#i was reminded of mr miracle again

[bam-monsterhospital]

if i had a nickel for every time I latched on to a superhero named scott who suffered torture and gaslighting as a child at the hands of a parental figure who was actually a chewing-the-scenery mastermind supervillain, I’d have 2 nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird it happened twice.

[age-of-moonknight]

Variant cover for Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2021), #15 by Declan Shalvey.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Daddy’s Best Friend, Mr. Miller Pt 3: October Surprises and Secrets Slurred ✨ dbf! Joel

Series Masterlist

-Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

-Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

-Word Count: 13.2k

- Tags: Porn with Plot, dbf! Joel, fingering, oral, face riding, dirty talk, dom! Joel, (reader is 25, Joel is mid 40’s)

- Chapter Summary: Your relationship gets more heated with a lot more intimacy going on between you and Joel, but will you finally get caught?

- A/N: I love this series so much and can’t wait to bring you more filthy scenes between these two 🤭 Sorry not sorry this chapter is so long, it’s worth it 😉 Reblogs are appreciated and I always love seeing your comments ❤️

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

October rushes through Austin as the cool, autumn breeze whisks through your soft curls. The campus is buzzing with focused, anxious students who rush to get last minute papers and assignments in for midterms. You have been diligent and already turned in your law papers, so you’re now free of midterm anxiety, unlike the other students in your classes.

The historic, massive library is filled up with laptops splayed all over tables and empty Starbucks coffee cups that sit next to their cramped hands that struggle to keep writing in notebooks. Sunlight beams through the stained-glass windows as you pass through the library, making your way out into the cold to go find your car somewhere in the mix of all the campus traffic.

As you open the library doors, you get a shot of cold air that blows right through your purple cardigan, and you wrap it around yourself to try to keep the chill from seeping down into your bones. When you cross campus, your mind wonders to Joel and how much you want to see his handsome face right now. The thought of his massive hands cupping your chin and those pretty coffee colored eyes staring down at you make you shiver with anticipation.

Joel, Joel, Joel. He’s always on your mind, never letting a minute pass without him there. You both can’t leave each other alone, not able to go a day without speaking to one another. He always asks if you have plans after school or when your shift gets over at the coffee shop off Main Street. It’s almost like you’re a normal couple. Almost. There’s just that itch behind your ear that’s always buzzing when you’re with him. That loud, annoying ringing in your ears that reminds you that you’re sneaking around your parents, mostly your dad. You honestly have no idea how he would react to the news, so you’d hide it for as long as you could. Your mom might take it lighter, but your dad. He might actually lose it, and you do not want to see that happen.

When you get to your shining Nissan Rouge and hear the click of the unlocked door, you jump in and slam the door shut, throwing your belongings over in the passenger seat. As you put the silver key in the ignition and turn, it barely hums to life and then dies again. The glowing orange check engine light blinks in front of you, and you pound your hands on the sleek steering wheel.

“No, fuck! Please, work for me,” you beg as you turn the key and try again, praying for a miracle. The engine spurts out a pathetic, muffled sound and then magically starts up as the car hums to life once again. “Oh, thank God,” you sigh as you wipe the sweat from your forehead.

Joel. He’d know what to do. You pull out your phone and dial Joel’s number in a hurry, trying to keep your patience as you tap your nails on the black steering wheel. Joel picks up on the third ring.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he drawls into the phone, his voice sounding like thick honey and sinking its way down into the pit of your stomach where warmth spreads.

“Hi, handsome,” you respond, a small smile spreading quickly over your face as the sound of his deep voice automatically soothes you.

“How was school? You get all your essays turned in? I don’t even have to ask, you already did. Didn’t you?” he asks with the sound of a light, raspy laugh on the end of the line.

“Just got them in today, actually,” you smile.

“Look at you gettin’ them in early. Such a smart girl, aren’t ya?” he purrs, making you bite your lip in response to the audible praise.

“Mhm,” you hum, your voice suddenly turning shaky as you look at the glowing engine light that warns you you shouldn’t be driving the car right now. Joel notices your shift in tone and responds with an edge to his voice.

“Everything alright, darlin’?” he asks concerned. It gives you goosebumps the way he’s always so protective, so careful of you.

“Umm-I’m fine, it’s just my car. My check engine light came on just now, and a few minutes ago I couldn’t even get it to start,” you respond back carefully with furrowed brows.

“Oh, shit. That ain’t good. You need a ride home? I can come get you-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “No, no. You’re at work, and my car came back on.”

“Darlin’, I don’t care that I’m at work. I don’t want ya drivin’ if it ain’t safe,” he says with a serious tone. You can tell he’s getting worked up, the way his breath falters and his sighs come out deep and clipped.

“Joel, really. I’m not that far from campus. I can make it home. Promise,” you respond with a more lighthearted response, hoping that Joel will settle with that answer.

“I don’t know if-”

You cut him off again. “Really, it’s fine. I’ll make it home,” you push.

You hear a long sigh and you can visually see him running his thick fingers through his patchy salt and pepper scruff. The vision of it makes warmth spread against your thighs as you squeeze your legs shut tight. “Fine, but I’m lookin’ at your car tomorrow and fixin’ it. S’not safe for you to be drivin’ it with your check engine light on,” he says with a raspy huff.

“Oh, you’re gonna fix it for me?” you ask with a stupid grin planted on your face.

“Mhm, gonna try my damn hardest to,” he replies as he clears his throat.

“And what do I owe you for your services, Mr. Miller?” you ask in a flirtatious voice.

You hear his low chuckle in the receiver, and it makes you giggle in response. “You don’t owe me nothin’, sweetheart. Just wanna make sure you’re safe,” he says with a light laugh. The sound makes your heart pound against your chest. Sweetheart. Safe. The words nearly take you out. He’s such a gentleman.

“Alright,” you say with a giggle. “I guess I’ll let you get back to work,” you sigh, not wanting to hang up on the handsome man that has your heart beating erratically for those gorgeous honey brown eyes.

“You be careful goin’ home, darlin’. Text me as soon as you make it there. I mean it,” he says with a serious, clipped tone.

“I promise,” you say back in a non serious tone.

“Okay. Well, I’ll talk to you later, beautiful. Remember, as soon as you get home,” he reminds you with a knowing tone in his voice.

“You got it. I’ll talk to you later,” you slur into the phone.

“Alright. Bye, gorgeous.” With that he hangs up the phone as you hear the line click dead. You throw your phone in the passenger seat and turn up the radio as Breaking Benjamin blares through the loud speakers. You nod your head to the beat and start to drive off, praying the car gets you there in one piece.

The glowing check engine light stays on the entire drive home, but you make it back safely. You park the car in the hooded garage and turn off the engine, letting it sit idle in the cool room. Whenever you make it through the door, you run straight into your dad as he almost spills his hot coffee all over his pressed white shirt.

“Shit, sorry dad! Didn’t see you there,” you apologize with frantic hands that steady the coffee cup in his hand.

“Careful now, I have a Zoom meeting in five minutes!” he sighs with the hint of agitation in his voice.

“Sorry, dad,” you apologize again.

Before you head to your room, you turn and tell your dad about your messed up car. “Oh, dad, before I forget to tell you. Joel’s coming over tomorrow to take a look at my car. The check engine light came on, and he’s gonna try to fix it for me,” you say lightly.

“Why didn’t you just ask me first? I could’ve taken a look. You sure asked Joel pretty quick there,” he says with his eyebrow raised and the hint of suspicion in there.

You gulp and try not to let your widening eyes give you away. “Oh, uhhh. I just thought you’d be too busy to take a look at it, and you know how good he is with fixing cars,” you shrug innocently.

“And you thought he’d be less busy than me tomorrow?” he asks with the tic of his jaw and wondering eyes staring questionably at you.

Your heart is in your chest and you feel the faint drops of sweat forming on your forehead. “I mean, I just didn’t want to bother you is all. Figured once I told you then you’d just tell me to ask Joel anyways,” you lie with a straight face, keeping your composure together.

He looks at you a few seconds and then nods, face relaxing a little. “Yeah, you’re definitely right, hun. That’s exactly what I would’ve done. Alright, well I need to hop on this call, so I’ll see you later.”

He turns into the direction of his office and you round the corner into the entryway and relax against the wall, breathing out a long sigh of relief. That was close. Too close for comfort.

You head up the stairs and back into your bedroom filled with lilac walls and scents of vanilla and citrus hanging in the air. Apartments. You need to find an apartment and fast.

The air is stuffy and hot in the garage, even though the autumn breeze blows gently outside as it carries red and golden leaves across the driveway. You’re wearing a light blue hoodie and cut off black denim shorts while you sit atop the wooden workbench in your garage. You gently kick your dangling legs off the side of the workbench and stare at the most gorgeous man working on your car. Joel Miller.

You watch the way he picks apart every single wire and car part he can get his hands on. His tousled dark curls sit slicked back against the top of his head by sweat that cakes his forehead, his grey t-shirt bunches around his thick arms every time he flexes and reaches under the hood, and his hands stay covered in grease and dirt from tearing apart your car piece by piece.

You can’t help but gawk at how ridiculously hot he is right now, can’t help the way you bite your lower lip seductively and run your tongue across the bottom of your lip in hopes to get a taste of him. You start to wonder what it’d be like to be bent over the hood of your car while he takes you from the back, start to imagine how good it’d feel to have his thick cock between your slick center as he fucks you senseless into oblivion. Can’t help the burning need in between your thighs as you squeeze your legs together and choke down a moan as slick starts to pool in the center of your lacy underwear.

“You alright there, darlin’?” he asks with concern hinting in his voice as he washes his hands in the garage sink, stepping closer to you as he wipes his hands off on a bunched up rag. “You look a little flushed there,” he says as he steps in front of you, just a few inches from meeting your knees.

“Umm, yeah. I’m fine. Just got a little hot, I guess,” you gasp out, nervously panting as your jaw drops open.

He slides up to you and stops right in front of your thighs, locking his knees up with yours as his t-shirt sticks against his broad chest and bulging biceps. You can’t help but stare at him and his pretty brown eyes with flecks of gold that sneak out and catch you unawarely. You want to run your fingers through his messy greying hair, want to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him until you taste every single part of him as you unravel yourself around him.

“Why don’t you close your jaw, sweetheart. Gonna start drooling if you keep it up,” he smirks as he cups your chin and helps you close. You swallow away all the heat and try to calm yourself as he stands before you, but you can’t. He’s too much, too fucking much.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” you say flirtatiously as you bat your long eyelashes at him, feeling your blush paint the edges of your cheeks crimson.

“You gonna tell me what you were thinkin’ about?” he asks with the tic of his jaw, leaning his weight against the bench as his hand gently brushes your hip.

“I was just thinking how hot you looked leaning over the hood of my car. And your messy curls, how I want to run my fingers through them right about now,” you smile as he leans against you, taking his other hand and placing it against the top of your thigh as he gently runs his rough hand down to your knee.

“Oh, yeah? S’that right?” he laughs as he takes his other hand and pushes your thighs apart, stepping in between them as he runs calloused fingers up and down your smooth skin, turning your breaths ragged from the heat of his massive hands on you.

“Mhm,” you choke out, already worked up from his light flirting and the weight of his thick fingers on you.

“What else were ya thinkin’ about, hmmm?” he hums out, his eyes growing darker by the second.

“I was thinking…” you start as you run your fingers through his damp curls, making him groan as your nails scrape lightly against his scalp. “How good it’d feel if you fucked me on the hood of my car,” you purr, whispering into his ear seductively. You feel the bulge in his jeans already starting to form, feel how turned on he’s getting at the thought of you spread wide open for him on the top of your car.

“Christ, baby. Such a dirty girl, aren’t ya? Wantin’ me to fuck you senseless while I make you cum all over my cock. That’s what you want, ain’t it? To make you scream my name while I make you cum again and again and again…”

His voice lowers with a growl as he wraps his hands around your hips and drags you forward, ending right on the edge of the workbench as your legs clench around his back, his hands moving over the denim of your shorts as he snakes a hand up under the material, finding your soaked lace absolutely ruined for him.

You choke out a moan as he dips his fingers under your lace, slowly spreading your folds as his thumb finds your clit and circles you meticulously, stifling another moan out of you as you dig your fingers into his back and wrap your legs tighter around him.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Such a good girl. Always ready for me. Always so needy, ain’t that right?” he smirks as he continues circling you, making your heels dig into his back as you slide a hand through his messy curls and drop your lips to the shell of his ear. Ragged moans leave your lips as he pushes two fingers inside your dripping hole while his thumb continues dancing over your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Feels so good, daddy,” you pant, biting down on his earlobe as you hold in a loud moan while he circles you faster, getting you all worked up over him. You hear the sloshing noises of your wetness and his fingers pumping in and out of you, and it’s so fucking hot that more slick slides down your center as you start to come apart around him. You’re so close, almost there already.

“That’s right, baby. Daddy’s gonna make it all better,” he coos, curling up his fingers inside you as he hits the spongy part of your walls that elicit another moan deep into his ear as your toes curl in your Converse.

“Joellll,” you whine into his ear, dragging your fingers against the curls that sit matted to the back of his neck.

“What is it, baby? Can’t handle daddy’s fingers, huh?” he teases as his lips ghost across yours effortlessly. “Tell daddy what you want,” he smirks, speeding up the shift of his thumb against your aching clit.

“Want you…. oh, God,” you moan as he curls his fingers inside you nice and slow, moving them up further as you latch around him tighter.

“Go on, finish your sentence,” he smirks with clenched teeth as he works you over nice and thoroughly.

“Want you to fuck me,” you whine against the shell of his ear.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Can’t fuck you here, sweetheart. Don’t want your father findin’ you with my cock buried deep in that wet pussy now, do ya?”

You whine out as your breathing becomes hard to control, tattered moans filling his ear like a choir of angels. “No, don’t want that,” you gasp out, your fingers tangled in knots against the back of his soft t-shirt. “I want you though. Want you so fucking bad,” you groan as he continues building slick around his thick fingers.

“Wanna put this hard cock inside that pretty pussy of yours. Wanna fuck you so hard over this bench right now that you won’t be able to stand for the rest of the night. Wanna cum inside that drippin’ pussy while you moan my name as I take you from the back,” he growls as he fucks his fingers up inside you deeper, hitting the spongy area again and again as you feel your orgasm about to take flight.

“Want you to moan my name so loud when I make you cum that everyone in the neighborhood knows just who you belong to,” he growls with clenched teeth as he presses down harder on your clit, rubbing it in just the right area that you feel yourself start to spill. You feel the white hot heat start to take over as your eyes roll back and you clench up against his fingers that continuously curl up inside you.

“Joel, I’m… I’m coming,” you moan as you bite down on the scruff of his jaw, feeling your orgasm wash over you as you close your eyes and bite back your moan as you let him have it.

“That’s it, baby. Such a good fuckin’ girl. So good for me,” he praises as you take a few seconds to come out of your blissed out daze, his fingers gently releasing out of you as he brings them up to his mouth and sucks, staring at you with blown out pupils. Your eyes go wide as you watch him drink down your cum, humming to himself as he licks them clean.

“Taste s’good, darlin’. Can never get enough of you,” he purrs as he pulls your drenched underwear back over your cunt and straightens your shorts out again. You grab the back of his neck and pull him toward you, planting your lips over his as the taste of sweat, black coffee, and you enter your mouth. He wraps his hands around your hips and slithers his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste all of him as his senses envelop you, sweat and all.

Before you can get lost in him anymore, you hear the jostle of the doorknob and the squeaking hinges as the garage door starts to open. Joel jumps back out of your reach and grabs the bottle of synthetic oil off the back of the shelf, drawing his dark eyes away from you as you compose yourself with a quick breath and legs that clash together.

Your dad looks up at you with concerned eyes and purses his lips. “Honey, you feeling okay? Your face is all flushed and your eyes are so wide they look bloodshot.”

Your blood runs cold as you gulp down your nerves and flick your eyes over to Joel, watching as he stares at your idle car as he runs a hand nervously up the back of his neck. “I’m okay, dad. Just got a little too hot is all,” you say as you fan yourself with your hand, trying to get rid of the flush of your crimson cheeks.

“Oh, sorry about that sweetie. Want me to get you a bottle of water?” he asks with a gentle nod your way.

“Yeah. Thanks, dad.”

“Alright, honey. Be back in a minute.” He turns to Joel and slaps him on the back in a way that best friends only do. “How’s the car looking? Figure out what’s wrong?” he asks as he looks around the open hood of the car.

Joel loosens the top of the oil and sets it down beside the front wheel. “Yeah, there seemed to be some loose wires that got tangled around each other. I fixed ‘em. The serpentine belt looks to be pretty worn out, so I can stop at the hardware store tomorrow and get a new one. Should be an easy fix. And the car needs an oil change, so I’ll get that done real quick. Then it should be good to drive smoothly,” he says as he plays with the used towel in his hands.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this, Joel. You sure do take care of my little girl,” he smiles in thanks.

Joel smiles back and chuckles. “Anything for your daughter, George. I always got her back.” He turns your direction and winks at you secretly, making your cheeks turn bright red at the secret meaning behind his words.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller. Maybe one of these days I can get you to go on a date with one of Claire’s friends. Trust me, some of her friends already drool over you. Should ask one of them out. Could use a woman around the house. Maybe get you laid one of these days,” he teases as he claps a strong hand over Joel’s back.

Joel’s fists clench and his lips twitch at the mention of dating other women. You won’t lie, you feel a heavy weight against your chest and the tinge of jealousy runs hot down your throat. Joel would do no such thing. Mine.

“Nah, man. Thanks for the offer though. I’m good,” he responds. A breath you had been holding blows out, the wave of jealousy washing away as soon as he says the words.

“You sure? Wouldn’t hurt to at least have a night in with one of them. How long has it been, huh?”

“Dad!” you say forcefully, making both of them look your direction as you dig your nails into the wood, jaw locked into place. “Water?” you ask as you raise your eyebrows.

“Right, sorry. Be back in a minute.” With that he races back inside and slams the door shut.

“So, my dad’s trying to hook you up with one of my mom’s friends?” you ask with a raised eyebrow, mostly joking around with him.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. Already have my best girl right here,” he nods your way, curling his lips into a crooked smile. You can’t help but smile back at him and melt at his words. My best girl.

���That’s right. I’m your girl,” you say possessively.

“Damn straight you are,” he smirks, making butterflies flit through your stomach.

Your dad comes back with a cold bottle of water and leaves the two of you alone again, closing the door to go answer a phone call. As you let the fresh water quench your thirst, you watch Joel meander his way under your car, taking his time to change your oil out. You watch his soft t-shirt lift up just a tad, exposing thick dark hair that trails underneath the waistband of his jeans.

It takes everything in you not to go over and straddle him as he works, slipping your hand underneath his jeans as you pull his hard cock out and go down on him, taking him in your mouth nice and slow as you make his ropes of cum slide down the back of your throat. You hold back the temptation, knowing you can’t do that here. Not when your dad’s lurking around the corner of the house.

