," Morgan chimed in with a smirk.

"Garcia's back on," Aitana cut in suddenly, unknowingly getting a grateful look from Rossi for her timing. She was pointing to the screen where Penelope's face had come through. "Hey, did you get something on the mother?"

"Oh," Penelope's mouth pulled together in an 'O' shape, "I have so much on the mother, and try as I might, none of it is good. Marlene Smith has a history of erratic behavior, seriously clinically depressed, two suicide attempts in the last 5 years."

"Was she being treated for her depression?" asked Hotch.

"Oh, my gosh, yes. Like more pill-popping than Elvis. Yes!"

"Depression is one of the few things that can overwhelm the maternal instinct," Spencer said. "What about the grandmother?"

"I don't have anything on her yet, but don't reach for your remote. I'll be ba-a-ck!" Penelope exclaimed before the screen went pitch black.

"Two suicide attempts…" Rossi remarked with a shake of his head. "Why hasn't child services intervened?"

"Probably talked her way out of it," Emily said, "Most social service organizations are overworked and underfunded. Things slip through the cracks."

"If this boy's mother tried to commit suicide and he's from a chronically unhappy household, maybe this wasn't an abduction at all," Morgan theorized. "What if Bobby simply ran away?"

"When 9-year-olds run away, they're usually home for supper," Aitana said. She really doubted a nine year old would have the guts and the smarts to formulate a good running away plan.

"JJ, you and I will talk to the mother," Hotch started giving the instructions, "Morgan, Reid, and Serrano, go to the boy's house. Prentiss, you and Dave assess the site where the mother claims to have dropped him off."

From behind her file copy, Aitana flashed a sweet smile at Spencer and Morgan. They had yet to speak to her about the incident.

~0~

The victim's house was closed off for the time being while the mother resided at the precinct for questioning. The first thing Aitana, Spencer and Morgan noted was the clean lawn. However, although the lawn was indeed clean, it was clear that it could still use some attending to. There were patches of yellow all around. Inside, the story was almost the same. The trio lounged about in the living room taking note of the neatness of the furniture. While Morgan and Spencer wandered upstairs, Aitana took the rest of the downstairs.

She was most surprised with the kitchen's state. She only had one nephew close to her but she knew what a kitchen with children would typically look like. Every kitchen she'd been inside of where a young child lived, it was always clear of anything potentially dangerous. No knives, no open outlets, nothing sharp. Everything was up and out of reach for a child.

This kitchen was the complete opposite.

There were no safety locks on the fridge and when Aitana opened it up, it was fully stocked with everything that a child could possibly want. And in multiple pairs. Individual water, orange juice and milk bottles—everything plastic—were filed on the door. Fruits were stocked inside the drawers, along with cut up vegetables. Even the stove was accessible to the child. Aitana remembered a moment in which her nephew had been deeply reprimanded for attempting to move their stove's knob. Bobby was left at ease with the stove and the microwave. The latter was also placed on what would be his level. To top it off, Aitana found the key ring hole set up at the entrance of the kitchen. She was baffled. She would never let her nephew go in and out of the house, even if he was 9 like Bobby.

Later on, Aitana headed upstairs to see what Spencer and Morgan had found so far. It seemed like they were bickering and somehow she walked into it again.

"Hey Serrano," Morgan called as soon as she walked into the mother's bedroom, "How many pairs of shoes do you own?"

Aitana's face scrunched in confusion. "First, you don't talk to me and then you ask me that? You see how it looks, right?"

"I'm making a point here!" Morgan motioned her to answer the question. Beside him, Spencer seemed more or less puzzled as well.

Aitana rolled her eyes. "I don't know, 30?"

"What?" Spencer openly gaped at her. Aitana lifted an eyebrow at him. "Why do you have so many?"

"Because I need them?"

"You can't possibly need 30 pairs of shoes!"

"I most possibly can!"

Morgan cleared his throat, eyes on Spencer and hands gesturing in Aitana's direction.

