#that i have to leave at the beginning of august instead of the end | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

britcision · 5 months

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So I made it 4 years without being struck down by AO3 Author Curse! But here we are. I’ll spare y’all the details but let’s just say “fuck this year” and leave it there. We’ve had the requisite Third Bad Thing and I will burn the universe down if it goes for a fourth

What this means for y’all, of course, is that there’s been a long ass break between last chapter and this one! Aaaaand this one is being broken in half because it is Longer Than Tumblr Allows

(And they’ve lessened how many paragraph breaks you get cuz this one is only about 9.5k and it made me add it in thirds, woe is me)

So, as usual, links to the first chapter, last chapter, and the link to the AO3 version is I think in BOTH, so if you can’t find it from there I can’t help you 😁

First Chapter:

Last Chapter:

And just a little recap where last we left off:

Bruce has gone to the Watchtower to debrief the Justice League about Amity Park and the Anti Ecto Acts, and been told that Jason has left the land of the living! But like, on purpose

Jason and Danny have gone to visit Frostbite and learned that they are ghost-bonded, which you should take seriously like being ghost-married, and that Jason is gonna pop out Pitty in a couple more days/weeks and have to emotionally raise a ghost-baby

Tucker, Tim, and Conner are all playing video games and hiding out from the Amity Parker/Bat Chat for Tim and Tucker’s mutual stalking ways, which Sam blew wide open by sharing Timblr, as punishment for Tucker not telling her they were all alive

(Danny’s off the hook cuz Tucker was haunting his phone with soundtracks for half the day)

And Damian’s off being Sketchy And Mysterious

————————

Well You Did Get Down On One Knee (part 1)

The evening was beginning to draw in, the sun getting low over Gotham city. Between her patrol the night before, helping Signal out with a case, and then that brief group heart attack about Jason, it had already been a really long day.

Spoiler cracked her neck a couple times and sighed, then sunk into the shadow behind a gargoyle.

It was smaller than usual… and occupied. Robin glowered up at her, leaping up to sit on the gargoyle’s head instead. He looked for all the world like he wanted to hiss at her like a cranky cat, which diffused all of Spoiler’s tension (but would only make his worse if she mentioned it. Maybe tomorrow).

Sighing philosophically she settled back against the base of the gargoyle, tipping her head back to see him.

“Hey… what are you doing out so early? Usually you lot wait until sundown to swing from the shadows,” she pointed out (rather fairly, she thought). Totally ignoring that she was 1000% usually one of “you lot”.

Robin just scowled disdainfully down at her, then twisted his head away to glare at the city instead.

“As if I needed any more reason to be out than you do,” he sniffed archly.

Spoiler grinned, puffing herself up. She did have an answer for this one, and, being generous or not, winding Robin up was always a treat.

“Hey, I was actually requested today. Signal needed a second pair of eyes on the back door of a bust. Didn’t see you there,” she added innocently, a brow rising.

It was technically possible that Robin could have suited up and left the manor in between Bruce’s message and Tim’s response. Spoiler wouldn’t put money on it though.

He’d have had to be on his way down already, and while they could all change quickly, there were no rushed or sloppy patches to her experienced eye.

His hair was even neatly slicked back into the traditional Robin spikes, one every Robin but her and Duke had used during their time as the baby bird.

Nah, he’d not rushed out in a panic, even if he was still more tense than he should have been. Every line of the kid was tight with… Spoiler cocked her head thoughtfully.

Frustration?

Definitely not unusual, Damian didn’t have Dick’s temper but he’d spent pretty much all of his first few years in Gotham unbearably frustrated with them all. It had just been a while since she’d seen it so… visibly.

And for all Steph was a gleeful little shit and loved poking at trouble, she wasn’t cruel. There was no point in pushing Robin if he was already on edge.

So she shrugged nonchalantly and looked forward instead, reaching back over her head to pat him gently on the foot. He didn’t dodge, which only cemented her decision.

“‘Course, no rule against taking a daylight run if you’re in the mood. See anything interesting?” She asked innocently.

Kid wouldn’t admit it if he had been worrying.

Silence reigned for another long moment, and then Robin huffed and dropped down to the rooftop beside her, folding himself back into the sharper shadow the waning daylight provided.

“No.” Short and sweet, unlike the kid himself.

But he also hadn’t left, and Spoiler was gonna call that a win.

“Will you be out tonight too?” She asked instead of pushing, reminding herself yet again; he’d open up in his own time.

Hypothetically.

Robin made a soft, disgusted noise, glowering at the smog filled sky. Probably even in the right direction for the Watchtower.

“I intend to be. Someone must keep an eye on things,” he grumbled, and Spoiler made an effort not to take it personally.

B had been majorly distracted with all this Amity Park business, not even breathing down their necks about the usual nightly reports. The rogues hadn’t exactly noticed yet, but the goons had.

The big Bat himself not making an appearance for a couple of nights usually attracted some comment, and an up-til-now entirely Bat-free new year?

The guys she’d helped Signal grab today had been muttering about it right until they ran into her arms. Fists.

They’d mentioned not seeing Stabby Robin either though.

Which she might as well also mention.

“Weren’t you out last night too? I saw your gear missing when I dropped by at the end of the night,” she added when he tensed again, hands wedged in her utility belt. “Didn’t hear you on comms though.”

And that was more than just rude; it was bad protocol, and Robin, for all his other faults, respected the strictness of protocol. Not being chatty was one thing, but if you were out on the town you had to call in.

He stayed silent, not looking at her. Spoiler decided he could use just a little nudge. Totally not because she was getting impatient. And nosy.

“Y’know unless you went out tech free I can just ask Oracle,” she pointed out gently, giving his shoulder a gentle bump.

It got him to glower up at her anyway.

“I was not on patrol,” he grumbled, whites of his mask narrowed before returning his glare to the city at large, “like I am not today.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Spoiler flipped a mental coin. Figured why not; they were already doing well.

Kid must be on the verge of having to, dread the thought, ask for help.

“And what would you be doing out and about if not patrolling…” she began, then stopped when a piece clicked suddenly into place.

Robin, Damian, was about as social as a feral cat. And about as friendly with anyone who got close to those he considered his.

Right now, Danny Fenton and his friends had more than half the family utterly wound up. All except Bruce in a good way, Spoiler was the first to admit, but Robin wouldn’t see it like that.

The only trick was, how to word the question.

Spoiler liked blunt. It made her stand out from the bats, who all played way too much mental and emotional chicken to be healthy. She’d always been more of a bird that way.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with Hood’s little disappearance today, would it?” She asked instead, grinning broadly when Robin twitched.

Hit the nail on the head.

From the scowl he shot her he knew it too, and looked away quickly enough that he knew there was no taking it back. He folded his arms across his chest and sulked and fuck he was just adorable.

She’d bet anything Dick used to pout exactly like that.

Still, she tempered the grin down to a slight smile. Dropped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently and letting go when he pulled away.

“Worried me too. Were you close enough to see anything?” Because yeah, if Robin was already at least on his way into uniform before the message arrived?

Spoiler would put easy, easy money on him having been already tailing Jason and Danny around. Last night too, probably. She and Cass had left early to take the night shift, leaving Tim and Damian with the Amity Parkers.

Damian had one hell of a dose of his father’s paranoia, and Steph considered it a solemn duty to teach him about personal boundaries to keep him from turning out just like the old bat.

Just a little friendly stalking from the rooftops didn’t really count though. Not between family.

Robin had tensed right up again too, but when she didn’t push the contact or needle at him he slowly relaxed back down. Scowled at her feet instead of his own.

“No,” he admitted bitterly, both at definitely having been busted and probably at having nothing to report, “Todd… Hood spoke to the magician. They argued, he went back inside Freeze’s place and did not reappear when his tracker went through the roof and into the sky.”

Spoiler blinked, mildly surprised.

“Hood was wearing a tracker? Didn’t think he was in the mood.”

“He wasn’t,” Robin corrected with a derisive sniff.

And… yeah, they were gonna have to do a little more work on that whole “boundaries” thing. Although the odds of Hood not noticing that he’d been tagged were lower than Robin probably thought. Keeping a tag on him that he didn’t want there?

Nah. She may not exactly trust Jason, but that was how she knew how good he was at finding and disabling rogue trackers. And sure, Damian was better than her at some things, but if Cass couldn’t sneak a tracker onto Red Hood no one could.

Kinda cute that Jason let the little guy think he’d successfully bugged him.

At least the constant mild stalking was just standard for the family.

Shaking her head, she gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow.

“That’s rough. Flying’s cheating,” she commiserated with a sly look to the sky.

She’d heard a super cross Oracle’s radar. Conner, almost certainly if Robin was still out alone.

Too bad he’d not thought to call his own Superboy, though taking flight himself wouldn’t have helped if dimensional travel followed.

Robin made another disgusted little tut, then pushed off the gargoyle and stormed away. Spoiler watched him go for a moment, then shrugged.

“Hey, go get some sleep if you’re coming back out tonight,” she called after him. Grinned when he flipped her off without turning.

If he’d been off stalking Jason and Danny two days in a row, he’d need some rest.

“And don’t forget your report,” she teased and actually laughed when he raised his other hand to flip her off with both before leaping off the edge of the roof, swinging back towards the bat cave.

Stephanie Brown had never been prouder in her life than the first day Damian had said “fuck” in front of his dad. Far be it from her to demand anyone transform into a social butterfly, but she personally was pretty damn sure that nothing was gonna help Damian out of his “raised by assassins” shell than learning some good old fashioned swearwords.

And a little teenaged rebellion. The proudest day was totally gonna be when he finally told his grandfather to fuck off (or any suitable equivalent; Steph wasn’t choosy).

Leaning back into the gargoyle’s shadow, Spoiler surveyed the city below. Technically, she’d been out as long as Damian had; if she wanted to be out tonight she’d need a quick nap too.

Or, more fun, she could nip back to the manor, kidnap Cass, and they could find and bully Tim and Tucker in person. Yeah, that was gonna be it.

Jason was feeling good, really. Actually a little surprised at how good, considering.

That crunchy little ecto-ice chip had been better than a gallon of coffee, filling him with energy like he’d actually gotten a full night’s sleep. (Not that he knew much about how that actually felt, at least not when not recovering from serious injury.)

He hadn’t actually felt this good since the night Danny slept over, which had been the night before last. Didn’t sound all that impressive, except that it had been the best he’d felt in half a decade.

Maybe the full decade. For all Robin made him magic, skipping sleep to fight crime had done a number on him in his teens. If he’d been as willing as Dickie and Tim to slack on his schoolwork, maybe…

Yeah, no, Tim was the poster child for Do Not Emulate This Sleep Schedule.

What mattered was that even after running the docks down with Black Bat for more than half the night and then getting up to get Danny, Jason felt fucking great.

Even after three separate courses of Bruce’s bullshit, both directly and through the medium of John fucking Constantine. Not so long ago, Bruce would never even dare call him, much less try and set up a bat cave ambush. That… was probably technically a good sign?

Didn’t feel like one at the moment, but Jason actually felt almost good enough to be charitable with the old bat. A little emotionally wrung out, sure, but he felt lighter for… having whatever that had been. Like the stress that had been compacting his chest had finally eased.

Jason was self aware enough to admit he’d probably had more than one breakdown owed to him. Maybe not a “take to the bed”, “trip to the sea” full Victorian lady meltdown, but he’d had a whole baby dropped on him. Except somehow worse.

He damn well deserved that freak out, and now that it was over and he’d been given what kinda felt like the ghost equivalent of speed… He felt like his brain was finally working again.

Which… meant he was fully processing that his fucking soul was vibrating in time with Danny’s. And every other ghost could just. Tell.

That was gonna make fight club… actually, Jason had no idea what the fuck it was gonna make fight club. By all accounts Danny being the Ghost King hadn’t made any of them less likely to throw down with him.

If anything, Danny had warned Jason that him being a “young” ghost would make the others more eager to fight. It was a kind of play, bonding and teaching the new baby their powers.

Sounded fucking terrifying by all accounts and Jason was just glad he had Danny to explain it to him, since apparently full ghosts just… knew it wasn’t serious. Even baby ghosts came into existence recognising the game.

Halfas didn’t.

Whiiiich meant that all the “playful” threats of dismemberment had sounded pretty fucking real to Danny, back when he’d been a baby ghost and had half the Zone flocking to “play” with him.

Pitty let out a rumbly little growl, like a sulking dog and Jason hid a snicker. Yeah, he’d also be kicking their asses that little bit harder for that given half a chance.

Actually, if they kept holding fight club, Pitty could take a chunk out of them itself.

That thought got him a contented little purr, which was weird enough that Jason was going to focus back in on Frostbite’s broader explanation. Which… he should have been doing anyway. At least this part wasn’t solely for his benefit though.

“In the sense that you have tied yourselves together, it may be somewhat like a marriage… however, it is a very different relationship. In a true love-union, your signatures would beat in time,” the yeti explained, gesturing once more to the screen.

Jason’s blob continued to pulse and blur a fraction of a beat behind Danny’s. Definitely not quite in time.

This was a relief. Yup. And Jason’s cheeks definitely weren’t any warmer than they’d been a minute ago, before he knew that, again, his fucking soul was echoing Danny’s.

Frostbite gave his tablet a couple more taps, and a pulsing blue line linked the images on the screen.

“In your case, young knight, your allegiance is marked in both your resonance and in your aura, which now carries a link to your King. In this way, even if the Great One is not beside you, all ghosts will know that you are the chosen protector of their King. His status is what defines your role as a knight, instead of a more casual bond.”

“No one’s king yet,” Danny protested, folding his arms and leaning into Jason’s side. Letting a little more of his weight rest on him.

Jason leaned in too, frowning from the screen to Frostbite.

“And all the other ghosts can just… see this?” He asked, not really sure what he was hoping to be told.

Frostbite switched from giving Danny a fond smile back to Jason, nodding brightly.

“Oh yes. Ectoplasm is very easily influenced by emotion, and bonds can form quite quickly. I presume you took an oath?” He asked, eyes sparkling in a way that made Jason pretty damn sure he’d met Clockwork.

Which, now that he thought about it…

Jason huffed out another deep breath, running a hand through his hair. As much as John Fucking Constantine specifically could ride a cactus straight to Hell… the guy mighta had the faintest inkling of a point about one thing.

“Yeah… about that.” He pulled a face, gaze tracking away from the others and down to the floor.

Would they think he was a dumbass too? Danny had been there when Clockwork made the offer and he’d been pretty against it, but Jason had thought he understood why.

It hadn’t sounded anything like Constantine’s claims of what he’d signed up for.

In the end, it was easier to address the question to Frostbite’s large hairy toes.

“I, uh… I made an oath to Clockwork, but do I have… a contract or something? The asshole magician I mentioned earlier was going on and on about eternal fucking servitude bullshit but it’d be nice to have something to shove in his face,” he added quickly, arm slipping back and almost around Danny (but with his hand still firmly on the table).

He didn’t need to wait to feel the guilt in Danny’s aura to head it off.

Jason wasn’t having second thoughts. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d signed up for, and when it came right down to it…

He didn’t think people could lie through their auras. Even when he was trying to project something like “I’m fine” and he wasn’t, he was pretty sure Danny could tell.

He could sure as hell tell when Danny was bluffing through his, which had happened maybe once total.

He trusted Danny. He trusted Frostbite. He even mostly trusted Clockwork, because for all the guy had been a little sketchy, Jason had felt his sincerity. How deeply he cared for Danny.

Keeping Danny safe forever didn’t sound like eternal servitude. Eternal babysitting, maybe, if Danny was being a pain in the ass, but he’d never top Damian at his most bratty.

Jason woulda been trying to protect Danny anyway. As far as he knew, knighthood just made that easier.

Which was another reason he’d like a look at his contract. You didn’t make it onto the streets as Robin without learning to read for loopholes, hidden clauses, and fine print. He may have already signed on the dotted line, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find some wiggle room.

Danny, about to say something either apologetic or self deprecating, huffed out a breath as Jason’s arm slipped around him. Winded up giving him a half smile instead.

“Yeah… that’s a good point. I still need to find out if I can fire your ass.”

“Still didn’t hire me,” Jason pointed out archly, bumping his arm to knock Danny forwards a little.

The other halfa huffed a laugh this time and bumped him back.

“Yeah, and I gotta work out how to hire you so I can then immediately fire you,” he shot back.

Frostbite cut them both off with a raised hand, though he still looked fondly amused. Like they were cute little kids or something stupid.

“You will have to discuss this with Clockwork directly, young knight, but I do not believe a knighthood typically comes with a contract. It is a duty one is granted, and one that may be rescinded if you fail, but it is not a deal,” he explained patiently.

Jason’s brows furrowed a little, but at least he could feel Danny’s confusion-puzzled-not sure beside him too. He wasn’t the only one who wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

Maybe he shoulda looked a little more into magic shit while he was with the League of Assassins. That would have been the time, especially if the Lazarus Pits were the just grunged ectoplasm.

“It kinda sounded like a deal when he offered it,” he said almost as a question, glancing back at Danny for confirmation.

Danny nodded. So it wasn’t just Jason.

“He gave me a cool magic gun in exchange for keeping Danny hale and hearty. Protecting him in the living and Infinite realms,” Jason added in case the wording counted, more sure as he remembered some of the reasons.

Fuck, had that only been a week ago? It felt like it’d been a whole year.

Frostbite gave them a neutral shrug, inclining his head.

“As I said, you will need to ask Clockwork directly. All I can tell you is that it is not innate to the position; a knighthood is not usually something bought and sold,” he explained patiently.

Danny hummed an agreement, cheek resting on Jason’s shoulder again.

“It’s normally all ghost-to-ghost too, so is there a way we can check if the halfa thing has changed it?” He asked Frostbite, leaning against the table too and totally not actually putting his arm around Jason back.

Jason felt a little more tension leech back out of him. Which raised another good point, actually.

“And not related or anything, but if you gave me a buncha those ice crystals could I just chew them to get the ecto for…” he hesitated, waving his free hand at his general chest area again.

Honestly, given half a chance he’d love to get a bowl full and try and pop the pit out in one go… it’d probably be easier to train from outside his body where it wouldn’t immediately know he was so full of shit… his own aura notwithstanding.

