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macfrog · 4 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

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

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he��s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

#i think duckie is my favorite character i've ever written. that fetus has more personality than vanessa icl #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

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cupid-styles · 2 months

Text

casual

partially based on casual by chappell roan and a lil bit of sad personal experience hehe

word count: 2k

content warnings: angst (no happy ending), references to smut, alcohol, harry being a douche, not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

From: H (12:47 a.m.)

Come over?

To: H (12:50 a.m.)

Give me 15

From: H (12:52 a.m.)

. . .

It’s not unusual for her nights to look like this. Or her early mornings, rather.

It wasn’t always this way. When she first met Harry, she wanted nothing to do with him romantically or intimately. She’d heard about his reputation — it wasn’t anything bad as long as you were looking for the same thing. He was an expert in bed and the friends that slept with him always provided rave reviews. Ever excited rumblings of, “oh my God, he’s so caring! He made me finish twice before he even took his cock out” and “he’s the perfect one night stand — seriously, I’ve never had anyone better.”

But Y/N didn’t care for that.

She was a serial monogamous, always bumping around from one lengthy relationship to the next. In hindsight, she supposes she wasn’t any better than Harry, who earned his notoriety from a series — a long series — of casual hookups.

If you needed a rebound, you went to Harry.

If you were going through a dry spell, you went to Harry.

If you were just horny and needed someone to go home with at the end of the night (and he hadn’t miraculously already found somebody else yet), you went to Harry.

And Y/N never planned to sleep with him. Ever, really. He was a fine friend, someone who mixed well with their mutual friends, but they hardly exchanged conversation except for the occasional nicetie. She had his phone number from when he planned Rachel’s surprise birthday party last year and they were friends on Venmo, passing back the same $20 every month for drinks or a shared Uber.

That was the extent of their friendship.

Until a few months back, when Y/N was down in the dumps. She’d been seeing this girl, Samantha, for a month or two, assuming that they were headed straight towards a happy, exclusive relationship — only to discover that Samantha was sleeping with and seeing just about 10 other people on the side. And it only came out because Samantha happened to contract chlamydia from one of her sexual partners, so she’d been forced to tell Y/N for the sake of her health.

Y/N's friends, Rachel, Maeve, and Len gave her time to wallow. They offered it to her on a silver platter, even, offering multiple girls nights out (and in), providing Y/N all the space she needed to cry and complain and talk about how hurt she felt.

But then… a week of moping turned into two, which turned into three, which eventually turned into a month and a half. Her friends were exhausted from watching her spiral into sadness, so they did the only thing they knew: They sat her down and told her she needed to rebound. Fast.

“And who the hell am I supposed to rebound with?” Y/N asked through a sniffle. The only thing that made this whole thing worse was her friends staging an intervention for her because she was being annoyingly sad about her not-really-breakup-but-felt-like-a-breakup. “See, that’s the best part of being friends with a man whore,” Maeve replied eagerly. Len and Rachel sat on either side of her with bright eyes, nodding excitedly. “Harry! He already said he’s down and everything!” “Wait— you already asked him?” “We just put the idea in his head. Don’t worry, men are stupid,” Len quickly waved her off, “But he’s going out with everyone tonight. We’ll feed you a few shots to get you just buzzy enough, and then send you off to your night in heaven. You won’t even remember that girl’s name by the time Harry’s done with you!” Y/N cringed. “Hasn’t, like… everyone slept with him though?” Maeve shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s clean. He gets regular testing and uses condoms. Really, Y/N, it’s sort of a rite of passage at this point. But you should do it only if you’re comfortable— don’t let us force you into it.” Y/N swallowed tightly. She had to admit, the thought of a rebound sounded… appealing. She’d swiped through dating apps looking for one, but she was too scared that a one night stand would end in her bloody murder. And it helped that Harry already knew what he was doing, and— wait, was she crazy or was she actually starting to consider this? “Alright, fine,” she replied with a shaky exhale, “Let’s do this.”

That was four months ago.

And what was supposed to be an evening of stupid, lusty, casual sex turned into Y/N falling hard. It wasn’t her fault, though — no, not when he panted breathy promises into her mouth in the back of the Uber, mumblings of “just tonight, you know that, right?”. She’d replied just how she’d rehearsed it in her brain hours prior: “yes, yeah, I know— just tonight. Just for tonight.”

"Just for tonight" shifted into Harry asking her to stay until the morning for breakfast and shower sex. Then, the following weekend, he texted her the ever classy you still awake? at just past midnight. She was indeed up, doing nothing but rotting on her couch and watching a documentary about the deep sea — and her hookup with Harry had been good, really good, and she wasn’t going to turn down another night of orgasms.

As he wrapped a condom around his dick and pressed messy kisses down her neck, he whispered the same hurried sentiments from the weekend before: “didn’t see anyone I wanted tonight and we were good, yeah? It was good. So just… just one more night, okay? That’s fine, right?”

Foolishly, with flittering eyelashes and her nails scraping down her back as he pushed inside, she nodded and echoed his words. Just one more night, that’s fine.

It didn’t take long for their friends to catch on when Harry would leave the bar an hour early without looking for someone to take home. Or, when they’d both be out and, like magnets slowly being pulled towards one another, they’d end up kissing on the street as they waited for an Uber to take them back to Harry’s place.

The guys hounded Harry about it, asking if Y/N was finally the one to tie him down.

“Nah,” he’d reply with a shake of his head, “She’s a good girl. Too good for me.”

When Y/N’s friends demanded to know every last detail, she shrugged.

"I'm not really sure. It's... good, I think."

They only responded with small, tight smiles.

. . .

“Your mom texted me today. She invited us to come see them this weekend.”

Harry doesn’t reply — or rather, he makes an unassuming humming noise — as he gets out of Y/N’s bed, untangling his naked form from her sheets. He hunts down his briefs and pulls them on before stretching his arms out.

“Did you eat dinner?” he asks, grabbing her tee-shirt off the floor and tossing it to her. She sits up, tightening the sheet around her chest. She shakes her head as she clutches the fabric of her shirt in her hands and watches him scroll on his phone.

“No. I thought we could get something.”

Harry hums again, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. Swallowing, Y/N puts her shirt back on. She’s not sure why, but she always feels oddly vulnerable once they’ve finished hooking up. When she’s still naked and he’s already moved onto the next thing, like having plans with the guys or taking a shower before he heads home. She'd even purchased his favorite body wash and shampoo when he started sticking around a bit longer, but he'd never even mentioned it or uttered a thank you.

“Yeah, maybe,” he finally replies. He locks his phone and places it back on the ledge of the TV stand in her bedroom. The simple act makes her heart jump — usually, he’ll stuff his phone in his pocket as he’s leaving. Maybe he was planning on staying the night. “So listen, I know I took you to dinner at my parents’ place that one time, but I don’t really feel comfortable with you talking to my mom.”

Y/N furrows her brows in confusion. “She texted me, H. I don’t, like, regularly reach out to her.”

“Right, but it just makes this whole thing feel way more serious than it is.” he says, sitting back down on the bed. He maintains a steady distance between them and it makes a small lump form in Y/N’s throat.

“Okay,” she murmurs slowly, “That’s fine, I get it. But… we never really talked about what this is.”

Harry glances up with wide, confused eyes. “We’ve said it a million times, Y/N. This is casual. Completely and totally casual sex.”

An ugly, involuntary chortle leaves her chest. He raises his eyebrows.

“We’ve been fucking for four months. That’s not really casual.”

“Yes, it is. It’s friends with benefits.”

“Sure, maybe, but that’s if you explicitly outline that you’re just having sex. No feelings involved.”

“We did that.”

“When?”

“At the beginning,” Harry responds. He seems frustrated now, but it feels as though he’s recalling a memory that Y/N was never even around for. “Remember? I told you, it was all just for tonight type shit. Nothing real.”

“Then why the fuck did you take me to your parents’ house two months ago?” Y/N demands, anger rising in her chest, “And why am I your date to all of your stupid, boring work events? And why the hell are you at my house like four times a week, and why do you have a drawer full of my clothes at your place?”