You sigh and watch him work, making light conversation with him as he puts the cap back on and crawls out from underneath the car. Grease stains his grey t-shirt, and he has a smudge of grease across his nose.

“Joel, come here. You’re a mess,” you giggle as you grab a towel from the metal shelf and jump down off the workbench, going over to stand in front of him. You wipe off the grease from his nose and wipe off his hands next, making sure you get off as much as you can.

“Baby, I could’ve done that,” he smiles as he grabs the towel from you, wiping off what he can from his ruined shirt.

“It’s fine, I wanted to help,” you shrug.

He looks at the grease stain on his finger for a second then back up at you, mischief written all over those hazy brown eyes.

You back up against the wall and raise an eyebrow. “What are you planning, Miller?” you ask suspiciously, holding in a laugh as you see the playful smirk pulling at his lips.

“Me, planning? Never,” he scoffs, the smirk planting firmly against the corners of his mouth. In a flash he cages you against the wall with his thick arms and smears some grease on your jawline. Your eyes go wide as he does it.

“Joel!” you whine as you push against his chest playfully. “That’s not funny,” you say as a giddy laugh escapes your throat.

“It ain’t funny, huh? Then why are you laughing?” he asks as a deep chuckle ruptures from his chest.

“Get it off, now,” you demand playfully as you try to grab the used tan towel from him. He grabs it back from you.

“I got it, I got it,” he laughs as he uses the pristine end of the towel to clean off the grease from your jawline. When he promises he got it, he throws the towel up on the workbench as you reel him in for a kiss. His lips are soft, plush, and they taste like Joel.

“Oh, that reminds me. I got somethin’ for ya,” he says as he breaks the kiss, digging around the back pocket of his dark faded jeans.

“You got me something?” you ask with a surprised lilt to your voice.

“Mhm,” he hums as he grabs his leather wallet and opens it up, digging around to find what he’s looking for.

“What’s the occasion?” you ask curiously, watching him dig around excitedly as his thick fingers push around old receipts and folded up papers.

“Don’t have to be an occasion to get ya somethin’, darlin’,” he chuckles. “But this is kind of an early birthday present, since your birthday’s next month.” He finally finds what he’s looking for and pulls out two tickets that have a matte gloss covering both sides. You flip them over and your eyes go wide at what the tickets say. Two general admission tickets to see Ghost at the Moody Center on November fourteenth sit carefully in your hands. You gulp back tears as you stand frozen in awe as you stare at the glossy tickets.

“Joel…” you gasp out, your eyes probably as wide as an owl right now.

“Thought you’d like ‘em. I know how much you’ve wanted to see ‘em for a long time. Took me a while to find out when they were gonna come to town, so I jumped at the chance when I saw ‘em post new tour dates. And Breaking Benjamin is gonna be their opener. I know how much you like them too and…”

You jump into his arms and wrap your hands around his neck as you thank him over and over again for the best gift ever. You grab his shirt and pull him in for a long kiss as you run your hands through his tousled curls. When you break the kiss, you stand back to look at him in his pretty face as your arms stay wrapped around his neck.

“You’re gonna take me to go see Ghost?” you ask sweetly with big eyes that water faintly.

“I’m gonna take ya to see Ghost,” he nods with a crooked smile as he looks down at you with brown doe eyes that you want to sink right into as they swallow you whole.

You pull him in for another long hug as his strong arms wrap around your waist. “You’re the sweetest, Joel,” you say as you plant your lips on his cheek, staying in his embrace for as long as you can.

“Anything for my girl,” he smiles as he cups your chin, bringing his lips down on yours again. When he pulls back, he keeps his calloused thumb trailing against your jawline, making you dizzy with lovesick thoughts.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ for Halloween?” he asks as he keeps his coffee eyes focused on you, his thumb trailing light circles across your cheekbone.

“I didn’t really have any plans. Sometimes my friends will drag me out to the bars or we’ll find a Halloween party to go to. How come?” you ask, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Umm well, you wanna come over to my place? We could watch some scary movies, make some popcorn, order a pizza. I know how much you like those classic horror movies. Would be nice to have some company,” he smiles shyly as the corners of his mouth rise up into a crooked grin. He’s perfect, so perfect.

“Joel Miller asking me to watch scary movies? You don’t even really like them,” you laugh as you hang around his neck, his left hand digging deeper into the side of your hip.

“Yeah, well. You rub off on me a lot. And besides, anything to make my girl happy. I jus’ like spending time with you is all, darlin’,” he drawls, his eyes glistening with flecks of light and dark brown mixing together to make a pretty coffee color. His crooked smile makes a dimple press against his cheek, and the lines against his eyes crinkle into complete warmth that fills the hard lines in his face. You think he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life. Because he is.

“Joel… you leave me speechless. Truly. I’m so, so lucky to have you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” you gush to him as you rest your forehead against his.

“No, darlin’. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You stifle out a laugh and bring your lips down slowly over his, this kiss more slow and romantic than all the other ones. Who would’ve thought you and Joel Miller would’ve ever been a thing? But here you are. Completely and utterly wrapped up in each other, and you just can’t get enough.

You hear the jiggle of the door handle and see the door opening fast into the garage. You jump out of Joel’s grasp and take a few steps back, separating the distance between him even though it’s getting harder to act like the two of you aren’t completely crazy for each other. You’re out of breath, still dizzy from all the emotions of the last few minutes with Joel. And he looks the same, pupils dilated and a flushed face as he looks up at your father.

Your father stops and puts on his glasses to take a closer look. “Joel, you feeling okay? Your face is flushed too. You good?” he asks as he hands Joel a water.

“Yeah. Just got up too fast from under the car. Should be fine,” he nods as he flicks his eyes over to you, the look of affection returning to his brown doe eyes you can’t get enough of.

“Alright, well dinner’s ready if you wanna stay. She made chicken enchiladas tonight, so pretty sure you’ll wanna stay,” he laughs.

“Sure, wouldn’t miss those,” Joel nods as your dad smiles back at him.

“Well, come on. Come and get it while it’s hot.” Your dad turns toward the door and goes through, leaving it open for you and Joel to follow.

Joel takes your hand in his discreetly and leads you through, rubbing the pad of his calloused thumb against the back of your hand, making you feel all tingly and giddy inside. Before he drops your hand, he brushes your knuckles with his lips and places a slow kiss against the back of your hand. You blush on the spot and smile up at him as he returns one back, and then he drops your hand as he walks into the light of the dining room.

Fuck. You have it bad for Joel Miller and you’re falling fast. Very fast.

Halloween Night

You spend the entirety of the afternoon getting ready for your night in with Joel. You shower, douse yourself in Victoria’s Secret Bombshell perfume, and pick out the perfect Halloween costume to wear. You go with a short black mini dress that barely grazes your thighs, the long sleeves hanging off your shoulder that leave your neck and the tops of your shoulders exposed to the cool air.

You carefully fix your hair into loose spiral curls and secure a long pink bow in the back of your silky hair. You apply shimmery pink eyeshadow to the hoods of your eyelids, draw perfect cat eyes with liquid eyeliner, and purse your lips after applying the shiny pink lip gloss. After slipping on a pair of black heels, you look at yourself in the full length mirror and grab the pair of fuzzy black cat ears as you top off your costume. Joel’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in this getup.

After nervously driving over to his house, you now stand on the front of his porch and wait for him to come open the door after you ring the doorbell. You pull on your sleeves, your legs shaking as the cold evening wind hits your bare legs. After a few seconds he opens the door and pulls it back.

“Hey, sweetheart. You…” His voice cuts off as his brown eyes go wide as he lets out a low whistle, slowly taking in your figure from head to toe.

You twirl around slowly for him, letting him see all of you and watch him fall apart. “Trick r treat,” you smirk. “Gonna give me something sweet to eat?” you purr, batting your dark lashes up at him sweetly.

You hear him curse quietly under his breath and watch him rake his hand slowly over his patchy beard. “Goddamn, darlin’. Such a pretty little kitty cat. And that dress, fuck,” he bites out as he gazes his dark eyes over your long legs. “Prettiest girl that ever stood in my doorway, that’s for sure. C’mere,” he calls as he grabs your waist and pulls you into his broad chest, pressing his lips against yours as you chase the taste of his black coffee scent you so desperately love.

When you pull away you click your tongue at him. “Thought you were supposed to have a costume on today?” you say with a raised brow, playfully pushing at his chest.

“This is my costume,” he replies with an amused expression on his face.

Your eyes trail down him slowly. He wears a Halloween black t-shirt, an open red flannel, and dark blue jeans that form against his muscular thighs. You shake your head and pull off your cat ears, placing them over his tousled dark curls as you position it to balance on his head perfectly.

You laugh as you take in the big, strong man with the fluffy cat ears on. “There. Now you have a costume on,” you giggle as he just shakes his head and pulls you inside while he shuts the door behind him.

“Funny, very funny,” he chuckles, a dimple forming against his cheek which makes you only melt more for him. “Wanna take ‘em back now?”

“Nope,” you shake your head, holding a laugh in as you watch him examine his face in the mirror, sighing as he takes in the fuzzy ears atop his head.

“I look ridiculous,” he groans, crossing his arms over his chest as his biceps pull at the red flannel, making you anxious to curl up against them on the couch.

“No, you’re adorable,” you respond, lingering your hand against his soft t-shirt as you curl your hand around it.

“Don’t think so, darlin’. That’s all you. You gorgeous girl,” he says with a low drawl, his caramel eyes honing in as he backs you up against the wooden staircase, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. Before he leans in, the front door twists open and he pulls away from you in a hurry, putting as much distance between the two of you before Sarah walks in.

Your eyes grow wide as you weren’t expecting her to be here tonight. Sarah gasps as her eyes flick from you to Joel, clearly confused on what’s going on. Her long curls fall over her shoulders as she stands in a Cowboys jersey and black yoga pants with war paint smeared across her cheeks.

She says your name with questions ringing in her tone. “What are you doing here? On Halloween? Shouldn’t you be at a party or something?” she asks as she looks over your outfit carefully, her eyes going over to Joel as she takes in the cat ears that sit perched atop his head.

“Uh dad, why are you wearing those?” she asks as a giggle sounds loudly across the lit up hall.

He throws the ears off and hands them back to you, running a hand through his messy curls as he works to stay composed. “Don’t worry about it,” he says defensively. “And she came over so I could work on her car,” he confirms.

“But you just fixed her car a few days ago?” she says with raised brows, her eyes flicking back and forth between you and him.

“Uhhh yeah. But the light came back on this morning, so I brought it over. Joel said he could take a look real quick. I was just about to head back out. Shouldn’t take too long,” you say with a calm, collected demeanor, giving nothing away.

She eyes you both suspiciously and finally nods. “Okay then. Whatever you say,” she rolls her eyes. “But anyways, look at you! That outfit is so hot, my dad would never let me wear anything like that,” she pouts, crossing her arms over the orange jersey as it scrunches up underneath her.

“Maybe when you’re thirty,” he teases. She just shakes her head and sticks her tongue out at him. He chuckles out a deep laugh in response.

“Whateverrrrr,” she drawls out. She turns back to you and beams her pearly white smile as her curls bounce up and down as she moves. “Bet you’ve got all the boys wrapped around your finger in that outfit,” she smirks out. Joel’s eyes grow a shade darker as he focuses on you, trying his best not to say a word in response.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Maybe just one,” you smirk, your eyes flicking over to his brown irises as you face Sarah again, careful not to give anything away.

“Oooooo you have a boyfriend? Why haven’t I met him? Is he cute? Is he a good kisser?!” she yells excitedly as she hounds you for information.

“Sarah!” Joel warns, telling her to calm down as his eyes narrow over her.

“Sorry,” she whines, giving you a small smile as you return one to her.

“What are you doin’ back here? Thought you were goin’ to your friend’s to go trick r treatin’?” he asks with raised brows, hands on his hips as his jaw clenches up.

“I am. Just forgot to grab my purse,” she says as she reaches around you and grabs her purple over the shoulder purse and heads back to the door. “Alright, heading back out. Guess I’ll see you sometime soon?” she asks as she looks over at you behind her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will,” you nod her way, waving a quick goodbye to her.

“Sarah?” Joel calls before she heads out the door.

“Yeah?” she asks before closing the door.

“Not too late, alright?” Joel says with his brows furrowed together.

“Yeah, be back before midnight,” she promises.

“Sarah?” he calls out again, making her groan at the name.

“Huh?”

“Love you,” he says softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his face relaxes into happiness.

She smiles gently and nods. “Love you too, dad.” With that she closes the door and runs off to the burgundy Cadillac that awaits her out front.

You can’t help but smile at Joel, butterflies flitting through your stomach as you take in his soft side. He’s always so careful and gentle with Sarah, always telling her how much he loves her. He’s such a softie, and you can’t help but fall for him even more as you watch him.

“What?” he asks as he snakes his arms around your waist, backing you up against the stairwell again.

“You’re such a softie,” you smile as you wrap your arms around his neck while you run your fingers through the scruff on his neck.

“Only for Sarah and you,” he grins, dropping his lips down to yours as you drink him in again, feeling every surface of his plush lips against yours.

He breaks the kiss after a few seconds and pulls you into the living room. “C’mon. I’ll get the movie started then I’ll call in a pizza for us. Pepperoni?” he asks as he leads you over to the cream colored couch and sits you down against the soft cushions.

“Pepperoni,” you nod. He turns on the tv and pulls his phone out, heading into the kitchen as he calls Pizza Hut and places an order to be delivered to the house.

You take in your surroundings of the darkened room. Vanilla candles sit sprawled against the glass coffee table, the large display of the tv glows in the near distance as the menu comes up for the movie Scream. You hear Joel in the other room hang up the phone as he places it down on the counter.

“You want some popcorn, baby?” he asks from the other room, his voice carrying into the living room like a song you want to put on repeat.

“Mhm and a Dr. Pepper, please,” you call back.

“I gotcha, baby. Be right there.”

When the popcorn is done popping and the cans of soda are taken out of the fridge, he joins you on the couch and places one hand on your thigh as the other one presses play on the remote, making the movie hum to life as the beginning titles show across the lit up screen.

You take a sip of Dr. Pepper and pop some popcorn into your mouth as the buttery taste slides down your throat conveniently. You curl your legs onto the couch and fold yourself against Joel, letting your arms wrap around him as his arm flexes behind you. He pulls you tight to his side as his hand runs gently up and down your arm, causing your body to fully relax against him as you breathe in his cologne and woodsy scent. He smells like a piece of heaven, your piece of heaven.

He takes a drink of his Dr. Pepper and places it on the coffee table, leaning back into you as he adjusts himself into the back of the cushions and lays a soft kiss against the top of your head, making you melt beneath him.

When the scene of Ghostface asking Casey what her favorite scary movie is comes up, Joel mimics his voice and asks you the same thing in a more southern, non scary tone. “What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asks mysteriously as you giggle into his chest.

“You should know this one,” you answer back, eyes flicking up to his as he looks you over carefully before responding.

“Halloween,” he answers automatically.

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner,” you yell out, pulling a laugh from deep within his chest as you hear it rumble against your ear.

“Knew it,” he says proudly. “And what’s mine?”

You lay your head in his lap and look up at him, deep brown eyes staring down at you as he awaits your answer. He’s so pretty that it physically hurts. “Joel, The Lord of the Rings does not count as a scary movie,” you laugh out as he smiles down at you.

“Sure it does. It has spiders, orcs, dark themes.”

You push his chest playfully. “It’s fantasy. This is a scary movie,” you remark as you point to the tv, watching Ghostface chase his victim across the yard.

“Yeah, well. Still,” he vocalizes with a sigh. “Would you watch all of ‘em with me?” he asks faintly, his chocolate eyes glazing down to yours.

You turn to him and nod. “Of course I would. I’d watch amything with you,” you reply with a smile.

The corners of his lips curl up into a soft smile and he leans down and kisses you without holding back at all. He tangles his fingers in your curls and you open your mouth up, allowing him to slide his tongue into your mouth as he finds your tongue, dancing around as you drink down the taste of him slowly, passionately.

One hand slides down to your thigh as he grazes calloused fingers up and down your inner thigh, making you breathe heavier as he bites at your lower lip, heating up the room as the two of you start to get lost in each other. His hand reaches up, up, gently sliding the edge of your dress up your thigh, working his way nice and slow to where he wants to be. To your aching center that yearns for his touch.

Before he can make it any further, the doorbell rings, forcing the two of you apart as you lift up off his lap. He sighs as he pushes off the couch, muttering something under his breath that sounds like a complaint of interrupting him when he was busy with you. You giggle at his ramblings and wait till he comes back.

You hear the exchange of pizza and money and can smell the fresh cheese and pepperoni that wafts through the air of the dark living room. After another minute, Joel comes in and sets the pizza on the coffee table, telling you to eat up. You grab a slice and take a bite, letting the warm goodness fill your stomach as you set your eyes on the movie again, trying to keep focus on that instead of the handsome menace of a man that sits next to you.

“So, what’s so attractive about a killer that wears a mask? I don’t get it. With all the viral videos of masked men goin’ around, I don’t get the fuss. I even catch Sarah’s friends talking ‘bout it sometimes.” Joel shakes his head and takes another bite out of his pepperoni slice.

You giggle in response. “I don’t know. Guess that’s kind of a part of the dark romance culture now and can be kinda thrilling? A masked man in the bedroom. I mean, I get why they like it. It’s just something new and intriguing, a little dangerous, exciting even…” You stop there, not wanting to give away that you too might have a mask kink.

“Oh, is that right?” Joel smirks deviously, one of his eyebrows rising higher as he looks directly at you. “You into that shit, too?” he asks curiously as he takes his last bite, lapping his tongue along his lower lip and wiping away the last evidence of red sauce from his mouth. You try your best not to bite your lip, wanting to lick every single scrap of sauce off him slowly.

“I mean, I get the hype. Guess it would be kind of hot,” you blush, looking down at your lap to hide the crimson of your cheeks.

“I knew it,” he says as he claps a big hand on his thigh in knowing. “So you’re saying if I ever bought one of those dumb masks, you’d want me to wear it in the bedroom?” he asks as his eyebrows go up curiously while his hand digs into the back of the couch forcefully.

“I think I’d just prefer to see your handsome face, Joel. Besides, I don’t see you doing that anyways,” you laugh and hit him playfully in the shoulder.

“You’re right, darlin’. Don’t think I’d do that either,” he chuckles.

“But,” you lean into his chest and press your glossy lips to the shell of his ear seductively. “Think I’d let you put me in some handcuffs though,” you purr out as you tug on his earlobe and pull back with a sly smirk on your face.

You see the way his pupils expand and the way his chest rises and falls deeper as the blood flows thicker in the veins of his neck. You see the way he adjusts himself on the couch and clears his raspy throat. You started something, and now he’ll have to finish it.

You smile to yourself triumphantly and turn to face the tv, scooting up to the edge as you reach for your Dr. Pepper and take a refreshing sip, setting it back down on the glass coffee table when you’re done.