Yeah, he was still a little worried about being anyone’s emotional guide, but if he could just get the damn thing out in the world… maybe it could have other guides too.

“To answer the simpler question first, young knight, unfortunately the energized ectoplasm is only a short term boost and will not affect either of your cores. I will provide you with a small supply to assist your emotional control whilst you stabilize, if you wish?” Frostbite offered gently, a slight smile on his face.

Jason hesitated, considering things for a moment, then nodded. Sure, it wasn’t a solid “yes here is the answer to all your problems Jason just smack it in”, but it was a concrete solution to what had actually been worrying him.

Having another one of those weird “episodes”. He’d still be waiting to get Pitty all the way out, but at least he had a backup plan until then. He could pop an ecto-crystal each morning, get some energy, and worry less about night patrols.

Shit, he’d have more energy than he’d had since he died. The others were gonna be jealous as hell, but it wasn’t like they could steal and take his ghost meds. Probably.

Jason… wasn’t quite ready to think about the panic attack itself. He felt fine now, way better, and it wasn’t like it was the first he’d had.

Just…

Just the first that he remembered. That his heart started racing, his head rushing, ears filled with rushing static and the world hadn’t just melted into a green haze of blood and violence.

His early training with the League of Assassins had involved a lot of losing himself to the Pit. He’d wake up days later, body aching with exertions he couldn’t remember, and be told how many he’d killed.

Good news: no fear of that either, apparently. Pitty wasn’t pulling for control anymore, so the green haze was all Jason’s own.

Joy.

He had a nasty feeling that Danny would notice him spiralling from anywhere in Gotham. And probably ditch class to come check on him.

Like Hell. Jason’d fucking call Harley first, put himself through some breathing exercises or whatever, he did not need an emotional support Ghost King.

He gave Frostbite a quick nod, a small smile forming almost without thinking about it. The yeti was just… so caring and helpful. Not exactly something Jason had a wealth of experience with. He’d probably be a great example for Pitty.

Frostbite returned the smile, making a quick note on his tablet.

“And of course, your ghostly parent or a mentor should also be able to assist you. Spending time with those who are important to you, especially a comforting figure will help both your control and your core formation,” the yeti added in a slightly pointed way, like he’d read Jason’s mind, and Jason had to stifle a laugh.

Frostbite might be an eight foot tall hairy yeti, but he’d get along with Alfred like a house on fire… he was even as stubborn about not using their names as Alfred was about nicknames.

And when Jason thought about someone comforting, the beacon of emotional maturity and constraint… it could only be Alfred. He was more grandparent than parent, but certainly the only mentor Jason still looked up to. And a paragon of control besides.

Alfred could help him with Pitty. Model a little actual emotional restraint and control for the both of them. The only question was if Jason could just be up front and ask him, possibly revealing the secret early, or if he’d have to come up with an excuse for them to hang out.

Stupid thought. Jason knew damn well he could just walk into the kitchen and Alfred would be more than happy to spend time together. He wouldn’t need a ruse; he wouldn’t even need an excuse.

The knowledge settled warm and soft and happy inside him, until his brain caught up with his ears and stopped him short.

Wait.

“Ghost parent?” He asked cautiously, looking from Frostbite to Danny again. Danny pulled a face but Frostbite beat him to the punch.

“Ah, yes. We did not discuss that last time either. Your ghost parent, young knight, is the second strongest bond a young ghost can have. They are the ghost who welcomes you into the Infinite Realms, who will guide your steps and protect you until your own haunt has formed.”

Brows furrowing, Jason twisted to frown more directly at Danny, not quite sure if he was looking for confirmation or asking a question of his own.

Cuz, y’know, other than the whole “protecting until his haunt formed” (and Jason certainly didn’t need protecting), that sounded a lot like what Danny had been doing. Which would totally make it weird if Jason was a knight to his own ghost-dad.

Clearly following the same lines, Danny raised both hands and shook his head, almost but not quite stepping out of reach.

“Oh no, it’s not me. You’ve had a ghost parent long before I came along,” he said emphatically, the sudden panic on his face making Jason feel better about his own response to surprise parenthood.

He magnanimously decided not to tease Danny about it, turning instead to give Frostbite a questioning look.

“Should I know who my ghost parent is? Who gets to decide?” He asked cautiously. He’d never met another ghost before Danny, but he had this awful sinking feeling that Ra’s al Ghul might have more to do with the realms than just the pits, and he was the closest proxy. Even Tallia would be better. Maybe even Bruce.

Reading his tension, Frostbite clapped a massive furry hand on Jason’s shoulder, smile and aura both full of comfort-reassurance-calm.

“Normally yes young knight, though yours is a special case. Usually when a young ghost first finds its way to the realms, one of the first ghosts they encounter will take them under their wing. It is an honour to care for a young ghost, and a halfa even more so,” he explained gently.

Beside Jason, Danny snorted loudly.

“Oh, yeah, they totally come running to play happy families. Super wholesome,” he grumbled, arms folded as he leaned back into Jason’s weight.

Honestly, Jason could kinda spot common threads between what Frostbite just said and what Danny had told him about Fight Club; the play fighting was supposed to be about sharing powers, right? Just, y’know, between people with shit verbal communication to actually check in that everyone was on the same page.

The yeti sighed fondly, his hand moving from Jason’s shoulder to rest proudly on Danny’s. Given the width of Danny’s shoulders respective to the hand, the last two fingers were back on Jason’s other shoulder.

“Again, Great One, your circumstances were also exceptional. You did not explore the Ghost Zone until after you had established yourself to many as a competent fighter and protector of your haunt, which along with certain… adventures led most to believe you were far older than you are,” Frostbite explained patiently, with just the faintest hint that they’d been through this before.

Danny rolled his eyes and shot Jason double finger guns.

“Yyyyup, which is why I don’t have to deal with any of this “ghost parent” business,” he agreed brightly, tipping Jason a smirk, “get good.”

Jason flipped him off, but there was something… not in his aura, Frostbite’s was still very carefully toned back all calm medical professional, but in the creasing of the yeti’s eyes. Now, ghost yetis were definitely a new species and Batman drilled them all on the dangers of extrapolating body language on new species, but Jason had done his time on alien planets.

Something in the change, something in the shift, a little quirk of the brow Jason had noted when the yeti was amused. There was something funny here, and it wasn’t Danny’s quip.

Putting his suspicions aside for now, Jason settled on the more pressing matter.

“So who is my ghost parent? When do I get to meet them?” He asked cautiously, still not entirely convinced he hadn’t accidentally imprinted on Ra’s or Tallia. Cuz he hadn’t been in the Zone before Danny either.

Danny himself, much less concerned, waved a hand vaguely.

“Oh, we’ll deal with that on the way home. Go do a proper meet and greet, that sort of thing,” he said nonchalantly, and Jason’s shoulders settled a little.

“They’re in the Zone then?” He prodded a little further, not fully willing to let the matter just drop. If he had to ghost-emancipate himself, he’d rather be ready sooner than later.

Danny grinned toothily at him.

“Usually. We’ll see if she’s around, but it might have to be another day. Gotta deal with our other list first, like if our whole halfa deal is gonna do anything to the knight thing, or your core coming in,” he added, looking expectantly at Frostbite.

Jason almost missed what he said next as his heart skipped a beat, a possibility he’d never even considered slamming home.

She.

Someone dead, if they were in the Ghost Zone.

Someone who’d claimed him as her son long ago, guided him as best she could. Someone he’d never expected to see again, not even having died and returned to life himself.

No chance, he told himself quickly, hurriedly refocusing on the conversation at hand. About his bond with Danny, about their shared fucked biology, about his whole undead future.

There was no point dredging up the past until he actually knew.

Frostbite was back in his familiar role of teacher, that same proud/warm/fond smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looked at Danny.

“For your bond, Great One, I am not sure what I would even test for. The young knight presently has no ghost form, yet the bond is present exactly as if he had. I am afraid we have no records of former halfas, so any problems which occurred before are long lost.”

The yeti gave the tablet another few careful claw strokes, pulling up lines and lines of scrolling numbers and data beside each of their silhouettes on the wall screen. Forcing himself to the present, Jason scanned them quickly.

Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t actually make heads or tails of it; ghost vitals couldn’t really include things like heartbeat, blood oxygenation, or anything they’d test for in the med bay.

Not until Bruce found out about all this crap anyway - Jason wouldn’t put it past him to try and buy out everything the Far Frozen had in his latest snit of paranoia. The second he got over his “oh no Jason is going somewhere I can’t supervise him”, obviously.

Frostbite clearly knew what it all meant though, highlighting a couple of different areas where Danny’s numbers were very different from Jason’s and giving him that reassuring smile.

“After your first transformation I would expect some of these to change, and it is likely that any differences in your particular bond would show then as well. Your ghost form will of course be entirely ectoplasmic, so the bond will be more present than it is even now.”

That snapped Jason from his internal flailing, and he grimaced at the reminder.

Because… yeah. They’d talked a lot about his first transformation, he and Danny. But the only thing Danny hadn’t really known was when to expect it.

“Yeah… about that. I know the basics, inversion of my moment of death crap, I’ll be able to change it eventually, yadda yadda,” and that was its own sword of Damacles hanging with the mistletoe, “but… when will it happen? Like, will it just… happen? Or will I… yeah.”

Even wording the question made him feel like the whole thing was just too complicated. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to ask; what to look for? Would there be symptoms? Would he just un-die again in the street?

Luckily Frostbite seemed much more comfortable, hitting a few buttons on his tablet. Jason’s scan took over the full screen once more, zoomed in on the two orbs in his chest.

They were pulsing too, growing brighter and dimmer along with the more defined throb of the ectoplasm. Which was actually when he noticed that both cores were throbbing, so… was Pitty also a knight?

That was going on the list of questions for Clockwork like, yesterday. If he could get it its own little fear gun…

“As you can see, your core is still fuzzy around the edges and incompletely formed; once these edges have smoothed out, you will hypothetically be able to transform at any time,” Frostbite explained, blissfully aware of Jason’s new train of thought.

Probably for the best. Jason reluctantly refocused on the screen, tabling the idea of Sir Pitty for now. Nice to have something actually positive to look forward to.

He didn’t really remember seeing much of the screen during his last appointment, but he had seen the perfect sphere of Danny’s core, and his looked… well, like Frostbite said, smaller and kinda fuzzy. Like a ball of dough after it started sticking to your hands and losing its shape.

He frowned and nodded, looking back to Frostbite and then glancing around at Danny.

“So not until the next appointment, probably? Will it just… happen out of nowhere? Or will I need to trigger it?” It kinda helped, narrowing the scope. Dealing with it one step at a time.

Danny gave a helpless shrug.

“My powers started activating randomly, but I didn’t actually transform until I was in danger. Not like, life threatening danger,” he added with a roll of his eyes, like he’d heard Pitty’s growl… or maybe Jason had echoed it. “It was just Lunch Lady, she was never gonna really hurt us. She just made a mess and tried to feed everyone meat.”

Jason privately added Lunch Lady to his “asses to kick” list. On principle.

Frostbite gave a thoughtful nod, a large hand clapping down on Jason’s shoulder a lot harder than he’d probably intended. He didn’t flinch, but before his pit-growth-spurt it might have knocked him over.

“We can experiment more once your core is complete here in the Zone, and I would recommend waiting until Pitty has been expelled, if possible. Of course, any other changes in your knighthood bond will likely make themselves known with your first change as well,” the yeti mused, quite pleased with the idea.

Jason hesitated before agreeing, worry twisting through him again before he tamped it back down.

He wasn’t that scared little boy anymore; not inside. Besides, the bond was already firmly in place.

His soul was resonating a pace behind Danny’s.

It wasn’t like that little trip back to the moment of his death was gonna make Danny suddenly reject him.

The poor guy was probably stuck with Jason for life anyway at this point, which for a pair of halfas meant pretty much forever.

There was not a single thing on Earth or the Watchtower that he wanted less than to stop and talk to John Fucking Constantine and Diana after the meeting.

To be completely fair, Constantine clearly didn’t want to have that conversation any more either; Bruce had not been wrong about how well the magician would take the news that the United States had declared war on an entire dimension.

He was visibly green, had actually ground an unlit cigarette into a grainy mess against the table in lieu of lighting up, and looked about ready to lick up the tobacco.

Diana did not look happy either, but she never had. Her face was as stony and grave as Bruce had ever seen it, concern writ large even as she caught his eye.

The sure knowledge that her lasso would follow if he tried to leave was the only thing that kept him from ignoring her.

But since the only thing he wanted in the world at this moment was to have his son in his arms, and there was no chance of that happening until they were in the same dimension once more…

Bruce shot a quick, questioning look at Clark as the traitor made his way to the exit along with the rest of the Justice League. The Kryptonian at least had the grace to look a little guilty as he shook his head, stepping quickly out the door.

Wonder Woman hadn’t specifically told everyone else to get the fuck out. She had simply molded herself into an immovable force, concluded the meeting, and instructed Bruce alone to remain and discuss these… complications.

Bruce considered making an argument for Superman’s inclusion. They were the original three, and they’d probably need at least his and Aquaman’s help to handle the diplomatic situation.

Possibly the Oa, and Bruce was quite sure Green Lantern wasn’t looking forward to that possibility any more than he was. Hal Jordan talked a good game, always far too flippant, but he’d been pale enough by the end of the lecture that his suit made him look frankly unwell.

Unpleasant times would be in all of their futures it seemed. It was no real comfort as he slipped into a seat across from Wonder Woman and the slumped form of John Constantine.

The magician didn’t even look up, but clearly noticed.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think anyone’d fuck this up worse’n you, Bats,” he groaned, face still pressed into the table.

Bruce grunted, uninterested in his judgement.

“There are new complications we should focus on.” A vain hope, and one Diana instantly crushed.

“One that makes the contents of our discussion all the more vital,” she corrected sharply, piercing blue eyes narrowed as she watched his face. “It seems we have already caused unintentional offence.”

Which was an extremely light way to phrase the declared genocide, but Bruce didn’t bother arguing that position. Not when Constantine would do it for him.

But the mage just let out a long, hearty groan.

“Offence. Yeah. Maybe if we saw off the United States and toss it through a portal the rest of us will be fine,” he snarked, raising his head just enough to bang it off the table. Repeatedly.

By the third bang Diana gripped the back of his head, holding him in place against the table.

“Whatever the situation,” she growled, her tone daring either of them to comment, “we must deal with it as it is. You believe we would have noticed any countermeasures from the former Ghost King?”

She released her grip a moment later, and Constantine rolled his head just enough to glare at her through one eye.

“Pariah Dark? Sister, it wouldn’ta been a single town bein’ pulled off the map. We’d have lost the continent, and probably the world. You wouldn’t miss it,” he added with a bitter laugh, clearly considering banging his head off the table again.

Diana placed a hand on the table. Constantine set his head back down gently.

“And the new king?” She prodded, all icy control.

Bruce had to admit, even he felt calmer watching her.

He knew all the follies and foibles of gods, had no delusions about the limits of her power. He also knew her strengths. Her wisdom. Her ability to cut through complex issues with sword or words.

Whatever he missed, she was removed enough from this mess to catch.

Constantine shrugged, still not rising.

“No fuckin’ clue. All I know is they’re better’n Pariah, which is the lowest damn bar I ever saw. They call them Balance, and we’re not gonna fuckin’ like when the scales come due.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed. What could be a sufficient counterweight for demanding a whole people be hunted and experimented on until extinction?

The dead always vastly outnumbered the living.

Diana cut across his thoughts, her tone as sharp as her blade.

“So you believe we’d notice.”

Constantine sighed heavily and flopped back in his seat hard enough that he nearly toppled over. Diana steadied the chair with one hand, eyebrow rising archly.

Constantine stopped flailing, went to fold his arms, and instead stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Probably’d be pretty hard to miss too,” he agreed gruffly. Diana nodded, having received the answer she wanted, and interlaced her fingers.

“Then we have time to rectify matters before word reaches his ears.” She paused, brow furrowing as she recounted John’s words. “Do we not know if the King is a man?”

Constantine shrugged again, pulling something unidentifiable from his pocket before hastily shoving it back in, coming out again with a lighter. He spun it between his fingers, eyes fixed on the metal lid.

“Nah. “King” is just a loose translation to living tongues, for what yer used to. Easier to say than “Supreme High Ruler, Core of the Realms”. Not even likely that they were ever human; not even the Ancients could take Pariah solo to take the crown, so a human ghost wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Huffing out a mighty breath, Constantine looked from the lighter to Bruce, his gaze somehow immeasurably more tired. Bruce had imagined that talking about Amity Park made the man look ancient.

He looked haggard enough to be an ancient ghost himself now.

Raising his other hand, he began counting off points on his fingers.

“We know they’re young. Everything agrees on that. Could be any time in the past few centuries, but it’s still a timeline. We know they’re tougher’n Hell and all its demons put together, cuz they put Pariah down single handed. Had to to get the throne. Might not have Ended him, the Casket of Eternal Slumber’s not turned up looking for a new occupant.”

The magician stared at his two fingers for a moment, then sighed and raised a third.

“And we know ghosts like them. They’re less scared, though most of ‘em never knew shit about Pariah. Didn’t even react to him waking, which had to happen for the change in power. That or it all went down too fast for the shockwaves to reach us here; not bloody likely. Wouldn’t take more than a day, and ghosts fight for decades on a whim.”

He hesitated for a moment, considering that last finger. Finally he sighed and shook his head.

“Can’t rule it out though. Pariah waking up’d be as much an emergency for them as it’d be for us, putting his ass back down is an all hands on deck situation on either side of the veil. If this new king is Balance, Pariah’d be their opposite,” he finished gruffly, glaring at all three digits before stuffing both hands into his pockets.

Bruce nodded, drawing a deep, calming breath in through his nose and then out through his mouth. Even this much discussion had something itching in the back of his mind, a building tension that he had to Get Away.

He was in control of it though. Could tell the difference between his own unease and the burning ember of the oath.

Turn and run right away his ass. Magic could never hold out against cool, calm logic.

“And this new king, Balance, has stamped a damn mark on Jason.”