“Y/N—”

“This isn’t fucking casual, Harry. This is dating. You’re dating me and you don't even realize it.”

“I would know if I was dating you, but I never asked you to be my girlfriend. I don’t want a girlfriend, you know that.”

She groans and shakes her head, ignoring the way her jaw already aches from clenching it so hard. She grabs a clear pair of underwear from her drawer and quickly slips them on. Harry’s silent the entire time.

Suddenly, she whips around and faces him. “Have you been fucking other people?”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. He shakes his head.

“No. I wouldn’t do that, and it’s unsafe.”

“Right,” she murmurs, placing her hands on her hips, “So piece it together, Harry. Neither of us are sleeping with other people. We’re exclusively seeing one another.”

“You’re just making this out to be way more of a thing than it is—”

“Oh, fuck off!” she exclaims, “You have a key to my house! That’s pretty serious!”

“I didn’t ask you for that!” he fires back as he stands up from the bed. They’re in a stand-off now, staring at one another with angry eyes. She snorts and shakes her head in disbelief.

“My friends were so fucking right about you. You’re such an asshole. You know Maeve called me a loser for thinking you were a good guy?”

Harry rolls his eyes as he grabs his phone and sweater, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

They don’t exchange any other words as he leaves her room. She sits back down on the edge of the mattress, listening as he stuffs his feet in his sneakers and slams the front door shut. She doesn’t even notice that tears are lining her eyes and falling onto the apples of her cheeks.

. . .

It’s barely 48 hours later when Y/N’s watching a YouTube video as she stands in the bathroom, doing her nighttime routine.

Like four months prior, when she hoped Harry would be a good rebound for her heartbreak, she's been moping around in self-hatred and sadness. She's in awe of how cruel and oblivious he's being, but more than that, she can't believe she actually believed he had real feelings for her. Ones that extended beyond sex.

She’s brushing her teeth when she notices a text notification come down, redirecting her attention from the influencer vlog to read the name of the sender. She taps on it to see a familiar initial.

From: H (10:32 p.m.)

Sorry for what I said. Can I come over?

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bomber-grl · 3 months

Text

Leo Valdez x Child of Hecate ☾

Pairing(s): Leo Valdez x Gn!Reader

Leo was most definitely intimidated by you at first sight 😭

I mean all attractive people are, not to mention how mysterious and cool you seemed

Leo knows a baddie when he sees one

Well anyway, the only way the two of you could have possibly crossed paths was by someone else or you orchestrating the whole thing

Ofc again, it’s my girl Annabeth

She’s been at camp the longest and has a reputation so ofc she’s the one who always introduces reader and love interest

Well, it was only after annabeth needed help from the Hecate cabin and Leo was involved because he was the problem

An invention of his went rogue (luckily not because he built it wrong) but yk

Well once you do annabeth thanks you in her own way and when Leo has the chance to speak he just..can’t?!!

I mean not only do you seem cool but gah damn u look like a goth baddie

Home boy is stunned and can only manage a stupid as joke/ pick up line which even he asks himself, why???

Well while hes internally committing he heard the least expected thing

Which was you of all people laughing

You’re usually quiet and kept to yourself so seeing you like this was like when the clouds move and lets the sun shine in-

Cringe ahh mf , really this generations Shakespeare

Well he’s so shocked then the two of you just stand there like 🕴️🕴️

And if he manages to have his inventions go rogue every other day and needs your help specifically, well let’s just say it’s a coincidence

The two of you inevitably get close and the more he hangs out with you the more he falls in love

On surface level you’re dark, mysterious and most of all, intimidating

But now? You’re so easy going, it’s like the two of you have known each other since fetus days

Eventually you two get together because of an adventure that ended with you two getting closer and more open.

Once Leo is your boyfriend- he’s insufferable

I mean he’s his usual goofy, flirty(?) self and he’s so cringe but you love it all the same

Best believe Leo is head over heels for you and when it comes to your magic and stuff he’s particularly keen

especially when you randomly give him a crystal necklace for whatever reason and suddenly you hear Leo going around camp casually mentioning that his witchy s/o got him something

Which, yk endearing but still a lil embarrassing

Leo is always there to help you when you’re making potions, spells, it doesn’t matter

I mean at times he’s a bit spooked at what you can do but he’s still by your side regardless

Now, when it comes to your family on your Greek side- he’s scared

I’m mean, you’re probably scared too depending on if you’re a guy considering how basically every daughter/ female family of Hecate hates men

(You’re probs exempt cuz ur mom Hecate but still)

Bro is spooked, he does NOT want to be a guinea pig

And speaking of your mom, Leos timbers and shivered at the thought of meeting her and her not liking him

I mean it’s not all that important but depending if you’re especially fond of your mom then he’s shivering and timbering

Anyway, Leo is so lucky to have you by his side especially since sometimes he can forget how strong you are

(Also ik hecate is a minor goddess in the books and her children are shown to be weak but i refuse to acknowledge that as child of Hecate)

If you ever try and read his palm or do his birth chart he’ll probably just nod along and not know what you’re talking about 💀

Gotta love Leo

And if any animals that are sacred to Hecate approach you two he’s scared shitless (looking at you snakes)

Not to mention how crows can literally speak, no thank you

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bloodynereid · 27 days

Note

may i request jordan li taking caring of a very sick gn reader? bonus points if they have to get tests run and are terrified of needles!! (i might be projecting onto reader just a lil bit okay). anyways hope you’re doing okay and have a nice day/night!! - 🧚🏻

I'm With You

pairing: jordan li x gn! reader

tw: mentions of needles, sick people, doctors

description: jordan has never had to deal with sick people until their partner suddenly comes down with something.

a/n: this is from november??? i am literally so sorry. anyways i hope you enjoy this little drabble even though it took me ages to write haha. the reader is a human in this btw! i don't think supes can get sick?? so i just went with the safer bet. i kind of toned down the terrified of needles bit but i still hope this is okay. also i didn't edit this at all so if there's any glaring mistakes pls let me know.

You feel a hand across your forehead, making an effort to open your eyes. You have to blink a few times until Jordan’s face comes into focus. They don’t look happy. She has a distracted look on their face and their eyes are flashing with panic.

“Jord-” You start to say, the individual sounds feeling like granite against your vocal cords.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Don’t talk. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.” Jordan said the last bit with a hurried tone before the cool hand on your forehead is suddenly pulled away. You whimper slightly as you hear scuffling around the side of your head.

Everything hurt. It was like a weight had settled over your entire body, making you too weak to even lift your head.

“Yeah? Hello? Marie I don’t know what to do, they’re not moving.” The sound of Jordan’s voice got muffled and a loud ringing echoed in your ears. A few moments later you drifted back off to sleep - unaware of Jordan’s growing panic.

It’s the next morning, or rather midday when you wake up. The feeling of horrible aches everywhere still persists but the world is less blurry.

“Hey. You’re awake.”

“Jordan.” You instantly cringe at the rasp of your voice, as you look up at your partner. They are carrying a mug of something which he puts down on the bedside table.

“Don’t try to talk okay? How do you feel about going to the doctors?” You obviously make a disgusted expression because Jordan’s face falls slightly.

“I just- You scared the hell out of me last night. I think we need to get you checked out. At least that’s what Marie recommended. Supes don’t really get sick so I have no idea what the protocol is like here. I can’t go through last night again.”

You feel a pang of guilt as you look at Jordan’s distraught face so you nod slightly. It’s probably best you go to the doctor anyway, even if it was going to hurt like a bitch.

You were right but at least Jordan helped you out to the car and gave you quite a few painkillers which dulled the ache in your muscles. The feeling of the car ride lulled you right back to sleep as the low sound of Jordan’s favorite playlist played in the background. Half an hour later you found yourself getting helped out of the car by Jordan, who easily carried most of your weight through the practice doors.

“Hi, we have an appointment. My partner has…” You tuned out of the conversation as you settled into one of the chairs in the waiting room. The sounds of elevator music seemed dull to you, even the clean smell of the room was somehow off.

“Hey we’re going to go in, yeah?” You looked up at Jordan and offered them a strained smile as you pushed yourself up from your seat, before leaning on him once again.