You hear Joel’s voice come out raspy and deep behind you. “Is that right, sweetheart? You’d let me handcuff those pretty wrists to my headboard?”

You squirm on the edge of the couch and press your legs together, feeling the heat start in your center like a volcano that’s about to rupture. “Mhmm,” you hum out carefully, trying to suppress a moan from coming out of your throat.

“Hmmm.” He leans over and presses his lips against the shell of your ear, his hot breath breathing down your neck and making you feel things you can’t control. “Think I need to go buy a pair of handcuffs then, sweetheart. Show you all the ways I can make you cum while you’re tied to my bed. What do ya think of that, huh? Sounds… erotic as hell,” he whispers darkly in your ear, leaving you panting for more as you keep your eyes focused on the movie on the big screen, watching Ghostface run down the stairs after his next victim mercilessly. He presses a gentle kiss against your cheek and scoots back into the couch, leaving you breathless and wanting.

Just when you think he’s done teasing you, he starts playing with your pink ribbon and runs his hands through your long waves, making your heartbeat gallop like the hooves of a racing Clydesdale against his touch.

“Such a pretty pink ribbon in your hair, baby,” he teases, starting to tug on your hair harder now as he pulls lightly on the curls.

“Mhm, it is,” you reply with a breath held.

“You know I love when you do your hair like this, in these curls. So long and soft to the touch. Can easily do this.” He tugs your head back and pushes you down into the couch. Your hands grip the side of the couch while your ass is up in the air, exposing all for Joel to see.

You feel his hands raise your skirt up to your hips, exposing the meaty flesh of your ass as you feel the cool air brush against the backs of your bare thighs. You hear Joel hum out in approval as he fixes his massive hands over your ass, one hand trailing down as his fingers brush the soaked material of your lace which makes a groan escape your lips.

“White lace, huh? Looks s’good on you, sweetheart. Already so wet for me, ain’t ya? Look at you drip, so fuckin’ wet, baby. Goddamn,” he whistles as he takes his thumb and trails a long line down your center, gathering more slick against the material. You whine out and he chuckles lightly.

“S’right, baby. Gonna make you really whine in a minute,” he murmurs as he slides the wet lace down your legs, gently unclasping your black heels and dropping them to the floor as he unhooks the lace from around your ankles and disposes them on the ground, leaving you completely bare for him to look at.

He slides his calloused thumb over your wetness, and you shiver with need. “Joel, please,” you beg, another whine purring out of you as you feel the pad of his thumb ghost across your clit, leaving you with a pent up cry in your chest.

“What do ya need, baby? Tell me,” he asks, barely touching your folds with the tops of his fingertips which makes you clench up over nothing.

“Need your fingers, your mouth,” you beg, your voice high-pitched from want. With need.

“That so, darlin’?” he teases as he spreads your folds with the tips of his index and middle finger, sliding them up until you can feel them pressed against your clit, drawing slow, meticulous circles as you hear the wetness gathering on his fingers.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as you dig your fingers into the side of the couch, clawing your light pink fingernails as a way to get ahold of yourself before you’re lost into a sea of lust.

“S’right, sweetheart. I know exactly what you need,” he coos.

Before he takes it any further, he drops his hand from your center and lays back against the couch, leaving you out of breath and waiting. “Why’d you stop?” you whine as you turn in the direction he’s in and see him smirking up at you with trouble written all over his face.

“C’mere,” he calls as he curls his index finger in his direction, beckoning you to come over to him.

You look questionably at him and raise a brow. “What?” you ask as you slowly scoot your legs over his, dropping down on his hips carefully.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Not there, sweetheart. Up here,” he smirks as he points to his face. Your eyes go wide at the meaning.

“You want me to…” you trail off, unable to finish your sentence.

“S’right. Want you to sit on my face. C’mon now,” he smirks, a devilish grin taking over his face as his eyes grow dark. He places his hands on your hips as he slides you up his broad chest, stopping just before you get to his neck. You pause right there, blushing as all of a sudden you get extremely nervous.

“Joel…” you choke out, unable to finish your sentence.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” he says gently, lifting your dress above your hips as it exposes your bareness for him. He drags his eyes down your center and licks his lips, his eyes blown out as you feel his breath pick up beneath his chest. “Such a pretty pussy, baby. Drippin’ and screamin’ my name,” he groans as his eyes devour you in full. “C’mon now. Sit on my face,” he demands.

You gulp and scoot your hips up, hovering just above his mouth as you stay there, nervous and turned on at the same time.

“I didn’t say hover, sweetheart. I said sit,” he demands, digging his hands into your hips as he tries to lower you down, but you hold back, afraid to crush him.

“But won’t I crush you?” you ask with your breath caught in your throat.

“The only thing that’s gonna crush me is if you don’t sit the fuck down and ride on my face. Now sit!” he growls as he forces your weight down on top of him, the curls above your mound sitting atop his curved nose as he breathes you in deeply.

He inhales your savoury scent and drags his rough tongue all the way from your dripping hole to the tops of your folds, catching the end of your clit as you whine out with need.

“Goddamn, baby. Taste and smell s’good, darlin’. Hold on tight. Not gonna stop till I make you cum all over my face, not gonna stop till you moan my name, not gonna stop till you’re all mine,” he growls as he hooks his arms around your thighs and dives back in.

He slowly drags his tongue over all of you, slotting himself between your folds and lapping meticulous circles around your puffy clit. You feel more slick spill out of you and feel him take your bundle of nerves into his mouth, sucking and slurping as every single nerve ending comes alive against his mouth. When he releases, he shoves his tongue into your wet hole, plunging into your core as you vibrate and fall apart against him.

You twist your fingers into his tousled curls and moan his name with a lull, lost in complete bliss as he works his tongue up and down up and down, making the room foggy with the smell of your arousal and the loud moans you’re giving him. “Joellll, fuck,” you moan as you pull at his hair, sliding yourself up and down his mouth as you ride his face exactly like he wants you to.

He groans at your movements, groans at the way you tug on his curls as his tongue works and works to make you fall apart around him. He slaps your ass hard and digs his nails into your thighs as he speeds up his hot tongue.

He’s pulling, sucking, munching at your clit as you feel the building orgasm. You feel it start in your spine, sliding down to rest in the pit of your stomach as you’re almost there, feel it about to take flight as your toes curl and your fingers slip deeper into his wild locks. He knows you’re close, knows exactly what he’s doing. He can’t speak, too far gone in pleasuring you with his mouth, too deep with sucking your throbbing bundle of nerves again and again as his nail beds prod into your flesh.

He loves to feel you come apart, loves to taste your arousal drip down his throat, loves to hear you moan and thrive while you’re about to come undone, and loves when you pull his hair and moan his name while he has his way with you.

You grind your pussy against his mouth, feel how soaked you’re getting him, and it just makes you that much closer to spilling yourself all over him. You feel him groan against your folds, hear him practically whisper the words into your ear as he licks and sucks you repeatedly into his drooling mouth.

Atta girl. There ya go.

Say my name, sweetheart.

C’mon. Give it to me. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.

He pulls your throbbing clit into his mouth and sucks hard, setting off every single nerve ending in your body. He sucks nice and slow and you feel yourself fall apart right there on his hot tongue. You roll your hips and feel the heat slide down your body as you clench over nothing and spill yourself all over his mouth, hearing his groan as he laps up all your slick while you fist his hair roughly through your fingers.

You take a minute to let your panting die out and wait for your body to come back down to earth after your intense face riding orgasm. When you slide back to rest on his chest, you see just how drenched and glistening his mouth and beard are from all your slick and cum. And fuck is it hot.

He smiles up at you as he catches his breath, his blown out pupils relaxing into pure brown warmth as he watches you with admiration on his face. It’s probably the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

“Rode me s’good, baby. Love the taste of you,” he hums, his crows feet crinkling up at the corners of his eyes as you get lost in those pools of warm honey.

“Yeah, well, I have an excellent instructor with an experienced tongue,” you purr, winking down at him with a big smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

He chuckles and responds, “Always happy to put my tongue to good use. Especially for you.”

You bite your lower lip and grin down at him, completely entranced by him. You’re so lucky, so fucking lucky. The luckiest girl in the world.

You shift off him and start to turn the other way as you move your legs away from his chest. Before you can crawl to the other side of the couch, he grabs your calves and pulls you back toward him. “Now where do you think you’re goin’, sweetheart?” he asks with an edge to his voice.

“Huh? What do you mean?” you ask as his large hands wrap around your ankles, pulling you back up to him as he tangles you around the roots of him, firmly planting you to his chest.

“M’not done with you yet, baby girl. You’re gonna give me another one,” he purrs, his deep voice thundering out of his chest like a bear ready to attack.

“Another one? But I’m… I’m so sensitive and…”

He shuts you up quick. “No, you’re not too sensitive. I know what you can handle, and you’re gonna fuckin’ take it like the good girl I know you are,” he growls as he drags you back up to him, hovering just over the edge of his mouth as you feel his hot breath connect with your wetness that’s already dripping for him again.

Fuck.

He wraps his strong arms around your hips and tugs you down where your folds are connecting with his plush lips, and the feeling is already overwhelming. But you need it, need him. You suck in a breath as he licks a long stripe up the entirety of you and you moan out for more.

“Need you so bad, daddy. Please,” you beg, digging your hands into the thighs of his dark jeans as your nails embed in him.

“I’m gonna give it to ya, sweetheart. Daddy’s gonna lick every inch of that pretty pussy,” he purrs as he licks another stripe up your folds, spreading you out to devour your needy clit.

You groan out and dig into his jeans, needing something to latch onto. When you open your eyes and look down, you see his bulge pressed against the thick fabric of his jeans, begging to be released.

You take your hand and grab around his thickness, working him through the denim of his pants. You hear him groan under your touch and bite your lip at the idea that dances through your mind. You’re going to sixty-nine with him. This is what’s going to send you over the edge.

You carefully unzip his zipper and free his bulging erection, taking him in your hand as you see the precum release from his slit and lap over the edges of his tip, working your hand nice and slow over him to spread the precum over his entirety.

His skin’s soft in your hand as you slide it back and forth over his large length, feeling the thick veins that spider around him that end just underneath the tip of his head. His head is red and swollen and screaming for you to taste him, and you’re happy to oblige.

Just as you meet your lips at his head and slide your tongue across his drenched tip, he shutters underneath you and lifts your hips just enough to speak as you feel the salty precum slide down your throat all hot and bubbly like.

“Fuck, baby. What’re you doin’?” he says with clenched teeth as you squeeze his cock, gliding your hand up and down his shaft as you turn to face him, smirking down at him with a devilish grin forming on your lips.

“What do you mean what am I doing? Isn’t it obvious? We’re sixty-nining,” you purr, licking your lower lip as you watch his pupils blow out into big black pits.

“Sixty-nine, is that right? You’re a dirty girl, kitty cat,” he smirks as he takes his index and middle fingers and pushes them inside you nice and slow, curling his fingers up to hit that spongy soft spot that makes you clench up against him and moan out slowly.

“That’s right, right there. That feel good?” he asks as you bite your lip and nod at him, choking out another moan as he curls his fingers higher, setting a wildlife throughout your entire core.

“Yes, daddy. Feels incredible,” you groan as you rock against his fingers, letting your own hand twist up and down his hard, wet length in your hand. You want to taste him, now.

“Fuckin’ sixty-nine. And with the prettiest girl in the world? Shit, baby. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger like that pretty pink bow in your hair,” he says with a gentle laugh that sounds a little like unbelief in his voice.

You giggle out a laugh as you stare at him as he smiles up at you between your legs. “Got you wrapped around my finger, do I?”

“Mhm, that’s right, sweetheart. All mine,” he says with a crooked grin curling up over his lips, sending your heart into overdrive.

“All yours,” you confirm with a soft smile.

He takes a minute to look at you, warm eyes focused on your face softly. Then his eyes shift into something dark and carnal as he brings you back down to his mouth.

“Well, go on, darlin’. I’ll take care of this needy pussy while you show me how good you can suck my cock,” he smirks, letting his fingers release from you as he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you down on him again. You choke out a moan as his tongue presses deep into your folds and up your dripping hole.

You focus back on his hard cock in front of you and go back down, circling his head as you lap up his salty precum and then dive down on him, taking his long length in your mouth as your hand slides up and down him slowly, savouring his taste on your tongue.

You take him as far in your mouth as you can, making sure you hit the back of your throat and choke on him while tears spill down your face as you take him deep in your throat over and over again.

You hear his moans fill the room as his tongue circles your clit, hearing your own moans get washed out by the sound of you gagging on his thick cock as your spit drips down his length and into the coarse hairs that cover his base.

The wet, sticky, messy sounds of Joel eating you out and the gagging sounds of you deep throating his massive cock again and again mix together, forming a wet, harmonious melody that reverberates off each other. It causes more slick to slide down your center as he licks and sucks and pulls on your needy clit. It’s too much, too fucking hot. This is the best, most intimate thing you’ve ever done. But you have a feeling this won’t be the end of it because he’ll want more, you’ll want more. It’s only going to get hotter, more primal, more possessive as you continue.

Joel Miller may be a fucking menace, but you’re no better. You’re a temptress spinning your web as you trap him, seducing him to you, pulling him and making him yours. Both of you wrapping each other into a complete tangle until both of you are completely, irrevocably bound to one another. Just like a moth to a flame, you’re pulled to him as he is to you. Two hearts beating wildly for the other just the same.

The room is hot and sticky as both of you get lost in each other’s ecstasy. Moans echoing off the walls as you both are close to orgasm, both so fucking high off each other that you never want to come down. You just want to stay where your bodies are panting in sweat as you continuously get lost in each other’s bliss and euphoria. You’ve never experienced a high quite like this before. Never experienced anything ever like this. It’s just you and Joel, two bodies completely consumed in the other with no plans of ever slipping away from each other. It’s just Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

You start to clench up, feel your walls fluttering as they’re about to spill, feel the way he sucks your clit into his giving mouth as his tongue travels up the entirety of you, covering you in his own spit and drool. And it’s so fucking hot.

“C’mon, baby girl. Give it to me. Cum for me. Wanna feel it,” he groans as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks hard. And that’s when you come apart for him, that’s when you feel yourself let go.

You release your lips from his cock and feel a string of drool fall from your lips and attach to the tip of his head, thinking of nothing as you throw back your head back and moan his name as it echoes across the room. “Joellllll, fuck,” you moan as you release white hot liquid all over his mouth. He’s greedy and takes it all, licking you clean as you hear his mouth drink you up, leaving nothing behind.

You rub up and down his cock faster, feeling him stiffen underneath you as his breath goes shallow. Ragged moans leave his chest as he grips your thighs tight and moans out your name slowly.

“Oh fuck, oh shit,” he slurs as you lap at his tip, teasing him before you take him again.

“That’s it, daddy. Go on and cum for me. Wanna take you all in my mouth,” you purr as you wrap your mouth around him again, bobbing up and down as you deep throat him, hearing the gagging noises that send him over the edge. He’s right there, just on the edge. You go down again and hold your mouth there as you take him deep, feeling your throat constrict around his thick cock.

“Baby, m’gonna… gonna cum… oh, fuck,” he moans as you feel thick ropes of cum hit the back of your throat, swallowing his large load down as the salty, delicious taste dances down your tastebuds.

You work over his length nice and slow, not stopping till he’s finished cumming. And just when you think he’s done, he surprises you and pours out more inside your mouth.

You see his hand shoot to his sweaty forehead as he grabs at his messy curls, see his eyes roll back as he moans your name again and again. It sounds like music to your ears, something angelic and addictive sinking into your soul at just the sound of him cumming. It’s your sanctuary, your favorite tune in the world. And you’d never get enough of it, never.

When he’s finished sending his spend down your throat, you slowly release your mouth from him as drool cakes your chin. His cock is so messy with spit and drool that you blush at the job you just did on him.

You feel his chest heave up and down underneath you, his breathing gradually slowing down little by little. You take a second to catch your own breath, gulping down breaths of fresh air that smells like him. There’s something beautiful in the rhythm of both of your breaths in sync. It’s almost like you share the same heartbeat, something so intimate about it that you can’t even shake the euphoric feeling. It’s the best thing you’ve ever experienced. He’s the best thing. Joel is.

After a few minutes he helps you sit up as he pulls his briefs and jeans back up over his softening cock. When he sits up, he grabs your lace panties from the floor and pulls them up over your legs, securing them back into place over your overstimulated pussy. He pulls down your dress over your thighs and lays back down against the couch, bringing you down with him.

You sink into his side and wrap an arm around his chest as he cradles you in his arms gently. He takes his hand and runs it up and down your arm, leaving goosebumps over every square inch of skin he marks as his own. And this feels right, all of this feels right. He feels right.

He presses a kiss against your forehead and showers you with the perfect aftercare cuddles. He’s so good, the absolute best at aftercare. It’s always been your favorite ever since the first time he did it with you in this very living room that you sit in now. Joel Miller might be dominant in the bedroom, but he’s a big softie underneath it all. He’s the perfect combination of rough around the edges and pure honey everywhere else.

“Did s’good for me, sweetheart. Always do s’good for me,” he purrs as he places another gentle kiss over your forehead. “My perfect girl,” he whispers, and you can’t help but smile at the words. My perfect girl.

“Mhm, your perfect girl,” you whisper back as you snuggle into him more, sinking into his chest as his soft t-shirt scrapes along your jawline.

“I like the sound of that,” he laughs, his raspy chuckle that sounds like a symphony of guitars in your ear.

“Me too,” you whisper back.

As the movie comes to an end, Joel grabs the controller and puts on Halloween as you hear the theme song play from the speakers. He relaxes his arm back down around you and pulls you closer to where your cheek is nestled in the crook of his neck as he takes his other hand and runs his fingers through your waves. And this might be your favorite thing ever. Being in his arms. You never want him to let go. Never ever.

You feel yourself start to slip into unconsciousness, feel yourself relax into him as the darkness pulls you under. You don’t know when, you don’t know how, but after a few minutes of cuddling you and Joel fall asleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth as sleep takes you down fast.

And then something happens, something unexpected and unwelcome.

After what seems like hours of sleep, you’re woken up to the harsh lights of the living room being turned on. You jolt awake and sit up, blinking a few times to get your eyes situated to the fluorescent lights above. Joel rubs his eyes and follows your lead, adjusting to being woken up from a deep sleep. Your jaw drops when you see who’s standing in the corner of the room. Sarah.

Oh, fuck.

“I knew it, I knew!” she jumps up and down as her long curls bounce up and down along with her, a big smile spread across her face as she can’t seem to keep her excitement down.

“Shit,” Joel mutters under his breath as your eyes go wide in panic. You try to speak but you can’t. You’re frozen, not knowing what to do or say. You’ve been caught red handed.

“I knew it all along! This is so exciting! You and dad? Oh my God, I’m a genius,” she squeals as she jumps again.

“Sarah! Calm down,” Joel warns as his eyes narrow slightly. Sarah stops jumping but continues beaming at the both of you. You feel like your heart is about to come out of your throat. Your dad. What if she tells your dad?