And his breath hitched.

Sharp, white hot panic flared behind his eyes, every muscle clenching with the effort of not leaping straight from the table. The only reason he didn’t was because he had no idea where to go.

What would he even do? Run to Jason’s side? The boy was in another dimension, far beyond Bruce’s reach.

Again.

He was losing Jason again. Losing him to this Ghost King, this Balance, this-

Diana’s hand clamped firmly over his, the amazon’s grip immovable steel. Bruce felt his bones grinding together before he even noticed he’d stopped breathing, before he managed to look up enough to meet her eyes.

Stern, determined, brilliant blue locked with his. Her grip tightened a little further, the ribbing on his gloves creaking with the pressure.

She wouldn’t break them… probably. They were designed to hold up against any of the supers the League dealt with. Prolonged contact was another thing entirely though.

His attention now locked on her face, Bruce managed a deep breath in along with her. Held it when she did. Let it out.

She didn’t release him for another few repetitions, until he was breathing mostly on his own again. Then she returned her attention to Constantine.

“What.” It wasn’t aggressive. Just a completely flat, completely toneless statement.

Constantine gave her an entirely hopeless smile, pulling his hands from his pockets to give her jazz hands.

“And that’s what he’s not ready to hear yet. Your boy, Jason, Red Hood, has gotten himself personally warded by the Ghost King. He’s the next thing to invulnerable right now,” he added bitterly, as if that made any of it better.

An icy hand clenched in Bruce’s chest again, but he forced himself to still. To breathe through it. To not turn and run, run until he found his child and tore him away from whatever influence had him.

The Ghost King had a hold of Jason. Jason who’d all but ordered Bruce to let him go.

“And Jason must have been in direct contact with the King to receive these wards?” Diana asked sharply, and Bruce’s head snapped back to her.

It was a good question. Important, obvious, there was a connection there that he should be making, but he couldn’t think. His head was spinning, heart pounding, and every shadow seemed black as pitch.

Constantine grunted an agreement, shooting Bruce an almost sympathetic look.

Could. Could this be the oath? Not his own instinctive, natural panic?

Bruce couldn’t tell, he’d been so afraid for so long, ever since he held Jason’s broken body in his arms. Ever since he buried his son.

It felt the same. But he had mastered that fear long ago, so this would not control him now. He had to be better.

Frowning at Diana, he leaned forward.

“Explain.” She’d probably assumed that he’d made the same connection. He probably should have.

There was just a brief flash of surprise on her face before her expression softened, her hand gentling over his.

“Jason was the one who told you of these Anti Ecto Acts, was he not?” She asked pointedly, a dark brow arching delicately.

Bruce about managed a grunt of agreement, his jaw clenched too tightly to speak. She waited a moment longer, watching his face, and then sighed.

“Then is it not likely that either he has told Balance of these Acts, or that Balance was the one that told him?”

Constantine jerked and got halfway through a bellowed curse before she cut him off with a glare. Her tone brooked no argument as she continued with a firm, frosted patience.

“Jason is a principled young man, even if not of the exact principles you prefer. Either he has warned you because he believes we have time to fix this, or because the King would prefer we handle it,” she said bluntly.

It sounded so simple, put like that. Far too simple. Bruce shook his head, leaning in.

“We can’t know for sure-”

“Batman.” There was nothing harsh in her tone. Nothing so overtly aggressive as the glare she kept giving Constantine. Just a calm, cool statement that sucked the air from his lungs.

The weight of her own mantle, the Amazon princess who would one day be Queen. Not his friend Diana; Wonder Woman.

Once she was sure he wouldn’t continue, she fixed him with a sapphire stare.

“Do you believe Jason Todd would condone the end of the world?” She asked simply, and that at least was that plain.

“No.” It didn’t even require thought; whatever he feared ever since his son took his first life, Bruce knew that.

Jason was fundamentally a good boy. So kind, so giving, ironically he had been the most well adjusted boy Bruce had ever given the mantle to.

Which was what made what he’d become so painful. It was everything he never should have been.

Wonder Woman nodded as if that solved all the rest.

“And yet you called the meeting, not him. He has known for several days already and did nothing to alert any of us. Therefore, he does not believe this is an urgent threat.”

It sounded good, and Bruce almost believed it before Constantine snorted.

“Yeah, great, except the kid has no fuckin’ clue what he’s dealing with. Didn’t even know he’d been fuckin’ marked or that sellin’ his fuckin’ service was the dumbest fuckin’ thing he coulda done,” he grumbled and Bruce’s heart fell.

Wonder Woman was not so easily swayed. She raised an eyebrow slowly at the magician.

“And could those protective marks have been placed on Jason against his will?” She asked pointedly, like she knew the first thing about magic.

Constantine hesitated. Frowned a little, thinking hard. Finally he threw both hands in the air and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing them down his face.

“Technically, yes, alright? But I can’t think of a damn reason why they’d bother. Like I told the old Bat, it’s technically a good thing; I couldn’t even get a basic diagnostic spell off, he’s completely fuckin’ magic proof an’ anythin’ that can read that ward will run like fuck.”

Something in Bruce’s chest flickered hopefully. Wonder Woman nodded firmly, then redirected her stare to him.

“Then until we have reason not to, we assume that Jason Todd has control of this situation. He has assigned us to deal with these Acts, either before his king discovers them or on their behalf. You, Batman, will defer to his experience along with that of our experts,” she declared with all the ringing command she was capable of.

It chafed. And yet… he could hear the echo of Harley’s words in her voice.

What if Jason was wrong? It was the kind of thing he always thought about, the kind of thing he couldn’t stop thinking about. The kind of thing that had the Batman able to stand and go toe to toe with gods.

But what if Jason was right? What if Harley, Diana, Constantine were right, and his usual measures would spell disaster?

He had a dozen contingency plans that any member of the League could use to take him down. He was painfully aware that the first one, the one he’d already shown to Superman and Wonder Woman, only had two words in it.

Diana’s Judgement.

She hadn’t technically invoked it yet. Had never bothered asking exactly what he meant by it; she wasn’t one to back down from hard subjects, which meant she’d also never bothered hiding how little she thought of his contingency plans.

His League-specific ones, anyway. She liked the ones he had for the rogues and various end of the world crises.

It meant moments like this, where she would give him her honest, simple judgement and reign him in.

(Technically it also meant that he trusted her to decide when she needed to snap his neck, but Martian Manhunter always looked at him with disappointment when he thought about that side too much.)

Looking back to her face, he managed to meet her eyes and nod once. It went against every instinct he had, every year of experience and loss, but…

If he couldn’t do things he didn’t like, he’d never have become Batman.

Head spinning with a plethora of new information, bag of ecto candies in hand, Jason deliberately slowed down to let Danny precede him out of Frostbite’s office.

That little suspicion had been growing, kindling the more they discussed halfa anatomy and bonds, and honestly? Yes, he had been using it as an excuse to think about something other than his own problems.

Danny seemed not to notice, disappearing past the doorway as Jason looked up at Frostbite. Figured fuck it; he didn’t know how much time he had. Best be blunt.

“You’re Danny’s ghost parent, aren’t you?” He asked, knowing from the yeti’s face as he did that he was right.

The way it froze for just a moment, eyes flicking to the door Danny had just left through. Then the smile that spread, knowing and secretive as he bent down for the first time to put his face on Jason’s level.

“He takes such pleasure in believing he does not have one; the Great One values his independence highly, and his history with parental figures is… complex. It can be our secret, yes?” The yeti winked.

Jason hesitated for a moment, thinking back to all he knew about Danny’s home life. It wasn’t actually all that much; Danny probably actually knew more about Jason’s, after the last week.

That wasn’t just a rarity, it was practically unheard of for any of the former Robins, and Jason knew exactly how Dick and Harley would react to that information.

They’d accuse him of growth. Gross. They couldn’t be told.

And yeah, maybe Jason had a bit of a personal understanding of why Danny wouldn’t want an overabundance of parental figures around. Their situations weren’t exactly the same, not really, but Jason knew enough verses of the song.

All teen heroes tended to have certain things in common, the biggest of which was whatever parental figure they had failing to protect them. Failing to keep them from the darkness, forcing a kid to take on a mantle and burdens that they never should have.

He’d wanted to pound Bruce’s bones to pulp for putting another kid in his cape. Wound up nearly pounding Tim’s instead, however the pit and Tallia had twisted things to make that seem like the same thing.

And Danny hadn’t just picked up the mantle of Teen Hero. He’d picked up a crown, a whole realm of responsibilities and rulership over the dead.

Personally, Jason thought Danny was missing out on an easy dodge of king duties by not finding his ghost parent; Clockwork was his regent but still apparently bothered him for work.

A parent ruling until the child was of age was behind most of the most brutal regicides in any monarchic system; the dead had to know about it.

But that’d mean Clockwork bothering Frostbite at all hours, possibly. Or Clockwork finding new excuses to keep checking on a crown prince Jason had already seen was a handful.

Yeah, he could see why no one really challenged Danny’s assertion that he didn’t have a ghost parent.

Jason spared a moment wondering about his own again.

He knew better than to hope, he really did. Catherine Todd deserved much better than an afterlife of watching over his many mistakes. If there was any justice to death, she’d moved straight past the realms and into the most perfect of paradises.

He liked to think she’d be proud of him. Of the work he’d done, the good he’d spread through the Alley even if it was on the end of a gun.

So long as it wasn’t any form of al Ghul whatsoever, Jason was pretty sure he could handle any other ghost parent the multiverse could throw at him.

Danny’s head poked back around the corner, grinning in a very worried way between the two of them.

“Everything okay back here?” He asked with some of the worst overhyped cheer Jason had ever heard.

Alright, maybe Danny would actually also have been a problem for ghost parent. Because Jason thought he was hot. Because he was an awful mother hen even as a friend.

Jason raised his bag of ecto candies.

“Just checking how many of these I can safely have in a day,” he said innocently, and kinda hoped Danny didn’t actually feel the wash of Frostbite’s approval as the yeti straightened.

That would give the game away.

“They are not a substitute for sleep or nutrition for your human form,” Frostbite told him, as if that was what they’d been talking about.

Jason sighed heavily, doing his best impression of Tim being handed decaf.

“Listen, a guy can hope?”

“Oh you’re not gonna win that one,” Danny snickered, brightening with the distraction and all but skipping in to take Jason’s arm, “let’s scram before he gets the powerpoints.”

Frostbite gave them a cheerful wave on the way out the door, and Jason managed a mostly sincere smile as Danny began regaling him on some of his teenaged attempts to persuade Frostbite to let him give up sleep for finals week.

Yeah, he might add the Fenton parents to the butt-kicking list. Below the ghosts, obviously, for whom butt-kicking was a social courtesy.

But, y’know. If he ever got the chance to have a quiet word about taking care of your damn kids.

———————

And here we have Part 1! Imma just yeet it up so you can all get started while I edit Part 2, because again, this is a Girthy One without an easier breakpoint 👀

I’ll still try and get Part 2 done tonight, but I’ve kept y’all waiting long enough

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof f @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 8 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai i @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook @adorkable1291

Part Two:

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton dead and loving it #chapter 17 i bet #well you did get down on one knee #dead on main ship #danny x jason #slowest burn we burn so slow it looks like rust

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heliza24 · 1 month

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Wilhelm's Journey of Radical Forgiveness in Season 3

So this is the next entry in my unintentional series, about how Young Royals embraces truly radical story telling. Previously I’ve written about Simon in season 2 and his arc of radical acceptance, and about how radical the act of quitting the monarchy could be for Wilhelm (and I have never been so happy to be right about anything). But now I’m ready to start talking about season 3, which I loved, and specifically about the theme of radical forgiveness, which I thought was laced throughout the whole season beautifully and drove Wilhelm’s arc specifically.

Before I jump in, I want to pause and really define the concept of radical. When I’m using "radical" in this context, I’m talking about something that challenges the nature of what we assume to be true. I’m talking about embracing an idea that may not seem logical at first, but feels emotionally true and necessary. And I’m talking about ideas that are revolutionary, that have the potential to change people and societies.

When I went in to season 3, I assumed from the beginning that it would end with Wilhelm leaving the monarchy. I have always seen this as the fundamental question of the show (will Wilhelm stay and fulfill his predetermined destiny, or leave and find his own path?). Wilhelm’s relationship with Simon is a catalyst for that decision and their ability to stay together depends on its answer. (There’s no world where Wilhelm remained prince and Wilmon was still endgame.) But during the gap between episodes 5 and 6, I realized that even if you could sum up Wilhelm’s overall series conflict as crown vs freedom/Simon, that was not the major thing driving him in season 3. Or rather, there was another dramatic question he needed to answer, or internal conflict he needed to solve, before he could decide to walk away from the throne and fix his relationship with Simon.

Season 3 starts with the private arbitration/settlement negotiation, and immediately establishes how inadequate legal and financial reparations are at mending the divide between Wilhelm, Simon, and August. Instead this setup pushes Wilhelm into more conflict with August, making him feel like he has to defend his family from August’s incursions. At the same time, the season also opens with the initiation reveal, and the immediate implication that Erik was one of the perpetrators of the sexual abuse that occurred and that August was one of the victims. Suddenly the audience is able to see that the perfect family Wilhelm thinks he is defending— including Erik’s memory— is so much more complicated than Wilhelm realizes. And at the same time, the supposed threat that August poses is also much more complex. No one is as black and white, as good or as evil, as we would like to believe. And Wilhelm’s arc this season is all about understanding this.

There��s one more component to Wilhelm’s arc this season, and that’s his relationship with Simon. As the season goes on, we see Wilhelm become more and more complicit in the abuse Simon suffers. As the season progresses, Wilhelm becomes an enforcer of the palace, asking Simon to give up more of himself, to compromise more of his values, to be with him. By episode four he is saying some pretty homophobic things (“do I have to represent all queers just because I’m in love with you” feels like a slap in the face) and by episode 5 he is subjecting Simon to a violent outburst, even if it’s not directed at him. Wilhelm says almost the exact same thing to Simon that Erik said to him in season 1 (“everything you do now represents me and the royal house”/“everything you do reflects on us as a family”). Kristina is explicitly asking Wilhelm to step up and fill Erik’s shoes this season, and Wilhelm obeys in more ways than one. Wilhelm begins to pass on the same cycle of abuse that is currently affecting him to Simon. The same cycle that has affected Kristina, Erik, August, and Wilhelm is affecting Simon now as well.

In order for Wilhelm to break this cycle, he has to be able to see what he is doing. And he cannot do that until he recognizes and accepts the nuances in both Erik and August. He can’t move on until he has made some sort of peace with both of them.

I think it was a genius idea to trap Wilhelm and August in Hillerska’s version of couple counseling (lol) and force them to talk to each other. (As an aside, I really do love how this show treats therapy as a thing worthy of being dramatized. It’s so powerful.) I also think it was important to see August begin to make some steps of his own, both in therapy and in the way he begins to give Wilhelm and Sara more space. We don’t really see the end of August’s arc of slow self improvement— by the end of the show he’s still very much trapped in the royal cycle and dependent on Sara in a way that’s problematic— but that’s ok because he isn’t the protagonist, and the important thing is that we notice that he is beginning to change, and so does Wilhelm.

The scene at the end of 3.4, when August tells Wilhelm about what happened during the initiation, is so important. August delivers that information genuinely, and not as a threat. And in that moment Wilhelm’s perception of his brother (and secondarily, of August) is flipped upside down. I think even more important is the kind of unspoken question lurking under this new information for Wilhelm: if I idolized Erik, and I detested August, and my image of both of these people was incomplete, then what does that say about me?

I think we can see Wilhelm questioning his perception of his family and of himself in a lot of subtle ways over the last two episodes. We see him put on nail polish and take it off. We see him afraid to ask his dad for more information about Erik on the phone, and then screaming at his parents for the way they abandoned him. We see him struggling to integrate this new information, and he completely neglects Simon because of it, leading to the breakup.

By episode 6, Wilhelm has lost Simon, reached a sort of catharsis with his parents, and maybe most importantly seen Hillerska itself— the setting where the abusive system seems to be baked into the very walls— crumble. All of the things he though were untouchable (his love for Simon, his parents’ authority, the everlasting nature of Hillerska) have completely changed. And I think all of that instability is what allows Wilhelm to finally accept that his understanding of both Erik and August doesn’t have to be permanently fixed either. I love the scene where August and Wilhelm meet at the party, August apologizes, and Wilhelm accepts his apology. And I also love the scene where Wilhelm throws out the broken frog prince snow globe, the one enduring symbol the show has associated with Erik and Wilhelm and their shared role over and over again. I know different fans will have different arguments about how Wilhelm feels about August at the end of the series, but for me their last interaction symbolizes radical forgiveness. By this I don’t mean that Wilhelm has to forget about what August did to him, just like he doesn’t have to forget the bad things Erik has done to others. But he does have to accept them as they are- full of flaws, but intricately connected to him. As part of his imperfect family. And he lets go of the violent anger that has plagued him through much of the series in that moment. That’s a type of forgiveness that makes a real change. It opens up a whole new avenue of possibility for Wilhelm. Because in extending that radical forgiveness towards August and Erik, he’s also able to forgive himself for the way he too has failed the people he loves.

Actually, I think there’s one more component necessary for that self forgiveness, which is Simon telling Wilhelm that he never gave up on Wilhelm himself, only on the Royal family and its rules. That one line is such a gift to Wilhelm. It allows him to see himself as an individual who is separate from his family and able to make his own decisions for the first time. It allows him to fully forgive himself, and to make the decision to leave for his own sake. It allows him to save himself. And then because he has saved himself, he and Simon can be together again.

So in the end Wilhelm ends up answering the driving dramatic question (crown or freedom?) but only after he extends radical forgiveness to his family members and to himself. I think it’s so beautiful, it makes me cry every time I think about it.