The appointment seemed to last hours as you tried to focus on the woman in front of you and answer her questions but your mind kept drifting out of the room and to the bed you knew was waiting for you at home.

“Okay I’m going to have to take some blood now. This might be more serious than it seems so we just need to make sure.” That sentence quickly focused your attention back, as the doctor pulled out a needle which instantly made you cringe.

Jordan must have sensed your anxiety as they leaned over and grabbed your hand. Carefully stroking the back of it to try and calm you.

“You’ll just feel a little pinch okay?” You nodded slightly and squeezed Jordan’s hand as the doctor found your vein and inserted the needle. You felt a few moments of pain before the doctor pulled away and quickly covered the area with a cotton swab.

“Okay all done. You’ll get the-” With that moment over you drifted off to daydream land again, and you only really came back into yourself when Jordan helped you into your bed.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Not really.” You whispered, making Jordan wince sympathetically before they eased themselves so he was lying next to you.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m right here with you and we’ll get through this together. Yeah?”

You nodded against their shoulder as you cuddled into him. Letting your muscles relax and finally letting your eyelids fall shut. You felt safe next to them and you knew you always would be when you were around Jordan.

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jazzyblusnowflake · 1 month

Note

ship questions, huh Who's the most bitey among the Violent Biting Biscuits? Who's the most romantic? Who's guilty of the most cheesy lines? Who's the most guilty of jumping the other two for activities?

jesus uhhhhh lessee-

Bitey? V and Uzi are fighting for that position lmao- they like being a little rough with eachother- but in the end probably mostly Uzi- V likes to bare fangs for show, Uzi ACTUALLY bites- especially people she likes :p

Romantic has to be N i think, obv XD Uzi hates doing anything related to it- V is probably the most knowledgable on it from her time on earth and knowledge on human imitations, but as her current personality is, she would rather die than to be mushy- and N is.... N is a gentleman and tries his best, but often comes as a nervous wreck and too shy- but in the end, N wins this round cuz when he puts aside his nervousness for the sake of his partners, he knows how to ease them and make them feel good in a romantic sense, he just needs a lil bit of a confidence boost :p

the cheesiest lines would probably be N again- but only on rare occasions- again, V and Uzi are too self conscious to actually try to be cheesy or romantic too much- but N sometimes still makes attempts- in which Uzi and V cringe a bit but ultimately cant resist lmao. sometimes Uzi might join in but have regrets later pfft-

and jump the others? that award goes to our pint sized little toaster- Uzi being as touch starved and affection starved as she is, after getting close to the two murder machines that give her scary dog privileges and are built as superior fine ass machineries- literally could not after a while- keep her hands off them. shes shy in words but in actions, shes easy to please, anything V and N could do to her she would melt- and she craves it. not saying shes horny all the time though, im just saying she takes the first place on this bar by comparison lmao-

#snowballflo #snow rambles #murder drones #nuzi #vuzi #envy #murder drones envy #n x v #biscuitbites #violetviolence #violentbitingbiscuits

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apples4day · 2 months

Text

BLAME || Yandere! TDWT x Fem! Reader

2/2 EPISODE TWO (Walk Like An Egyptian- Part 2)

This is part 4 of my series, go read the other parts if u haven’t!

Your team was behind team Amazon, looking absolutely ridiculous all stacked up on one teeny tiny goat. They were struggling with making the camel go faster, you were struggling to trust Alejandro to not let you fall.

"We're gonna go win the race now, see ya!" Heather stuck her tongue out at us.

"Eat sand losers!" Courtney smiled.

"Such witty remarks from such fiercely intelligent women, I'm both humbled and intrigued." Alejandro complimented. Courtney shooed him,

"Nice try but I'm with Duncan."

"And what a pity it is that you should give yourself to a quitter, who doesn't deserve you."

Alejandro was moving a lot as he talked and you were starting to get even more nervous.

"That's not- Duncan is totally- uh- you're just...will someone hurry this camel up!" Courtney was at a loss for words.

CONFESSIONAL- HEATHER

"Oh he's good. Too good..seriously what is his deal? He is just so..perfect. Don't even get me started on Y/n. UGHH"

CONFESSIONAL- HEATHER; ENDED

So that's his game plan? Flirting with every girl here? As expected from him. He's got the looks for it I'm not gonna lie. You thought, staring at his face.

"If you want you can take a picture," he suggested, winking.

"What? No. You have a bug on your face." You lied.

"Do I?" He smirked.

"Yes. Oh! Oops...you're the bug." You shrugged and he looked a little surprised.

I don't usually care when someone insults me...but that felt different. A lil peak into his thoughts 🤰

Man you suck at being nice, he's just so easy to be mean to. No matter how badly you want to win.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed water. A big blue body of water. Tapping Alejandro softly on the head, you leaned in to whisper what you discovered.

"What? Do you want a kiss señorita?" He puckered up and you cringed. "No! Look, the Nile." You pointed out. He stopped and looked, smiling like he was the one who found it?? Narcissist. Man what a weirdo this guy is. You thought to yourself.

"Hold on everyone, I'm changing our route." He bucked his hips (Into me😈) in another direction and you grabbed his head. I will NOT die because I fell off a human tower. Especially because some guy moved his hips and I fell off his shoulder.

CONFESSIONAL- ALEJANDRO

"Perhaps it would've been kind to show the girls team which way to go but you've seen my team, we need all the help we can get."

Alejandro crossed his arms.

"For some reason Y/n hasn't fallen for me. I think my best plan would be to get into an alliance with her. She isn't very social so I'll be her only option."

CONFESSIONAL- ALEJANDRO; ENDED

"There's the finish line!" Tyler pointed.

"Yeah, ON THE OTHER SIDE."

Crocodiles jumped out of the water, "flying abilities anyone?" You joked.

Chris said something you couldn't hear. Owen couldn't hear him either,

"WHAT?! SPEAK UP!!"

Chris kept speaking, Owen still couldn't hear. "Did you guys get any of that?"

Chris snapped his fingers and had a weird megaphone passed to him.

"I SAID, WELCOME TO THE THIRD FINAL EGYPTIAN CHALLENGE! BASKET CASES."

It was so loud that the wind got way stronger. Noah was almost blown away and had grabbed you for support. Everyone's eyes were wide open because of shock. Owen ducked and covered his head. You and Noah were basically cuddling.

There's that vanilla scent again. He thought, holding you.

Chris explained that we would have to make a boat blah blah blah.

You were a bit zoned out and only caught the last part of his sentence. Noah's hands around you were kinda the only thing you could think about, especially with your face pressed into his body. Finally zoning back in, you heard the last part of Chris' sentence. "Aka goat face over there!"

Tyler looked insulted, "hey!" You gently removed Noah from you and put your hand on Tylers shoulder, "I believe he meant the goat." You pointed to the goat. Tyler thanked you. "I'm surprised you can reach his shoulders," Noah said. He was basically making fun of you and your height. "I'm surprised you could reach the 6th grade, and I'm surprised you didn't get blown away by the wind." You retaliated. His face flushed.

CONFESSIONAL- NOAH

"I'm the smartest person here. She doesn't know what she's talking about, she probably got held back."

He sighed.

"..she's amazing. I think my heart is gonna explode."

CONFESSIONAL- NOAH; ENDED

Chris continued explaining. "This is perfect!" Sierra seemed happy. Noah didn't,

"What? The fact that we're hosed?"

"I'm a fourth generation basket weaver!"

Owen cheered, "yeah!"

"We're gonna need a lot of reeds," Sierra rushed to start picking reeds. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "Hey Sierra, can you teach me?"

"Of course!"

You caught on pretty quickly. Alejandro noticed, "As expected from a fierce intelligent woman, fast learning." He placed his hands on his hips and smiled as you weaved the boat together with Sierra. "Ya sei tu plan, ya para de chamuyar." You looked up at him. (Translation- I already know your plan, stop sweet talking me/flirting.)

You were on your knees to weave the basket.

I quite like this angle. He thought, since he was looking down at you.

"¿Sabes español?" (Translation- you know Spanish?)

"No pendejo, estoy hablando portuguesa." You replied sarcastically. (Translation- No idiot/asshole, I'm speaking Portuguese.)