Aitana stomped her foot on the ground. "Stop using me like that, dammit!"

"I was making a point," Morgan said as he walked out the room, leaving the other two to follow. "No woman has just 4 pairs of shoes in their closet. And the kid's bedroom is fully stocked with everything he'd need."

"She even set up a separate area so he could do his homework," Spencer said, going in full detail about the desk they'd seen in Bobby's room.

"You should see the kitchen then," Aitana said, "That thing's more organized than my entire house."

"Mom has serious financial issues, denies herself even the smallest luxury, and yet…" Morgan had listed off his fingers, "She splurges to take her son to an expensive theme park and then buys a pricey picture frame so he can remember the experience."

"No way, those things are easily $30," Aitana said out of her own experience. Her parents hardly bought those things for that reason.

"He had several," Spencer said for her benefit.

"Well then, I guess we can cross her off the suspect list," Aitana concluded. "Which makes this even harder…"

~0~

When the trio returned to the precinct, they joined JJ, Rossi and Hotch just Hotch were discussing the interview JJ conducted with the victim's mother. They, like Aitana, Spencer and Morgan, were beginning to disregard the mother as a suspect.

"The concern for her son was genuine. Her tone of voice, body language," JJ was saying, "She didn't once ask if she was in trouble, under arrest, 'where's my lawyer?' None of that." The woman behaved like a genuine concerned, scared, mother.

"That's pretty much what we found at home too," Aitana said, glancing back at Spencer and Morgan for their agreement.

Spencer was making his way up to one of their evidence boards. While they were gone, the others had added new details under the mother's name.

"Home environment points in the same direction," Morgan said, "The money's tight, but mom did whatever she could to create a nice world for her son. Whatever cash she had she spent on him. Only 4 pairs of shoes in her closet."

"And she taught her son to be self-sufficient," Aitana said, barely holding the urge to make a comment about the pairs of shoes. "The kitchen was scaled down to a 9-year-old's level so he could microwave his own meals, get food and utensils from the pantry. He even had his own little key ring so he could come and go as he pleased. That's a hell of a lot of liberties for a 9 year old if you asked me."

The others agreed.

Shortly after, Emily and Rossi returned.

"It took a while, but grandma's alibi checked out," Emily announced, "She was with two lady friends in Seneca, on the other side of the state."

"Acquaintances, relatives, teachers. So far they've all checked out," Rossi added.

"This is starting to look more and more like a stranger abduction," Morgan said what many of them were beginning to think.

"Yeah, except the area Bobby disappeared from has a decent amount of foot traffic," Rossi said, having seen the site with Emily. "If he'd put up a struggle, chances are someone would have noticed."

"My guess is Bobby knew his abductor or trusted him," Spencer then theorized, "The trip to grandma's house was a spur-of-the-moment decision. The unsub must have been staking out the mother's house, saw them leaving, and followed. The only thing I don't understand is how the unsub got into Bobby's life in the first place. Self-sufficient kids learn to trust their own judgment."

"Well at the end of the day, he's still only nine," Aitana reminded them. "He's going to fall for something." It was the inevitable and now they were dealing with it.

~ 0 ~

The next morning, the team were informed that Bobby's mother had been found murdered outside a convenience store the previous night. The team gathered in their room to go over the pictures of the new crime scene and their victim. As far as they knew, Bobby had yet to turn up dead.

"There's something strange about the body," mused Spencer as he went over a couple photographs, "She was slaughtered by someone completely out of control, yet on her wrists there are precise wounds on top of where she already cut herself, only deeper. Like he was trying to replicate her suicide attempts but then lost control."

Beside him, JJ grabbed one of the pictures in Spencer's hands. "Maybe this was never about the kid at all, but about the mother. Make her suffer for a few days by taking the child, then kill her?"

"Wouldn't that mean the unsub knew Marlene's personal history?" Aitana inquired. She stood in front of their evidence board, her eyes falling over the details they'd written about Marlene under her picture. "And that would put the unsub somewhere in the medical department?" She turned around to meet the others' gazes.