This theme of radical forgiveness is everywhere this season, not just in Wilhelm’s arc. It’s in Sara and Felice’s reconciliation, and in Sara and Micke’s relationship, and in the ways that Sara forgives herself and moves beyond shame (expect another meta from me about Wilhelm and Sara season 3 parallels soon, because there are many and I love them). It’s in the way that Linda and Simon forgive each other, and the way that Simon forgives Wilhelm, and the the way that Simon forgives Sara. It’s even in the ways that August grows in fits and starts this season too. I feel like I learned so much from this season. It challenged my assumptions about characters I thought I knew and reminded me to that there is beauty in acknowledging nuance in the world. And I think it will serve as an ongoing reminder for me that even when I mess up and do not live up to my ideals, I am still worthy of radical forgiveness. Growth can’t happen without that compassion towards ourselves and others. And if that isn’t the most perfect message to take away from this beautiful show that I have loved for so long, I don’t know what is.

#young royals #young royals season 3 #young royals s3 spoilers #my meta #wilhelm young royals

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missmaywemeetagain · 5 months

Text

A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving 💗🧣🦃

A very happy Thanksgiving weekend to those who celebrate! ❤️

This blurb came out of nowhere, in a fit of Thanksgiving inspiration (and a special thanks to Norah for inadvertently nudging me towards a Thanksgiving prompt)! Because of this, it is not overly edited or revised. I will say, I'm not sure yet just how canon I want this to be in terms of the PS Universe, but I figure it came out of me for a reason, so I decided to go with it for now.

I think my current moody headspace influenced the vibe for this--for us fans, it's a slightly indulgent "what could have been" scenario. But that's PS in a nutshell, isn't it? 🥹

Anyhoo, I hope this hits you in the feels! And I hope you know just how much you matter to me, even though I've been a bit MIA recently.

Much love xoxoxox, Madi 💗

TW: It's 1977, so...medical issues/trauma/strife. Panic attack. Thanksgiving stress. A little hint of sexy at the end bc I couldn't leave you on a melancholy note! 💋

A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 1977

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. P, but the oven is out. Lamar took a peek, but the thing is as cold as ice and don’t look like it’s gonna be warm any time soon,” Mary says, looking as distraught as you feel. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner.”

The naked, trussed, and cold turkey on the counter mocks you.

“No, no, it’s not your fault, Mary. We’ll…figure something out,” you try and reassure her, but it feels like a weight has just been placed on your chest. You pinch the bridge of your nose to stave off the massive headache that began early this morning when Nicky barged into your room at the crack of dawn sobbing because he’d had a nightmare that Mr. Gobble Gobble, a monster turkey, had eaten Daddy instead of the other way around.

This was one of many nightmares that your poor little boy had suffered since August, but certainly the first starring a murderous Thanksgiving turkey. He’d barely been consolable and neither of you had gotten back to sleep.

You take a deep breath, holding back the tears that threaten your vision.

Today needs to be perfect. It was supposed to be perfect.

But you should have known. After all, this year has been far from perfect.

You force yourself away from the wave of despair trying to overcome you. No, we’ve been lucky, you think. It could be so much worse.

Unfortunately, your nerves are shot, which makes sense considering the last few months you’ve had. You’ve kept it together so well. You’ve had to. For Nicky. For Elvis. But that tried resolve begins to crumble with the pressure of it all, as though everything that has happened is hitting you all at once.

Now you have a house full of hungry people, Elvis will be home any minute, and your usual quick-footed problem-solving skills have flown out the window. Your hands begin to tremble.

The panic swells as the kitchen swarms with people looking to you for direction, and in that moment, Nicky runs through the adults, chased by one of the other kids. It happens so fast—you barely have time to register the commotion before disaster strikes.

You watch in horror as the kids fly into the sideboard, knocking the precious side dishes and desserts onto the floor with a resounding crash.

The collective gasp of the adults in the room sends your panic into overdrive.

Thanksgiving is officially ruined.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you shout. The entire room goes silent. It’s not everyday Elvis Presley’s calm and collected wife loses her shit. No, that is something usually reserved for the man himself.

“Well, that’s not quite the welcome home I was expecting,” a familiar baritone chuckles from behind you.

You whip around, your bottom lip quivering. “Elvis?” you whisper.

He’s standing right here—standing! On his own!—leaning on his cane for support, a twinkle in his eye that you haven’t seen in ages. One you weren’t sure you’d ever see again. And the sight of him finally being home again after so many months in the hospital is more than you can bear. After standing tall and strong for him for so long, you crumble into a thousand pieces. An uncontrollable sob chokes out of you, your tears overflowing.

“Aw, honey,” he says quietly, slowly making his way to you, waving everyone else out of the room with the commanding flick of his hand. They exit in a flash with their concerned and pitied looks. Not that you care, because the second you can, you are falling into your husband’s open arms.

“I’m so sorry…your homecoming…it’s all ruined,” you sob into his chest, being mindful of the long scar down the center. Feeling the warmth of him engulfing you is overwhelming. His scent, untainted by antiseptic and hospital smells for the first time in a long time, swirls around you, caressing your senses.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. Let it all out, Satnin,” he coos, stroking your hair with his free hand. “Hers has been so strong for hims, but hims is home now.”

The tenderness of his baby talk in your ear sends a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, staining the silk of his blue dress shirt. He’s dressed up, you think absently, knowing this is a huge thing. Even before that fateful August morning, he’d been mostly wearing his tracksuits when he wasn’t performing. He’d been so uncomfortable and in pain, you’d understood why.

You bury your head into his neck, pent up emotions violently shuddering through your body as you let your tears fall freely for the first time in months. You can barely breathe with how you wedge yourself into him, with how he holds you tight. He’s so much slimmer now that the edema is gone and his colon has been tended to, you realize, but he’s still soft in all the right places. You still fit against him perfectly, and his grip on you makes you realize he understands just how raw you are.

You cry more, thinking about how the last time he was here was when you’d found him unresponsive on the bathroom floor. How you’d never been so scared in your entire life, not even when you yourself had brushes with death.

It's a miracle he’s here at all. None of you, doctors included, were sure if he’d ever step through the doors of Graceland again. Not after the heart attack, or the coma, or the complications from his various surgeries. It had been one blow after another, for weeks, months. But somehow, in true stubborn Elvis fashion, he’d pulled through.

He’d gritted his way through healing, through physical therapy, through weaning off so many of the meds he’d been on before and during his hospital stay, and he hated every second of it. He’d been livid about the colostomy, but you’d had no care for his vanity when you’d had to make the decision to save his life. You didn’t care if he hated you because at least he’d be alive to tell you so. He’d gotten past it, mostly, especially once he was feeling better.

The entire ordeal had terrified him. Something had changed in him in those weeks he’d lingered between life and death, something he wasn’t ready to talk about just yet, but even with all the setbacks, his determination to come home was intensely motivating.

Which is why you’d wanted it to be special, and why it being Thanksgiving had so much meaning. Elvis was finally coming home. Then everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.

“I wanted everything to be perfect for you. You deserve it,” you say quietly, sniffling, holding him as tight as you dare without wanting to hurt him.

“Darlin’, just bein’ back home with you and Nicky is more than I ever dreamed of. I don’t need no big fancy dinner or welcome home committee. I jus’ need you.”

You pull back then, your heart about ready to burst, and look at him. He looks downright debonair with his silvery hair (which you’d convinced him not to dye back after it had grown out during his illness), freshly cut and shorter than it had been in years, fluffy but brushed back off his face in a style reminiscent to when he was younger. His apple cheeks are full and have more color than they’ve had in months.

“What?” he asks looking down at you, almost bashful under your gaze.

You reach up and cup his freshly shaven cheek, smooth and soft under your palm. Those deep ocean blue eyes of his threaten to swallow you whole. Staring into their depths, you don’t want to imagine a world without him in it anymore.

“I just love you,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out without choking up again. “So much.”

Eyes shining, Elvis pulls you up and into him. His lips are as sweet and as soft as you remember when they press into yours. The kiss is full of yearning, of love, and of everything you two have been through the past twenty years. It’s truly like coming home.

The kiss turns hungry then, more so than you expect. It’s been so very long since you’ve had each other in this way and it surprises you how readily your body remembers, despite all the pain and trauma you both have experienced. You open for him, and he moans when his tongue brushes against yours. A fiery wave of heat blisters through you then, hastily banishing away your tears.

Despite all the challenges you’ve faced over the years, you’ve always felt the pull of him in your soul. You’ve always wanted him, neededhim, even when you convinced yourself to forget because you thought you couldn’t have him. And now, after almost losing him for good, you can think of nothing else but him. The warmth of his body pressed against yours causes you to melt. The way his lips and hands roam over the curves of your body sends you soaring.

You thought you’d never have this again. It had almost broken you.

“I’m here, baby. I’m home, I promise,” he mutters into your skin, as if reading your mind.

You kiss him deeply, yanking him into you by his pretty shirt, taking his breath away.

He pulls away and presses his forehead to yours, and you can feel him sway on his feet, a little unbalanced.

“Good news—looks like Little Elvis is back in working order,” he says breathlessly, pressing his thickening erection into your belly. He seems pleasantly surprised.

Honestly, with everything dire that happened, it hadn’t even crossed your mind as a concern, but it makes sense that it could be an issue. You grin up at him with the knowledge that it isn’t, then roll your hips against him.

He groans. “Bad news—not sure I have the energy to do all the things I wanna to ya, and we got a house full of people.” Doesn’t stop him from grabbing a handful of your bottom, however.

“Oh, that’s never stopped us before, now has it?” you muse, walking your fingers gently down his chest and over his belly to palm his length.

“Lord have mercy, woman,” he moans, his eyes fluttering closed. You notice him lean more heavily on his cane and instantly ease up. One blue eye opens with a quirked brow. “Hey now, I din’t say stop.”

You laugh. “Well, it seems dinner is ruined anyhow,” you say, surveying the disaster of broken dishes and scattered food all over the floor, and the cold, raw turkey on the counter. “Maybe we better get you upstairs to rest.”

Rest is, of course, the furthest thing from your mind now, which you let him know with a little squeeze to his butt.

“Mmhmm, yes, I definitely need to lie down,” he mumbles as he peppers you with kisses. Suddenly, he freezes against you. “But, honey, I-I-I’m not sure how much I can do,” he whispers, a wave of uncertainty washing over him.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll take it slow. Real slow. One step at a time, like fumbling teenagers,” you say lightly, cupping his face and looking up into his eyes. “Or we can just kiss and hold each other. I’m just happy you’re here, baby.”

He nods, seemingly reassured by this. “I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I thank God every day for you and for what we have together, Satnin,” he says quietly, brushing your hair behind your ear, kissing you gently. “I love you.”

Your heart and body ache for him. “We better get you upstairs to “rest”before I start crying again,” you snuffle, laughing, slowly walking with him toward the stairs.

“Well, tears aren’t entirely off the table…I can think of a couple good ways I can make you cry,” he teases, nibbling at your ear.

“Elvis Aaron, you did not just…” you gasp.

“What??” he says innocently. “Am I wrong?”

A shiver runs down your spine and settles in the heat of your belly.

You’ve missed him. Terribly.

But you do have so much to be thankful for this year, namely for the infuriatingly talented, generous, and stubborn man you married and are gingerly leading up the stairs for the first time in months.

In fact, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#a pink scarf thanksgiving #pink scarf universe #elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis 1977 #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis fic #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis imagine #big daddy elvis #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 months

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A Crimson Peak Timeline

(based on the art book, documents shown onscreen in the movie, and the character bios GDT wrote- where the bios don't contradict film canon. I've attempted to combine the two where contradicting elements are unavoidable.

Sometime during the reign of Charles II (1660-1685). Edward Sharpe created Baronet for services to the crown in providing clay for construction projects. Allerdale Hall built in the parish of Above Derwent, Cumberland, England.

1841. Carter Everett Cushing born the second son of six in an impoverished family that traveled the eastern US for his father's masonry business.

1863. Beatrice Alexandra Chetwynde, eldest daughter of a large, wealthy family, marries Baronet James William Sharpe. The marriage is contracted solely for the Chetwyndes' land, which adjoins the Sharpe estate.

April 1, 1865. Lucille Sharpe born.

Sometime between 1865 and ~1873. Carter marries 18-year-old socialite Eleanor Wyndham-Beckford, to the immense disapproval of her family. Though she is disowned and the couple struggles to make ends meet for years, Carter ultimately becomes a successful developer.

February 18, 1867. Thomas Sharpe born.

C. 1867-1872. The Sharpes employ a wet nurse- and later nanny -named Theresa, who would become the only adult to care about the children in their lives. She would ultimately be sacked after Beatrice caught young Lucille snuggling with her for warmth on a winter's night (on the grounds that a noble child should not be close with servants- a "crime" for which Lucille was beaten severely).

1876. 11-year-old Lucille murders her father with poison distilled from mine tailings, after he took Thomas on a hunting trip and left him in the woods to die of exposure.

Late 1876? A mining vein near Allerdale Hall collapses, killing several child mine-workers. I could have sworn I read somewhere that James foolishly dug a mining tunnel under the house shortly before his death, and that's what destabilized it, but I can't find it now.

October 9, 1877. Edith M. Cushing born, after Eleanor had suffered several miscarriages.

1878. Thomas and Lucille begin a secret sexual relationship.

Early August, 1879. Beatrice catches Lucille and Thomas together; Lucille murders her to keep their secret. The siblings try to run away together but are caught and brought back. Thomas is sent to live with an aunt and uncle in Whitehaven (who in turn send him to boarding school), while Lucille is forced into a mental institution.

Probably summer, 1885. Thomas finishes his schooling and rescues Lucille; they return to Allerdale.

1887. The Sharpe siblings travel to London seeking investors for Thomas' venture to reopen the mines. A wealthy, terminally ill gentleman, Major Richard Upton, takes a liking to Thomas and begs Thomas to marry his disabled daughter, Pamela. At Lucille's urging- since they're running out of both options and money -Thomas agrees. The two attempt to poison Pamela to death, but Lucille ends up strangling her instead.

Sometime between October 1887 and October 1888. Eleanor Cushing dies of cholera and appears to Edith as a ghost.

Early-mid 1890s. Carter and the recently widowed Mrs. McMichael have a brief flirtation that both Edith and Eunice oppose. Though it goes nowhere, the rift between the two girls is never healed.

Late October or November 1892. Edith (age 15) becomes infatuated with a 25-year-old poet who is having marital difficulties. After convincing Carter to hire him as a tutor, all unknowing, she confesses her feelings to him. He not only takes his leave of the Cushing family, but of Buffalo itself, quickly moving away with his wife and children.

1893. The Sharpes travel to Edinbrugh, where Thomas again finds no investors but does attract the attention of a 36-year-old widow of means, Margaret McDermott. Once again, he marries her and helps Lucille poison her, though she is ultimately killed via blunt force trauma.

Summer 1893. Edith asks her best friend, Alan McMichael, to kiss her so she can write about kisses more accurately. It means nothing to her, but sparks an unrequited passion in Alan

1896. Lucille falls pregnant by Thomas. He travels with her to Italy, which he loves and she despises. There he meets a wealthy woman named Enola Sciotti, widowed and bereaved of her only child, and decides of his own accord to marry and murder her in their usual fashion. The Sharpes and Enola return to Allerdale.

1897. Lucille is delivered of a son, who may or may not be sickly. Enola tries to care for her and the child, promising she can save him. The baby either dies of natural causes or Lucille smothers him under the conviction that his cries mean something is terribly wrong with him and he can't live- this is one contradiction in the bios vs. the movie that I prefer to leave vague, since it's possible not even Lucille remembers what happened. Either way, she blames Enola and dispatches her by unknown means. Thomas patents his excavating machine.

Late summer(?) 1901. Alan returns from studying medicine in London and sets up an ophthalmology practice in Buffalo. Edith's debut novel, Figures In The Mist, is rejected for publication by Oglivie and Sons. Thomas seeks investment in the mines from Cushing and Co., unsuccessfully. Edith and the Sharpes begin a friendship. Edith sees her mother's ghost for the second time.

September 14, 1901. President William McKinley dies after being shot at the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo. I include this because the fact that the movie doesn't is hilarious to me.

October 21, 1901. At the Cushings' dinner party, Carter bribes the Sharpes to leave, instructing Thomas to break Edith's heart or he'll tell her about the marriage to Pamela. A deleted scene reveals that he was on the verge of relenting and investing in the mines when he read the private investigator's report.

October 22, 1901. Lucille murders Carter at his club, then departs to return to England. Thomas and Edith become engaged.

Late October-early November 1901. Thomas and Edith are married and travel to Allerdale.

November-December 1901 (possibly into early 1902?). The rest of the movie's plot.

#crimson peak #long post #meta

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ekingston · 2 years

Note

For the ask game:

Supercorp fic where Lena runs a popular webseries/blog about plants and plant care and Kara (one of her avid subscribers) is absolutely hapless when it comes to keeping plants alive and is constantly asking Lena for help only to fail spectacularly. Lena is *convinced* Kara is fucking with her on purpose, and kinda sorta hates her virtual guts

(Now also on a03.)

Lena isn’t naive.

When she made the decision to set up a discord server for her plant vlog’s followers, she knew there was a possibility things might get messy. After all, even while remaining anonymous — she can practically hear her PR team screaming at the idea of Lena Luthor running her own verified social media account — her comment section has always been 45% earnest compliments and questions from beginner botanists and 55% unabashed thirst over her sexy hands and soothing voice. Lena imagined any possible frustration caused by having to sidestep the occasional untoward overture would be worth the satisfaction she gets from teaching fellow hobbyists to take better care of their plants. It’s nice to feel like she’s being appreciated, for a change, to be allowed to play hero in a small way, different from L-Corp’s high-stakes idealism or Supergirl’s histrionic stunts.

(She still hasn’t managed to set up a meeting with National City’s super-powered alien in residence, but she’s certain it will be any day now.)

Lena couldn’t have predicted that the most aggravating individual on her server wouldn’t turn out to be a persistent suitor, but rather a member of the plant-loving minority.

If the violence this ‘Kvers’ person routinely inflicts on their houseplants can be considered love.

Why are my plant’s leaves yellowing? had been this idiot’s first, innocuous ask. Moments later, they’d followed it up with a picture of the brown, crisp remains of what Lena had only vaguely recognized must at one point have been a vibrant green ZZ plant.

Because it’s fucking dead, Lena had wanted to reply, suggesting instead Is it possible it’s near a window where it gets too much direct light?