The team was looking at you guys. He continued anyways, even though it would raise suspicion. "Espera hasta que estamos solitos para hablar de..esto." (Translation- wait until we are alone to talk about..this.)

You nodded in agreement and kept weaving. Noah gave you a look, and you simply smiled innocently at him. He swears his stomach flipped upside down when you looked at him. Team Amazon finally showed up.

"Basket weave a boat? UGHH" Heather complained. Sierra stopped weaving and got up to talk to team Amazon. You reached out to grab her but she had already walked away. "Sorry you guys are so far behind, our baskets nearly done already thanks to my speed weaving!"

This doesn't look good, you thought.

"Plus you got Owen on your team, lucky!" Izzy said.

"But you have Cody." Sierra ran to Cody, pressing him into her chest. He looked disgusted. "I know Cody, I wish we were on the same team too!" He looked miserable. "Uhh I have to do..something." He ran away as fast as possible. "Cody has been wanting a girl for awhile. Guess he just didn't want some crazy stalker," you said to Noah. Noah looked away, he couldn't handle looking at you for some reason. It was all odd to him, he wasn't the type to like a girl like this or at least this badly.

You didn't notice his pink cheeks, all because you started a conversation with him just now. "Aww you guys are so cute together!" Izzy referred to Sierra and Cody. Noah wished she meant you and him. "Maybe we could swap teams?" Sierra made a hand gesture, Heather considered it.

"Trade a basket case for a basket weaver? Fine! Sierra, you're with us. Izzy..go play with the boys!" Heather shooed. "Do I look like a boy to you?" You rolled your eyes. Heather waved at you, still trying to make an alliance. "What?!" Alejandro looked mad about the swap.

Sierra began building their boat even quicker. Probably for Cody. Team Amazon laughed at Heather thinking she was the boss. You giggled too. Noah kept staring at you and then turning away when you went to look at him. Alejandro was still stuck on the swap, "where's Chris? He won't allow this."

Chris pulled up on a boat. Sierra immediately went to sweet talk him. "Did somebody-" Chris was cut off by Sierra hugging his feet. "Todays officially the best day of my life! So I really hope you allow us to swap. But of course you'll make the best decision cause you're the best decider ever!!"

"And that's why I'm going to allow it!"

"Smiley face!! Ahhh!!"

Chris waved goodbye and you gave him the most betrayed look ever. His smile dropped for some reason at that. The boat pulled away, and he stared at you as he went back to the other side. "As you wish.." Alejandro was defeated. Heather stuck her tongue out at him and he blew her a kiss. You rolled your eyes and bit your lip, trying not to say something.

Sierra already finished, even putting a hut on the boat. Your team complained and you stood up, crossing your arms. "I hope their boat sinks or that the camel refuses to get in." You mumbled, your team heard anyways and Noah chuckled, so did Izzy. "Don't give up! We still have a shot!"

"Al's right! Thanks Al."

You saw Alejandro shiver at that nickname and decided to get in a bit of teasing. You walked over to him, leaning down a bit because he was on one knee. "You cold? Why are you shivering?" You teased, getting even closer. "Uh..yes. It's cold in here." Noah glanced over, "dude it's the fucking desert. Y/n don't get too close to him, you might catch a disease." You giggled. Alejandro glared at Noah.

"So you're cold?" You touched his forehead with the back of your hand. "Don't feel cold...maybe you should let us all know what you like to be called." You continued teasing, walking back to Noah. Noah almost looked like he was gonna grab your wrist to get you away from Alejandro. Meanwhile Alejandro still looked traumatized from being called Al. He also looked like he was gonna strangle Noah.

CONFESSIONAL- ALEJANDRO

"I have no problem being called..Al." He shivered again. "Uhhh that wasn't- it's just- chilly..in here." He shivered again but it was fake this time. He looked around.

"Also that Noah kid..he needs to back off. From me and Y/n, he's like her dog and this is only the second episode."

(Alejandro doesn't know I'm about to make him the same way😭🙏)

CONFESSIONAL- ALEJANDRO; ENDED

Team victory finally arrived and team Amazon was struggling to get their camel in the boat. "Izzy! Tell Ruby to get in the boat." Izzy began speaking to the goat at the command of Courtney. "Woahhh woah, Izzy's on our team now. Not yours." Noah stated. You touched Izzy's curly ginger hair for a moment in awe and then spoke, "not a word pretty lady." You found her pretty, so why not call her pretty? Though you might look a bit lesbian, which you are, it doesn't matter. (Y/n is bisexual by the way, js a reminder)

"Ooh fun!" Izzy treated it like a game. "Fine! We'll do it ourselves. C'mon." Courtney said. They struggled with the camel. The boat was finally finished, the back looking a bit wonky since it was done by everyone but Sierra. "It floats! Awesome!" Owen cheered. Alejandro whistled to the goat, which immediately ran to his arms.

Team victory also finished building. You were rowing behind Noah, and in front of Alejandro and his weird goat. "We're gonna win fair and square..but to make sure you believe that..talk to the camel." Alejandro gave Izzy the go to talk to the camel. You spoke up, "what? No! Don't do it Izzy. Are you trying to make us lose Alejandro?"

Alejandro looked down at you, "we won't. And if we do lose because of me, you can sleep on me in economy." You grimaced, "like I'd wanna." Alejandro nodded at Izzy to continue. She started talking to the camel who immediately got in team amazons boat after she told it to.

The musical bell went off. "Time for a musical reprise!"

Everybody groaned. "Hey! If you'd finished the song the first time you wouldn't be here now, Zeke! Start singing. And put your backs into it." Chris looked like he enjoyed everyone's misery. He definitely did.

Pick or make your own part again 🤷‍♀️

Team Amazon passed you guys, as you said they would. So your team got second and team victory got last. "Congrats! You're alive. And as long as you all brought your rewards across the finish line, there will be no eliminations tonight." Most people cheered at the news, you were too busy glaring at Alejandro.

"I lost the stick..heh." Ezekiel said, his whole team looked at him in anger. Chris chuckled. "Sucks to be you."

—

CONFESSIONAL- ALEJANDRO

"Losing Sierra to Heather? Ehh tragic. But I still have the upper hand, the president of Cody's fan club doesn't know a thing about me. No one does, and I intend to keep it that way. Compared to me, Heathers a saint. Well...I guess Y/n thinks she has me figured out. She doesn't even know a quarter of it though."

"Y/n is...a valuable asset. Noah keeps getting in my way though."

CONFESSIONAL- ALEJANDRO; ENDED

You were pissed sitting in economy. You were sitting in between Noah and Alejandro. "So? What do you have to say? I literally told you not to let Izzy talk to the camel! You didn't listen." You complained, leaning back. "Now we're stuck on this stupid wooden bench in this very sketchy area of the plane." Alejandro only looked at you as you ranted about his mistake. "I apologize cariño, I'll make it up to you," he grabbed your hand, attempting to kiss it.

Noah scoffed, "quit it Prince Charming." He grabbed your wrist, pulling it away from Alejandro's grasp. "That's no way to grab a lady." Alejandro said.

"Suck it," you scooted away from Alejandro. "I'd take his touch over yours any day, Al." You taunted, using the name he oh so hated against him. He shivered.

"Necesitemos hablar, sígueme. Y por favor, para de usar ese nombre." Alejandro said, standing up and walking into the confessional. He wanted the world to see how he made you his puppet. (Translation- we need to talk, follow me. And please stop using that name.)

But something is making him wanna make you more than just a puppet. Make you his.

NOT proofread.

Part 5 ALREADY out

As I said in earlier chapters, Y/n is hinted to be short.

Alsooo my Spanish is Argentinian and Mexican..as I am Argentinian and Mexican so don't say anything🤷‍♀️

Part five⬇️

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halfadoginatank · 10 months

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Robin and steve accidentally join the mafia

I couldnt stop thinking about this post by @qprstobin so wrote a lil bit based on an idea in there

It's been about two years since vecna's defeat, and after two years of some of Robin and Steves most awful jobs in chicago. One month into this one and they've finally found peace.