Morgan could see why she would think that automatically. It was the sensible idea. "Not just medical, it could be friends…"

"Yeah, but as far as we knew, she didn't have any friends," Aitana reminded them then asked JJ, who had conducted the interrogation with Marlene yesterday, if Marlene had said anything about friends.

"None," JJ said.

"So what about the people who walked into the house?" Spencer suggested. "Anyone who walked into the house would immediately know there were problems. That the child had to be independent for most of the day."

Morgan liked the idea and for that, he called Penelope to get further on it. "Hey, baby girl, whatever you're doing, drop it!"

"Oh, yes, and with pleasure," Penelope was sarcastic right off the bat, amusing everyone who was listening in, "Let me tell you something, sweetheart. This is a Lamborghini you are talking to. You have to drive me. You can't just leave me parked in the garage collecting dust or I will wilt."

The others nearly laughed with Penelope's tidbits. She had no idea she was on speaker.

Morgan smiled but nowhere near surprised. He long ago lost the surprise when it came to Penelope. Going along with things made it more fun anyways. "Please forgive my neglect. I need you to rev up that fine-tuned Italian engine of yours, then."

"Where do they come up with this stuff?" Aitana quietly whispered to the others while the pair continued. "I mean, is it in, like, books or something?"

"Not in any books I've read," Spencer remarked, causing a quiet round of snickers.

Their research was cut short when they got word that another child had been taken. It was clear the unsub wasn't going to lengthen gaps between abductions and kills.

Aitana and Spencer were sent to the park where the child's mother was. She was a frantic woman, a natural response given the situation, but it was making her explanations fast paced and incoherent.

"I was sitting on the bench, and he was playing right there," she flapped an arm towards the playground still filled with other children. "I looked away for two seconds."

"And you were you by yourself?" Aitana asked. Mrs. Tanner nodded quickly. "So you told the police you live in McKinley Heights but that's almost an hour away. You drove your son all the way out here just to play?" Aitana took another scan of the park for any outstanding features that would draw parents in but to her it looked like any other park.

"I was doing things, shopping" Mrs. Tanner reasoned. Spencer noted the constant tapping of her fingers against her leg as well as the other hand taking her hair every now and then.

"Mrs. Tanner, please don't take this the wrong way, but exactly what drug are you addicted to?" Spencer abruptly asked, stunning both women with him. Aitana's eyebrows raised at him, unprofessionally bemused with his directiveness. "You're displaying symptoms of withdrawal."

Mrs. Tanner dropped both her arms on her sides. "Are you crazy?"

Spencer disregarded her offended tone. "Ma'am, we saw two deals going down on the other side of the park when we arrived. You were here to buy, weren't you? That's what had you distracted."

Mrs. Tanner was outraged. She glanced at Aitana as if waiting for the female agent to come to her aid.

"He's hardly ever wrong," Aitana said. "So it's best if you just tell us the truth unless you're not interested in finding your son?"

"I can't believe that you actually think I would—"

"And yet we're still talking about this instead of what exactly happened here," Aitana continued, her expression growing flat as the mother insisted on denying things.

"Your child is missing, Ms. Tanner. Every minute, every half-minute counts," Spencer said, "You need to tell us the truth and you need to tell us now."

The mother looked between the two agents helplessly, still holding onto her story for another minute before giving in.

Half an hour later, Spencer was calling Hotch to inform them of the new pattern they were discovering. When Spencer returned to the car, he found Aitana leaning against the hood of the SUV, looking out at the park.

"What is it?" Spencer asked, presuming that he'd learned enough about her to recognize her thinking face.

"I've been watching the kids," Aitana started, eyes combing over the children using the slide again. "And the parents. They're mostly vigilant but of course they would look away for a couple minutes. It's natural."

"Right…" Spencer agreed, patiently waiting for her to reach her point. He leaned against the SUV as well.