“Sarah, you’re not gonna tell my parents are you? They’d kill me,” you rush out with your breathing uncontrolled. It feels like you're about to throw up with the knot that’s in your stomach. Joel notices your panic immediately and does what he can to calm you down.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he urges as he cups your chin and turns you toward him, his deep brown eyes almost calming you down. Almost. “She’s not gonna tell them. Right, Sarah?” he asks as he turns to her, giving her that knowing look.

She imitates her lips being a zipper and acts like she zips them tight. “My lips are sealed. Promise,” she nods as she looks back and forth between the two of you, your anxiety slowly calming down at the confirmation.

“See? She won’t say a word. It’s gonna be okay, darlin’,” he confirms as he soothes you over, one hand rubbing your thigh to calm you down. You nod in acceptance.

Sarah calls your name and you look up. “I’ve noticed the way dad’s looked at you for a while now. Been wondering when he was going to make a move,” she laughs, shaking her head. “He’s liked you for a long time, even if he never told me. I could see it in his eyes.”

You just look over at Joel and smile at him. “Yeah, I’ve liked him for a long time, too,” you say quietly. Joel meets your eyes and smiles at you, the corners of his lips curling up to form those perfect dimples again.

“This is so cute, I think I’m gonna throw up,” she says as she claps her hands together.

“Alright, alright. Go on up and go to bed, it’s past your bedtime,” he says as he points at the clock that says five past midnight.

“Okay,” she groans. “Night, love birds,” she sings as she leaves the room and heads up the stairs.

“You sure she won’t say anything?” you ask nervously, anxiety still swirling through your gut.

“If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s keeping secrets. So, think we’re safe,” he confirms as you blow out a breath you had been holding.

“That’s a relief. I guess she was bound to find out at some point, right?”

“Yeah, guess you’re right,” he says as he nods his head. His calloused thumb shifts against your jawline and he leans in and presses his lips against yours. You lean into him and get lost in his scent, in his abundance of warmth. When you hear the creak of the stairs, you pull apart from his lips fast.

Joel leans over the couch annoyed and peeks up at the stairs. “Sarah?” he asks in a deep voice, warning her to stop spying.

“Uhh, yeah?” she asks nervously.

“Bed. Now,” he growls. She obeys and runs up the stairs, not wasting a second of time. He sighs in annoyance. “She’s never gonna let me live this down,” he groans.

“Hey,” you say as you grab his hand and entangle your fingers in his. “I’ll be right there with you through it.”

He rasps out a chuckle and looks you in the eyes, calm brown eyes returning to look at you. “You want me to take you home? I can drop your car off tomorrow.”

You shake your head no. “Can I stay here tonight? Don’t really want to go home. I’d rather stay with you.”

“‘Course, sweetheart. You always have a place here.” He pushes a curl behind your ear and pulls you back in, planting his lips against yours as a warm wave of peace and serenity cloud your mind.

“C’mon. Let’s get you up to bed.” He pulls you up and picks you up bridal style as you squeal out and wrap your arms around his neck. You kiss his cheek and tuck your head against the crook of his neck as he carries you up the stairs. And somehow you know it’ll be okay. Things will turn out okay because you’re with Joel.

So when he pulls you tight against him under the sheets and you're wrapped in his t-shirt with his arms around you, you know you’re in good hands. Nothing can ruin what you and Joel have. Not even your dad. Joel has your whole heart and nothing can change that now.

Tags: @amyispxnk @janaispunk @blueseastorm @joelmillersblog @joelalorian @heartstoptrying @littlevenicebitch69 @getitoutofmymindwrites @akah565 @keylimebeag @dugiioh @laurrrra @untamedheart81 @roostersforevergirl @itsokbbygrl @pedrostories

Part 4

[bethanydelleman]

Ranking Jane Austen heroes/men on how good of a father they’d be?

I have faith that all of them would be good fathers. After all, Jane Austen clearly knows what bad fathers look like and she is pretty harsh about them (rightfully). I think all of them would be good in different ways, so instead of ranking, here is their dad type:

Fitzwilliam Darcy: Providing dad, his love language is buying his children expensive toys and praising their accomplishments to relations. He is definitely involved in education and discipline. Wee bit overprotective of his daughters, but you get it, he has valid reasons. Gives his sons handshakes instead of hugs.

Charles Bingley: Fun dad, he's not sure about this whole 'parenting' part... but Baby Charles, did you see this cool rock? Do you want to go up on Daddy's shoulders so you can see the elephant? Do you want to see Daddy's fencing swords? (Oh, good point Jane, we'll put those away for a few years...)

Frederick Wentworth: Teamwork dad, he knows that Anne could totally handle everything herself, but he's not afraid to help. He feels confident removing a toddler from someone's back after all. Occasionally cannot figure out what to do and stares helplessly at his wife.

George Knightley: Nurturing dad DOES BABY GEORGE NEED ANOTHER BLANKET? DOES HE NEED A SNACK? BABY GEORGE, IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO FOR YOUR PRESENT COMFORT??? (No, Mr. Knightley, he's fine.)

Colonel Brandon: Affectionate dad, he cries when any of his children hits a major milestone. He feels the need to constantly hug and kiss his children. They are miracles, all of them are miracles, and he is going to make them happy and what happened to him and Eliza will never happen again! They need another hug

Edward Ferrars: Thoughtful dad, constantly thinking about what will make his children feel happy and loved. Encourages them to follow their dreams. Has minor panic attacks if he says or does anything that remotely reminds him of his own mother. Elinor assures him regularly that he's doing an excellent job (because he is).

Edmund Bertram: Interactive dad, takes time to discuss their lessons and answer questions. Very anxious about his children's moral education. Will take the time to draw lines on their letter paper. Will never admit he's wrong even when he makes a mistake.

Henry Tilney: Perfect dad, like honestly, have you met him? He's a 10/10, all the best parenting traits rolled into one man. AND YET, his oldest son thinks he's totally lame.

Bonus: Frank Churchill left his child at Kensington Gardens once twice, but Jane never found out so it doesn't count.

Bonus bonus: Robert Martin totally has a mini-me son who rides beside him on a pony.

[thefallennightmare]

Miracle-sixteen

*gif created by me, feel free to use*

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: Hahaha i'm sorry

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered @loeytuan98 @omens-in-reverse @loverofagoodbeard @jay02bo @niicoleleigh

Darkness.

Emptiness.

Lonliness.

The Void.

Whatever you want to call it, that's what I felt inside as I stared at the wooden box in front of me. It was currently closed and the funeral director said they could open it whenever I was ready. How can someone ever be ready to see their love one dead but dolled up to look alive? It's gut wrenching and disturbing. They're supposed to be dead. Why would anyone want to stare at a dead body to remember them when they were alive?

Maybe I should have cremated her.

With a broken sigh, I raised my gaze away from the casket over to the funeral director who was basically running the entire funeral since I have no idea what I'm doing.

"People actually have open caskets at funerals?" I asked again.

Elaine nodded. "It's very common. Should we open it?"

As I reluctantly nodded, I turned my back to the casket just intime to see Lana walk up to me with two large bouquets of flowers in her hands. Quickly I rushed over to her and grabbed one.

"Where do you want these, dear? They're from your neighbors," Lana asked.

"Uh," I gazed around, purposely avoiding the now open casket, and nodded to the doors at the opening of the room. "Right there is probably fine.

Once we set the flowers down on the ground, I brushed my hands against the thighs of my black dress. It was a chilly October day, but it felt weird not to be dressed up to attend a funeral; especially when it's for your mother.

She died one week ago, twenty minutes before I made it to the hospital. Even with all the anger I felt towards her, it crushed me knowing I wasn't there with her when she died. I wasn't there for her much the last few weeks, too busy on the road and pinning for a life that was never supposed to be mine. Lana was there with my mom at the end, as well as someone I didn't expect to see there, holding her cold hand.

"Do you think he'll show up?" Lana asked tentatively.

The subject was still a sore wound, and she didn't know how I'd react.

My bloodshot eyes lazily tore into her. "I told him to stay away. He'd be smart if he listened."

"Have you eaten anything today, dear?" She asked, changing the subject.

Through all the pain and anguish, I was forcing inside, a small smile pulled at my lips. For the last seven days, Lana had stayed in my house with me to make sure I ate, got out of bed, and took care of myself. I told her many times that she didn't need to. I was alright on my own.

"Lana, you literally made me breakfast, and all but forced it down my throat," I reminded her.

She gently patted my cheek. "Just making sure. I could stay another night if you'd like."

I firmly shook my head. "No, you need to go back to your life after today. You've done so much for me already. I'll be fine on my own."

"Well, maybe if you weren't ignoring all of them, you could always call Mr. Seb-."

"Don't," I pointed a finger at her. "I don't want to hear his name."

There was some commotion coming from down the halls, and various voices, and when I peaked at my watch, I noticed that the service was about to begin. Plastering on a fake smile, I straightened out my dress as I prepared for the next hour of the onslaughts of condolences. I wasn't sure how many people who show up today, my mom never talked about friends before her Alzheimer's.

Lana stood next to me as I greeted person after person, accepting their condolences with a pulled-tight smile and a nod. It went on like this for a long while and when the muscles in my jaw couldn't take the pain any longer; I excused myself and walked out into the hallway. I was only alone for a few seconds until my name was called from behind by a familiar voice.

Turning on my heels, a scowl pulled at my lips as my fists clenched. How dare he show up here after I told him to stay away?

"Hi," he gave me a small smile.

"What the fuck are you doing here, James? I told you at the hospital that you're not welcome here," I forced through gritted teeth.

I pushed through the door of the hospital room but came to a screeching halt at the sight. My mom laying still in a hospital bed with blood dried to various spots of her face and Lana standing at the foot of the bed, fear in her eyes. The monitors were blank as the tubes that were once connected to my mom lay scattered on the floor. But none of that held my attention. It was the man sitting in the chair next to the bed, my mother's lifeless hand in his.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demanded.

The man looked away from my mom and towards me. His dark hair was falling into his face so he ran a hand through it to push it back, his striking blue eyes boring into me. The sharpness of his jaw could cut the tension in the room. I sucked in a breath when a familiar sensation rang inside my mind. This man looked exactly like my real father in those pictures.

"Hi," the man stood to his feet. "You must be Y/N."

I raised a brow while crossing my arms. "Who the fuck are you?"

His eyes darted from Lana back to me. "I'm James; your brother."

Everything around me fell into hell beneath my feet as my heart stuttered in my chest. My mouth ran dry, and I had to swallow a few times to get the moisture back. Even though he looked like how our father did, I still didn't believe him.

"Bullshit," I spat. "How do I know you're not lying?"

James sighed before pulling out his wallet and handing over a frayed picture. Hesitantly I reached for it and when I realized what I was looking at, my heart shattered into a million pieces. It was of James and my mother, the day he was born. It was taken in the hospital room. On the back was written:

James Boyle. January 2, '99. My son.

"You need to leave," I said while thrusting the picture into his chest.

Tears burned in my eyes but I refused to let them spill.

James chuckled. "She's my mother. I'm not leaving her."

"She's already dead," I said.

I would have been more shocked about missing her last breath if Lana hadn't called me twenty minutes ago to say that there was a man here who decided to the plug. My mom was hooked up to a ventilator and was brain dead, as the doctors said, so he made the choice to end my mom's life. There wasn't any hope for her so I would have done the same thing. Although, it wasn't my choice to make. The doctors allowed this random man to decide when he wasn't familiar with my mother's condition.

"How the fuck did they let you decide to end her life?" I demanded to know.

"She made me her power of attorney," James said, not daring a glance my way as he stared down at our mother.

"You? Why the fuck would she let you be her power of attorney? You've been out of her life for years," I said while walking to the other side of the bed so I could glare at him.

James peered up at me with my words. "Unlike you, I've been keeping in touch with her. While you've been gone the last few weeks, I've called her every day at noon to check in on her."

I glared at Lana who simply held up her hands. "I had no idea."

"Her Alzheimers wasn't nearly as bad as you two made it seemed," James said. "She remembered me everything we talked. It was the highlight of her day when I called."

My shoulders were tense with anger and I was trying to hard not to make a scene over my mother's corpse.

"She attacked me with a bat and nearly choked out a friend of mine because she thought he was my dad," I informed him.

James scoffed. "That man wasn't your father."

"Bullshit! Jonathan raised me, unlike your piece of shit father who wanted nothing to do with me!," I bellowed.

The door to the room opened, a nurse walking inside with a pissed off expression. "Alright, there's way too many people in here. The coroner is coming to retrieve your mother and only one can be here for that."

James gave one last longing glance down at our mother. "I'll leave. I have a flight back home to Texas to catch. I'll let you handle the details of the funeral."

"Gee, thanks," I snarled. "Do me a favor, don't bother showing up."

"I'll be seeing you again; soon." James said right before walking out of the room.

"You've done a great job with the service. It's what mom would have wanted," James said.

I scoffed while shaking my head. "Just because you would call her to check in doesn't mean you know what she wanted. I was with her every single day dealing with her Alzheimers. I was the one taking care of her, not you. You were too busy living your rich life in Texas."

I'd done my research on James Boyle and found out that he was married with three kids and ran his own investment company: a very popular one in Texas. So while I was struggling to pay out my mother's medical bills, he was spending his money on expensive and lavish things.

"It seems like you've made quite the life for you here," James muttered while smoothing down the front of his tux jacket. "You're a merch girl for some band? Good deeds, was it?

"Bad Omens," I corrected. "And I'm their social media manager."

Was. You quit when Noah compared your Only Fans to amateur porn.

James hummed in response. "Well, it must be paying well if you could provide this kind of service for mom."

No, my most recent pictures and videos on Only Fans did.

I was making a decent amount of money from there and even though I quit tour early, Matt still mailed my paycheck to me. So those two combined was enough to pay for the funeral. Even though I shouldn't have gone to these lengths for a woman who lied to me about my entire existence. Maybe that was the reason I wasn't so heartbroken about my mom because of all the lies.

But the guilt that ate away at me every night because I wasn't here was slowly becoming too much to handle alone.

Lana asked me every day how I was doing but I'd lie by saying I was fine when in fact, I was one wrong word from a breakdown.

"I should get back to it," I motioned to the room behind him where the crowd was taking thier seats.

As I walked passed James, he gripped my elbow. I hissed in pain when his fingers dug into my skin.

"Did you go over her will yet?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

He lowered his face closer to mine. "I need to know if she left me anything."

Mother fucker.

My jaw dropped when I realized this was why he showed up, and prematurely pulled the plug. He wanted whatever was left in the will to him.

"You're such a piece of shit," I seethed while trying to rip my arm out of his grasp.

He held tighter, and I cried out in pain.

"I bet bitch left everything to you," James snarled.

"She had nothing to leave! We were broke, barley affording to pay her medical bills on top of our other bills. The only thing I have left is the house but if you're that desperate to have something, take it. It's yours."

I ripped my arm away from him and rubbed my elbow to ease the pain.

As James took a step towards me, a body stepped in front of me to block me from his wrath.

"I'd suggest you take a step back."

My eyes took in the site of Folio with his hair slicked back and black suit, face tense with anger.

"I'm having a private conversation with my sister," James pointed towards me.

Folio fingers twitched, the only sign that he was surprised, but pulled me closer behind him.

"It looked rougher than that," he said.

James took a side stepped towards me which only made Folio push me into a direction of another body. Nick gave me a warm smile as he wrapped an arm around me. Feeling his warmth eased the anger for a moment and I leaned into him. I only told Folio about my mom but knew that eventually the rest of the guys would find out. I didn't expect them to show up to the funeral, though. Tour ended yesterday, and I figured they'd want to stay home to rest.

"This is none of your business."

"Whenever it involves Y/N, it is our business," Folio said. "If you're done here, I can have a worker show you out."

James' gaze bounced from both of the Nicks then to me, his lips pulled into a tight line. With a shake of his head, he adjusted his suit jacket.

"If it means anything to you, I was hoping to meet under better circumstances," James spoke to me.

"Go fuck yourself, James." I spat.

Not wanting to be in his presence for a second longer, I allowed Nick to turn me away from him and steer me into the direction of the room where my mother's service was seconds away from starting. Folio followed close behind until we were right outside of the doors to the room where he pulled us to a stop.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

No, far from it.

I was holding it together during my altercation with James and was seconds away from breaking down.

Nick gently raised my arm and pushed up the sleeve of my dress to get a look at my elbow. "It doesn't look that bad. Shouldn't leave a bruise."

Without a second thought, I wrapped my arms around Nick in a hug, one he immediately returned.

"Thank you," I muttered. "For being here."

His hand rubbed at my back. "Of course, Y/N."

Leaving his embrace, I folded into Folio's. One hand wrapped around my lower back while the other smoothed the hair away from my face as I buried it into his chest. The tears still didn't fall but this comforting touch was almost enough to make me break down.

"I didn't think you would show up."

Folio pulled away to stare down at me. "Why wouldn't we?"

I shrugged. "Tour ended yesterday. You guys must be exhausted."

Nick spoke next. "We would have be here earlier but Jolly was afraid you'd kick his ass if we stopped the tour early."

"Can you blame me? She's got a strong right hook."

Spinning around, I smiled towards Jolly who held his arms open for a hug, which I gladly accepted.

"I'd never kick your ass, Jolly. You're too sweet." I joked after stepping away from his embrace.

We all chuckled as I took in the sight of the three of them, truly feeling the love and appreciation from them. They may have started out as acquaintances when I first began working for them but slowly over time, they had become good friends of mine. But if the three of them are here, does that mean?

I peered over to Folio. "Is No-."

"Angel."

Wiping my head around, I drank in the sight of Noah standing less than five feet away from me. His hair was falling into his eyes and the long dark jacket covered the black turtleneck he wore. Fuck, he looked so beautiful. Even with the anger I felt boiling inside of me from all the hurtful things he said to me a week ago, my heart still skipped a beat as I continued to watch him.

"I'm sorry," Noah said while stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. "For more than I can even explain right now."

Tears rolled over my cheeks and the taste of them felt bitter on my tongue. My breathing became erratic as I did my best to keep myself calm. I wanted to punch him, pushed him out of those doors away from all of this, and I wanted to tell him what a piece of shit, asshole he was. But yet, more than anything, I wanted to walk up to him and press our lips together.

I needed him so bad, not in a sexual way. I needed the comfort and care he always provided. If anyone could get me through the rest of the day, it was Noah.

"I can't do this right now. The service is about to start," I sputtered before I slipped past him into the room.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Title: Union

Yandere! The ‘General!’ x fem! Reader!

(Mr Villain's Day Off)

Warnings: general yandere themes, toxic relationship, blood and slight(?) gore, violence (reader’s neck is bitten), idealization/fantasies of murder, implied possessiveness, and obsessiveness, implied codependent behavior.

I took liberation with this and created the custom of the General’s species biting the neck of their lover as some sort of vow. Like with Omega Au.