"Okay can we be real here?" Rob waves a slice of pizza as they sit in the store room of the warehouse-like antique shop they work at. "The boss is lovely, I mean seriously! But isn't it weird that we've met his entire family?"

Steve squints at Robin from the couch. "I don't think so? Maybe this is what, like… Italians are supposed to be like."

"Aren't you Italian?"

"Yeah but my family was fucked up. Everyone's so close with Boss it's like, a clan almost." He settles his hands on top of his chest. To be frank it's the best couch he's ever been on.

"I think it's about time we start accepting the fact that they might be like. Mafia." Steve looks at her to continue. But she's too busy eating the last of her pizza, avoiding the crust.

She finishes and hands the crust to steve.

"I mean, the store is practically empty! Barely anyone shops here!" Okay that's true, it's almost like family video but instead of stocking shelves for new movies, their boss Mr. De Luka or one of his 'cousins' will drop off something so they can slap a price tag on it and find a good place to put it.

"Mmm but why would we care? We're not doing anything wrong! Plus are you gonna look Mrs. De Luka in the eyes and say 'oh sorry ma'am' which you know she hates! And go 'we won't come to dinner tonight on account of maybe you being the Italian mob!"

Robin cringes hard. Steve huffs in victory. Mrs. De Luka was a tall and beautiful woman with angular features, a roman nose, and hair the exact same color as Steve's. She was a force to be reckoned with. She may bake some of the best cream cake but she's also steadfast and can settle a table of eight full grown men with just a slap of her hand against it.

"Ugh. That's not fair, saying no to her is impossible, she's like… so incredibly hot."

Steve scrunched up his nose. "Ew robin dont say that she's like a parental figure."

"She's more like a friend's mom!"

"Yeah! My mom!"

Robin points an accusing finger "Ahah! So you admit it. She's practically your mother!"

Steve chokes on the last bite of his pizza crust, he sits up and hammers on his chest. "Jesus Christ, no robin she's not my mother!" He coughs out

Robin throws her hands up "I didn't say that. I said practically! Hell, Angelo calls you cousin!" Steve narrows his eyes… Angelo Ricci is their boss's cousin, actual, biological cousin. Because as Steve and Robin have learned, some of the cousins or aunts or uncles are just unrelated people they call family.

"Should you be calling him by his first name? He's old enough to be your dad."

Robin actually stops and sits back in her chair. "If he was my dad that would be weird." Steve nods.

"Because of Amara?"

"Yes."

Amara Ricci… Steve can still remember the first time they met.

[-]

It had to be at least a week after they were hired. Mr. De Luka thanked them both for being great employees and asked them if they would have dinner with his family. Mr. De Luka wasn't like Keith, and neither was his store. It seemed genuinely family owned, and Mr. De Luka himself was much kinder, and seemed to actually care. Which was novel considering their last boss told one of them if one of them got killed during a stick up, to not sue him because 'he warned us'."

They both took a cab to the house, which wasn't really a house but a manor. It was huge, and Steve thought he had seen huge. Turns out Midwest standards are nothing on city ones. Robin and Steve knocked on the door, that's when they met Mrs De Luka. She was harsh but loving, and most importantly. Insisted on being called Helena, or Ma.

There were so many people in the house, they only set about trying to find their boss and at least get to know his immediate family. Sure enough, halfway into the conversation with the man. Another man walked up to him and clapped him on the back. This man called their boss 'Carlo' and introduced himself, Angelo, his wife Luna, and finally their kids.

Behind them was a girl just about their age maybe a few years older. She was short and had Angelos curly black hair, Luna's tanned skin, and an arched nose that clearly came from Mr. De Luka. Robin lost her breath, and stumbled. She stumbled so hard her shoulder bashed against Steve and he got to witness his best friend make possibly the most hurried introduction ever. Luckily the girl, Amara, just laughed.

Next to him was her brother Dante, who was notably younger. When Steve looked at him he felt a pang in his chest. If he squinted his eyes and tilted his head to the left he almost looked like Dustin. And just about the right age too.

Finally they all sat down for dinner. Robin and Steve sit shoulder to shoulder. Robin across from Amara and him across from Angelo. An older woman sat at the end of the table. Helena's mother, Mrs Ricci, and to her left her husband Mr. Ricci. To say Steve was shocked was.. an understatement, in any dinner parties his family had him attend, there was always a man at the head of the table. Steve likes to think that that's when he started to feel a bit more comfortable.

The dinner went on incredibly long, eating was interrupted by conversations, bickering, and drinking. But it was amazing. By the end of the night, when Mr. De Luka and Angelo walked them out; they were both smiling. exhausted, maybe, but happy. Angelo slapped his shoulder and said 'cousin, come by anytime.' Mr. De Luka had walked back inside at Helena's call so the other man leaned forward. 'you two make my little brother happy, I've not seen it in a while.'

#robin buckley #professional problem stevie #steve harrington #stranger things #mafia au #and not really #comedy #short ficlet #ficlet #fanfic #fanfiction #dustin henderson #mention #calling people unrelated to you cousin #which I stole from the bear #because im not even close to Italian #seriously im Asian what the fuck is with this is it even real?

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cottagecrowe · 1 year

Text

Ok I finally have words for some shit that's been bothering me SO BADLY, lol

So whenever some movies snuck in modern day feminism into things like Anne with an E, or the newest Little Women, etc., It always felt badly written, out of place, awkward, and just came off as cringe-y, and I had no idea why.

For something like Tauriel being slapped into The Hobbit, it was obvious. She was there specifically and only to give more "strong female representation", and the team even fully admits that... It just makes you wanna wrinkle your nose cause for one thing we do...? Have strong women in TLOTR??

I could go on a whole separate post just rehashing the problems with the existing material with women in it that other people have already talked about for sure, but for at least one kind of portrayal of strong women, it IS there.

I also think some of the eps in TROP gives us that in a bit of a more eloquent way, too. You know, in a way that just feels natural and part of the story and was written in well? Not like a separate modern day speech just copy pasted into a fantasy movie/period drama/classical book made into show/movie?

But it being inserted like that into recently made period dramas and/or classical books like Jane Austen and Little Women is REALLY rubbing me the wrong way.

1. I feel like even if they didn't write it that way and you go back and realize as much, you remember the lil speech they gave in your head using modern day language/terms when they like...are in fucking 1870 or something and would absolutely not be talking like that, lol.

2. Again, it just feels like it's copy-paste inserted into the moment they felt would work most to put it. If it's an original show, this just feels...forced? And if it's off of a book, it feels forced and inserted because that's exactly what it is, lol.

3. It's...always MODERN DAY feminism. Believe me I have absolutely no issue with feminism being in a movie/show, even if it's integrated to be more highlighted in a newer version of a book or something, like Emma, or Little Women~.

I will always and forever die on this hill, but I think one of the movies that has always done it the best in both a historical, AND fairytale/fantasy manner, was Ever After A Cinderella Story. Seriously, everyone go give that movie some more love. Jane Eyre, in general, also does.

BUT. Modern day feminism slapped into...historical fantasy/period drama...? What?? Lol, it feels so much more natural if you ya know...have it be verbage of the state of growth that feminism was...at the time in history your media is centered around..? From the way they talk, to the way they expressed their frustrations, to their mannerisms big and small, to HOW you insert it as naturally as possible and not just to have a big obvious speech moment like you think your audience is fucking stupid and not going to understand unless you have that kind of moment in it.

Personally, I always loved watching Jane Austen movies made in the 90's, and then going off with my immense love for them, and taking my own initiative to learn and do research behind the feminism of the times more.

Fuck, that's how I also ended up learning so much LGBT+ history, too, tbh, which helped to lead me to question the teachings I was raised on, and follow down a better path. And I still have so much more to learn of both.

I also love to SHARE that knowledge with other people, and part of me just feels like when it's more lazy like this, just any chance for more people to learn cool facts about our history, is sort of taking away a potential opportunity to look back on people of the past and understand the struggles of their time. To stop looking at them as inferior just because they lived a long time ago, and instead hear their voices and stories, and let them continue to be remembered.