My place does get a good amount of sun, Kvers had responded. I kind of prefer it that way. Lena had given her a list of plants that would fare better in those conditions, and hoped that would be that.

But it didn't end there; it’s actually only gotten worse. Kvers is in Lena’s notifications what feels like every other day now with fresh doubts and queries. Why do you even have plants, Lena is tempted to respond half the time, when it’s obvious you’re too much of a moron to even be trusted to take care of yourself?

Are banana plants supposed to tear this easily? comes the next question, combined with a picture of a Dwarf Cavendish that looks to have been ripped to shreds by a wind stronger than the average tornado.

“What the fuck,” Lena mumbles to herself. Some tearing is to be expected, they’re pretty frail, she replies, before snapping and adding I advise placing it a little further away from that jet engine you must have set up in your living room, however in a disgruntled huff.

Kvers sends her only a 😳 in response.

A fresh victim is presented to her a few days later, along with Kvers’s desperate plea of Can this little guy still be saved?

Pictured is the saddest Boston fern Lena has seen in her entire life: it’s bruised grey-brown and beige where it should be a vivid emerald, and when Lena clicks the image to enlarge, she finds herself frowning at what looks like a dusting of frost still clinging to the fronds.

Ferns can recover from freezing conditions but only if their roots weren’t also affected, Lena replies very professionally, her fingers shaking with silent outrage. Though I don’t understand why you’d keep a potted fern outdoors when it’s that cold. She’s beginning to wonder if this Kvers person is a genuine imbecile or an abusive prankster. Where do you live that you’re dealing with these weather conditions in August? she demands.

Oh, um, Kvers replies and then, after a few starts and stops, Southern California.

So Kvers is absolutely fucking with her.

It takes a week before they’re asking for Lena’s input again. This buddy is looking a little rough today, they post, do you think a good soak could help perk it back up?

The miserable money tree pictured is barely clinging to life. Lena peers through the furious red haze descending over her vision and swears it looks like its few remaining leaves are singed.

Lena’s patience has run out. Are you serious? she asks. Did someone burn your building down?

Small kitchen accident Kvers has the audacity to reply.

It’s the final straw in every sense of the word. Lena will not stand for this blatant abuse a moment longer, especially if it’s done exclusively for the purpose of getting her attention. Before she can think too much about it, before her rage recedes, she sends Kvers a direct message announcing she’s coming by for a home consultation.

Where in SoCal are you exactly?

As it turns out, Kvers is right here, in National City.

She’s also a bafflingly attractive — though fidgety — blonde.

Blue eyes widen and pink lips part when she answers the door, her shoulders so broad and her arms so beefy she takes up most of the space in the doorway to her loft. Lena probably wouldn’t be able to see past her, at her endangered plants beyond, if she still wanted to.

But she can tell her loft is well-lit, like she’d mentioned — she’s framed by the sun’s dying rays, her hair and skin golden and shimmering in a way not entirely of this earth.

This explains so much, Lena realizes, relieved. The wind. The frost. The burns.

Her would-be adversary is wearing glasses and her hair is up, and her flustered demeanor seems so awkwardly genuine that Lena wonders if the image this woman projects when she’s dressed in her more familiar reds and blues is the act — if this awestruck, faded-jeans-clad cutie is the real person that’s hiding underneath.

She looks far more human than Lena would have imagined.

“You’re Lena Luthor,” she finally manages to stutter out.

Lena regards her evenly. “Good to finally meet you,” she says, and, dropping her voice a little, “Supergirl.”

#supercorp fan fiction #plant vlog au #supergirl fan fiction #fic by ekingston #who has two thumbs & managed to pen a clean 1000 word drabble for the first time in probably a decade?#👍 this guy! 👍#thank you for the incentive gaby! you’re a gem!#ask meme #deadbiwrites #fan ficlet #1k

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vox-ex · 6 months

Text

seasons + stars

supercorptober 2023

“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star." ― Haruki Murakami

or Kara deals with the impermanence of herself and the permanence of her love

----

Kara comes to Earth in the Spring.

On the backs of stars she will never see again she carries their dust with her, lays it down in soil tasked with bearing witness to ghosts that are not its own.

The stars that are a part of her become a part of it.

She spends days in the forest, the bright blue sky above her, Sol at her back, Rao in her chest, through the vibrant green trees, across flowers that bloom in hues of yellows and oranges.

She lays out at night on the roof, tries to trace the inky black as far into the distance as she can. Far enough she might still see a light that hasn't been replaced by darkness yet.

The stars will soon become a part of her — she will eventually become a part of them too.

Summer comes with long days and short nights and she misses the stars.

Autumn rushes in with skies that almost feel familiar.

Winter nights are long and cold. She stays out late with the stars again. Speaks to the scattered bits of light — the scattered bits of herself.

Year after year, she is dismantled and reassembled by the seasons that come and go. Until all the bits of stardust she had carried with her from Krypton are all gone. Until she is made of new stars and new dust and new atoms. And what is gone? What is gone is put back into the space to begin again somewhere else.

But then what of her?

Is Kara Zor El somewhere in space?

Is she buried in the soil on Earth?

Is she shoved inside the chest of this other her?

Will she always be two versions different of herself at once?

Kara leaves Earth in the Spring.

Sol at her back, and nothing but darkness ahead.

She doesn't choose to leave, but she is gone all the same.

She meets ghosts she thought were all gone. Buried somewhere between Krypton and Earth — lost with the parts of herself that she too had been buried.

Her own ghost is there.

Haunts her with the parts of herself she wants to hold onto but can't.

Taunts her with the parts of herself she begs to replace but can't.

Kara comes back to Earth in the Summer.

"August of another summer, and once again I am drinking the sun"

She isn't sure what she is made of now.

Isn't sure how long it will take to shed it from her skin.

Isn't sure who she will be when it's gone.

She is just tired, she thinks, of this struggle of atoms, of time, of feeling broken apart.

But she looks up at the sky that night. Find stars again instead of darkness.

Thinks of how they are each a part of Earth, or Krypton, of her.

She is tired, she thinks, but she is also thankful.

It's Autumn when the world almost ends.

The world almost ends, and she realizes she wants more time — needs more time.

It's Autumn when it starts again.

Not in the way one thinks of worlds beginning — in the way of galaxies and of universes — big bangs expanding all at once.

But in the way we do. Slowly. Little by Little.

It begins again with green eyes and dark hair.

It settles into gentle touches and quiet words.

Kara stands at the edge of a field, her feet sinking slightly into the damp forest floor. Leaves scatter across the ground with with freshly fallen pine needles. It smells like cold, like the winter that is coming.

Lena's hand slips into hers, fingers threading together with practiced ease.

Slow.

Gentle.

She feels a droplet of water cling to her skin, just cold enough that she can feel it, can tell it a part from the warmth of Lena's hand in hers.

"I can't believe it's so dark already?"

Kara follows her gaze up to the first stars just peeking through the gaps in the trees.

Meeting Lena first came at the end of a Summer.

Meeting Lena came, and the world softened just a little — just enough.

Slowly.

Little by little.

In all the months between, all the years, all the seasons. They have both been taken apart and put back together, over and over and over.

Sometimes by the universe.

Sometimes by each other.

But amidst the endless dance of stars and the perpetual renewal of atoms, the part of them that loved the other, had always been left whole, over and over and over.

And there are still days where she is not sure who she is — who she is supposed to be with this patchwork collection of particles stuffed into herself.

But then Lena will take her hand and thread their fingers together just like this, and it will feel like each one of them has found it's place and a purpose all over again.

-----

read and follow along on Ao3 too

#supercorp #supercorptober #supergirl #supercorptober2023 #sg prompts #you know I couldn't get out of this month without writing a paradox inspired fic #ship of theseus #Also it turns out there are some atoms that are with us for our entire life #they are buried in the DNA of our heart and our brain #but also our teeth? haha #character study time #but there's love at the end I promise #there's also science #so sorry #softness disguised as heaviness #there's always room for hope at the end #love and paradoxes #science and poetry #sneak the Mary Oliver quote too

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xocasper · 1 year

Text

Heaven Ain’t Close in a Place Like This

Pairing: Mikey Way x Reader x Gerard Way Summary: August was barely beginning when you found yourself in Mikey Way’s bunk, but time on tour flies by fast. Between performances and post-show hookups, it feels like you’re with his band more than your own. Thankfully, his brother doesn’t seem to mind. Warnings: NSFW content, fanfic logic Word Count: 6639 A/N: They live! Back from the dead and managed to cough this up. I’ve been making jokes about it since October, opened up the original outline at a Thursday concert, scrapped it half a dozen times, and then pulled this directly out of my ass. I hope you enjoy it!

As insane as being invited onto the Projekt Revolution was, the tour itself was prone to even wilder happenings. With each summer tour your band had played, something crazy had taken place. Between Warped Tour hookups and racy, drunken performances on Taste of Chaos, the next few months were destined to be memorable. In fact, you had already set the tone by the second week, after waking up hungover and pantless with a lanky bassist by your side. One that you were waiting for now, leaning against the side of your bus while the metal scorched your skin.

Under normal circumstances, there was no way you’d be out in this heat, but your bandmate had passed you some cash for a moment of peace. It meant the bus would smell like sex for the night, but twenty bucks was twenty bucks. You could already hear the way Mikey would whine when you told him, knowing he’d complain about having to walk back across the parking lot.

He was already appearing in the distance, clad in a baseball cap and band tee, shooting you a lopsided grin as you waved him over. Before you could react, he came barreling towards you, skidding to a stop and barely avoiding a head-on collision. Hardly sticking the landing, he hooked his arm around your shoulder and leaned against the bus to catch his breath.

“Mikey Way,” you beamed, leaning into his touch. “I’ve got a bit of bad news.”

His head tipped back as he panted, “How bad?”

“Like, ‘Max paid me to leave and let him bang his girlfriend’ bad. I hope your bus is empty.”

If you weren’t so amused, he would’ve been a little annoyed. But then again, he was kinda crazy about you, so he let it slide. Instead, he rolled his eyes, a smile still tugging at his lips as he gave a melodramatic groan. “God, you’re the worst.”

You turned to face him, catching his eyes as you hovered a few inches from him. “That’s not what you were saying the other night.”

He could feel his cheeks heat up, flustered by your brazen remark. Truthfully, you had hooked up a couple more times since the first night, and the sex was significantly better without tequila. The second time was more to prove a point, insisting that he could “blow your mind” while sober. It’s safe to say he convinced you, as you found yourself in his bed every few days.

“Good pussy is good pussy,” he shrugged, his hand dropping to hold yours.

You gave a soft laugh and squeezed his hand, beginning the walk back to his bus. “Are the guys around?”

“Just Gerard. Frank’s off with Lazarra, and I think Ray went to grab lunch.”

Although you were a little disappointed that you couldn’t be alone with him, having Gerard around wasn’t the end of the world. You were friends with him too–not in the same way, but he made good company. Mikey knew what you were getting at, sensing your slight dismay. Holding back an arrogant grin, he nudged your shoulder.

“Why? Were you planning to woo me into bed?” he asked in amusement. “Because I don’t think Gerard would care.”

The question made you laugh, warm and genuine, and you leaned a little closer as he traced shapes onto your hand. You didn’t bother to question his comment about Gerard, figuring that he was just trying to get a rise out of you.

“I was not,” you insisted. “Just curious, that’s all.”

He gave a skeptical mhm, but the banter was quickly dropped as the bus came into view. It was no more than fifteen yards from you, but you still smiled at him mischievously. He turned to face you, catching your expression and raising his eyebrows with another curious hum.

“Race ya,” you said, hardly giving him a chance to register the proposition before you were bolting towards the bus.

You could hear the way his sneakers pounded on the concrete, spewing curses as he hightailed it behind you. His lack of preparation led to an unfortunate downfall, causing him to lose by a few seconds—ones that you spent doubled over in laughter as you pressed yourself against the side of the vehicle. The minute he reached you, he hooked his arms around your waist, tugging you from the wall of the bus while you gasped for breath.

“You fuckin’ cheater,” he wheezed, pulling you into his chest with a laugh.

Your arms looped around his neck, grinning wildly as he rested his forehead against yours. “Eat my dust, Mikey Way.”

His breathing shook, lips turned up as a lousy pickup line rolled off his tongue. “Sure you don’t want me to eat something else instead?”

“You’re so lame,” you cackled, pushing him away.

Mikey reluctantly let you go, watching as you opened the door and collapsed on the couch. He followed suit, sighing in relief as a blast of cool air hit his skin. The two of you were quiet for a moment, the only sounds being heaving chests and tabletop fans. Still, he slipped his arm around your waist again, toying with the hem of your shirt.

“That wasn’t a no,” he teased, earning himself a quick swat.

As tempting as the offer was, his brother was on the other end of the bus, and you knew how thin those doors were. “What about Gerard?”

“I really don’t think he’d mind.”

Okay, that was the second time Mikey had said that. If he was trying to drop hints, this was a really poor way to go about it. You were growing increasingly suspicious, and your only conclusion seemed far too unrealistic. Landing one Way brother was shocking enough, but two? Mikey had to be kidding.

You turned your head to look at him, searching for any sign that he was pulling your leg. He looked completely serious though, eyebrows raised in anticipation. Finally, you managed to reply.

“Do you know something I don’t?”

He grinned, finally dropping the subject as he reached for the remote.

“Yup.”

—

Gerard wasn’t a big partier.

He used to be, way back in the day, following shitty friends into random houses with the promise of weed and cheap booze. Things were different now, though–he had a few close buddies, and they all took his sobriety seriously. Peer pressure and substance were the only motivators for him back then, and without either of them, he had no reason to show up. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, so parties were typically out of the picture.

But here he was, donning a clean shirt and his too-tight jeans, leaning over a nightclub mezzanine while you danced below him. You were pressed close to Mikey, hands resting on his chest as laughter spilled from your lips. Gerard could only imagine what his brother was saying, noting how you buried your head into Mikey’s chest as he beamed with pride. He could feel a jealous jolt in his stomach, longing for the treatment you gave Mikey, even if it was just for a night.

As quiet as Mikey was, he didn’t have much of a filter. Sometimes, he would return to the bus with a familiar glow, just waiting for Gerard to ask where he’d gone after the show. His words would echo when the two of you were alone, every comment and filthy anecdote flooding his head. Everything he shouldn’t know, everything he shouldn’t feel. The tension was suffocating when it settled between you two, his chest caving in as he tried to focus on anything other than immoral desire.

God, you’d stare at him shamelessly, eyes drifting lower until he felt flustered and exposed. It didn’t even matter if his brother was there, sitting inches away as low-budget horror movies flashed on the TV. You would curl up next to Mikey and rest your head against his shoulder, watching the pale television light shine on Gerard. He’d notice sometimes, feeling the blush in his cheeks as you shot him a smug smile, seeming like you wanted him to catch you. Wanted him to know how you ached for him, for his lips on yours, skin to skin as he touched you the way Mikey did.

It wasn’t hard for him to see it, fantasies plaguing his mind at night, the sight of you on your knees and begging him to–

“You’re staring again.”

The sudden interruption made Gerard flinch, recoiling and snapping back to reality. Whipping his head around, he spotted Frank, who took a few steps forward to rest beside him. He flushed and dropped his head against his forearms, preparing himself for another lecture.

“Can you blame me?” he mumbled, reluctantly lifting his head to gesture towards you. “Look at them. Look at the way he’s holding them.”

Frank cast a look towards the two of you, Mikey’s hands drifting dangerously low and your arms around his neck. He didn’t need to read lips to hear your laughter and the free-flowing banter, already familiar with your behavior towards each other. He knew how his poker-faced friend never seemed to stop smiling around you, and he could hear the way you whispered to each other at night as if Mikey’s deadpan jokes were the funniest thing in the world. And now here was Gerard, aching for your touch and ignoring Frank’s endless warnings.

He shook his head with a disappointed sigh. “I don’t know, man. They’ve been screwing your brother all tour.”

“Yeah, but Mikey said they’re not exclusive,” Gerard defended.

Frank’s eyes nearly popped out, barely evading whiplash as he turned to face Gerard. “You told Mikey?”

For as smart as his friend was, he seemed to lack a great deal of common sense. You don’t tell people that you want to sleep with their partners–or fuck buddies, or whatever the hell you were. Especially not Mikey, who was one of the worst secret keepers in the world.

Gerard groaned, “He knew the minute I asked. Maybe before then, too. You know how observant he is.”

“You can’t just tell people–” Frank started, though he cut himself off with another sigh when he saw Gerard’s pathetic expression. “It’s just… It’s not worth the headache, alright?”

“From the way Mikey describes them, I think you might be wrong.”

There was really no fighting this, was there?

He knew Gerard hadn’t gotten laid in a couple months. Not only had he broken up with his girlfriend, but he hadn’t slept with anyone on tour, either. Gerard was horny and desperate and had heard way too many stories from Mikey, landing him in this pitiful situation.

“There’s no one else you can sleep with?” Frank asked.

Surprisingly self-assured, Gerard shook his head. “Nope.”

Hopeless, Frank glanced back to the scene below him. Mikey was laughing at something you’d said before you shooed him off, watching him fondly as he darted out of the room. Great. He didn’t have to turn his head to know Gerard was staring at him, waiting for permission to make a move. Sighing, Frank took a long sip of his drink, counting his blessings and thanking God he was married.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

An amused smile crept up on Gerard’s face, jostling his friend before heading down the stairs. His heart was pounding, weaving through strangers as he searched for you in the crowd. Insecurity and anxiety swarmed his head, and he began to consider quitting before it was too late. He wanted to prove Frank wrong though–he wanted you. Besides, he couldn’t run now, watching you turn to face him from a few feet away.

“Gerard!” you smiled, stepping closer to hear him over the music.

He couldn’t fight a grin, greeting you with the same energy. “Where’d Mikey run off to?”

“He said he was going to the bathroom, but you know he’ll get distracted on his way out.”

Knowing his brother, he had a good fifteen minutes before his return. This was his opportunity, trying to calm his nerves as you looked at him with hopeful eyes.

“Don’t worry about him,” he said sweetly. “I can keep you company.”