He’s out of character in this lmao.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/LURKERS/DNI

Disclaimer: I do not support or encourage any of the toxic and harmful behaviors/thoughts that may take place in this piece of fiction. It should not be romanticized or even considered normal as it is both extremely toxic and dangerous.

Word count: 1261k

---

His teeth hurt.

Sharp and pearly white, now stained with your blood. Your nails claw into his shoulders, his trench coat softening the impact. He’s more like a vampire and not an alien, you think. This twisted sense of… union isn’t really your thing. Not when it involves teeth and blood, the ritual being repeated once every other year, something that is expected and welcomed by his species.

You wouldn’t have minded it if you had decided to stay. But you do because you wanted out, tired of his little secrets, the long nights, the hidden phone calls. You would have rather that he was cheating on you, an unfaithful bastard who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Instead, you got an alien who didn’t understand what ‘no’ meant.

A little too faithful, too love stricken to see past that beautiful, beautiful tinted rose filter. And he wanted the same from you, it seems. With sharp teeth and an iron grip, he held you in place, desperate after an hour of pleas that were so unlike him.

One of his hands held the back of your neck, keeping you in place. His ring feels cold, his blunt nails feel sharp, he’s stronger, bigger than you. Resistance was futile.

His teeth dig deeper, rougher. Tears form in your eyes, running down your face in big, fat streaks, sobbing into the collar of his coat. Everything is a blur, and his free hand rubs circles into your back, attempting to soothe you. It doesn’t, it makes you feel worse because it reminds you that this man is not just a monster but has feelings and guilt like everyone else –

You genuinely, genuinely hate this alien? Man? You despise him, wanted to scalp him alive, to stab a knife through his heart until the only color you could see was red. But you would never be able to do that. Nor will you be able to drive a knife through your own heart just to escape your dammed faith.

“I’m sorry, please endure it for a bit longer…,” he gasps out before he sinks his teeth into your neck again. Your own dug into his hair, fingers pulling at his roots. The tears don’t stop and neither does his bite.

“Hurts – it hurts!” sobbing, you still attempt to push and pull his head away, but to no avail. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, breathing, and able to think. Crimson runs down your neck, stains your pretty lacy white shirt, all the while the man enjoys his sweet, sweet time with you. Like enjoying a juicy steak.

“…Hah… it’s done,” his tone, despite being comforting, was a shrill scream in your ear. His tongue pokes out, only to lick the wound, saliva mixing in with blood. It’s slimy and roughish, with a squishiness to it. Like a warm wet rag pressed against your neck. The only difference being it’s an organic tongue and not some fabric.

“… I’m sorry,” another lick, another circle rubbed onto your back. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts –

“I know it hurts… I forgot how… fragile humans could be. I’m sorry.” Too tired to fight back anymore, you fall limp in his embrace. Your jaw goes slack, eyelids too heavy to keep open. The void is calling for you.

You should have rejected his help, that day. You should have carried those heavy bags up the stairs that day, even if it meant you would have pulled a muscle or two. You should have ignored him when you kept running into him, both of you surprised to see the other so frequently. You should have kept your mouth shut and feelings hidden, your confession forgotten and your first kiss nonexistent.

Should have done this, should have done that – it’s too late to wallow in the past. The mirror cracked long ago, just like your sense of self. Like your trust in the one person who should have been your ‘everything.’ Whatever that was.

Something you realized was harmful for you, but he refused to acknowledge it. To accept it.

You should have rejected his invitation to his apartment. To get your stuff back. You should have avoided him instead of still trusting him once he let his true identity slip through that tongue of his. How naïve and stupid of you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

“I haven’t felt this way about anyone, before.”

Neither have you.

“You make me rethink my stance on humans.” He sits you down on his couch, reaching for the medical supplies sitting at the side. He prepared for this. He’s always been ready for this.

You never had a say-so in the matter. How cruel.

“You make me question myself, and what I’m fighting for.” Your eyes shut close, a towel – wet and warm – pressed against the open wound. He holds it there for a good while. Assuring that his prized ‘lover’ would be patched up in no time.

“Our customs are different from yours. It’s painful, even for us. But you don’t have to relive this pain.” You’re vaguely aware of the cotton ball, of the scent of medical ointments and the towel being pressed against the bleeding wound once more. You’re too tired to open your eyes, but you fear you might die if you don’t.

“… You should… have let me go.” It’s broken and weak, almost less than a whisper, but you manage to talk. It’s painful and took extreme amounts of effort, but you talked. You almost wish you would die – but the fear of meeting nothing but a black abyss on the other side of the road scares you more than this fiend.

He doesn’t say anything. Just tends to the wound that he inflected on you like it was just another Tuesday night. You never asked for this. You would have never asked for this, the pain, the betrayal he’s hidden from you these past two years.

You almost wish he only said ‘yes’ just to use you. A sick twisted sense of humor, a past time he could always forget at a later date. Amusement that would grow boring, dull. A toy he could have left in an open field, neither destroying it nor loving it.

If this was a romance story, then this would have been the best ending. Two crossed-star-lovers who put aside their differences to be together. One changing his view on the ‘enemy’ because his sweetheart was from that group. They fail to show the ugly side of ‘love.’

You had chosen a rotten apple and now it has poisoned you.

“… I know that you must hate me.”

You do, you hate him as much as you fear him.

“But I…”

Ring!

Ring!

Ring!

His phone goes off exactly three times before he fishes it out of his coat pocket, a sneer displayed on his mouth. His teeth show, dyed red. Still sharper than a knife.

You don’t get to see the caller ID.

“– General! Listen, I know that it is your off day – “

“Get to the point. I’m giving you five seconds before I hang up.”

You don’t get to hear the conversation, either. You could barely feel the wet rag dabbing your neck. Or the smell of herbs. You wonder if he would let you die just like this. Or if he would find a way to ‘save’ you.

Nothing matters anymore, you suppose.

Not when the ‘General’ decided that you were lovelier than a rose and brighter than the stars amongst a darken sky.

[therealvinelle]

Favorite month for each of the cullens? For James’ coven?

I'm fascinated, why James's coven? But alright.

The Cullens

Alice likes parties, she likes decorating, she likes to have a reason to decorate the house for a party. And nothing says parties, decor, and finding a way to be modern, somehow sexy, yet tasteful and teaming up with Esme like Christmas and New Years' Eve. Plus the sun sets much earlier so she can go shopping at human hours, use atmospheric outdoor lighting, and have all sorts of seasonal fun that simply doesn't work the same in the Summer months (and Spring and Autumn are... so wet...). It's December for Alice.

Carlisle likes when he can be out longer, when the snow is still pristine and when there are happy festivities happening. He would uncomplicatedly be a December person, except the festivities are... dampened... by the family and partner violence and suicide attempts he gets at the end of the month. He's a December person who sees it as the time he has to save more people than usual, and also the snow is pretty.

Edward is for the fall months, because fall is such a beautiful time of year and more importantly he can think gloomy thoughts about nature following the cycle of life, every year it comes to life then dies again while he lives on. November... the twilight of the year, that brief flash of rapidly passing weeks just before the darkest time of the year and the death that is winter rolls in.

Emmett loves Christmas. There is no doubt in my mind Rosalie does a "Happy birthday, Mr. President" routine, and that they have some horrible lane about making their own fireworks for New Years' Eve. December is awesome, bro.

Esme loves family, festivities, and the joy of exchanging gifts with loved ones. Christmas is a wonderful time of year, but so too are the days leading up to Christmas, when she can put out the decorations and have a meaningful way of marking the passage of time for a few weeks. December.

Jasper enjoys the happy emotions coming from his family. December.

Renesmee's concept of the passage of time is completely warped. She dutifully says "December" when asked about her favorite month because that seems to be the done thing in this family.

Rosalie has thoughts about how Christmas is a time to be spent with family, specifically with children who believe in Santa Claus and miracles, and while she has a family there's a very central part of Christmas she'll never have, just as she can't enjoy any of the little things that made Christmas what it is, such as gingerbread cookies. It's another painful reminder, but so is her entire life. Renesmee helps heal this for her, in that there's now a child she can have many if not all of these Christmassy things she wanted to experience with, and also in that I somehow know several years of Christmases with the entire extended Black-Clearwater-Cullen-Swan family will be such a clusterfuck, everyone except Bella sensing the tensions, that Rosalie will be completely disillusioned as to what "family Christmas, just like the humans have it!" will never be appealing to her again.

James & co

Victoria prefers whichever month of the year rains most in whichever region of the world she's in. Rain washes away her scent, she can hide, and that makes for a happy Victoria.

James shares Victoria's preference, as more rain makes the hunt more difficult and he loves a challenge

Laurent thinks these people are fucking weird, rain ruins his hair and clothes and can we get a house? Laurent would like a house. ("How badly" is a question he must ask himself chez the Denali.)

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster: The Nightmare's Interlude

Hello, Mr. Monster master list

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader (18+)

So, as some of you know, I've been very sick for a while. Everything's behind schedule, but then this struck me, so I thought I'd share. The Jeff fan club rides again! The next proper chapter will be out... soon? Not doing the tag list thingy for this, but that will return with the next, proper chapter, and I'll give ya'll a heads up about this blurb in case you missed it then. <3

The nightmare was older than the beds beneath which it lurked. It had slipped a cold, hard grasp around dreamer’s ankles before there were words for either. From the dawn of sleeping things, it startled creatures from fantasies and reminded all of the unseen dangers lurking in dark places. Snakes, spiders, and wicked things with tooth and talon. Worse threats, even: strangers and ghosts, murderers and curious thieves.

When the Nightmare King vanished, the thing from under the bed went looking. It was one of many, in the beginning, but others grew distracted, lost hope, or found fresh inspiration in the delights of the waking world. It did not give up its quest. Traveling from shadows under a bed to those under a low table on the other side of the planet, it searched. It saw without eyes and heard without eats. It listened from under chairs and lurked under parked cars. But the waking world was vast, and after nearly a century of hunting, it began to despair.

The Endless were not gods. And the Nightmare King did not take up his mantle with a light heart. Perhaps he’d left, abandoned his creations to wither and fade.

Was that a kinder end than simply unmaking the Dreaming in one, fell stroke?

Perhaps Dream of the Endless was captured. Or ill. Or enchanted by some fell demon. Perhaps he wasn’t in the waking world at all, and he’d been bound in the deepest circles of Hell, or drugged into bliss beyond the gates of Tir na NÒg. Without word, every possibility was as realistic as the last. The nightmare only knew its lord wasn’t dead. If he’d fallen, another aspect would’ve been given his function, and the Dreaming would not stand in ruins.

So, the nightmare kept searching, obsessed with a new purpose, a new reason for existing, and it decided not to return before its lord.

It found all kinds of things. Lost treasures. Creatures hiding from worse monsters than the dark. Other dreams and nightmares seeking refuge from their increasingly-unstable home. Bottles, buttons, and dust bunnies. Never a hint of its lord.

And then – something.

A thread of power reaching out through a sleeping mind, the glitter of sand and ancient power.

The nightmare rushed through the shadows, following the trace like a bloodhound. It would get there first. It would rescue their lord. They would return to the Dreaming and set all right. A quest fulfilled.

But when it finally chased down the source, it didn’t find Lord Morpheus. It reached up to clutch a very small, very human ankle.

The girl-child jerked awake at its touch, hiccupping on tears, and the nightmare wondered which of its brothers it had interrupted. It did not wonder long, though. It was too busy feeling a new sensation, one it was meant to inspire rather than suffer.

Horror.

This child had been… mangled. Deep within. Her mortality hung in tatters, like curtains in the windows of a haunted house, framing what should have been a miracle. His master’s name. The dream of dreams. But whatever had irreparably damaged the child’s natural place in the flow of life and death had carved over the name.

And there was the sand. In her soul. In her blood.

It must pull her deep into dreams, the poor thing.

She was fortunate to wake at all.

A strong child.

Little fingers brushed over nightmarish crusts and ooze, gentle with papery skin, and the little girl said, “Hello.”

The nightmare had never had a conversation with a human child before, and after a moment’s thought, it gave her ankle a slight, answering squeeze. Nothing to hurt her, but enough to acknowledge and return her greeting.

“Are…” Her voice quavered and died, but she tried again, determined. The nightmare hung on her every breath, waiting.

“Are you here to hurt me, too?”

It released her. Instantly. The shadows swallowed it back under the little princess bed, and it recoiled into the inky black as that new feeling – horror – brought goosebumps to its hairless flesh.

This was its lord’s soulmate. It had seen many come and go from Lord Morpheus’ embrace, but this – well. This was different. This was unique. Something that would not come again, even in another dozen millennia. The little human was precious, even if its master was not there to appreciate and protect the one creature whose wyrd twined so intimately with his.

“Don’t go!” A little face appeared, upside-down over the side of the bed, trying to see in spaces too deep for mortal eyes. Even eyes, the nightmare realized, as clever as hers. Oh, the trouble this child must find.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Are you… a nice… monster?”

The nightmare returned to the light slowly, ensuring it wouldn’t scare her, and she smiled, reaching down to shake its hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Monster.”

The nightmare did not realize it at the time, but it was already lost. Lost to the hope in terrified eyes and the smile that invited it into the daylight for tea parties. Lost to slow conversations through knocks and a hand-drawn copy of a Ouija board the girl “saw on tv.”

It explained it was a nightmare, and she explained her name meant “dream,” too. When it said it didn’t have a name in the way she did, she gasped, told it that was terrible, and offered him one.

Jeff.

He became Jeff, and without meaning to, he found a new kind of quest. Even if his lord should never return, Jeff would guard his lady. The little dreamer marked for death with terrible power because she’d first been marked for love.

Protector. Guard. Confidante. Friend, even. He’d never been such things, but he took up the role gladly as the child told him about her parents, who knew something had happened to their child, but couldn’t believe her story about the fairy under the bridge. Jeff believed her, and Jeff remembered.

She explained why her favorite foods were the best, why it was important to have a favorite color, and why swings were her favorite part of the playground.

One day she came in with a little bottle, giggling, and called him out. He stretched into the yellow sun, the tips of his fingers brushing the hem of her lavender dress.

“Mommy made my nails pretty, so now I’m gonna paint yours and make you pretty, too, kay?”

She painted his broken, half-peeled fingernails with glittery purple polish, and they made her so happy he kept them that way a whole week. Jeff would do many things to keep her smiling, because sometimes the terror carved into her young mind swelled until she became sick with it. The fear stole the breath from her lungs and the thoughts from her mind. It came most often in the dark, when she felt most alone, and Jeff held her little foot to assure himself she hadn’t shaken apart into broken pieces, and to let her know he was there.

And then came the night he failed her, the night the child lost her family and stared into the eyeless maw of her soulmate’s favorite creation. Jeff tried. He warned her not to go out, and when she didn’t listen, he pulled her under the bed.

But too late. Not enough.

The Corinthian pulled her out of the shadows and sent her running into the woods. Truly alone, where Jeff couldn’t so easily follow.

The child fled, pursued by hungry things in the night, the Not Deer among them.

The Corinthian returned to the room and smiled down at Jeff, wiping the parents’ blood off his knife.

“Nice girl you had there. Real peach.” The greater nightmare crouched low, taking off his sunglasses. “Not ripe yet, of course. It’s better this way, don’t you think? If she can’t survive a few of us, how could she survive our maker?”

He called, and summoned, and reached for every dream and nightmare he knew walked the waking world without malice. Some of them came. Jeff rallied Polyphemus, the shepherd who once carried the smallest dreamers away from the deeper shoals of Nightmare, into gentler dreams.

Enough came. Enough heard. They did what Jeff could not and snatched the plucked the girl out of reach of her pursuers. Polyphemus, and the nightmare Gault, and Fiddler’s Green – who wore a strange shape and a new name.

When that awful, terrible night had ended, when the child – Aisling – was safe enough in the hands of human authorities, Jeff began leaving for longer and longer periods, hunting ardently for his lord. The girl was not safe. She would never be safe until Dream of the Endless returned.

The fear became worse, paralyzing attacks that interrupted her waking hours.

She struggled in even the most welcoming foster homes, trying to navigate a pitying world that saw her as half-mad at best. And when Jeff reached out to comfort her, the other children screamed and ran to tell adults about the monster under the bed.

Other nightmares came to visit, and Aisling made her roommate cry after she asked to leave the closet door open “so the boogeyman can breathe.”

She did not smile so much.

She did not paint his nails, and she stopped drawing Ouija boards after one foster family subjected her to an exorcism.

Jeff listened to many would-be families plead with her to be good or demand to know why tormented the other children. They wanted her, if only she could behave. If only she’d stop lying. If only she’d stop playing sick pranks on the little ones. If, if, if. They only wanted her if. Jeff had seen her face horrors that could break the human mind and still smile after. He did not know how to help, so he held her ankle as she slept, and her hand when she was grounded.

He went with her to therapy sessions, learning beside her as she developed coping mechanisms to manage the fear. Panic attacks, the therapist called them. But the therapist also pushed her to tell a more palatable truth, to accept a human killed her parents, not a nightmare with mouths for eyes. The therapist wanted Aisling to stop talking to shadows and to make a best friend who wasn’t a monster under the bed.

The child, who was a little less a child every day, refused.

In the silvery glow of a full moon, she looked across the bedroom she – for once – had to herself, and told Jeff, “I won’t let any of them tell me what to be.”

The new families did not accept her, and she did not accept them. She wasn’t cruel, but she wasn’t right or normal, so it never mattered if she was kind (though Jeff knew she was). Rather than waiting for age to liberate her, she demanded the mortal courts recognize her as an adult two years too early. She finished her schooling, found a job near the house her parents left for her, and won her independence.

Then she began collecting folk of the Dreaming. The house where the Corinthian killed her parents was remote, far from the city where she’d been hurt. It was a good place for things too delicate, too big, or too strange for the waking world. Polyphemus came and herded them all, keeping the refugees of the Dreaming safe from the greed of the waking, and keeping the folk of the waking safe from the power of the dreamfolk.

The child who was now a woman had adventures. She traveled and developed her intuition into proper magical skill. The dreams and nightmares were her life, and Jeff continued shifting between the child and his eternal search for his master, determined to fail neither one a second time.

He could not have guessed that the child would complete his first quest without his help.

[honestgrins]

kc + caroline has MANY complaints about klaus but her biggest one is that the only time he responds to her follow up emails is to ask whether something is illegal

Per My Last Email || Klaroline

Weirdly canon-esque, and I have no defense. But we all know Klaus would be Caroline's neediest client.

.

Dear Mr. Mikaelson:

Per the agreement you signed, my services have been retained for legal representation on your accumulated traffic tickets ONLY. Please note that these emails fall under attorney-client privilege, but you should still avoid excessive details that would test my standing as an officer of the court. I trust that you will respect my professional boundaries, as difficult as that will be for you. To make sure I have all the relevant information at hand, please forward me the details of your current ID, vehicle descriptions, and all license numbers. 