Idk, I want more feminism in more media, but whenever I think about that fucking speech Joe gave to Laurie about marriage, or Anne gave her class about periods, while I have no doubt/am gladdened by the fact I'm sure it will help a lot more girls speak up and continue to do so...it just feels so ick, lol.

It's like I can feel the "ugh we just wanna capitalize off this, so get it out of the way and move on, whatever" energy that's with it. Sort of like how they kept building up the power rangers movie for having a lesbian, and we got the saddest and smallest little thing out of that ever, while everyone was making a huge deal about it, lol. Yes, baby steps are progress too, but idk. I feel there is still good cause in annoyance and anger over the stupid parts surrounding it, too, lol.

Honestly, we shouldn't HAVE to have baby steps towards any kind of progress like this. We shouldn't HAVE to fight tooth and nail for our voices to be heard and our trauma and bodies to be valued and shown respect.

Capitalism is the biggest con and conspiracy we could've ever done to ourselves, tbh.

Anyway, this went in many directions but if anyone related or understood what I was trying to put down and stuck out reading this, ily and thank you~

I do also understand this type of media may just Not Be Made For Me, and that's cool too~! But something about it just leaves an icky taste in my mouth, lol.

If nothing else, even if you enjoy these movies and shows, I beg of you to search for some way to watch the 90's/80's ones (yes, even the Pride and Prejudice bc you can dislike it all you want, if nothing else they filmed that thing beautifully and I'll die on that hill lol), and the og Anne of Green Gables, and take any love you grow for any of them as an excuse to learn more about women in all sorts of times and cultures, to better listen to their voices and merge them with your own. At the end of the day, that's all that's the most important, and even if the newer versions of these accomplish that for some people, I'll be a little happier, lol~

#little women #emma #anne with an e #jane austen #persuasion #feminism

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freddieslater · 2 years

Text

Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Scirisaac | Isaac Lahey x Scott McCall x Kira Yukimura (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @a-lil-bi-furious

Someone's walking towards them. Kira's aware that she shouldn't be staring because they might think it's rude, and that's not really the best first impression. But she also can't stop staring.

For a heart-skipping moment, she considers the possibility that they're not actually friendly and are, in fact, about to attack. Then she reminds herself that they're right in the open surrounded by at least twenty other students who all chose to eat lunch/study outside just like them.

"Uh, do you know them?" she quietly asks, leaning into Scott on her right. After all, he seems to be the centre of the stranger's attention, his eyes focused intently on him with a growing anxiety.

Scott lifts his head from the paper he was intensely scrutinizing for errors before their next class; he's desperate to pull his grades back up for Senior Year, it's all he's talked about all summer. She's been doing her best to help out with weekend study sessions at their houses, but they usually turn into impromptu movie/cuddle nights, which is a little bit unhelpful, they've both realized.

To her surprise, Scott instantly disregards the paper, his full attention on the stranger. Or, not stranger, she guesses. Not according to the look on Scott's face as the two of them look at each other.

"Yeah," Scott breathes softly, like he can't believe this isn't something pulled from the depths of his deepest dreams. "Isaac. Remember, I told you about him? He's part of the pack."

"That's good to hear," Isaac says, finally reaching them. There's the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, hands burrowing deeper into his pockets.

While clearly tall, the insecure hunch in his shoulders provides the image of a much smaller, perhaps lost child. Not quite the picture Kira built up of him in her mind from all of Scott's recounting. But little things jump out at her right away; the way his eyes reflect the rays of the sun with their golden flecks.

She had secretly felt envious when Scott said something along those lines, but she can't find it anywhere inside of her now, looking at him. Only understanding for why Scott's voice always held a sort of soft fondness to it whenever his name was mentioned in conversation.

Isaac shrugs, saying, "I had thought maybe moving halfway across the world sorta meant I wasn't part of it anymore."

Scott shakes his head. "It doesn't matter where you are, you will always be part of the pack. You should know that."

Then he's up off the bench and hugging him fiercely. Kira can't see Scott's face, pressed into Isaac's shoulder (nearly his chest), but she can imagine it's similar to the one of deep relief that is on Isaac's as he hugs him back.

While her stomach gives the tiniest of flip-flops at the sight of them embracing like long-ago parted lovers, she isn't jealous. More curious.

When Scott pulls back, he immediately turns to her and introduces them happily. "Isaac, this is Kira. My girlfriend."

She smiles up at him and sticks out her hand, then instantly regrets it, internally cringing at herself. To her further surprise, Isaac takes the offer and shakes her hand. His lips twitch up into a cute, lopsided little smile of amusement.

"Scott's told me so much about you!" Kira gushes. "I was hoping I would get to meet you at some point, but I'm not too keen on travelling -- I've done it a lot in my life already, and it would be nice to stay in one place for a few years, at least, so going to France was out of the question. And no one was really sure if you were actually still in France or not."

For a second, she worries she's scaring him off of her already, realizing they're still shaking hands. Well, they're not really shaking anymore, more just... holding hands. Which is worse.

Flushing furiously, she quickly retracts her own, glancing helplessly at Scott only to find him grinning down at her with that same soft fondness.

"Sit with us," Scott invites him, motioning across the table as he reclaims his spot on the bench beside Kira. "I'd love to catch up. Are you back for good?"

There's a hopefulness to the question and it doesn't seem to be lost on anyone. Isaac takes a deep breath, checks with Kira that she's okay with him joining them, to which she nods maybe a little too much, and slides onto the bench across from them.

"That's the plan," he confirms, fingers clasping on the table. He looks so poised, so put-together; Kira watches his eyes dart down to the table. "I can't believe I'm saying it, but I actually kind of want to graduate. I have a lot of catching up to do, obviously."

"We can help!" Kira jumps in, not even taking a single second to consult with even one of her better instincts. Impulse wins out every time.

Still, she may as well double down on it now. Looking to Scott, she says, "We're pretty much always studying these days anyways, right? We'd be more than happy to do it with you. Study. Study with you."

The heat of embarrassment under her skin is not getting better. It's a miracle that Scott and Isaac don't draw attention to it, not beyond another twitching smile from Isaac.

His eyes dart to Scott as he says, "That would be great. I would really appreciate that, if you really don't mind me, like, being a third wheel."

"I promise, you are not a third wheel," Scott says, then with a chuckle, adds, "You'll probably be helping us, to be honest."

"Yeah, you know what they say," Isaac says. "Three's better than one."

#teen wolf #scirisaac #scott x kira x isaac #scott mccall #isaac lahey #kira yukimura #rowing the rarepair rowboat #ask away earthlings!#rarepair rowboat #a-lil-bi-furious #three soft babies who deserve all of the love in the world? yes I am HERE for it #I love the idea of isaac coming back to beacon hills for senior year (maybe instead of theo...) and also kira having never actually left #ro ❤️

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eunchancorner · 1 year

Note

I give you clearance to ramble about whichever OCs you want :> go wild

I have several ocs so I'mma go down the list starting with my Spooky Month ocs. Maybe one day I'll ramble about my Welcome Home ocs too-

(This is every oc but Sasha, since I already rambled about her)

Eun (aka my sona) SO. This is a bit complicated. Eun and their sister somehow made their way to a Catholic orphanage that was established in like, 1960, and still follows most of those rules. Their sister got extremely sick and ended up dying, then Eun befriended a cat and got adopted by Lila after Skid got upset about not being able to have an older sibling before Lila realized... 'Wait holy shit you can-'

Mariana Cross She's one of my lil goth girls who actually loves anything cutecore. Her mom was a werewolf but her dad isn't so a genetic mutation happened and instead of turning every full moon, she just has paws instead of feet. She hangs out with the hauntiest house gang a lot and has a crush on... well, most of them. She's just a sweet little pan bean

Lilliana Cross This is Mariana's older sister. She ended up with her mother's werewolfism but is able to control it far better thanks to growing up with it. She's completely lost use of her arm after (call me cringe) saving John's daughter from the fire after hearing her and seeing the fire while on a walk. She's currently living out of one of her dad's old warehouses and doing the best she can to help people. (She also may or may not be dating Ignacio)

Seraphina Discord Now this bitch. She was originally made for a Captain Bob character AI rp, but I couldn't stop myself. Originally she was made to be a fearless captain who, so far, has fought a terrifying sharklike beast, befriended the shark hybrid, Captain Bob Velseb, and lost her leg to the beast I mentioned earlier. Adapted into other AUs, however, she's that person in the horror movie who kills the monster. Despite her outwardly cold, antisocial, and fearless demeanor, inside she's affectionate... and terrified. She fears what may come after her next...