Small talk flowed easily as the minutes ticked by, your enthusiasm contagious as Gerard blushed and laughed softly throughout your tour stories. The room had steadily gotten louder, booming speakers and obnoxious chatter drowning out your conversation until you were less than a foot away. He only realized it after you had gone quiet, staring at him with wide eyes.

His breathing stalled, and he swallowed hard as his eyes flitted from yours to the people around him. You were giving him that look again–the one that pleaded for him to touch you, an open invitation to make a move. Even if he wanted to, he was frozen in place, lips parting to speak but nothing came out.

You leaned a bit closer, trying not to smile as you spoke. “You know, Mikey told me something interesting last week.”

Fuck. Gerard could already feel himself burning with embarrassment, already fearing your next sentence. He knew exactly where this was going, and for the first time ever, he wanted to throttle his little brother. Fumbling for words, he managed to mumble, “He did?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Gerard, why’d you come to the club with us?”

As if it would do him any favors, he pinned it on his friends. “Everyone else was coming.”

You were obviously skeptical, resting your palms on his chest, feeling his heart race through his t-shirt. He felt lightheaded as you touched him, watching your hands glide across his shoulders and arms snake around his neck.

“No other reason?”

His tongue darted out briefly, wetting his lips as he stared at yours, cursing his nerves and shaky hands. The room was so fucking tense, and as he let out a breath, he spoke the words you’d been waiting to hear.

“I wanted to see you.”

Before he could overthink his confession, you had pressed your lips to his in a fleeting kiss. Gerard blinked back at you when you pulled away, his hands still hanging awkwardly by his sides. His expression bordered on unreadable, his features painted with a mix of shock and nervousness. You considered stepping back, worrying that you’d come on too strong, but his lips were back on yours before you could apologize.

Despite being unsure at first, he eased up quickly, letting his hands gravitate towards your hips. The room seemed to pause as he touched you, fingers hooking around your belt loops to pull you closer. It was gentle but sudden, a soft gasp parting your lips. Gerard stifled a smile, satisfied as his tongue swept across them, reveling in your desperation. With your hand pressed to the nape of his neck, you brought him closer, fingers catching in his hair. On a whim, you gave a brief tug, your stomach doing somersaults at his reaction.

The moan that ripped from his throat was nothing short of wanton, a cross between pleasure and need as you broke apart. His head tipped back for a second, eyes screwed shut and his neck exposed. You took it as an opportunity, scraping your teeth against his skin and soothing it with your tongue.

“You know,” you breathed, nipping below his ear. “Mikey’s into that, too. Likes me to pull his hair when we fuck, mark him up real pretty.”

Gerard didn’t need to know that, but he couldn’t help but picture being in his brother’s place. His name in your mouth, your hands across his back, leaving little crescents for him to find the next morning. He swallowed hard, nearly groaning as he spoke. “God, you can’t say that.”

You pushed his head back down, fingers still threaded through his hair. Your breath fanned across his lips, so close to his, although you had no intentions of kissing him yet.

“That I’ve slept with Mikey?” you asked, as if you knew it turned him on. “Why?”

“Because he’s my brother.”

He said it sheepishly, not offended or uncomfortable, simply using it as a pointless defense. Truthfully, he didn’t care what Mikey got up to—he probably knew most of it, anyway. Hearing you say it sent him reeling though, flustered by your shamelessness.

“Because you want me too, don’t you?” you teased, giving him a featherlight kiss.

Of course he did. You saw right through him, your lips turning up in a faint smile when you caught him. After a moment, he gave in. “Mhm, how’d you guess?”

Gerard felt like he was on fire, slotting his lips against yours again, ignoring the way he burned with passion and embarrassment. You could almost feel the anxiety radiating off of him, hands shifting to cradle his face as your tongue glided against his. He still tasted like his soda from the bar, lips artificially sweet with the faintest flavor of cola. You didn’t mind, nipping at them gently, drawing a whiny moan from him.

To his surprise—and humiliation—you weren’t the only one to hear it. A light hand pressed against your lower back, causing you to stir. Gerard noticed, his lashes fluttering open when you pulled away. Mikey stood behind you, and Gerard retracted his hands from your hips immediately, eyes swimming with guilt.

Mikey seemed unfazed, instead flashing his brother a smug grin. “I told you they were good with their mouth.”

Gerard couldn’t help but laugh, flushing as he tried to think of a response. This whole situation was so bizarre, and his train of thought completely derailed when you reached for his hand. His eyes flicked towards Mikey, who simply nodded towards you in permission.

One of his palms rested on your cheek, holding you close as he kissed you with a newfound fervor. Now, he wanted to show off, knowing that you had an audience. Mikey positioned himself behind you, his strong arms around your waist while his teeth grazed the crook of your neck.

Smoothly, his fingers drifted to your jaw, pulling you away from Gerard to press his lips to yours instead. He kissed you so sensually, slow and deep while his brother watched intently from a foot away. It made you dizzy, stomach fluttering at the sweep of his tongue, eliciting a moan that had Gerard stiffening in his jeans. It was all weirdly hot, and you seriously needed to go somewhere more private.

Mikey seemed to read your mind, drawing back and locking eyes with Gerard. You could’ve sworn they had telepathy, leaving you confused and completely out of the loop during their silent exchange.

“We’re at the hotel tonight,” Gerard said, and Mikey gave you a delicate push toward him.

He looked at you with a burning desire, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he gave you a once-over. Gently, his fingers slipped beneath your chin, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Think you can handle both of us?”

—

The moment the door shut, you were back in Mikey’s arms, having rushed down the hotel hall with his arm around your waist. Gerard’s hand was still in yours, giving you a light squeeze before letting go, turning to lock the door while Mikey kissed you in the middle of the room. His hands were already drifting beneath your shirt, his touch rising higher as his thumbs stroked your skin.

“No bra?” he asked, beaming as you tugged at the hem of his tee.

You rolled your eyes jokingly, giving an out-of-breath answer. “It’s August.”

He laughed lightly, part of him wishing that it could always be August. Sliding your hands further up his chest, you let him steal a few more kisses before mumbling softly.

“Off.”

Compliant, he pulled away, letting his brother take over while he stripped off his shirt. Gerard pressed himself against your back and rucked up your top as well, hardly waiting for it to hit the ground before his lips were ghosting your neck. Your head fell back against his shoulder, moaning lightly as he gave you a playful bite.

“You know how long I’ve waited for this?” he asked. “Mikey, tell them.”

Mikey stepped forward again, kissing you briefly before answering. “Weeks, baby. I’d come back after shows, and he’d ask where I’d been,” he said, pausing as his lips brushed against yours. “He wanted me to tell him how pretty you sound when you’re begging for it.”

The sweet sound that left your mouth was swiftly muffled by Mikey, kissing you heatedly while his fingers traced your waistband. If that weren’t enough, Gerard’s hands were climbing higher, tracing your curves with a contrasting tenderness. Familiar wetness was growing between your thighs, and it seemed to increase tenfold when he sucked a soft bruise into your skin. As if he could sense it, he mouthed below your ear, pricking your neck with his teeth.

“Gonna let us take care of you?” he questioned breathily, rolling your nipples beneath his thumbs.

You mewled softly and incidentally ground against his hard-on, squirming further as he let out a groan. His eyes drew shut, planting a kiss at the top of your jaw while Mikey popped the button on your jeans, reluctantly pulling back to let you undress. You almost whined at his absence, lashes fluttering when Mikey pulled away with a final tug to your lower lip, mimicking Gerard’s behavior. Two more pairs of jeans joined yours on the floor, and Gerard gave you an eager spank as you climbed onto the mattress.

“Cute panties,” he teased, studying your form as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “Nice of you to dress for the occasion.”

Mikey huffed a laugh, and you glanced down to see Gerard between your legs. Sure enough, you were donning black lace, and your stomach fluttered at the sight. They barely covered you, mostly mesh with intricate designs stitched on, and Gerard was more than happy about it.

Briefly, your gaze met his, catching the predatory glint in his eyes. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, eyes half-lidded as you stared at him. “Picked ‘em out just for you,” you said, shifting closer to him.

He grinned, bending your knees and smoothing his hands over your thighs. “You’re just the sweetest little thing, aren’t you?”

You hummed, beaming as your head dropped back against the pillows. “That’s what they tell me.”

Amused, Mikey settled beside you, resuming his brother’s work from earlier as his fingers dragged along your chest. You ran a hand through his hair, grip tightening with a shaky gasp as Gerard’s tongue glided up your clothed slit. It was only to rile you up, proven as his lips trailed towards your thighs instead. His hands were warm against you, running smoothly across your legs in mild wonder. Part of him was still shocked that this was real—that you were truly in his hotel room, eyes screwed shut as he scattered kisses across your skin. Every move he made had you buzzing, desperate for contact as his mouth inched closer to your cunt.

Eager, you made a gentle shift towards him, arching slightly as Mikey’s tongue flicked against you. Gerard spared you a sly glance, fingers tugging at your waistband before he spoke. “Someone’s excited.”

You began to retort, but the words spun into a soft gasp when Mikey tweaked one of your nipples. His timing was absolutely intentional, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, relishing in the warmth of his tongue as it swirled against you. With excessive effort, you managed to collect yourself, taking a weak breath and shooting back, “Someone’s a tease.”

“Maybe,” Gerard agreed, dropping your panties onto the pile of discarded clothes. “But I’ll make it up to you.”

You almost missed his promise, already losing your comprehension skills as his brother redirected your attention. From your first night with Mikey, you knew he was good with his mouth, and he certainly knew what he was doing now. He already knew what made you tick, and he used Gerard to his advantage. It seemed that any time you gave the older one attention, Mikey’s mouth was back on you, more out of amusement than envy. If you thought for even a moment that you could lift your head and watch Gerard, he’d catch your nipple between his teeth, just light enough for your eyes to fall shut, giving his hair a reflexive tug.

Cursing, you let your hand slide down to his cheek, pulling him from your chest for a moment. They were in mental cahoots, you swore to God, barely beginning to kiss Mikey before Gerard was flattening his tongue against you. Mikey hardly muffled it, fingers still at work while you moaned against his lips. Slowly, your free hand drifted down to Gerard, the other pressed against Mikey’s chest. Gerard gave a sweet hum as you ran your fingers through his hair, sucking a kiss to your clit in return.

A moan slipped past your lips, arching towards him while Mikey moved to kiss along your jaw. You could feel him smiling against your skin, nipping before mumbling praise in your ear. “You’re being so good for us, you know that?”

You nodded, pressing your head harder into the pillows as they double-teamed, a slew of erotic noises spilling into the air. Gerard pulled you closer, reveling in your touch as your hand smoothed through his hair. Much to your objection, he pulled away, fingers passing his lips before spreading you open. Briefly, you managed to lock eyes with him, watching as he gave a slow lick. He moaned against you, just loud enough to get a reaction.

“Taste so fuckin’ pretty, babe,” he praised, circling your clit with his thumb.

Mikey pressed his hand against your abdomen, shooting Gerard a smug look. “Told you so.”

With Mikey holding you down, you had nowhere left to go, beginning to writhe against the sheets in both pleasure and impatience. Gerard was taking his time, truly savoring everything you had to offer, staring up at you with his pretty hazel eyes as if he wouldn’t be the death of you. Without Mikey’s kisses or lips against your skin, you really zoned in on Gerard—the way his hands hugged your thighs, his tongue like velvet as lapped up your arousal. You couldn’t seem to get enough, desperately pulling his hair in a fruitless search for friction.

He groaned at the sensation, soft but audible as you tried to grind against him, turning his slow motions into sloppy ones; not that he could complain really, having to restrain himself from rutting against the mattress when you were moaning like that. Still, you craved more, and it didn’t take Mikey long to figure out what you wanted. He shot you a look, sly and plotting as his hand drifted from your stomach to your thigh, swiftly replacing his brother’s. Gerard eyed him curiously, humming in question before pulling back, the vibration sending you reeling. You caught a quick glimpse of him, lips and chin slick with arousal, and the ache between your legs only grew stronger.

Gerard couldn’t have been idle for more than a few seconds, but it felt like a fucking eternity as you squirmed in place. Mikey’s grip tightened in warning, although his eyes stayed trained on his brother as he spoke.

“Use your hands.”

A smile flashed across Gerard’s face, watching your teeth dig into your lower lip at the suggestion. He went easy at first, running his fingers across your folds and gently rubbing your clit. The teasing was back, and he showed no mercy this time, lust and pride flooding his veins when you gave an impatient whine.

“Don’t worry, I’m not stopping,” he assured you, voice sweet as he popped his fingers back into his mouth.

The two of them noticed everything—your erratic breathing, the delicate shift of your hips, and the desperate glint in your eyes as you waited for Gerard to move. They glanced at each other and Mikey nodded in your direction, gaze falling between your thighs, swallowing thickly as he watched Gerard’s fingers.

You were practically bursting with gratitude as you took the first one, quickly retracting your hands from the pair to clutch the sheets. Gerard hadn’t realized you needed it that bad, almost laughing at how sweet and pathetic it was. The urge to taunt you was strong, curling his finger at a steady pace and studying your expression.

“Aw,” he mocked, biting his lip as you clenched around him. “You just want to be filled up, don’t you?”

Nodding, you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing a response despite being nearly incapable of speaking. “Yeah,” you breathed, interrupted with a shaky gasp. “Just want you inside me.”

Gerard could’ve come at that, cursing softly before speaking up. “I know, babe. Mikey and I are gonna take care of you first, and then I’ll fuck you. How’s that sound?”

Even if the words were vulgar, they sounded so chaste coming from him. He spoke gently, making you feel warm all over again, arousal stirring inside of you. His mouth was back on you soon enough, sucking on your clit and adding another finger, working for every sound you made. Warmth quickly spun into heat, rising to your cheeks and spreading across your heaving chest, short breaths escaping your lips in bursts. You were close, muscles going taut while Gerard's fingers crooked quicker, moaning as his tongue flicked at a similar pace.

Mikey was mesmerized, his stare flitting between your contorted features and the sheer determination in his brother’s eyes. Each time Gerard moved, Mikey could see his fingers, buried inside of you as you all but screamed his name. He could feel himself blushing, painfully hard as he watched you take it so well, tracing your arched figure.

“You like Gerard’s mouth, don’t you?” he asked rhetorically, rubbing circles on your thigh. Another whine rolled off your tongue, followed by a frantic nod. “Tell him how much you love it.”

Mikey was going to Hell. Absolutely. Damn him and his stupid, arrogant grin, prompting you to speak when he knew you could barely string words together. Gerard would’ve been laughing if he weren’t using his mouth, laser-focused on making you come. Still, his lips turned up, noticeable for a split second before getting back to work. If your fingers hadn't been digging into the comforter, you might’ve knocked Mikey off the bed, but you felt like you’d sink into the floorboards without something to ground you. Even though you were tempted to ignore him, he squeezed your thigh expectantly, resulting in a very pathetic attempt to speak.

“Fuck, Gerard,” you slurred, mouth falling open as he hummed curiously. “You’re so fucking good, please don’t stop, please.”

The praise made him shiver, and he made a mental note to thank Mikey for prompting you later. You were a wreck in the best way possible, vocal and blissed out, pleading with them until the pressure ceased. Gerard didn’t pull away at first, only slowing down while Mikey returned to your side, purring praise and stroking your cheek. You could barely understand what he was saying, panting and staring up at him starry-eyed. He cracked a smile, warm and genuine when you took his hand in yours, kissing his palm and intertwining your fingers.

Gerard shifted up the bed, wiping his mouth on his shirt and tugging it off before settling on his knees. His lips met yours, kissing you with his typical tenderness while you cupped his cheek softly. He got a good look at you after pulling away, really taking in the sight before him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, smoothing his hand over your stomach.

His touch made you feel fuzzy, despite how your mind was beginning to sharpen. Mikey held your hand a little tighter, tilting your chin to kiss you, becoming all too aware of his erection. Honestly, he felt like his dick was going to fall off if it went ignored any longer.

Gerard was in a similar boat, his eyes softening when you pulled away from Mikey and sat up straight. You looked at him expectantly, receiving a half smile and another fleeting kiss, Gerard resting his forehead against yours after.

“Can I fuck you, pretty baby?” he asked, turning obscenities into something holy with his honeyed tone. “You wanna let Mikey use your mouth?”

How his curses sounded saccharine was beyond you, but it still had your heart racing, squeezing Mikey’s hand with a nod. Mikey pressed a kiss to your head, nearly sighing in relief as he tugged off his boxers and kneeled beside you. Delicately, your fingers danced along Gerard’s waistband, thumbs stroking his hips while he held the back of your head. “Go ahead,” he said, swallowing hard as you stripped him.

He was heavy in your hand, a light shiver wracking through him when you took him in your fist. ”Jesus,” you murmured, the pair almost laughing as you stared at Gerard in awe.

You could feel yourself growing hot, breath catching in your throat before your tongue darted out. Mikey’s hand was still in yours, gently guiding it towards his cock, his eyes fluttering shut as you stroked him. Staring up at Gerard, you leaned forward and pressed your tongue against him, studying his reaction and taking him into your mouth. It didn’t last long, but it was enough time for you to learn how sensitive he was. Wetness grew between your thighs when he moaned, watching his head loll back as you took him deeper.

His eyes fluttered open, glancing from his brother’s concentrated expression to your thighs rubbing together. As good as your mouth felt, he wanted to be in you, and you seemed to want it too.

“Hey, c’mere,” he spoke softly, reluctantly pulling you off.

Saliva spread itself across your lips, and a whine crept up your throat at the sudden emptiness. It took all of his willpower not to give in, but he knew it would be worth it for everyone. After a bit of awkward shuffling, he positioned you in the middle of the mattress, facing Mikey at the headboard while Gerard kneeled behind you. The two of them made eye contact for a moment, holding back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Their attention drew back to you though, Gerard pushing you onto all fours and giving himself quite the view.

Slowly, he eased in, hands smoothing over your ass while you gasped around Mikey. Gerard took a shaky breath, moaning at the feeling of wet heat. Christ, you were tight, squeezing his cock as he sunk inside, already trying to rock back against him.