As your court date is tomorrow, please respond as soon as possible. Otherwise, I would highly recommend paying your tickets before 9 a.m. via the online portal. My retainer fee, however, is nonrefundable.

ID, vehicle descriptions, and license numbers, ASAP.

Best,

Caroline Forbes Salvatore

Attorney, MF Group

.

Sweetheart, settle a bet for me. Kol insists his baseball bat is considered a deadly weapon, but surely it's just the force with which he can wield the bat that makes it deadly - therefore, its presence alone cannot be considered "assault with a deadly weapon."

A speedy answer would be appreciated, I just noticed the local bar installed a security camera that may limit your legal arguments after the fact.

x

.

And don't think I didn't notice the "Salvatore" in your signature. 

I did.

x

.

Dear Mr. Mikaelson,

My married name is registered with the state bar association and a matter of public record. In fact, my ability to practice in Louisiana is predicated on the fact that "Caroline Forbes Salvatore" holds a valid law degree and active license. If you have a problem with that, please feel free to retain other representation.

That said, I do want to remind you that I may advise on hypothetical legal scenarios, but will not abet any illegal activity such as assault with a deadly weapon. The threatening manner in which you imply your brother might wield a baseball bat, hypothetically, would be enough to enhance any assault charges possibly caught on camera.

As your lawyer, I don't recommend putting these hypotheticals in writing, and I really don't recommend letting Kol loose on New Orleans with a bat. Hypothetically, the whole city has cameras and it's a miracle certain activities haven't come to light. Yet.

Since you failed to send me the necessary details before your court date, I asked Elijah. You're welcome for getting the parking tickets dismissed, by the way, even though your behavior in court was detrimental to your case. The judge was not amused by your sense of humor, and neither was I. To prevent a repeat performance, I would suggest storing your luxury sports car in your massive compound instead of literally the middle of a pedestrian plaza. Just a thought.

Elijah has also taken care of your court fees and my incidentals since I had to void your last payment. Next time, please just pay the invoice. You don't tip your lawyer.

Best, 

Caroline Forbes Salvatore

Attorney, MF Group

.

Love - quick question. Rebekah is throwing a bit of a tantrum and stole the doppelgänger blood I had stored. Is this a civil suit situation, or can I press criminal charges? Honestly, I think she'd have a lark in prison, but I think the inconvenience would be consequence enough for her to feel my ire.

x

.

Mr. Mikaelson,

Again, I'm sure this is a hypothetical situation where your sister, who lives in your shared family domicile and therefore has rights to whatever is stored inside, takes something of no actual value, such as human blood stored for medical study and nothing else, then - hypothetically - a grown man with substantial resources like yourself can surely see that neither a civil suit nor criminal charges would be wise to file. None of those details of a...supernatural...sort would belong in the public record.

Not to mention, sending your sister to prison would only get me and several other people killed.

Hypothetically.

Seriously, I'm too busy for this, and I'm not even on retainer anymore. I will be sending Elijah an invoice for this email communication.

Best,

Caroline Forbes Salvatore

Attorney, MF Group

.

I've wired a retainer fee directly to your account. And since you're on the payroll, I have some paperwork to go through. Working dinner? I'll buy.

x

.

Caroline: Klaus, you cannot send me a million dollars in a personal check. 

Klaus: Clearly, I can. Dinner?

Caroline: ...

Caroline: ...

Klaus: I'm thinking Italian. 

Caroline: If you think this counts as a retainer fee, I do not have the time to explain how wrong you are, but I will if I have to. To be clear, that is a threat, and you know I will follow through, complete with slide deck and appendices. If you would indeed like to retain my services for the family, Elijah and I have already worked through an initial contract with LIMITS, you absolute ass. All official business will go through him, I swear, or you will regret it. 

Caroline: Again, that is a threat.

Klaus: So, see you at eight?

Caroline: ...

Caroline: I'm donating the money you sent.

Caroline: But yeah, Italian sounds good.

Klaus: Change your email signature.

Caroline: Don't push it.

[bird-slayer-brainrot]

How they became the ineffable "husbands" - Good Omens CrowleyxAziraphale Ineffable Husbands post-season 3 fluff - accidental proposal

They were baking.

Aziraphale had somehow gotten it in his head that Crowley using miracles to bring him pastries was unethical. In fact, he'd started to think that miracling any object, food or otherwise, that they themselves had not paid for seemed to be unethical, if it came from someone else's hand unpaid. Nevermind that money was no object to them, just so long as someone was paid.

(Crowley did not mention that the pastries he brough Aziraphale were not, in fact, stolen, because he did not want to spoil the angel's fun.)

Despite being half-covered in flour, and looking like he was doing a bad dandelion impression, Aziraphale looked very pleased with how the batter for his chocolate-earl grey cake had turned out.

"Just try a bite, please?" Aziraphale pleaded. Crowley, who had no particular affinity for food, took the spoon from the angel's hand and tasted it. It was good, of course it was. Aziraphale was already a masterful baker. This was just showing off.

"It's good." Crowley said. Aziraphale smiled radiantly.

Just then, a knock sounded from the door to the bookshop. Aziraphale frowned at Crowley, who returned the expression. A customer was already unforgivable, but a customer interrupting Aziraphale's kitchen time was a cardinal sin.

He untied his apron wordlessly. Either of them could have miracled the visitor away, but for some reason, they silently decided not to.

Aziraphale quickly tucked the cake into the over and nodded to Crowley to watch over it. He left the kitchen to check the door.

While he was gone, Crowley took the time to survey Aziraphale's ring. Aziraphale was in the habit of handing him the small pinkie ring he wore. *"I don't want to get it covered in batter."). Crowley swept his thumb across the golden wings.

Crowley liked it. He would never admit to this. It reminded him of Aziraphale. The angel had worn it almost as long as Crowley had known him, and this was not the first time he had entrusted it to Crowley to take care of. Crowley liked that he was trusted to care for it.

There were muffled noises of conversation. Aziraphale had, for some reason, let the visitor in the shop. Crowley performed a quick miracle to make sure that the cake was okay and went to check. When he entered the bookstore, his gaze was immediately drawn to a huge bunch of red roses.

Aziraphale turned around as Crowley entered, looking completely frazzled. Crowley gave him a look as a head popped out to the side of the roses. A short, mustached man with flat brown hair looked rather startled by the sudden appearence of the demon.

"Crowley," Aziraphale cleared his throat awkwardly. "This is Mr O'Connell. Mr O'Connell, Crowley."

"Book club man." Crowley exclaimed in understanding. Aziraphale often recounted the antics of his new bookclub. This human didn't particularly stand out, except he had recommended a truly "heinous choice" a month ago, and Aziraphale had grumbled and suffered through all seven hundred pages of "the best novel ever" - which Aziraphale disagreed with vehemently.

There was a noise from behind the garden, and then the flowers were placed on a table to the side. A short, bearded man was revealed. He looked painfully embarrassed. He was looking at Aziraphale. Then, he silently returned his gaze back to Crowley, and his eyes noticeably widened.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were..." his eyes darted furtively between Crowley and Aziraphale, an understanding neither the angel or the demon knew what to do with washing over him suddenly. He had somehow turned a deeper shade of red. Crowley looked over to Aziraphale, who looked equally puzzled.

"I'll just be going. I am so sorry." he apologised again. Aziraphale turned his head back to the man, who, after a moment of stunned pause, hauled the heavy bundle of roses into his arms and, as quickly as someone could hold that many roses.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt you and your husband's Sunday." he called as he fit himself through he door Crowley, who pitied the man, had miracled to help him through the struggle, The door shut behind him and he was gone, rushing down the street away from the bookshop.

Crowley looked over to Aziraphale who was already looking at him.

They burst out laughing.

They were sitting beside each other on the couch in Aziraphale's office, drinking wine with the cake Aziraphale had baked. Crowley had his arm slung lazing across the back of the couch, and Aziraphale had leaned in close to him. They weren't quite touching, but it was still nice.

Aziraphale was again recounting his awkward conversation with his potential suitor before Crowley had arrived.

"Poor gentlemen." Aziraphale said with pity, smiling. "Those must have been expensive roses."

Crowley smiled into his wine glass. He was still wearing the ring, as Aziraphale had not yet asked for it back.

"Is that what it takes, angel?" Crowley teased. "two dozen roses?"

"At least three." Aziraphale joked in a serious tone. Crowley nodded, and responded by promising to remember that.

Aziraphale traced his thumb across the wings as Crowley had done earlier.

"It looks nice on you." Aziraphale admitted in a soft voice. His hands were cupping Crowley's. They were soft. Crowley loved holding hands with Aziraphale, more than he would ever admit to the angel.

"Maybe I'll get a similar one." Crowley tried to joke, but the words got stuck in his throat as Aziraphale looked up at him.

One more radiant smile, Crowley realised, would be the death of him. Aziraphale let out a small laugh, and said something about that being his job.

[applcrumbl]

Winnie

Pairings: Bucky Barnes X Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of Alzheimers, Authors Note: uh :(

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

2023 - New York City

He heard nothing of what became of Y/N. Bucky hoped that she’d passed quietly in her sleep, of old age. He hoped that Winnie sat beside her the whole time. He hoped that she managed to carry on with her life without him. Of course, he still hoped she hadn’t carried on too much. He wanted her to be happy, but the thought of her with another man tore him in two. He hoped she raised Winnie well, raised her how they would have together. He hoped that nothing bad came of them both. But he could never be sure.

He’d looked everywhere for his daughter, wondered if she married, had kids of her own. Grandkids perhaps. But there was no mention of a Winifred Barnes anywhere he looked. He hoped that her Mother had kept his name.

“James I asked you a question” His therapist spoke, calm but stern.

Bucky could not reply, his mind wandered, aimless steps through a meaningless existence. No move that he made felt permanent anymore. It all felt like it could be pulled from below his feet as he walked.

“Did you hear me?” She continued, “I asked if you found out any more on Y/N?”

He did not leave any room for a reply as he grabbed his coat and left the treatment room.

Sam Wilson was waiting for him outside.

Ultimately, Bucky did not know the man well, He knew him as a friend of Steve’s and that was all. He felt trustworthy, always cuts right to the chase. Bucky liked him, he reminded him of Y/N

“You need to open up if you expect therapy to work,” he raised an eyebrow,

“I don’t open up.”

Sam snorts, “I don’t open up, blah, blah” he mocks, voice nasally. “Man, you something else”

A black car pulls up. The pair climb in the backseat. Sam whispers into the driver’s ear.

“Where we going,” Bucky asks, but the question falls on empty ears. The only response is Sam’s cheeky smirk.

Normally Bucky would be paranoid, he would worry that he did not know where he was going, but he felt safe with Sam. It was strange to say, but he had not felt that way in a long time. He’d never explicitly told the younger man about his past, but Sam always just seemed to know. They pulled up outside a retirement home soon after.

“What’s this,” Bucky asks, “I’m old, but I’m not decrepit”

“There’s someone I think it’s time you met”

“I’m not really in the business of meeting new people right now,” he says.

The home is plainly coloured. Nice. Old-fashioned. Well not to Bucky at least, It felt rathe homely to him. Reminded him of his Mother’s home in Indiana. Re-runs of some TV show played softly on TVs. The subtitles so large you could barely see the picture.

The nurse seemed to know who they were however, There was barely a word exchanged before they were taken to a room. The hallway was peculiar. Each of the doors different.

“We replace the doors that look like ones from the Patient’s home’s. We find that it helps with the confusion.” The nurse speaks softly as they come to a halt outside one, “I believe this one may look familiar to you, Mr Barnes.”

She was correct. It looked like the house in Indiana that he promised to buy for Y/N. The red-stained mahogany was exactly as she wanted it. A stained glass panel on each side, with a bronze doorknocker.

It was overwhelming, to say the least.

“I didn’t know how to tell you, so I thought i should just show you.” Sam said, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “She might not know who you are, we don’t know how much Y/N spoke of you afterwards”

“Y/N?” He asked, hand resting on the glass pane. The silent reply told him he was wrong. Of course, he was wrong, It would have been a miracle had she still been alive. “Winnie?” he asked again.

The nurse nodded softly, opening the door quietly and entering. The same TV show played but Bucky did not care.

“Winifred? there is someone here to see you.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that. My name is Winnie.” A stubborn voice called out.

Even from behind a door, he could tell that she was the spitting image of her mother. They even sounded the same. Though this was much more croaky, tired.

“Winifred, This is James Barne-”

“Daddy?” The elderly woman interrupted.

“Winnie?” He whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

“My Daddy” She called, sitting up in the bed. The shaking of the older woman surprised Bucky. The last time he’d seen her was the day she was born. After that, hardly even a picture. And here she was, nearing the end of her life. Almost 90 years of growing old, missed. “My Daddy is here. This is my Daddy” she cries. It broke Bucky’s heart.

“Yes, I’m your daddy,” Bucky said, practically glued to the spot. Sam’s strong hand urged him forward to greet her. It was certainly a strange situation to witness. Bucky was perhaps the only person in the world who would ever experience this. The elderly woman began to push from the bed, the heart monitor picking up the pace with her. She grabbed a picture frame from her nightstand.

“My Mama and Daddy” She stated, holding the picture for the room to see, “Mama always said that my Daddy would come back. Mama always said that Daddy loved me”

“Your Mama was absolutely right, buttercup.”

The picture was old and tattered, but Bucky knew it well. A memory of the night they first found out about their baby. Steve had taken them to a photographer to celebrate. Where he got the money from, they were unsure. But, thankful all the same.

The monitor beeping continued, pace gaining rapidly. Wet eyes looked up at him. Full of confusion. “Where?” She asked, sitting back on the high mattress of the bed. ”Where is mama?”

He took the elderly woman’s hand. Bringing it to his lips gently, “Your Mama is in heaven, my girl.”

“Well, then I shall go to heaven to be with her.”

The childish innocence that Winnie had returned to erupted deep sobs from Bucky. He knew that their time together was to be short. But he did not mind. A short while was far better than no while at all. He could not reply, vocalising any thoughts made them far too real.

“Mr Barnes?” The nurse asked, “I have to get Winifred ready for bed, though you are welcome to visit again next week”

“Can’t we come again tomorrow?” Sam asked, Bucky had forgotten he was even in the room.

The nurse smiled solemnly, “Unfortunately, the nature of Winifred’s condition means that we have to restrict visitors. We find that it can put the patients under unnecessary stress.”

Bucky nodded sharply in acceptance. Deep down he knew he would not get to see her. Deep down he knew he would not return next week. In fact, deep down, he knew he would not return ever. His heart ached for his wife and child, but this was not how it should happen. It was not what Y/N would have wanted. It was not what his little girl needed.

Standing to leave, he whispered his goodbyes, Winnie’s eyes were drowsy as she was laid into bed. “Bye Daddy” she whispered.

“Goodnight, Winnie” He replied, closing the door softly.

[dyns33]

Fluffotber 27 - Michael Addams

Michael Addams x reader 

Michael was going to kill this man.

He really wanted to anyway, and the only reason that parasite was still alive was because he knew his goddess wouldn't be happy if he touched him, that he might scare her, and that the doctor had promised him that this nightmarish situation was only temporary.

As soon as he heard about this appointment, he knew that was not a good idea, that something terrible was going to happen. It reminded him of the time he had to go to the dentist.

A marvelous memory, all these instruments of torture. The blood. This scared the poor dentist, who couldn't understand why he wasn't screaming in pain, and ended up administering anesthetic.

When Y/N had entered the room, he wasn't so much himself and he hadn't recognized her. It was as if he was experiencing a miracle for the second time in his life, reliving their encounter, dazzled by her beauty.

           "You are a vision."

           "Thank you, Michael. Are you okay ?"

           "You know my name ? And you worry about me ? I don't even deserve you to look at me, but I'll dare...Marry me."

           "I can't tell if you're serious." she had said, laughing, the most beautiful sound in the world, putting her hand on her mouth, displaying her wedding ring.

           "Oh, no. You're married ? I should have known, I'm not worthy of you. But no one can be worthy of you. Who's your lover ? I have to meet them, I have to make sure that they treat you like you deserve !"

           "Michael, we are married."

           "... What ?"

           "You are so adorable, my crazy darling."

He had cried a lot that day, unable at all to believe that such a perfect creature could agree to unite with him, before becoming normal again. He continued to cry anyway, because even when he was normal, he had a hard time understanding why his goddess loved him so much.

This situation had been a bit amusing.

The one he was in now was not. He suspected it wouldn't last, since he had experienced it himself, but he didn't like it at all.

The operation was not complicated. Necessary, but not dangerous. Even though he didn't trust it, Michael didn't want to lose his Y/N, so he had accompanied her to the hospital, and she had been put to sleep.

Except that when she woke up, she didn't remember him.

Everyone was now trying to calm him down, repeating that it was a temporary effect of the anesthesia. But even if it didn't last long, it was torture to see her like this, staring at him with lost, slightly frightened eyes.

She jumped when he knelt in front of her, taking her hand to kiss it, saying he was glad she was back.

           "Who are you ?" she had then asked shakily, and her world broke his heart.

Part of him was a little hurt that she didn't fall in love with him right away, like he had fallen in love with her again last time.

Then Michael had hit his head against the wall, remembering that she was a goddess, and that he was nothing, and that he had been very lucky to be able to seduce her.

He had been very scared then. What if she never remembered ? What if she no longer loved him and left him ?

He wouldn't survive it.

He couldn't destroy the world, because that would mean hurting her, which he couldn't do, but he would throw himself off a bridge.

It had only been ten minutes and he was already considering which bridge he was going to choose, his mind clouded with despair.

A nurse patted him gently on the shoulder, but cautiously, not really knowing how the man who had screamed like a madman before cowering in a corner of the hospital hallway would react.

           "Mr. Langdon. Your wife would like to see you."

           "She remembers me ?!"

           "No, not yet. But she would like to see you."

It wasn't the best news, but it was still some good news. Y/N could have asked him not to approach her again.

When Michael returned to the bedroom, she was watching her hand. She had to take it off for the operation, but her wedding ring had remained by her bed, and she had put it back on, admiring it for a long time.

           "You gave me this ?"

           "Yes."

           "You must be rich. Or mad. Or love me a lot."

           "I love you more than anything, I'm crazy about you, and I'll give you all the gold in the world, and more, if you ask me."

This made her smile, and for a moment, his goddess was here again.

           "I believe we are at school together." she said after a long silence.

           "We were. It's been several years since we graduated."

           "Hmm. Is it true that you look a bit older. Am I... Am I older too ?"

           "No. You are still the same, eternally beautiful."

           "Are you always this intense ?"

           "No. Yes ? I don't know, I'm not sure what you mean, my queen."

This made her laugh again. Michael couldn't help but put his hand on hers. This time she was not afraid.

In a trance, he stroked her fingers, her handle, before approaching his lips, kissing her again, before continuing with her arm.

           "Cara mia." he whispered sadly.

           "You really are crazy, you… Oh. Oh, Michael. Michael, I'm sorry."

           "My Goddess ?" he asked, raising his hopeful eyes to her sweet face.