"Maybe it's just because I have a nephew, I…" Aitana smiled lightly and glanced at him. "Do you have nephews or nieces? Little ones?"

"Neither, actually," Spencer admitted. "It was always just my mother and I."

"Oh, well, I have several in Mexico but I do have Logan here. Remember him?"

"Hard to forget," Spencer tapped the side of his head, making Aitana laugh.

"Oh right, my bad." That was stupid of her to forget. "My nephew Logan is five and even though he's pretty young, he understands the stranger-danger concept. My brother, being a detective, has drilled that into Logan. We've all taught him that he should never talk to anyone he doesn't know even when that person says they're a friend of his parents, or a friend of his auntie's and uncle and grandparents—the whole shebang."

"Right, children are more intelligent than most adults give them credit for," remarked Spencer. "Their brains are like sponges at this point in their life."

"Yes!" Aitana nodded. "So if somebody walked up to Logan with that crappy excuse that they're his parents' friends and tried to take him with them, Logan would make a fuss. At the very least, he would keep saying 'no' until someone inevitably notices. If that happened in, say, a park," Aitana gestured to the scene before them, "then somebody would have noticed a kid being fussy. Even if it was just a parent handling a fussy child, someone always looks over."

"But that didn't happen here…" Spencer said, studying the various parents still around. They were all focused, perhaps more now since the abduction, on their children.

"Yeah, because Tommy didn't make a fuss," Aitana presumed, "And if he didn't make a fuss then that meant he knew the person who took him. Trust him. That won't be your local plumber or your I.T. guy…"

"No it would not be," Spencer agreed. They were circling back to Aitana's original belief that their unsub was someone in the medical department.

"Question remains...which one makes rounds to the parks and houses?" Aitana leaned off the car and made a clear gesture that she was waiting for Spencer to give her the answer.

"Well—I don't know it on the spot," Spencer made a face, earning another small laugh from her. She shook her head at him and went around the car for the passenger's seat.

"So are you saying that with a little bit more time you would know the answer?" Aitana pulled the car door open.

Spencer made his way to the driver's side. "I mean, maybe? I don't know…?"

"Just like Morgan," Aitana said as she climbed inside. "You can't admit defeat!"

"What—that's not what I meant!" Spencer exclaimed and quickly got into the car.

"Mhm," Aitana crossed her arms. "Drive, Dr. Reid," she instructed, her tone laying down the finality of the conversation.

~ 0 ~

With what the team now had, they were confident they were ready to deliver the profile to the rest of the precinct. Hotch sent Morgan to collect the new victim's mother because, if they were right, the unsub would soon be attacking her. But it all turned into a rather sharp confusion when, only a couple hours after the profile was delivered, the second victim turned up at a random adult party.

Further down the evening, Penelope called the group back with very few findings. Even though Emily and Rossi had figured out that their unsub had to be a 911 dispatcher, they weren't able to single out the unsub.

"I'm literally going as fast as I can," Penelope huffed after Morgan asked her if she was closer. "There are literally hundreds in the great St. Louis area. Can you help me narrow this down?"

"Refine your search to males between 25 and 30 years of age. And our unsub probably has abandonment issues, so look for backgrounds that reflect that," Morgan was more than helpful, at least that was his opinion. "A history of foster care or someone who was farmed out to other relatives by his own parents."

"Can you trace individual 911 dispatchers based on calls they would have received?" Spencer thought to ask and almost shrunk in his chair when Penelope answered sharply.

"Ok, look, let me make this clear. There are a quarter of a billion 911 calls annually. That's like 10 calls every second of every day. And non-emergent calls are disposed of quickly!"

"Okay, well let's look at it this way," JJ tried her shot, shooting a small smile at Spencer in the process, "This operator would have been on duty when both calls came in from the Smith and Tanner families. And he would have been off duty at the times of the two abductions and Marlene Smith's murder."