“Shit, Mikes,” Gerard sighed, listening to you mewl and gag around Mikey. “When was the last time you fucked them?”

Mikey rolled his eyes, quick to fire back. “Last night in your bunk.”

Gerard snickered, slowly thrusting in again. Every time he moved, it rocked you against Mikey, whose hand cradled the back of your head and pushed you down further. Maybe it was a little slutty, but being used by the brothers had arousal coursing through you, desperate as ever for a rough fuck. Mikey already knew, giving a few thrusts into your mouth while Gerard set a pace, moaning as your eyes watered.

“Fuck ‘em harder,” he told Gerard, who was still trying to go easy. “They can take it, I promise.”

“Is that what you want?” Gerard asked, earning a soft mhm in response.

God, he had never been this hard in his life. You were still trying to grind against him, searching for anything to soothe the ache, and Gerard was in heaven. He pulled out almost completely and roughly snapped his hips against yours, biting his lip hard enough to bleed when a loud cry tore from your throat. Mikey looked so pleased with himself, panting as sweat clung to his hairline, his hips bucking until your nose brushed against his abdomen.

“That’s it, baby, take it all,” he cooed, caressing your cheek before pulling his hips back.

You were a mess, pulling off to breathe while Gerard pounded into you with much more ferocity. Mikey held his cock in his hand, jerking it slowly before sliding past your lips again, smearing them with saliva and precum. It was all fucking filthy, from his low moans to the way he pushed your head down, forcing you to be humiliatingly sloppy, making such a mess on his cock. Not to mention how his brother was filling you up, reveling in your warmth, and memorizing how it felt to be buried inside of you.

Mikey always got loud before coming; even if he tried to stifle his moans, you never failed to notice them. His chest rose and fell at a rapid rate, mouth falling open as you sped up, only to groan weakly when you pulled away. Instead, you let him fuck your fist, sucking a bruise below his hip.

“Fuck, Mikey,” you whined, scraping your teeth against his thigh just to hear him moan. “Gonna come for me?”

He gave a soft hum, cock twitching as you took him back in your mouth, pumping your fist a few more times before he came down your throat. Gerard couldn’t tear his eyes away, catching the look of bliss on Mikey’s face, slack-jawed and pupils blown while you stuck your tongue out with pride. Your hand kept moving even after Mikey had come, stroking him until he slumped against the headboard, admiring you with contrasting chastity.

The same pressure from earlier had begun to build, leaving you sensitive and desperate as Gerard’s merciless rhythm continued. It was almost embarrassing how needy you sounded, dropping your head against the mattress while he pulled your hips against his, moaning and panting behind you. Every whimper and cry went straight to his cock, and Gerard was growing closer by the second. He could feel it, his head spinning and muscles beginning to stiffen, bottoming out while you clenched around him.

“You’re doing so well,” he said, his voice far softer than the snap of his hips. “Can you come for me?”

His stomach fucking fluttered as you let out one of the most pornographic sounds he’d ever heard, moaning and pleading with him to keep going while he pounded you into the mattress. Your whole body tensed, gripping the sheets in one hand while Mikey held the other.

“I’m not gonna stop,” Gerard assured you. “I’ve got you.”

It didn’t take much more than his praise and consolation for you to succumb to your release, warmth rippling through you once more. Gerard gave a few more thrusts before pulling out, cock twitching in his hand as he finished himself off. Stuck in a blissful stupor, you could hardly comprehend their praise, more focused on coming to your senses. You felt heavy, watching Mikey pull his boxers back on while Gerard disappeared into the bathroom. Mikey petted your head gently and you blinked up at him bleary-eyed, letting out a light sigh as a warm washcloth brushed across your skin.

He pulled you into his lap once Gerard had finished cleaning up, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “You’re perfect,” he mumbled, peppering kisses on your shoulder.

You laughed quietly and leaned into his touch, watching Gerard redress and flick off the lights before climbing under the covers. You and Mikey joined him, sharing a few kisses and affectionate murmurs. Eventually, your breathing took on an even pattern, Mikey’s shifting came to a stop, and Gerard’s eyelids grew heavy. Before he could fall asleep though, Gerard took his phone from the nightstand, sending a quick text.

To: Frank worth it.

taglist: @lubbockshusband @newgirlinhell @blackberryblossom @whothefuckisfranklero @griffinfinity @heaveaux @aliceblxck @ce-ci @halloweenbitch2764 @saywhaaaa @ghostsinthesnowandsun @doc-martens-enthusiast @couldbegayer1234 @chronicallythicc @sy-nx @v3nuslvrr @artistheweap0nn @bringm0reknivez @garfieldenthusiast420 @cryeppy @tellmewegofromhere @cigarettesandalcohols @allthetroubleiveseen @deadendjustice @shutup-im-daydreaming @ilongfor-the-arts @lovessidney

#gerard way x reader #mikey way x reader #gerard way x reader x mikey way #mikey way x reader x gerard way #mcr x reader #mcr smut #gerard way smut #mikey way smut

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angelicalacrimae · 3 months

Text

thinking about that scene in kaze to ki no uta where gilbert is just having fun playing tag with some adults, specifically this one girl called sophia/sofia and she's like, treating him so well, and gilbert doesn't have a mother so auguste KNOWS that the poor thing (7 years old) is seeking her attention in replacement for anne marie's neglect, and so he just goes and says "okay fun is over i need you to come here now" and someone (rebec) mentions how gilbert's light "faded" at that very moment.

"that look isn't normal in a child! that's the face of resignation, he's suppressed all his instinct to fight ..."

and then gilbert (who is 7 at the time, it's been 2 years since the abuse started) walks away with auguste.

there's SO much to say starting with the fact that gilbert's attitude is nothing like the one we're shown in the actual timeline (this is from a flashback) and he's, basically, a whole different person in comparison, which fits with the way auguste raised him.

since his purpose was to make a "perfect masterpiece", he had to strip gilbert of who he was from the root, first attacking his "survival instincts", then treating him as if he was incapable of doing anything or learning anything despite the fact that gilbert taught himself to read (at like, 6-7) because he was interested in art, and so on, auguste is just taking away bits and pieces of gilbert to make him what he wants him to be, but he's never clear with what he's demanding of him so gilbert is a mess

the scene also highlights how he flinches at the sight of auguste, and looks nervous when he approaches him and sofia, but when auguste gives his final veredict (that "playtime is over") he just leaves without saying much, because he knows it's pointless, auguste will do anything to drive the people who care about gilbert away even if they will never do anything to stop the abuse. gilbert knows this subconsciously, i doubt he can explain it, but i think there's some level of acknowledgment on his part.

gilbert is not entirely lost at this point though, he's on his way out but he has some of his instincts, he knows that auguste means danger (also shown by their first meeting, gilbert just keeps repeating "danger, he's dangerous, he'll do something to me". this eventually stops as gilbert realizes auguste is the only person around him who "cares" -it stops after their encounter, the one right after bonnard kidnaps him- and instead of pushing him away, he starts to want to be around him more, the evident fear is no longer there, but auguste still haunts his decisions and the way he interacts with others -serge-)

now, remember rebec???? he knows about the abuse, he's definitely worried about the impact it has on gilbert, but he never does anything to stop it because auguste is a close friend of his. i won't go into detail but. that's realistic!!!! okay ending this point to add:

i think the way gilbert was written and described is really good, and as much as i HATE auguste he's also pretty well written too in a weird way. he has many flaws, but he's a perfect "villain" for this i think.

think of humbert humbert from lolita as a base, both of them use flowery language to make their acts sound less terrible (auguste constantly describes his acts towards gilbert as art, as "necessary for his development", as something that's right despite it not being so)

see 41:50 - 43:40

(it's not really evident in this scene i think? but you can see the way he speaks about it, he makes it sound as if it was something necessary, as if it was something that gilbert will benefit from even though it's just abuse)

gilbert IS a different person than he was years ago, and the only person to blame is auguste, that one scene i mentioned at the beginning is just a transition period between point A (rejection, fear, gilbert doesn't want to indulge in this) and point B (acceptance, he's actively seeking it even if he hates it)

gilbert has never wanted to do this, all he wanted was to be held by someone because everyone around him neglected that need, as serge said once: "he was starved (of love) and i could provide him with that"

but, eventually, he learned to suppress that need and, as the world changed his view on him (hypersexual behaviors that were previously encouraged are now seen as strange and gross, gilbert doesn't understand why the change) gilbert just had to go with it, accepting that he would always be seen as someone bad no matter what, he thinks he's broken in some way, that he will corrupt others if they dare to help him, which i think it's a key point to understand if you want to understand why he acts the way he does towards serge:

"doesn't he hate it? if he does, why is he pushing serge (the only person who ACTUALLY helps him) away?"

because he doesn't THINK he deserves it, he thinks he's going to corrupt serge if he does, everyone thinks that, everyone stays in their lane, no one has ever done anything to stop it and when they tried they were pushed away by auguste, and gilbert wanted auguste's approval! he wants him to like him! so he continues, and the cycle never ends ...

#gilbert cocteau #auguste beau #kaze to ki no uta #風と木の詩 #serge battour #gilbertology

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tarotwithavi · 1 year

Text

Advice and messages from a friend

WHAT IS COMING FOR YOU? WHAT DO YOU NEED TO HEAR RIGHT NOW?

1 ~ 2 ~ 3

✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Disclaimer : pictures do not belong to me they belong to their respective owners.

Masterlist paid services customise your own reading

✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Pile 1

You know you have to let go of your victim mentality if you have to attract positive things in life. Start focusing on what you can have instead of focusing on what you couldn't have. Be stronger. Both mentally and physically. When you will start focusing on yourself you'll see instant results. You'll bloom. I know your disappointed by the people around you but remember you should never expect anything from anyone. It'll only hurt you in the end. You have no control over others actions but you have control over yours. So work for yourself. Buy yourself the things you want. Get out of your comfort zone. Let life make you happy. Look at the sky and moving clouds. Sing your favourite songs.

I know you're at that point of life where you can't understand yourself. You have doubt about yourself. Spirit is saying that you should let go of your past self in order to make space for the new person you're about become. Some people may not recognize you. Remember this is all for the best of you.

Channeled messages

Buy roses for yourself.

Write a letter to your future self and your past self.

You're manifestations are about to come.

August is going to be an important month.

You're about to become a whole new person.

A whole new chapter begins.

Things I heard : Lalita/lolita, karen, Raven, Holly, Britney, lola? , surpise, shitty storm, goody two shoes, 8 , 5th April , Rover , Harem? , eek, power, Virgo sun/moon/rising, purple balloon.

Masterlist

✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Pile 2

Oh boy, why do you let people walk all over you? Can't you see how much it's hurting you? I know you have abandonment issues but you can't just sit around and let yourself be tossed around like a sack of potatoes ( don't know where that came from but anyways) you see even old leaves need to be cut from a plant to make space for new ones. If you won't leave toxic people the how would you find your soul family? You need to make space for the right. The people who make you feel guilty for being yourself aren't the true ones. You need to take only one step and that is to leave that toxic situation. And also your boy ain't being true to you. Be it just a friend or even boyfriend.

You know when people find flaws in you they are just projecting their insecurities on you. So you're not at fault, they are just insecure. Be your unapologetically authentic self my darling. Start the things you left behind because of those people. You're doing amazing sweetheart.

Channeled messages

Cut that bitch out of your life.

To the salon we go.

Pink is your color mam, wear it often.

Oh cook your eggs properly.

Perform a chord cutting ritual.

You need to be true to yourself

you're about to become a butterfly 🦋

Things I heard : all the sick and twisted night that I have been waiting for ya, they were worth it all along. Leo sun/moon/rising. Sunshine after the rain, swordsmanship, 16th century fashion, boba shop, number 3 , escapism.

Masterlist

✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Pile 3

First off straighten yout back. February has been a bitch to you hasn't it? I can see that you're very drained and even now you're at the verge of dosing off. Ahh I don't know how many times you need to hear this but GET 8 HOURS OF SLEEP YOU AIRHEAD! You need a proper rest for your body and mind. How can you expect to be happy and energetic when you're sleeping at 2-3 Am? And why are you crying over spilt milk? Go buy another bottle of it. Do you think crying is going to solve all your problems , You crybaby. I know your the eldest and have a lot of responsibilities but that doesn't mean you should ignore your health. Sometimes I just wanna smack some senses into that empty head of yours.

Look I know you are going through a tough time right now but please please I'm begging you please take care of your health. I mean you might not get it now but just wait till you get old. You knees will always ache, you're back will kill you, you hair and teeth will fall off. Only then you'll remember my advice you rice sack gurjhfhdjrbf.

Channeled messages

Winnie the pooh didn't rock crop tops all our childhood only to see you be insecure in your body.

This girl is on fire

A male is going to come to you. He will offer love for some and friend for some.

Take care of your hands. You might get hurt there if you don't.

What's a red flag? What's a green flag? I only believe in rainbow flag 🏳‍🌈

You gotta do what you gotta do.

Things I heard : a thought? , hula hoop, ballet teacher, face mask, give your eyes some rest, sohit? Rohit? Idk, harry, Adam, Aiden, mark your territory bitch, prayer, pearl, letters , wax, thrones and flams, black rose/robe.

Masterlist

✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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imaslutforwritingshit · 8 months

Text

SCREAM FOR ME- A smut slow burn of Ghostface the killer.

PART ONE

This is my Wattpad story about Laura Watson being stalked by Ghostface. Go to my pfp to see characters+ more info about the story :>

Chapter One:

August 29th.

The beginning.

I yelped, and swung my hand up, arching my back with ecstasy.

Excitement rose in the pit of my stomach. I closed my eyes and rocked back, the moment filling me with satisfaction. "Yes, that's it! God, I'm so close-"

The buzzer on the video game trilled, and the two dreaded words flashed on my screen:

GAME OVER.

A shrill laugh came from the corner of my room, and I groaned, tossing my ps4 controller on the a plaid blanket.

Camille, my best friend, cackled, holding her stomach with her manicured nails. "You really thought-" she heaved for breath. "You thought you could beat my high score?"

I fished for a pillow on my bed, and hurled it in her face. The pillow bounced on the carpet in front of her, and she tossed it back, this time managing to hit my chest.

"See? Your aim is shit!" She rolled on the floor, tucking her knees in with laughter.

I stared at her blankly until her cackles died down.

Good. That shit was not funny. And I totally could have had beaten her high score.

The day felt crisp, clear. My life felt like a bite of an apple at a harvest, a bitterness staying on my tongue.

After exiting out of the infuriatingly difficult game, I stretched my legs. The auburn landscape outside warmed my heart. Fall was here.

I blinked out the twinge of stress from my mind, reminding myself why I had asked Camille to sleepover- so I could have some fun, instead of stressing over every test or exam known to man.

Leaves of violent red and cool orange danced on the old trees of my neighborhood.

The small slit of my open window blew in a warm breeze, which smelled of crisp cider and cold wind.

Though I know it's bad, I can't help but keep my window open as much as possible. Yeah, people can kidnap, or kill you with a rookie mistake, but I didn't expect anyone to have stalking eyes on me.

I shut my thick curtains, and clicked on a string of fairy lights surrounding my room.

With a goofy expression, Camille raised her eyes, twinkling with the light, and opened her mouth. "Wow. This is some Tumblr shit. We should make a hot chocolate or something. That would make us the ultimate "it" girls."

I snorted, and slid into the large comforter near my desk. Turning on a smaller light, I repositioned my calculus study guide, and clicked a pen open.

"You have fun with that, T. I'm procrastinating on studying for this test."

She giggled at the nickname. When I was in first grade, I began teasing Camille by calling her "Cami." She never liked the name, and I asked her to give me a reason why. If she did, I would stop calling her Cami.

Camille ended up reaching me during recess the next day, explaining that her dad called t-shirts "cami's," short for camisoles, and from that day on, I pestered her with the nickname "T-shirt." But saying T-shirt was a little too long, and we eventually came to the consensus that "T," was best.

Needless to say, she wasn't that fond of that one either. But with time comes acceptance, right?

Camille swung her body on my doorframe, clacking her long acrylics on the side. "I don't understand why you have the nerve to study on a Saturday."

I shrugged. "Always be prepared, I suppose."

She swung her body again, furrowing her brows. "Suppose? Nerd alert!" She pointed her index at me, the autumn colors of her nails shining in my peripheral.

I stifled a laugh. "Y'know, saying "nerd alert" is scientifically proven to be equally as cringy as saying suppose."

She tilted her head down, squeezing her lips together. When I processed the fact I just said "scientifically proven," I sighed. "Fine, you win."

She pranced out of my room quickly, her laughed echoing in my hallway.

I smiled at the sight. Me and Camille were practically living in opposite worlds. I spent my time volunteering for college hours, studying my ass off, and majority of Camille's time was spent on wardrobe changes and rolling joints.

Despite our evident opposition, the changes in our personalities never stopped us from being friends.

And no matter what, I'm forever grateful I have a friend who told me how to smoke marijuana the right way- not a friend that could get better grades than me.

My eyes swirled over the swarm of calculus prep in my study book. I sighed, and slammed it closed again. Maybe Camille is right- I need a break.

I opened my laptop, and clicked on the familiar online chat site I spend most of my free time on.

Mi2.com blew up in 2013, and similar to apps like Instagram or YouTube, the platform still flourishes today. I have a theory that Mi2 is so popular because it never turned into an overpriced, ad-infected app, meaning every country or laptop device can access it.

A green star popped up on the side of my screen. I have multiple friends on Mi2, and each of my mutual's texts show up in green asterisks.

I could already tell who it was, and I grinned at the message.

✸ camillluvsdilfs278: get tfo this lame ass website lol

I rolled my eyes at the message. Camille was quite literally downstairs.

✸ angelaura999: y r u texting me ur literally downstairs + is the hot chocolate done

✸ camillluvsdilfs278: fatass the waters boiling

I snorted, twirling my feet under the desk as I responded.

✸ angelaura999: i thought u hated this website why dont you just text me lmao

✸ camilluvsdilfs278: cuz i knew ur degenerate ass would be on the computer already.

✸ angelaura999: hope the water burns u

✸ camilluvsdilfs278: :) <3

I chuckled, and as my finger hovered over the power off button, a red star dinged on the side of my computer.