           "I think they gave me a little too much anesthetic. You must have been very scared, forgive me."

           "You have no reason to apologize ! One word from you, and I'll kill every doctor in this place."

Of course, she didn't want to. Y/N sighed before taking his face in his hands and kissing him, making him purr.

Although Michael knew that everything was going to end well, he had feared the worst. To be married to such perfection, to be happy by her side, to have the pleasure of being able to touch her, talk to her, look at her, that couldn't last forever, he would inevitably be punished one day.

But not today. Y/N remembered him, and she still loved him. And as soon as she was cleared to leave the hospital, he carried her home, promising himself that it would never happen again.

           "I will have to see another doctor one day."

           "I will ask my father to use his powers so that you never get sick again."

           "My adorable fool."

           "Only yours, cara mia. Even if you forget me, or if I forget you. Always."

[gumnut-logic]

Along the way (Part 5)

Sweetapple | Dear Mr Tracy | Along the way - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

I wrote over 4000 words today! It's a miracle! This fic has now officially reached the 10,000 word mark :D

Here is the first half, because, yes, I wrote two parts. Next bit tomorrow otherwise it will get confusing.

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight for discussing this fic extensively and even for breaking down the concerns in a possible fourth Sweetapple fic :D

And also to those wonderful supporters who despite having to wait over a year for the bits of this fic have still been so kind and lovely to both me and Alex. Look, you have the boi blushing bright red under that pale blond hair of his.

There are a few warnings on this one. Nothing really dire happens, but it comes close in places. So warnings for darkness and being stuck underwater. This is the worst of it, I promise.

I hope you enjoy it anyway.

-o-o-o-

Alex coughed, the dust in the air thick and clogging his throat. The motion reminded him that yes, he had a head injury and no, he shouldn’t be shaking his brain around like that.

The building had settled for the moment and once again there were people calling out for help.

Water was loud in the distance and to his horror, his brain reminded him that the museum was on the banks of the Taruheru River.

Gisborne sat on the merging forks of the Turanganui, of which the Taruheru was one.

The disconnected facts flooded his hurting head, all leading to the terrifying conclusion that the only hill the building could be sliding down was the bank into the river.

Running water mocked him.

Focus.

Analyse.

Act.

Elizabeth was crying again.

The structure still lacked light, which considering he and his mother had chosen this place for lunch…apparently…meant they were under a considerable pile of messed up building.

There was that faint source of light…

Faint was the keyword, but the shadows were lighter to his right.

“Elizabeth?” She was sobbing into his shoulder. “Elizabeth, we can’t stay here.”

The shadow that was her head lifted. “Okay?” It was a whimper.

“We need to find a way to get out.” His feet were hooked into the splintered floor and he was able to twist himself around into more of a climbing stance. It was definitely wood beneath his hands. “The light seems brighter over that way. There might be an opening somewhere up there.” He climbed over her and secured a new footing. “I want you to come with me.”

Honestly, he would be faster by himself, but the thought of leaving Elizabeth behind and then the building moving again…

He found her hand in the dark and squeezed tight. “We’re getting out of here.”

He heard her swallow and the shadow that was her head shifted as if to nod. “Okay.”

“Okay, good.” He brought her hand to the small of his back and transferred her grip to his belt. “Hang on tight.”

She did, immediately, and for a second there, he thought he was going to lose his pants.

For some random reason, Virgil’s face came to mind and he was smirking.

Maybe that was why International Rescue wore jumpsuits?

The smirk turned into a grin.

Hey, you have all the experience. I’m new to this!

Virgil frowned.

Alex pushed the image away, his heart thumping in his chest.

Focus.

The floor was sloped, but it was an uneven angle. In places, the wood had snapped and was spraying out in a fountain of splinters. He hooked his fingers on more than one and wished for those gloves Virgil often shed in Alex’s lab.

His engineering brain was apparently still alive, throwing up ideas for extra protection on those gloves, what was needed to prevent penetration by a multitude of sharp objects. He mentally jotted notes to revisit once they got out of here.

And there was progress on that project as, yes, the light was getting lighter. As they clambered closer, Alex encountered a tough material…canvas?…an awning or maybe one of those cafe umbrellas? In any case, moving it allowed so much more light in. It was like the heavens had opened up, and shone down upon them.

Neither of them said anything as Alex helped Elizabeth to climb out of the remains of the building.

Relief flooded Alex’s heart as the cloudy day pierced his eyeballs and stabbed at his brain.

Until he saw the state of everything around him.

Oh, hell.

It was so obviously an earthquake, his heart broke into pieces.

Elizabeth was leaning on him, her injured leg off the ground. He gestured her over to the what had likely been the steps into the building.

Only to catch sight of what remained of the museum itself.

Calculations and suppositions flooded his brain as he realised the huge pōhutukawa tree. between the Museum’s buildings had toppled over, destabilising the strength of the two structures, undermining one and falling on the other…which contained the cafe and was so obviously on a trajectory towards the swollen river, Alex’s heart nearly broke his ribcage.

“Elizabeth, stay here. See if you can get the attention of emergency services. I’ll try to get the others out.”

“Alex-“ Her eyes were wide.

“If you see a Thunderbird, let them know we need help.” As did everyone in Gisborne. He had no doubt that the Tracys would be here, somewhere. His eyes skipped across the buildings he could see, but he was too close to the river, too low in the landscape to see anything.

Turning towards the hole in the pile of pickup sticks, he crawled back inside.

-o-o-o-

Virgil’s shoulders were aching. They always ached this far into a rescue that required so much exosuit. Padding could only negate so much and accumulated bruising was a thing.

They had been bouncing about the city under the direction of local and GDF services, landing where their technology could do the most.

Many lives had been saved.

Many not.

Perhaps it was a sign of Virgil’s state of mind that he was lingering on the ‘not’ instead of the many successes.

It took mental techniques to juggle the emotions on a long rescue like this. Methods to enable him to focus, stay positive and effective and not be overwhelmed by reality.

It took a toll. It always did and Virgil wouldn’t have it any other way as it showed him why they did this, why he and his brothers sacrificed so much.

But today?

Each time they lifted off, his eyes tracked across the city to the Gisborne Market building John had pinpointed as Alex’s last known location.

John had sent him the tactical profile of that set of older buildings. At least half of one had collapsed, providing all the anxiety-inducing imagery possible.

But he couldn’t afford to be anxious. Nor could he afford to be distracted, worried or any of the other emotions that threatened to overwhelm him because lives were at stake.

All the time.

Rescuees and his brothers.

Scott had darted in a few minutes early than his estimate. A couple of quick words on the safety of TI Mahia and then it was all business.

Though Virgil did note that his big brother had decided Thunderbirds One and Two would work in tandem on this rescue.

So much could be read into that.

But he didn’t have time to ruminate on that either.

Another glance in the direction of Alex and he returned to lifting several tonnes of concrete off a school gymnasium.

-o-o-o-

Alex managed to drag several other people out of the collapsed building before finally locating his mother.

He had been helping another to the exit when he encountered a fallen door.

A cubicle door.

The toilets.

His mum had excused herself while they waited for lunch.

Alex bit his lip and helped the man who, the light revealed, was sporting a cut to his forehead and bleeding quite profusely. He handed him over to Elizabeth and the others who were providing what first aid they could. She again begged him not to go back in, to sit down, to look after himself.

But his mum was in there, somewhere.

And besides, what would a Tracy do? What would a Thunderbird do?

What would Virgil do?

He once again scanned the landscape. The sound of emergency helicopters and hovercraft were everywhere. Smoke drifted up into the sky.

Small groups of people huddled in the street, some calling out for help, some crying, some doing exactly what he was doing.

Going back in.

Stop thinking, just do.

So he did.

The mess inside the collapse was becoming familiar. He negotiated the major obstacles, letting himself slip down to the bottom as quickly as possible, this time aiming for the back of the café.

Past the kitchen…which was empty - he had already helped two people out of that black hole. Fortunately, there was no smell of burning or anything that could lead to a fire…that he could tell.

He didn’t need the smoke outside to remind him that fire was a major threat after an earthquake. Thank goodness, all the gas mains had been retired in the 2040s otherwise his story might have been vastly different.

As had so many in the past.

His head was still hurting and his thoughts kept drifting. He had to force himself to focus so many times. Holographic Scott was frowning at him.

He wasn’t supposed to be in the building.

Hell, he wasn’t even supposed to be mobile.

What would a Tracy do?

What the hell could he do when his mother…

The toilets were at the back of the building and obviously closer to the river. By what he could see, practically in the river.

“Mum?!” His voice bounced off broken brickwork and splintered timber. “Mum?!”

Water churned.

Virgil would have a torch, at least.

The doors to the toilets, or the remains of them, were no longer vertical and gravity had him sliding into them with a thump.

Damnit. “Mum?! Are you in there?” Please, Mum.

Thoughts of his long-lost father scrambled his brain.

“Mum?!” He fell through the doors into total darkness. “Mum?!”

Water sloshed in the darkness.

A sound.

Barely heard.

“Mum?!” His throat hurt.

“Allie?”

His name came from his right, but further into the space. Damnit, he couldn’t see a thing. “Mum?”

“Allie, my foot’s stuck.”

Alex took a step forward.

And fell into the river.

The shock of the cold water stole his breath.

God.

He panicked for a moment, the total darkness so disorienting, he was lost.

Until a flailing foot hit something hard. The pain startled him enough to stop the rising hysteria and…

His head broke the surface, his lungs gasping in a breath as his body righted itself with enough reference to at least orientate up and down.

“Mum?” It was more breath than anything else.

A hand hit his shoulder, grabbed a grip and he was suddenly in his mother’s arms. “Allie, oh, thank god.”

He scooted around in the water, desperate to see his Mum. Of course, it was far too dark for that. Apparently, there was a sink next to them. He found that by bashing his elbow. But Mum was there. His hands found her shoulders, her damp hair, her wet cheek. “Mum, there’s been an earthquake.”

“I know that, love.” Her fingers were brushing away his hair, her palm wrapping around his face. “My foot is stuck.”

“Your foot?”

“Yes, I can’t get it loose.” She moved under his hands obviously pulling to one side.

He blinked water out of his eyes. “Let me look.” As if he could see anything.

He took a breath and feeling his way down his mother’s body he found her ankle caught between what felt like a wall and something equally cold and hard.

He gave the object a shove.

It didn’t move at all.

It didn’t take long for his lungs to demand attention, his head throbbing to the beat of his increasingly frantic heart.

A hand grabbed at his shirt and yanked him upwards.

His gasp as he surfaced abraded his already tight throat.

“Something’s pinning you to the wall.” Another gulped-in-breath. “It’s not budging.”

His mother didn’t answer, her grip on him just tightening for a moment.

Of course, that was the cue for the building to remind them, that, yes, it was sliding into the river and they shouldn’t forget it. Wood groaned and cracked.

Water sloshed against his face.

“I’ll try again.” Before his mother could answer, he sucked in a breath and dove, finding his way down to whatever had his Mum pinned.

And goddamnit, it wouldn’t move!

He shoved and kicked and tried to work out why it wouldn’t budge. It felt jagged and cold and why the hell couldn’t he move it?!

His mother hooked his shirt again and dragged him to the surface.

“Allie, you have to go get help-”

But the building disagreed as it shuddered, creaked and his mother’s voice was cut off in a gurgle of water.

No!

He grabbed at her, using the sink at his elbow to pull her up as much as he could.

The water level was higher. He could feel it splashing against the sink.

Mum…

No…

“Mum, hang on here.” He transferred her hands to the ceramic basin. “I’ll get you out.”

The dark was ever so terrifying when wet. Water he couldn’t see flowed around him. As his hands found the rock and the hard place, Gordon came to mind.

He would know what to do.

Thunderbird Four had all the gear, all the tools. The Tracys would get his mum out.

But the Tracys weren’t here and his mum only had Alex.

And it was so dark and airless.

Panic sat at the edges of his mind and he had to fight it off.

He couldn’t even see the mechanics of the situation. Why was it not moving? What was stopping it? Weight? Angle? Something else applying pressure?

His brain clamoured for information, feeling around in the total darkness. It was a simple equation. He just didn’t have all the variables.

He only needed to move it a little bit!

And to breathe.

He shot to the surface, drawing in enough oxygen to dazzle his already aching head. “Mum!”

“Go get help, Alex.” It was her doctor, no-nonsense voice. Trust her to be calm as a cucumber in a dire situation.

He didn’t answer her, just heaved in more breath and dove again.

-o-o-o-

Thunderbird Two lowered with a roar into the parking lot of the Gisborne Farmer’s Market. Apart from the information John had shot to his comms, the sign Two crunched under her starboard landing strut said as much.

Scott had gone out of his way to free up Virgil and Two and get him over here. Gordon was out of his seat even faster than her pilot as the Thunderbird wound down to creaking cahelium.

“John, do you have any further information?” His fish brother was standing on the hatch waiting as Virgil darted through securing Two.

“Thunderbird Four, I assure you, you have everything I have. If I or Eos find anything further, you will be the first to know.”

Gordon grunted, bouncing on his feet in impatience.

Virgil didn’t say a thing as he joined his brother.

The hatch lowered and Gordon was out, accosting the nearest emergency worker.

Virgil took a step off the hatch and scanned the site with his eyes. Half of the main building was on the ground and being attended to by emergency workers. A makeshift medical tent had been set up at a distance from where he had landed Two.

Over the road to the west lay the remains of the Peel Street Bridge, now mostly flotsam in the swollen river. He mentally noted the level of the river should it need to be accounted for at any point.

Floating debris charted the current.

“No-one matching that description has been located here, sir.”

Virgil’s attention was drawn to Gordon as his brother dragged over a man dressed in fluorescent yellow and holding a tablet. His fingers were poking at it with agitation.

“We could do some help lifting the roof. We have two lifesigns still trapped.”

Virgil strode over and almost snapped the tablet out of the man’s hands. “Where? Thunderbird Five, give us a scan of the building.”

“FAB.”

A moment later the results appeared on Virgil’s wrist. Two lifesigns were flashing, both pinned beneath the remains of the structure’s roof.

A few calculations in his head and he was moving back to Two. Angles, weight, space and proximity. His exosuit was wrapped around him without thought and he was moving at a run across the distance between him and that fallen building.

“Make way! Make way!”

Virgil paid no attention to the emergency worker running behind him. All he saw was rubble and a solution to reaching those two lives.

His HUD flashed up stressors, bearing estimates, and the angles. Always the angles.

His feet landed on the remains of the concrete foundation as his HUD spouted what it could support in its current condition.

Enough. It could support enough.

Virgil placed his feet securely, exactly the right distance apart, set his shoulders and back. Data streamed as he slid his main gripper into the steel of the roofing mainframe. His secondary grip, often used more for stabilisation and balance rather than bearing weight, slid in beyond a structural support and exactly where…there…he locked them both into place.

He flexed his hands and began to lift.

Structural responses flowed, giving him numbers and needed adjustments…all good. The roof rose with the hissing of hydraulics and breath.

“Gordon, you’re in.”

He didn’t need to look. He knew his wingman had followed him. Sure enough, the Fish darted into the wreckage and a moment later reappeared holding a child. He handed her off to the emergency team and dove in again.

This time he returned with a woman limping and crying.

Virgil’s heart did not respond. Or at least it attempted not to.

The state of the roof continued to scroll across his HUD and the moment Gordon and John gave him the all clear, he gently lowered it to the ground.

And let out a breath that took some of his heart with it.

It didn’t take long after that for John to confirm that no, Alex was not on the site.

Gordon dragged Virgil back to Two and attempted to force coffee down his throat.

Of course, the thought of coffee made it all worse.

Standing in Two’s cockpit, a desperate moment away from being called to the next site, Virgil stared out the windows down across the length of the Taruheru River, collapsed buildings spotting the landscape.

Where the hell are you, Alex?

God.

Please be safe.

-o-o-o-

Next

[somehow-a-human]

The Ineffable Timeline of Season 2

Wednesday on Whickber street & the Graveyard.

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Monday - Tuesday - Wednesday - Thursday - Friday

Continuing right on along with my chronological break down of the present day events on Whickber Street with Wednesday! Just as a reminder, the length of Crowley's sideburns will be highlighted at the end of scenes he's present in simply as Long or Short. I'm not speculating on what they mean but rather just tracking their journey!

Lets jump into the Clues :)

Wednesday aka Episode 3 aka I know Where I'm Going

10:35 (Estimated time) - Aziraphale is playing the Everyday record, researching The Resurrectionist Pub, drawing a picture of Gabriel and wearing his light grey house coat. The illustrated bible is open to: "The Brazen Serpent".

**This scene is shown in episode 2! Based on the illustrated bible and other factors it is a direct predecessor to the next scene. Nothing is really changed about the story that these two scenes were split, but chronologically they belong together.

10:40 (Bookshop clock) - Muriel arrives at the bookshop. Mrs. Sandwich is picking up coffees confirming it's likely the next morning. Aziraphale is listening to the Everyday record, wearing his light grey housecoat, and the illustrated bible is open to "The Brazen Serpent".

10:50 (Bookshop clock) - Aziraphale brings Muriel a cupperty and Crowley shows up. Short.

11:00 (Estimated time) - Aziraphale and Crowley have a private talk about what to do about Inspector Constable and Crowley gives up the keys to the Bentley. Aziraphale leaves for Edinburgh. Short.

3:30 (Bookshop clock) - Jim asks Crowley about Mavity (no I'm never letting this Doctor Who joke die). Long. The illustrated bible is open to "The Brazen Serpent".

Unknown time - Aziraphale investigates at The Resurrectionist Pub. He has his jaunty little hat and briefcase!

5:30 (Bookshop clock and Graveyard phone) - Aziraphale calls Crowley from Gabriels statue. He still has his jaunty little hat but where is his briefcase? Crowley hangs up to make it rain for the 'Awning of a New Age'. Long. the illustrated bible is open to "The Brazen Serpent".

5:35 (Estimated time) - Shax tries to question Crowley about Gabriel in the bookshop.

-end episode, and wednesday-

I have a few thoughts. Because I find this to be one of the weirder episodes.

Everything, again, in this episode is pretty linear but why the fuck does Aziraphale go to the graveyard? I really cannot for the life of me figure it out. I get it he's having this little flashback of remembering 1827 but WHY does he go there? Just to look at the statue? like???

AND, correct me European minds but does it not (based on my research) take about 7 hours to drive to Edinburgh from Soho? I mean sure Aziraphale is an angel but we also know he drove under the speed limit for some amount of time on his way there. So how did Aziraphale leave at 11:00 and call Crowley at 5:30 having already visited the pub and graveyard? Maybe he miracled himself there but then why not use a miracle to get back quicker as well?

Also does he leave immediately? We know he arrives back in Soho at 6:47 according to Nina's phone on Thursday morning, so did he leave Edinburgh at midnight? What did he do the 6 hours after he was at the graveyard?