"Oh, my God. This brings the needle in a haystack to a whole other dimension, but I will go to that dimension and I will cross-reference and I will call you back!" Penelope promptly hung up with her promise.

"I'm actually afraid to answer that call," Aitana mumbled under her breath. She pushed herself out of her seat and announced she was making a coffee run and by that, she meant right in the bullpen.

She was tired, this case was touching home for her. All she saw with these kids were her nephew and she knew that was completely unprofessional. And yet, she had the big urge to call her sister-in-law right now.

"Hey, want some help?" Morgan startled her into nearly dropping the cups in her hands.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Aitana handed him the cup that was more likely to slip out of her hand first. "Penelope call back yet?"

"She's good but she's not that fast."

"Oh, don't let her hear you say that," Aitana said, causing a laugh between them. Aitana grabbed another of the coffee cups on the table and handed it to Morgan. She would take the last one. "So, you're talking to me again? Did you finally accept that I won?"

Morgan hummed. "More like I'm putting pause on that until we're done with the case."

"Right," Aitana started the way back to the conference room, "But you do know that I won, right?"

"Uuh, no," Morgan looked at her crazily, "You did not."

"I thought my tricks were pretty classic..."

Morgan scoffed. "Classic? You nearly took my ears off!"

Aitana smirked. "A classic."

They returned to the room shortly later, letting the others hear the ending of their conversation.

"Hotch, I cannot believe you allowed this," Morgan said, shooting Hotch a mock glare.

"You and Reid were getting out of hand," Hotch said simply, eyeing a decently guilty Spencer at the end of the table. "And I made Serrano promise me that she wouldn't go overboard and disrupt colleague's work."

"She used a bullhorn on me! How is that not distracting?"

"I wasn't distracted."

Aitana barely covered her mouth before an unladylike snort slipped out. Who said Hotch couldn't be funny?

~0~

Penelope called the them back about an hour later and she was nowhere near happy. "First off, you are on restriction from my inner Lamborghini!"

"Garcia—"

"I mean it! This high-performance engine may purr like a puma on the prowl, but this time, Derek, you have seriously overheated my engines and I will require some cool-down laps upon your return, if you know what I mean by that—"

"Baby girl, you're on speaker," Morgan finally managed to break through Penelope's rampage. The others were very close to laughing.

"...I knew that," came Penelope's voice a moment later. This time, she was able to hear some chuckles on the other end. "Okay, um, so I'm calling to tell you, sir, there are eleven 911 dispatchers in the greater St. Louis area that were on duty when the calls were placed but not working during the murder and abduction. Of those 11, there's one that fits your profile—George Kelling, age 27, 1181 Clay Street, apartment 8. Sending his picture right now."

"Do you know where he is now?" Hotch inquired. Aitana and JJ hurried to collect their tablets and see the photograph that Penelope was sending their way.

"He was scheduled to work today. His supervisor said he showed up for his shift, but then he left early."

"Can you get the log of all the calls he took tonight?" Spencer walked over to the landline.

"Yeah, of course. But there are a lot."

"Skip to the last one!"

"Last one is a domestic disturbance at 788 4th Avenue, number C. Attempted sexual assault of a young girl. Kelling dispatched the police and then he took off."

"Meaning we need to hurry," Emily said to the others.

They divided into two teams, one going to the site of the last 911 incident and the other to Kelling's home. Both groups came to the same empty conclusions. They had to call in Penelope for help again.

"Hey!" JJ found Aitana in what seemed to be the unsub's bedroom. The brunette was shopping around and had been since they realized Kelling was gone. "What are you doing? Hotch has Garcia on the phone tracking other possible sites."

"That's good. I was just looking for some clues," Aitana shrugged as she turned away from a disorderly bookshelf. "With the amount of dust on this furniture, it's safe to say that Kelling hasn't been here in a while."

JJ nodded. The room did seem pretty still in place.

"But check it out," Aitana hurried towards one of the bedside tables. She picked up a portrait of Kelling with an older woman. "Parents?"