Jasper Scoreson This is my genderfluid bean, Jasper. They're about the Hatzgang's age and live in a not-so-nice household. He's allowed to dress how he wants inside, but outside he has to dress like a 'proper boy', although she much prefers dressing in more femme clothes. Their house is also very restricting right down to what he's allowed to look up or even eat around his parents.

Juno Henderson She's a bubbly little sweetheart who can easily be described as the girliest of all. She loves everyone and everything, and is my darling lil lesbian bb. Like I love this lil bean sm you have no idea- BUT. But. I can't have a normal oc. That's just not allowed. So she's a cultist, and quite a useful one at that. She's quick and seemingly trustworthy, allowing her to round up sacrifices with ease, whether with persuasion or by force. However she doesn't like doing the sacrificing, leave that to Atticus.

Arina Doiteain Another cultist lesbian girl, but far more butch. Also a massive arsonist, which means her and Ignacio get along not-so-surprisingly well. She sees Juno as a little sister that she must protect at all costs (despite Juno being able to defend herself perfectly fine. But she doesn't mind!) She was actually my second oc that I wanted to impose as a villain but I couldn't do it and just made her a cultist instead

#eun rants #sm #spooky month #sm ocs #spooky month ocs #eun #mariana #lilliana #cross sisters #seraphina #captain discord #jasper #juno #arina

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minimoefoe · 10 months

Text

doctor who rewatch thoughts (eleventh doctor)

for each episode there is:

for each episode there's two things I like (✅️) and one thing I dislike (❌️) (sometimes more/less) and general thoughts overall along with a rating out of five stars

there's a quick list of ep ratings and average series ratings at the bottom of the post

🍎 5.01 the eleventh hour

✅️ not to be dramatic but 'why did you say five minutes' gives me literal chills every time I watch it ✅️ the scene on the roof, seeing all the prev doctors, 'im the doctor. basically, run.'

I just love it so much like... how can you not stan

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🐳 5.02 the beast below

✅️ the whole 'old, last just made it kind' thing is my fave thing ever and I love that amy figures it all out ❌️ I've always liked liz 10 but she made me cringe a bit this time round rip

overall love it a lot, the smiler things are creepy, the resolution is cool, I love star whales

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🪠 5.03 victory of the daleks

✅️ eleven losing it and attacking the dalek lmao ❌️ why is he best buddies with winston churchill

it's just a bit boring like.. I literally sometimes forget this ep exists

⭐️⭐️💫

🪖 5.04 the time of angels

✅️ eleven's attitude towards river, like annoyance but also intrigue idk ✅️ amy rubbing her eye and dust falling is v cool ✅️ eleven's lil speech at the end and the music

love it a lot, cool vibes, I'm a big weeping angels stan

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪨 5.05 flesh and stone

✅️ amy and river's dynamic is cool, I kinda wish I could watch without knowing they're mother and daughter ✅️ the doctor losing it a lil bit and shouting. mixed feelings about it, could be a negative on a different day but rn I think it's good ❌️ I understand that amy has been through a lot and her feelings for the doctor are confusing but how hard she goes tryna kiss him is insane. like attempt once, get rejected, move on. we didn't need all of that

idk which part I ike more, they're both bangers

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🐟 5.06 the vampires of venice

✅️ rory's first proper adventure, him clocking and calling out the doctor instantly, you love to see it ✅️ the moments where eleven and amy just get really excited about the stuff that's going on ❌️ amy thinking its weird for the doctor to be seen as her brother but not rory. dumb as hell

overall it's a decent ep. not obsessed but also don't hate it. has some good moments

⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🥶 5.07 amy's choice

✅️ when rory dies and amy shouts at the doctor and then decides that world is the dream ✅️ the dream lord being the doctor is very cool and idk I like seeing how the doctor really thinks of himself ❌️ far too many jokes about amy being big like.. planet? having rory call her chubs? not my fave

this is a great ep for getting clarity on how strongly amy really feels for rory, it's a shame the show back tracks and continues doing 'ooh who does she really love' moments

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🌏 5.08 the hungry earth

✅️ I like all the side characters ✅️ the doctor talking to/shouting at the silurian

overall a decent ep, not much to scream about but I like the vibes idk

⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🦎 5.09 cold blood

✅️ them talking about how they could try and make humans and silurians live in peace was interesting ✅️ the doctor silurian guy was cool ✅️ nasreen

a decent ep, don't have much else to say. rip rory

⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🌻 5.10 vincent and the doctor

✅️ how much vincent likes amy ✅️ the end scene with vincent at the gallery, obviously

the end doesn't get me quite like it used to, presumably bc I've seen it so many times, but it's a certified banger ep despite the mild sadness it causes

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🏠 5.11 the lodger

✅️ no companion (kinda) eleven is fun and I like seeing him trying and sometimes failing to be normal ✅️ I like craig sorry ✅️ the scene where eleven gibes craig all the info about who he is and why he's there ❌️ telling craig he looks like his sofa is a bit gross innit

overall a fun ep that I like a lot

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🛸 5.12 the pandorica opens

✅️ eleven realising rory is back ✅️ amy and rory chatting, amy crying, cut with river telling eleven what she's finding out and the kinda creepy music that plays

I don't think I praise this ep quite like some ppl do but I do like it. I've always just felt like there's a lot going on that my brain for some reason no matter how much I watch it, cannot fully take in so it feels a bit messy

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

💥 5.13 the big bang

✅️ obsessed with eleven hopping back and forth with the vortex manipulator ✅️ eleven punching rory ❌️ amy tryna kiss eleven at her wedding. literally piss off

there's something about the s5 finale where my brain refuses to retain whats going on. I mildly understand it but I couldn't explain it and anytime it's been explained to me I forget it pretty quickly afterwards. based on vibes and what I do know tho, it bangs

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🦈 a christmas carol

✅️ I love seeing the doctor interact with kids, especially eleven bc he basically is a kid lmao ✅️ silence is all you know is a BANGER ✅️ the idea of the doctor re-writing someone's life and that person watching it happen is pretty cool ❌️ idk if kazran and abigail really needed to get together, it's not the end of the world but does feel a lil weird that she's seen him grow up and then suddenly is like damn

overall a solid ep, always been a mild fave of mine. I like the music, I like the vibe, I like the story (for the most part), shoutout dumbledore

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

👩‍🚀 6.01 the impossible astronaut

✅️ the whole beach and initiations thing ✅️ river talking about how one day the doctor won't know who she is ❌️ americans

I feel like this is never really an ep I think much about but then when I watch it I'm like wait this does slap, ppl are right

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

📺 6.02 day of the moon

✅️ the resolution with the message within the moonlanding is cool ✅ river and the doctor kissing and river being sad when she realises it’s the doctor’s first time kissing her ❌️ the bit where they try and make us think amy might be talking about the doctor and not rory, literally stfu !!

preemptively gave it four stars when I still had like ten mins left, but there was some cool stuff in that last ten mins so

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

⚫️ 6.03 the curse of the black spot

✅️ rory high on siren song is funny ✅️ eleven has a lot of funny moments, specially early on, idk I like his vibes

I was not looking forward to watching this ep but it was fun actually, maybe I stan

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🦴 6.04 the doctor's wife

✅️ amy and rory running round the tardis is fun bc seeing more tardis is cool and it's also kinda creepy at points ✅️ the end where idris dies and eleven cries

funny, spooky, emotional. it has the range

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

😠 6.05 the rebel flesh

✅️ rory is so nice, I love him ✅️ the gangers have a couple of spooky moments and I like the cliffhanger ❌️ amy is mildly annoying

good ep

⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

👬🏼 6.06 the almost people

✅️ the doctor(s) ✅️ more spooky moments ✅️ the moral stuff idk ❌️ I get feeling weird about the gangers but amy comes off as really nasty with the 'don't call me that please' bs and her general attitude in both eps. glad she changes her opinion in the end but making her be that strongly against them was defo a choice and makes rory look wayy better than her bc he accepts them as ppl almost instantly (which tbf didn't work out amazing for him but yknow)