Look, it's a TV show. They're just telling a story and maybe every hour isn't accounted for like us rabid insane fans want it to be. That is a very reasonable expectation, and also fine with me. But also, WHY DOES HE GO TO THE GRAVEYARD???!

Continue the timeline metas:

Monday - Tuesday - Wednesday - Thursday - Friday

[reikunrei]

"More than just an ordinary human."

It's that time again! Another Doctor Who episode wahoo!! Let's check out season 3, episode 6:

"The Lazarus Experiment"

So, Lazarus is, obviously, taken from the biblical figure of Lazarus who was brought back from the dead by Jesus. The story of his revival is meant to exemplify the power Jesus has over death itself, but I won't be talking about that in-depth here; the Bible-talk is more James's wheelhouse lol.

As it applies to this Doctor Who episode, it's not so much about coming back from the dead, but rather about cheating death. Professor Richard Lazarus has created an invention, which he calls a "miracle" (the same word used by Patty in reference to "Henry's" powers in tfs), that will essentially de-age anyone who steps inside.

(Peeping the fact that he specifically mentions the moon landing like Mr. Clarke mentions it in st3)

However, there's a catch! He didn't do his proper research! He didn't account for all possible variables! And something in his DNA is trying to change him! (Another tfs word! We love to see it!)

Rejuvenating, you say? Even after the Doctor blows up Lazarus in his monster form and he comes out entirely unscathed? Golly, I wonder who that reminds me of! Anyway.

So basically what happened is Lazarus "changed his own molecular patterns" by "hack[ing] into his own genes" which is SUCH a NINA-ass word to use. Don't even remind me of all the computer stuff that's being pushed in the st5 leaks and updates. This has seemingly activated something in his DNA that's trying to make him change, and that "change" is a giant scorpion-like monster that is absolutely ravenous. Before the Doctor and Martha are looking at his DNA, we see a scene of Dr. Lazarus grabbing a finger-food platter from one of the waitstaff at his invention's unveiling and scarfs it down, saying he's famished, which the Doctor isn't surprised by (it's insinuated that he understands, at least loosely, what's happening because of the Time Lord's ability to regenerate, which always wears them out and makes them very energy-hungry).

In his monster form, Dr. Lazarus drains all the "life-energy" out of several human victims in order to sate his hunger, leaving an empty shell. (Insert Vecna consuming his victims to get stronger, insert "Henry" killing animals in tfs to sate the Shadow and it being much more powerful when "he" finally kills Virginia, insert Max being left an empty body without a soul/life, etc. etc., you get the picture. Not to mention that the Doctor equates it to "squeezing the juice out of an orange" ... I wasn't expecting a little st vr connection, but I'll take it!). He has little to no control over his transformation, and while he can feel it coming on, he can't just snap in and out of it; it simply takes over and he changes. The first time we see him transform, he writhes on the ground in agony and his wife asks if it's "some kind of seizure" (smash cut to "Henry" in tfs seizing).

Later, after some running around, being chased, and doing some thinking, the Doctor explains to Martha that this "thing" (Lazarus) isn't alien, it's "strictly human in origin." This form was becoming "dominant" because the process of de-aging himself likely awoke some dormant genes that "evolution rejected...millions of years ago...forgotten until Lazarus unlocked it by mistake."

A big part of this episode is about hubris. Dr. Lazarus is overconfident in his invention, and he spends ample part of the start of the episode dismissing the Doctor and Martha when they both warn him that something may be wrong/this may be more dangerous than he realizes. On top of Dr. Lazarus seeking out youth/prolonged life, much like the idea that Brenner is looking for some sort of power/immortality of some kind in st (barely even touching on the other weird stuff like Brenner not aging in tfs between 1959-1979), a lot of it made me think of El tearing into Brenner in 4.08, especially her emphasis on him being the monster, on all of this being his fault, all because he couldn't let Henry go. Brenner has constantly been presented to us, throughout all mediums, to be fairly stubborn and determined to get what he wants, even if the results are catastrophic (ie. the number of guards and orderlies who have died helping him with his child dungeon project, all of the children themselves dying in one way or another, even his own ass getting jumped by a demogorgon and then shot to bleed out and "die" in the desert).

Which leads into the other core aspect of this episode: humanity.

Throughout all of Doctor Who, the Doctor makes it clear that he finds humans utterly fascinating, especially in their mundanity. He emphasizes the importance of everyone's individuality and tells everyone they're special and important, even if they don't really "do" anything. Simply being who they are is what makes them matter; they don't need to be useful or supply anything groundbreaking in order to be amazing in his eyes. They exist as humans, and that's all that matters.

In this episode, we see Lazarus talk about how humans, as they are now, are basically inferior. While a large part of his motivations are about the money he'll make off of such an invention, we learn later that he has a distinct and deep fear of death and being defenseless against it. He wants to "change what it means to be human," to give them "a chance...to evolve, to improve" and to make sure he never has to face death like he did as a child: terrified and vulnerable.

We get the two following conversations between the Doctor and Lazarus, one at about the midway point of the episode before shit really hits the fan, and the other is near the very end of the episode after shit has really hit the fan.

This next one is split into several pieces to get in all the lines because they say a lot that jumps out as very important and distinctly Brenner, with some smatterings of One's monologue and some Henry-isms, especially from tfs, and the general presence of many of The Words.

I wanna point out that the Doctor being at the London Blitz is a direct reference to the episodes I talked about in my last dw post. And I find it incredibly interesting that a lot of the original tfs promo was heavily centered around church, like how this final standoff is in a cathedral, even so far as having Mr. Newby originally be listed as Father Newby, etc., despite the final play not being as heavy-handed with the religious imagery. Idk it's just itching something in my brain! I also wanna note that, since it's kinda hard to see here, the camera pans around Lazarus in a counterclockwise circle, following the path of the Doctor as he circles him, and we aaall know how st loves to use circling camera shots like that.

I especially want to touch on the second conversation the Doctor and Lazarus have in the church. The Doctor speaks to him calmly, trying to get him to understand and have compassion for the experience that is being human rather than trying to cheat it, and that living an exceptionally long life really isn't all it's cracked up to be. Even though Lazarus is now a "monster," he's still intensely humanized. He's killed at least four people at this point, but the Doctor doesn't go about simply trying to belittle, dehumanize, or kill him.

When it comes to Brenner, unfortunately, we still don't know much about his past, but we have a lot we can assume or extrapolate, at least based off what tfs has told us and the gaps we can fill in from st itself. We know, at least vaguely, that he and his father had a strained relationship. During the opening sequence of tfs on the USS Eldridge, we hear Captain Brenner talking to his other shipmates about how "it's my kid's birthday today, he told me he hates me."

However, later in the show, Brenner tells "Henry" that his father's return from Dimension X and subsequent death because of it compelled him to join Project Rainbow and devote his life to the cause and figure out what happened. With "Henry's" seeming ability to survive being infected by the Shadow, Brenner tries to tap into that. His main goal in tfs is to make contact with the Shadow and figure out what happened to his father, and since it's then explained that he made more children like "Henry" (specifically the immunity to the Shadow/the shared blood that supposedly gives them that immunity), it's clear he's trying to avoid is father's fate in that way. In short, it very much comes off as an attempt to try and cheat death.

Brenner, throughout the show, often presents what he does as good, both for the children in the lab and for humanity as a whole (though specifically for the US, focused on beating back those nasty commies). Even if he does bad things, it's for the greater good! He has good intentions! That's gotta count for something, right? /s

Both Lazarus and Brenner went into their respective experiments because they thought they could become better than human. Or in Brenner's case, at the very least he could live vicariously through his experiments to feel better than human, which was explicitly touched on in the vr game in clips like this one. As we also see in st4, El tries to call Brenner a monster, but when she relays this thinking to Vecna, he rejects it, and calls Brenner "an ordinary, mediocre man."

Shortly after that first conversation I showed between Lazarus and the Doctor on the rooftop, after Lazarus transforms, there's a sequence where, from inside Lazarus's machine, the Doctor is able to reverse the polarity of the capsule so it reflects energy rather than receive it, and it blasts Lazarus away, turning him back into human form and supposedly killing him.

Right away, with this comment from Martha, Lazarus is equated back to an ordinary human. He's not made to be the "big bad villain" where everyone is glad he's dead, nor is he made out to be this reverent being. He's someone to be pitied. It's decidedly solemn. He was just a man out of his depth who bit off more than he could chew... much like how Brenner is a man out of his depth who bit off more than he could chew.

I wouldn’t be surprised if we learned that Brenner was actively harming himself in his attempt to do… whatever. Much like how Lazarus was harming himself (and others) in order to maintain his new youth, Brenner may be harming himself with his experiments. Whether that be via blood transfusions/consuming blood (see the post I linked from Stav above), or by doing something as drastic as physically combining himself with one of the Henwards, I doubt anything 100% good and rewarding could come from it. Even if he's looking for something like regenerative healing, as we see in Vecna and as hinted by Brenner not being dead despite getting jumped by a demogorgon, what does he have to do to reach that point? What risks are there involved that he may not have accounted for, simply because he would have no idea that they exist in the first place? Just looking at the circumstances of the weird Brenward face combo we get in 4.07… he didn’t exactly wind up in a great spot after combining himself, did he? Plus, while I'm of the mind that Vecna and the guy we see shape the Mind Flayer are two different dudes (James and Em have other posts about this as well), the way it's presented to us implies that Vecna evolved from the MF guy, so there's a sort of compounding that changes in his appearance from mostly-human to mostly-infected-by-the-UD, which... also doesn't seem great.

We can already see how being infected by the Shadow affects people, which is highlighted in Henry not sleeping and barely eating when he's flayed. Hell, Brenner saw what happened to his father after he returned from Dimension X, and he took the lives of several test subjects (many of them children) in his own experiments. He already knows that there are risks and detractions in this work.

At the very end of this dw episode, Lazarus is finally actually killed. Using the organ in the church, the Doctor amplifies its sound using his Sonic Screwdriver to create "hypersonic sound waves" in order to interfere with Lazarus on a molecular level, which is more or less the same thing he did with his machine. Lazarus falls from a high balcony within the church, disoriented by the noise, and turns back into a human upon death. He even reverts back to his "correct" elderly appearance as the Doctor kneels over him and gently shuts his eyes.

We've already seen something similar to this sort of death with Brenner in st4. While I wouldn't say it was a soft moment for him, since El was still clearly rejecting him, she still leaned into his touch, still listened to him, and clearly was grappling with a lot of messy feelings. She, in that moment, wanted to view him as a monster, but she couldn't. Not entirely. That's her Papa! That's someone who, for most of her life, despite every horrible thing he did, took care of her; who said he loved her and held her best interests at heart.

In my mind, this sort of "soft end" is what we should expect for Brenner and Vecna in st5. It could be even softer than what we see in st4, because as much as Brenner deserves to have his shit absolutely rocked, we've been increasingly shown that he is only human. Human's are not monsters, but humans can do monstrous things. That doesn't make them inhuman. And, as people like James and Em have spoken extensively about lately, Brenner is likely but one cog in the machine that is the Cycles in this show, and not necessarily the source of the cycles to begin with. He didn't pop outta the womb wanting to build a child torture dungeon, but something happened to bring him there and cloud his judgement.

And even if the death is something more intense and dramatic like that of Lazarus, it's not necessarily something to celebrate, yknow? Even if the threat is gone (which is a very good thing), it took many horrible, avoidable things to get there in the first place, and that's what's tragic.

B-B-B-Bonus Round: Just Some Extra Shit

vs "Henry" going missing in Nevada for 12 hours per tfs. Martha has been on several trips with the Doctor thus far, so there's the added bit of "the passage of time is messed up" seeing as, for her, it's been several days, but to everyone else it's only been 12 hours.

All of the above is so... yeah lol. Lazarus is repeatedly very weird to the two young women in this episode, Martha and her sister Tish, and he even rejects his elderly wife in one scene when she kisses him and he tells her to "look at [her]self." The sniffing thing even made me think of the demogorgon being given the trait of "smelling blood" so... I see you, Brennergorgon.

I could've probably fit this bit somewhere above, but I'm too lazy, so it's going here instead. Love a good boiler room setting and talking about sacrifices!

"Always the mothers" just like how Brenner say it was always the mothers who came to him convinced their children had abilities or issues, etc. (plus just a little context for Martha's mom's "dangerous" comment: this season has an overarching hidden plot about the Master, who I touched on in another one of my dw posts, wherein he basically holds political power over the city (hiding the fact that he's a Time Lord) and is trying to sabotage the Doctor).

[251-dmr]

The 2-AziraCrow Theory

Maybe I should be calling this my head canon, and not even give it theory status.

But I’ll press on nevertheless. This theory had a seed planted when I saw this quote mentioned at the end of one of Sendarya’s videos in which she mentioned the Theologica Germanica concept of the soul having two halves.

The soul has two eyes When one makes an effort Without the other It shan't get very far, When they help each other They accomplish much. [William of St-Thierry]

Some time later, I began to see the pattern, a theme, that seemed to emphasize the concept of twos.

After noticing these, I started looking for other repeating, seemingly frequent ideas.

These ideas just keep crashing and bouncing and ricocheting around in my head. They just won’t coalesce into anything coherent. My apologies for the chaos and disorganization.

Theme – Two, Half, Split There are references everywhere, in dialog and visually, to “2”s, “halves”, and “splits”. Far too many to list, but examples include putting the lesser demons on half rations; being shown a demon’s split-tongue three different times, Azi & Crowley performing half a miracle each; Shax asking Crowley about the two yellow(!) lights on the boiler; the twin passions of Bildad; Crowley leads the humans out of the bookshop 2x2; even Uriel makes two complete revolutions pacing around Michael in the scene before Sq and Muriel arrive in E1. Honestly, the list is extensive. I suppose, however, that it could be referring to two of any number of things.

Theme – Inside/Outside Again, we have dialog and visuals that emphasize the idea of things being inside or outside, but especially inside. Azi to Crowley in the smitten scene “Why don’t you wait inside? You like to wait inside?” Nina’s “A lot of people in this head…”; And we have so many scenes of someone looking inside or out a window. I have quite a list in another document on my computer.

Theme – Spies This one starts right off with the spy sitting down at the wrong bench, next to Crowley. Shax recruits Crowley to try and find out what’s going on in the Up. Beez recruits Crowley to help find Gabriel, etc. Then there’s Jane Austen, master spy. The three zombies spying on them to get Furfur’s proof and we could even say that those go back to S1E3, 1941, “…half-witted Nazi spies running about London…” And, I also really, really don’t trust Michael. Could they be a spy for hell in heaven? But I don’t have any real evidence for that. Just a distrust of Michael.

Theme – “Bit”s Another word used throughout the season, and maybe even in S1. Well, we definitely have the final S1 scene with Azi saying to Crowley “…if you weren’t, at heart, just a little bit, a good person.” Searching the S2 transcript comes up with ~25-ish uses of the word. Is that a lot? Or normal? I have nothing to compare to it, nor base it on. So although Azi is not Crowley’s “bit on the side”, I thought, maybe Crowley is sometimes Azi’s “bit on the inside”.

Theme – Point Another well-used word throughout the script, appearing ~24 times. This is trickier, though, because “point” can have a number of reasons – the reason or conclusion, indicating direction, or the sharp point, of, say, a pin? I suspect that all are somehow applicable in this season.

But just looking at the last one, it could be a call-back to S1 and how many angels, or demons, can dance on the head of a pin. Where we learn that Crowley can make himself small enough to speed through a telephone wire.

I always vaguely thought Crowley’s line to Mrs Sandwich about whether or not she had her hatpin was a bit of an odd, maybe throw-away line and Mrs Sandwich responds so quickly and charmingly that the line gets passed over. But again, is it a reminder of what angels and demons are capable of? Or does this line mean something else I’m just not aware of?

Theme – Small Crowley Not as fully developed, and maybe not as obvious, but in E1 on the bench, for example, after the spy leaves, we see “normal-sized” Crowley immediately followed by seeing a “small” Crowley in Shax’s compact mirror (and he’s looking out of the mirror, see above) when she arrives. In the resurrection minisode, we see another “small” Crowley, when he’s off his head on laudanum.

Theme – “Invisible” Crowley As far as I’ve gotten to date, there are two definite scenes where I think Crowley is actually inside Azi’s head (or whatever) and not physically there.

First, when they leave GMCoGMD with the Eccles cakes in E1. As soon as they are outside the shop, Azi barely looks at Crowley, and Maggie doesn’t seem to see him, that brief conversation is only between Azi and Maggie. Crowley only “talks” to Azi once they’ve started walking again.

Second, and the bigger one, is in E5 when Azi heads out to solicit the shopkeepers to go to the meeting. Crowley asks “Can I watch?” and just follows Azi around and again, Azi barely looks at him; the shopkeepers appear to act as if they are only talking to one person, and Crowley is completely quiet around them, just hanging around in the background.

I also noticed that in these cases Crowley is on Azi’s right, the opposite of where we usually see him. (Oh, an exception is Mrs Cheng, where he’s on Azi’s left again, and he acknowledges Mrs Cheng when they leave, implying to me that Mrs Cheng can see him.) There could be more instances where we see this behavior, but I haven’t studied every episode yet to look for it.

Theme – S2 posters Just looking at these two for now. Azi and Crowley with one pair of wings, one white one black, behind them. I’ve seen the line “…and they aren’t talking…” I’m not quite convinced yet that they aren't talking. I think it could mean they aren’t talking face-to-face, physically. And I optimistically see their positioning as that they’ve still got each other’s back. Maybe I’m in denial, but I just don’t see the “break-up” as extensive as many seem to.

The other poster is this one of Azi and Crowley, each with the other in their heads/thoughts. Crowley is “seeing” Azi from a memory, from 1941. But Azi is seeing a current Crowley, draped across the bookshop chair. Also, I noted that the [double!] rings that surround them are linked.

My way-out-there idea, then, is that Azi and Crowley have “carved out” space for a duplicate but also somehow real, bookshop (a high-fidelity copy?) within Azi, within his mind, his brain, his soul, I don’t know. And he can enter and leave it as needed. It could also be a copy of Azi’s memories or something.

But it’s also someplace Crowley can visit, a place he can go in and out of (like the telephone lines in S1) as needed. I wonder, then, does Crowley in the end “split” himself, so that a “bit” of himself can go up to heaven with Azi? Referring back to Jane Austen, brandy smuggler – is Azi smuggling Crowley into heaven? All season, Azi usually has his hands closed, perhaps to imply he’s carrying and/or hiding something.

With this theory, it gets complicated, though, figuring out which “reality” we’re looking at. The external original(?) world? Azi’s copy in his head? Or a memory? Or none of the above and this is all nonsense.

Multiple sets of memories, possibly getting mixed together, could help account for the inconsistencies in flashbacks, the apparent “continuity errors” in various scenes, the changing POV.

We’ve seen the physical appearance swap. We’ve seen Azi’s physical possession of Madame Tracy in which they could both control the body. What I am considering is neither of those.

This is just a start. I’ll keep working on it unless someone already has some convincing evidence that clearly refutes the idea.