JJ hummed. "Maybe." She looked around the room again and found no other portraits except for the one Aitana held. "They're the only people important to him," she assumed.

Aitana put the portrait down and hurried out of the room with JJ. Hotch and Spencer were in the middle of a talk with Penelope outside the house.

"...Kelling entered the foster care system and I don't know why…" Penelope said in a hurried ramble.

"Oh, that must have been the picture we saw then," Aitana cut in, her eyes slightly wider. "Kelling has a photograph of an elderly woman in his bedroom. It's the only picture he has in that entire room."

"Makes sense," Penelope said, "His father abandoned the family when he was a baby. I can't figure out what happened to mom yet."

"All right, we need the address of the foster family he was placed with," Hotch instructed as he led the way back to the SUV."

"I know. He bounced around a lot. Give me a second!" Penelope exclaimed. " I'll call you back!"

"Okay, what I don't understand is why would he keep Bobby but release Timothy?" JJ started once the line was dead. "If he wants to get rid of the parent, why not kill them first and then take the child. It's so much riskier to wait."

"Unless the children are a crucial part of his killing ritual," Aitana said off-handedly.

Hotch turned to her, head tilting.

Spencer followed her idea and tried to develop it as quickly as he could. "He needs something from them before he can murder the parents."

"What could a child possibly give him?" JJ made a face.

"Their approval," Hotch concluded first.

~0~

"Deja vu all over again!" Penelope's voice rang in the SUV. "So, get this. George Kelling's mom committed suicide when he was 10! She jumped off a bridge. Before that, she attempted to kill herself multiple times, cutting her wrists. This sounds really familiar, huh?"

"Did you find the foster home address?" Hotch asked, fingers tapping along the wheel as he waited for the answer.

"The foster family lived on a farm 10 miles northwest of the city on Parkhill Road!"

The engines went on within the second.

"So what happened to the foster parents?" Aitana curiously asks from the backseat. "Kelling didn't have anything else but a picture of those people."

"The father died years ago. The mother just died last month—heart attack!"

"That must have been the trigger," JJ said, "The last person who rescued the unsub was gone. He assumed the mantle."

"And now he suddenly has a house to take these kids to," Aitana shuddered. "Childhood house gone wrong."

"Wait," Spencer leaned forwards from the back seat as well, "Garcia, you said the mother jumped off of a bridge, right?"

"Yeah," Penelope said. "Why?"

JJ recognized the look on Spencer's face. There was something not adding up for him. "What are you thinking?"

"Suicidology is an imperfect science, but it's uncommon for women to kill themselves so violently," Spencer explained, "For lack of a better word, they tend to choose more feminine ways to die. Men shoot themselves, jump off of buildings onto pavement. Women are less messy. They take pills and drown themselves."

"Oh...don't tell me…" Aitana was looking at him in full fledged horror.

~0~

Morgan, Emily and Rossi were already at the secondary location when the others arrived. Once more, they split between the front and the back of the house. As far as they knew, Kelling had at least two of his hostages in the same room.

Hotch led the way into the only room making a noise and sure enough, Kelling was inside holding a woman at gunpoint.

"Put the gun down! Drop the gun!" Hotch gave the first round of orders.

Kelling was nothing if not frantic. "You have to let me finish! Nobody else can do it. Nobody's strong enough!"

"Like you were strong with your mother?" Spencer called.

"Don't talk about her," Kelling snapped. "She was weak. She killed herself and left me alone."

"I don't think so," Hotch said, "Because she tried to kill herself before, nobody would question it. But you did it. You pushed her off the bridge. You killed her."

"No. I helped her!" Kelling made the mistake of moving and was shot along the arm. He dropped to the ground, clutching said arm.

Spencer and JJ rushed to collect him before he would get up.

"The boy's in the closet!" cried one of the hostages.