I find eps with difficult moral questions really interesting but also really frustrating. overall a good ep but felt like it went on a bit

⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🪖 6.07 a good man goes to war

✅️ vastra and eleven's mildly awkward chat about melody etc ✅️ the reveal that river is melody will get me every time ❌️ the fat and thin husbands moment was a bit weird

this isn't an ep I really think too much about spare for the river reveal but it is good idk. everyone coming together to save amy and the baby is cool

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪼 6.08 let's kill hitler

✅️ the reveal that mels is river ✅️ the doctor and his cane, falling all over the place ✅️ river finding out who she is and saving the doctor ❌️ mels is really cringe and annoying sorry.. other than her final moments I am not a fan of her vibe at all

there's defo stuff going on in this ep that I'm not obsessed with but overall I do like it a lot, I think more than most ppl

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

😨 6.09 night terrors

✅️ rory being like 'oh my god we're dead aren't we' ✅️ eleven interacting with kids is always cute

actually better than I was expecting (last time I watching this ep I got bored and ended up skipping most of it) and is kinda creepy, but idc that much idk

⭐️⭐️💫

🤚🏻 6.10 the girl who waited

✅️ rory getting mad at the doctor ✅️ amy and amy talking to each other ✅️ rory and old amy talking at the end ❌️ amy pressing the red button.. embarrassing

overall I stan. obviously a great amy ep but also a great ep for rory too

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🦍 6.11 the god complex

✅️ rita, the fact the doctor instantly likes her and their interactions throughout the ep ✅️ the ppl who'd seen their rooms being all weird was cool ✅️ the reason they're there being bc of amy's faith in the doctor and rory being immune

an absolute banger, love it all, no choice but to stan

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

👶🏻 6.12 closing time

✅️ eleven interacting with children is so cute, I love him and alfie ✅️ the love confession distraction

there's actually so many small funny moments in this ep and i love craig and eleven as a duo, it's great idc

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

💍 6.13 the wedding of river song

✅️ amy killing madam kovarian ✅️ the wedding and river talking about how ofc ppl would be willing to help the doctor

an ep i've always had a love-hate relationship with bc there's aspects I enjoy but generally I thought it was just a bit odd. there's still a mild vibe there that i don't looove but I liked (and probably understood) it a lot more than I usually do

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🌲 the doctor, the widow and the wardrobe

✅️ eleven and the kids ✅️ the power of being a mother??? kinda cool ❌️ some guy following you home 'every day til you marry him' is a bit weird actually

I was not paying attention for most of it but the stuff I did pay attention to was fine

⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🥛 7.01 asylum of the daleks

✅️ owsin ❌️ 'it was a phase' comment

I have mixed feelings about some of the stuff going on in this ep, and there's a couple things I straight up dislike, but overall it's fine idk

⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🦕 7.02 dinosaurs on a spaceship

✅️ brian is such a legend ✅️ amy, nefertiti

don't have much to say but it's a fun ep. I like amy and eleven's chat too

⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🌵 7.03 a town called mercy

✅️ the doctor losing it and tryna kill that guy and amy being the voice of reason ✅️ the ending

a solid ep

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🕋 7.04 the power of three

✅️ amy and eleven's talk about if her and rory are gonna leave etc ✅️ the doctor's dodgy heart ✅️ brian!!

like this ep a lot for the emotional stuff and I think it's really cool to see eleven hanging around. the cubes are cool but idc about the ppl ngl idek what they were doing I wasnt paying attention. also shoutout kate

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🗽 7.05 the angels take manhattan

✅️ when the doctor reads the chapter title and loses it a bit ✅️ amy and rory's 'deaths'

love this ep a lot!! thought I was kinda desensitised bc I've seen it so many times but turns out it still makes me sad as fuck

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

⛄️ the snowmen

✅️ clara and the doctor's general vibe ✅️ clara and vastra ✅️ clara first seeing the tardis then getting dragged out

good ep

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

💻 7.06 the bells of saint john

✅️ the scene where elevens outside the house and clara is talking to him out the window ✅️ eleven's weird little dance when he's telling clara she should be doing 'young ppl stuff' ❌️ clara's clearly empty mug that she waves about on the plane and tardis annoys me

I am not that passionate about the villains of this ep, they're fine idk, but I love clara and eleven's vibes a lot

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🍁 7.07 the rings of akhaten

✅️ the long song is a certified banger and low-key makes me wanna cry ✅️ the doctor's speech

cool vibes, I like seeing all the aliens, the kid was good, clara and eleven are cute as usual and I liked her kinda calling him out at the end

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🥶 7.08 cold war

✅️ eleven and clara are cute

was not paying attention icl

⭐️⭐️⭐️

🏚 7.09 hide

✅️ clara getting freaked out in the tardis about her dead body probs being out there and the convo they have ✅️ 'every lonely monster needs a companion', eleven putting his arm around clara, it's a love story !!

there's a lot of great moments in this ep, I like it a lot

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🔥 7.10 journey to the centre of the tardis

✅️ seeing more inside the tardis is always cool, need more of it tbh ✅️ when the doctor freaks out at clara and she obvs don't know wtf he's on about ❌️ the doctor slapping clara's ass, and the fact she doesn't react at all, is kinda insane

I'm too stupid to understand how that 'big friendly button' actually reset stuff and idrc about the brothers but there's some stuff in there that I like for sure and the vibes are cool

⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🟥 7.11 the crimson horror

✅️ eleven and clara had some good moments ✅️ ada ❌️ eleven kissing jenny and being generally creepy

wasn't as painful to get through as I was expecting but still wasn't that great idk like I just don't care

⭐️⭐️💫

🏰 7.12 nightmare in silver

✅️ clara being in charge ✅️ everything with the cyberplanner ❌️ the tight skirt comment

the kids are mildly annoying but overall I think this is a pretty decent ep, a mild banger

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪦 7.13 the name of the doctor

✅️ the doctor crying when clara mentions trenzalore ✅️ clara going into the timestream and the montage/narration ✅️ river, eleven seeing her ✅️ war doctor reveal

literally a banger idgaf

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

🖼 the day of the doctor

✅️ eleven, ten and war all meeting each other ✅️ all thirteen!! ✅️ the curator

there's just so many good moments in this ep like woah I have to stan. funny but also emotional, changes something big without taking away from what came before, love it a lot

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🕛 the time of the doctor

✅️ eleven and clara's vibe ✅️ the timelords giving him extra regens ✅️ the regen speech !!

best regeneration episode by a mile I fear

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

series five episode ratings:

the eleventh hour - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the beast below - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 victory of the daleks - ⭐️⭐️💫 the time of angels - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ flesh and stone - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the vampires of venice- ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 amy's choice - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the hungry earth - ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 cold blood - ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 vincent and the doctor - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 the lodger - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the pandorica opens - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the big bang - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 a christmas carol - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

series five average rating:

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ | 4.1428571429

series six episode ratings:

the impossible astronaut - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 day of the moon - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 the curse of the black spot - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the doctor's wife - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 the rebel flesh - ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 the almost people - ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 a good man goes to war - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ let's kill hitler - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ night terrors - ⭐️⭐️💫 the girl who waited - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 the god complex - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ closing time - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the wedding of river song - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the doctor, the widow and the wardrobe - ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫

series six average rating:

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ | 4.00000000

series seven episode ratings:

asylum of the daleks - ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 dinosaurs on a spaceship - ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 a town called mercy - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the power of three - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the angels take manhattan - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the snowmen - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the bells of saint john - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the rings of akhaten - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 cold war - ⭐️⭐️⭐️ hide - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ journey to the centre of the tardis - ⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 the crimson horror - ⭐️⭐️💫 nightmare in silver - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the name of the doctor - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫 the day of the doctor - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the time of the doctor - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

series seven average rating:

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ | 4.00000000

#doctor who #nataliechats

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