Hotch ran for the closet and pulled the door open to find Bobby trapped inside. Meanwhile, JJ and Spencer pulled Kelling up, now handcuffed behind his back.

"We'll need medics," Spencer called it in. And perhaps a mouthpiece because Kelling would be yelling for hours to come.

~0~

"How about 10 pairs of shoes? I mean, that has to be enough, right?" Spencer thought as logically as possible despite feeling the topic of shoes was more than redundant. If anything, it was Morgan's fault for bringing up the topic again. In an attempt to make fun of him again for not realizing there was something off about the lack of shoes in Meredith's closet, he told the story to Penelope which then brought on the attention of the others.

"Ten?" JJ made a face. "Ah, Spence, it's different with the ladies. We need them to match our belts, our handbags, our skirts, and the fashions change with the seasons."

"Oh, what are we talking about?" Aitana found the group coming towards the elevator. She'd gone a little ahead to use the restroom first before they left.

"Reid's still trying to guess the right number of shoes women usually have," Morgan said, swinging an arm around Spencer's shoulders and downright ignoring the mini-glare Spencer fixated on him.

"Ah, sweetie, there's no exact number," Aitana mocked a little pout, causing the rest of the women to laugh.

"Yes. Boys are so boring," Penelope groaned sarcastically, "Pants, shoes, out the door."

"Although it's not like men don't have their things," Emily remarked, "I dated a golfer once. He had 12 putters in his closet. But this conversation is reminding me I need new boots."

"They're having a sale at DeMille's on those tall-shaft kitty heels," Penelope was quick to say, "You like those. Do you want to go?"

"Yeah," Emily nodded.

"You getting all this, kid?" Morgan quietly asked Spencer while the others started making shopping plans.

"No," Spencer said with the deepest frown marking his face. Essentially, nobody had answered his question.

"I don't know what you're all smiley about," called Aitana as they began making their way towards the elevator, ""You two still owe me."

The smiles had indeed dropped from Morgan's face. "Oh, not this again!"

"Oh, this time I have backup," Aitana promised, gesturing towards Penelope, JJ and Emily.

"Save it, you didn't win!"

"But technically she did," Emily said with a pointed finger in the air.

"Yes," nodded JJ, "You two said that whoever pulled the best prank would win but you never said it had to be one of you two. Essentially, anyone else could have joined if they wanted to...and I wanted to."

Spencer's eyebrows knitted together as he went over that conversation in his head. "Technically speaking…"

"No," Morgan sharply cut him off, "Don't you start because then she'll really think that she won."

"It's just...that is what we said," Spencer said, still making a face. "And I can't really say that I ever expected to have my stapler inside jello." He knew he couldn't truly forget anything anyways but that had been completely memorable for him.

Aitana grinned. "You can thank Jim Halper for that one. So then," she clapped her hands together, "Ready to admit defeat? And perhaps apologize for using me while I was sick?" Her expression dropped flat.

"Yeah, that was very naughty of you two," Penelope wagged a finger at the two men. "Shame on you!"

"We didn't mean to do it like that," Morgan tried to explain but the way all of them were glaring didn't leave him with a lot to say. "Oh, alight. You win!"

"Thank you," Aitana mocked a curtsy, "And now that it's out of the way, we can get to the good part. You two owe me."

"What do you want?" asked Spencer curiously.

"Oh, I've been thinking about it during the case," Aitana said, glancing at the other women, "And I think I'll be doing you a favor too, Spencer."

"What?" Spencer made a face. "Me?"

"Yea, you're going to find out how many shoes a woman typically has," Aitana chuckled. "You and Morgan can come by to my house this Saturday to clean and rearrange my shoe closet."

JJ, Emily and Penelope nearly lost it on the spot.

"Of course you're all invited too," Aitana told them, "I'll give Hotch and Rossi a call."

"You are one evil woman, sprinkles," Morgan declared.

"Don't mess with me," Aitana winked. Her laughter, combined with JJ's, Emily's and Penelope's, would echo through the floors on their way out.