Weird. I hardly ever got messages from people on the website that weren't my friends.

I clicked on the unknown user's text, and my throat dried. Fear sank into the bottom of my stomach.

‽ user182909493: I can't wait to taste you

I knit my eyebrows, disgust churning in the bottom of my stomach. I don't have my personal information, or even a profile picture on Mi2.

This was probably some jack-off trolling my page. I clicked on the user.

Joined 7 hours ago.

Maybe they got banned on previous accounts.

My mouse hovered on the red "BLOCK ACCOUNT," button, but before I could click go,

one more red asterisk popped up on the tab of my computer.

Curiosity pushed me to click on it.

A soft gasp slipped from my lips.

‽ user182909493: I can't wait to taste your blood

My fingers shook over the curser, but as my door creaked open, I slammed the laptop down with trembling hands.

Camille carefully walked into the room, holding a tray of hot chocolate and sugar cookies.

I grinned a little too wide. "Wow. What a culinary masterpiece."

She dropped her chin, an expression that reminded me that in her hand, she had the life of my cookies on the line.

I rubbed the emptiness of my stomach, and sighed in the scent of the warm sugar.

"Thank youuu." I dragged, grabbing a warm red cup, and placing it on my desk. My body was still pumping with fear, but I attempted to put it aside.

They can't hurt me. It's an online chat.

Camille nodded dismissively, and plopped on my bed, tapping her fingers on her stomach.

It didn't take a genius to find out that there was something on her mind.

I scooted my chair closer to the frame of my bed. "What is it, T?"

She looked up at my ceiling fan, and said nothing for longer than normal. I set my drink down.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm always gonna be alone. I know it sounds cliche, but we're seniors now. I've never got the high school sweetheart experience, you know?"

I nodded, staring out the window as sunset faded into a warm blue of the night. "I know what you mean." I bit my lip, forcing the words to come out, words that I hadn't even admitted to myself. "I sort of feel like I'm just watching time go by, faster and faster. It's hard to think their are good men out there anymore." The text message flashed in my mind as proof.

She nods, and stares at me with a sadness that hardly ever washes over her happy face. "At least I have you."

I jump up from my chair, and hurl my body to the blanket. "You'll have someone else soon, I promise. Some girl or guy will pick you up, and you'll find love better than the movies!" I made a big gesture with my hands to prove my point. "Also, I'm a pretty awesome friend to have."

She smiled mischievously, and looked down, picking at her nails. "Well, you are a little bit of a nerd. It's kinda off-putting."

A laugh escaped my mouth, and I hit her playfully. "You should be off pudding."

She sighed, and plopped back down. "Love Jennifer Lawrence."

I nodded, pursing my lips. "Love her."

I take a couple strands of her hair and idly braid the dark brown waves- a habit I picked up from the many nap-times we avoided during elementary.

"We'll find someone. Someone that won't suck."

She smiled warmly, and relaxed head on the bed again. "Yeah. At least somebody that won't murder girls or something."

I chuckled. "The bare minimum."

She snickered, and pulled my shirt towards her, forcing me to fall on the bed as well.

We watched the ceiling fan rotate over and over again, a peaceful silence hanging in the room.

I looked at her- her slightly upturned nose, dark skin, red hair. The way her brown eyes light up at the world as if everything were a gift.

She was forever a part of my heart- a sister from another life.

I grabbed her hand, and squeezed it tightly. She didn't look at me, but she smiled, bright teeth in an even brighter smile.

"I love you, T."

"I love you too, nerd."

I looked back up at the fan, the white noise of the blades filling the room.

And then the fear resurfaced, paralyzing my heart into glass.

"I can't wait to taste your blood."

Chapter Two

I tugged on the straps of my backpack, fastening them for the seventh time this morning.

Today was the fated day of school fall exams.

I chose to look perfect for the occasion. My hair was combed to curled ringlets, and my makeup coated my skin in a light, pretty way.

I chose a cream colored crop top, tight around my medium bust, and a black skirt, which had shorts and pockets in the interior.

I sort of looked like a whore.

A classy whore.

And that worked for me.

The morning sunlight was rising through the cracks of my blinds, and I opened the window wide to feel the fresh air. Large leaves were dropping like rain from the sky, and except for the warm sun behind the white clouds, the sky was a gloomy shade of darkening grey.

After opening my laptop for the fifth time this morning, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw that Mi2 had updated their company logo- to fit a Halloween style.

I clicked through numerous online group chats I've accumulated throughout the years, laughing at a stupid meme my friend had sent me.

A sudden tingle of fear jolted me, when one of the group-chats had added a "user93827267," but I quickly realized it wasn't the same person from last night.

The moment Camille had left my house, I had opened the laptop, and blocked the unknown user.

I had no idea why people wrote such vulgar things for the search of fear. It's disgusting. And what's worse, there are people out there that would actually be sexually attracted to the idea of blood. I shuddered, stretching my fingers and moving my curser to the X on the top of the screen.

And then, like a nightmare of yesterday, deja vu washed over me, as a red asterisk popped up in my inbox.

Ice-cold anxiety sunk into my nerves.

There's no way it's that creep again, right? I had blocked their account, and gone to the extent of reporting them too.

You can do this. Stop acting pathetic.

It's just a random person.

I clicked on the red star.

‽ user373737373737: are you trying to run from me?

My heart stung, and I gasped sour air, pushing the chair from my laptop.

The user made another account.

To torment me.

I clicked on the anonymous profile again, my teeth clenched together.

"Joined 36 minutes ago."

Will this creep keep making accounts, each one with more vile threats? Would I never be able to stop this?

Unless... I put an end to it myself.

My auburn nails clacked on the keyboard- a slow, cautious message.

✸ angelaura999: please don't contact this profile anymore.

The moment I clicked send, the unknown user began typing. I sucked in a breath. And too fast, the familiar ding showed on my screen.

‽ user373737373737: you scared of me?

I hesitated, the ball of nerves in my stomach unraveling at the words.

✸ angelaura999: i don't know you, and you don't know me. that's it.

I folded my arms to stop the shaking of my body, and concentrated on the three moving dots near the user's name.

‽ user373737373737: and what makes you think I don't know you, Laura?

Amusement hit me for a second, urging me to play along with his horrible, sexual game. But using the faint rationality inside my brain, I decided against it.

✸ angelaura999: because you're probably an old freak on the other side of the world trying to get a rise out of me. And it won't happen. So stop contacting me, please and thank you.

The words "typing," slowly tapped on the screen in painful build up. I drummed my fingers on my arm, waiting impatiently for the reply.

‽ user373737373737: Laura Watson. The good girl of Elk River, right? You probably get off to the thought of being better than everyone else...Having a grade point average higher than your druggie friend. And trust me, I know you, little dove. And you know me. I think about that tight body of yours all the time. And the tiny skirts you wear drive me crazy, the way they ride up those pretty thighs. You're probably wearing one right now, aren't you?

‽ user373737373737: slut.

A sound that was a mixture of a whimper and scream came from my scratchy throat. My fingers were trembling so much, it took me more than a couple seconds to move the cursor to the BLOCK button.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

They know my school.

They know me.

Someone is stalking me.

And I have no fucking idea why, or who, or even where, they are.

And my heart is beating now, a rapid pump of blood threatening to make me dizzy.

But it isn't beating from fear anymore.

A deep, dark exhilaration is sinking into my core.

I have a stalker.

I’ll post more soon, and feedback or requests are welcome <3

#ghostface x oc #ghostface x y/n #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #slasher smut #slash fanfiction #cw noncon #tw noncon #slasher fucker #smut #dark smut #horror #horror smut #slasher fanfiction #fanfic #x y/n #y/n

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freshlyrage · 4 months

Text

Running Like Water

The Holiday Special and Homecoming

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I’m bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.2k

a/n:

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. Happy Holidays to all. Here's my little gift of a few short stories about the holidays in RLW. And yes... finally I have wrapped up the Homecoming story.

I listened to an awful lot of christmas songs while writing this, if anyone is interested I could attach a playlist (The Christmas Song by Nat "King" Cole is a must listen for this).

This is for you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine merry christmas beloved!

Thanksgiving 1977

By the time Andrea begins zipping up her sweater while walking home from school she realizes that perhaps her oh so thrilling friendship with Javier Peña was only a summer thing. On the last sticky day of august he ruffled her hair and joked about her sun freckles. Sitting at the lake’s dock, shoulder to shoulder a thirteen year old Andrea shares an orange with fifteen year old Javier. He tells her, her nose looked like a chocolate chip cookie, god forbid Javier even slightly throws a compliment her way. Andrea balls her hands in fists with a grin when she says thank you, her brother scoffing from the other edge of their lake dock, “He wasn’t complimenting you, you idiot.” He calls with a snort, Genie pinches his arm and he yelps. Javi looks over his tan shoulder at his best friend and laughs along. Her face falls when Javier doesn’t correct Frankie but instead pushes off away from her and runs to the other end and pushes her brother into the murky water with a voice crack laced scream. Andrea and Genie flinch from the splash. She flinches from the weather dropping below sixty, eyes narrow as she walk uphill after being dismissed for thanksgiving break.

That was the last time she saw Javi. He stopped coming to the house to pick her and Frankie up. Two weeks into seventh grade she noticed how strange it was to not be with him. Everyone in the halls at school were strangers, shit, they hadn't even known she spent the summer crushing on Laredo’s cutest freshman. Andrea tries to practice self control by not bugging Frankie about where the hell his so-called best friend was. That was until of course October when Frankie snatched a piece of gum from Andrea’s bookbag.

“Where are you going?” She asks, her head lifting from her damn geometry work. Frankie pops the gum in his mouth and shrugs.

“Homecoming game with Javi.” He says it like its nothing. Her eyes go all needy and in the most little sister voice she begs to come with. Frankie screws up his face, “No. Absolutely not.”

Andrea slams her pencil down feeling betrayed by her brother who just two months ago let her tag along, every time!

“Have you been hanging out, like just you guys?” She asks, sounding more whiny than she wanted.

“Yeah, we hang out every day.” He bends down and tightens the laces to his chucks, his Laredo high school pull string hoodie flopping over his head in the same movement. She remembers her heart sinking at that moment, How dare they leave her out! She stands from the chair, it screeches loud.

“What!”

Frankie laughs and heads out the door with a slam.

So Andrea learns that, yeah, it's a summer thing.

She rewires her brain to believe it stays that way just because she was the only one still in middle school. But she still finds it beyond strange that she doesn't bump into him, not even once–not until thanksgiving. The Diaz household only celebrated christian holidays and occasionally birthdays, so thanksgiving was just another day. Andrea rolls over in bed after a good late afternoon nap, her eyes falling to her year wide calendar. 49 days until she’s fourteen. She prays she grows some boobs, blurry eyes staring down at the mosquito bites under the t-shirt.

A knock at her room door has her sat up straight, patting down the wrinkles in her shirt. “Yes!” She calls, eyes wide and cheeks flush.

“It’s Javi.”

Andrea nearly shrieks at the sound of his voice from behind the door and from the position she had just been in. Up on her feet she hurries to the mirror, “Give me a moment I’m-um-I’m naked.” She blurts, her cheeks heating at her brain's stupid stupid stupid self. Patting her hair in place and slipping on socks, her freckles are long gone. No longer is there a trace of summer on her, what if she was just prettier under the sun.

He chuckles behind the door, “Uh-um okay.”

“Come in.” She shouts instead of opening the door for him. She wonders if maybe she looks more grown, her eyes dance to the mirror and polka dot fluffy shorts that stopped mid thigh, nope definitely not. He opens the door and the sight is absolutely delightful. Javier clad in a flannel and jeans, his brows furrowing at her. Lips quirking into a smile and at that moment Andrea realizes this is Javier’s first time in her room. Her cheeks set a blaze, his eyes scan the place, he smiles lazily at a picture of the summer crew taped onto her vanity mirror. “Sorry, I was just changing after a nap.” Half true. Her eyes bounce anywhere but his own, god Andrea could be so obvious sometimes. Have I no shame?

He frowns, lifting a tin foil plate up, suddenly the smell of Peña fresh pork and rice, and tamales. Andrea’s stomach grumbles cartoonishly and Javier splits into a chuckle. Andrea is utterly gobsmacked at how badly she likes the boy. Is this what love feels like? Like the sound of their makes her ache, was she too young to feel that hard? She giggles anyway, “Sorry I’m so hungry, let's go to the kitchen.” She tilts her head toward the door and he nods, leading himself out. Shamelessly staring at the nape of his neck as she trails him down the stairs. She has a dangerous thought of her lips pressing right there, that thought freaks her out and she feels her stomach flip.

“Why are you alone?” Javier asks as he sets down the plate on the kitchen island. Andrea slept off the annoyance she developed from her mother and brothers yearly antics. Each thanksgiving, the two of them, just the two of them, go out to eat. They call it their mother son day of the year, when Andrea was young she was left with her nanny who took it upon herself to take little Andrea to a movie each thanksgiving. But Andrea was no longer little and the tradition continued, so the past 3 thanksgivings had been spent alone. It was routine to her, she wasn't sure if she was ready to understand her mothers ways just yet.

This Thanksgiving fell on Andrea’s fathers birthday, it's all she knew about him. His birthday and name. Lucas, November 24th. One complicated parent a time, she didn’t dwell this thanksgiving but she’d be a liar if she said she hadn't felt like she was on the verge of tears the entire day.

Andrea peels open the wet aluminum, oh lordy I am thankful, thank you Chucho… for this food, Andrea looks up at Javier who had been staring at her with such contentment, and thank you for making the adonis that watches me now. Grabbing a fork Andrea answers, “My mom does something with Frankie every thanksgiving so I’m left here! God this looks amazing.” She drags her fork at the slab of pork, and it pulls so beautifully she could cry. Javier pulls the plate away from her. “Hey!”

“Is this every thanksgiving?” He asks, shielding the plate with his arm to get her to answer.

She didn't care, “Yes, now move.” Andrea pinches his wrist and he slowly pulls his hand back to his side. Shoveling the pernil in her mouth with an excited mumble. Javi stays silent for her first few bites, just watching Andrea stuff herself. She was so hungry she couldn't bother looking at him. But then he sits next to her and gets a fork for himself and begins eating off the plate with her.

Cheeks bulging with arroz con gandules, her eyes brighten and she smiles. “Happy Thanksgiving.” She says with a full mouth, to anyone it would be a gross act but Javier had thought it was the most endearing sight ever.

“Happy thanksgiving Andrea.”

They eat together in silence.

Javier leaves with his heart beating fast in his chest, his stomach turning in the worst way. He looks at his father in the driver's seat, Chucho rolls down the window. “What took you so long!?”

Javier shook his head, not wanting to risk shouting what he discovered at the lawn of Andrea’s home. He shoots his head over his shoulder to take one more look at the house that contained just Andrea inside.

Running a hand through his hair, Javier opens his fathers truck door and settles in. That feeling, that hole in his chest still in full effect. “Andrea spends every thanksgiving alone.” He says it, his chest rises and falls. Andrea spends every thanksgiving alone.

Thanksgiving 1979

Andrea spends it alone again. Javier sat with his uncle, and dad in Houston, feeling awful homesick. Javier filled out the scholarship to the High School of Law and Justice in March and got free tuition for the upcoming year in late August, he had no time to really tell Andrea. Chucho traveled north for the holidays. Cooking for his helpless little brother who had Javier living off cafeteria lunch and ramen. The house smelled delightful and it truly felt like the holidays, even if he wasn't really home. During grace, with his hand resting on his fathers shoulder, in a warm room filled with home cooked food and love, he realizes she’s likely napping again. Probably sleeping to fizzle out hunger and loneliness.

Javi struggles to enjoy his food.

Homecoming 1979

Homecoming sure felt like a holiday in Laredo, at least within the halls of the school. The week had been full of underage drinking each night, pranks, and defacing the rival schools flag. Andrea couldn’t be bothered with the festivities, she just cared that senior Brian Flores who asked her to the dance. Now she could use this as an excuse to be pretty and maybe, maybe get her first kiss. She attended the game, and met Lorraine face to face for the very first time. Andrea attempted to bite back the jealousy buttering her tongue, and she surely took it out on Javier when he asked to talk after the game. Asking her all these questions that made her feel, for just a second, that he wants to be near her as much as she wants to be near him.

Then he called her kid, and Andrea felt winded at the blow.

“Next time I’ll think twice before I invite my best friend's kid sister to hang out. I apologize for trying to be polite and include you, god knows you used to whine about being left out.”

Javi had distracted her from the handsome boy clad in shoulder pads who asked if she was okay, she couldn't even bask in the feeling because immediately Javier switched to protector mode. With a furrowed brow his eyes darted from Andrea to the grown man attempting to court her, and oh it settled something deep in his stomach he was unprepared to talk about.

“What the fuck was that?”

“What do you mean?”

After a mini tangent and a few curses about him being far too old for her, Javi in a fit of protectiveness asked Andrea just to go with him. His brain completely abandons the thought of his unofficial girlfriend Lorraine. When he watches Andrea’s eyes twinkle for one second, he is reminded of the girl he had spent the last few weeks witj and the feelings he truly felt for the Lor. He wanted to be Lorraine’s boyfriend, he was tired of sneaking around–homecoming would have been his perfect opportunity to just go steady with the girl he had a crush on.

“Please stop acting like you care, I don't feel left out anymore. I have my own friends and life now. You guys only had me around because my mom made you, cus’ i couldn't make friends but obviously-Obviously I’m doing better now, so just please leave me alone” With that all thoughts of anyone but Andrea clears, only panic fills his chest when he watches someone who had never been upset with him, someone who had always been eager to spend time with, reminds him that things have changed and she becomes someone who wants to be left alone.

Andrea heads home and sleeps well, she glances over at the dress she picked out and strangely the twisting jealousy and betrayal she felt from Javier fizzled at the thought of being appreciated by someone who actually likes her. Not so bad for a freshman, she thinks. She dozes off and dreams of Javier. She dreams she accepts his invite–even if it was offered in a white hot moment. In her brain she wears something entirely different and dances with him in their school gym. It’s decorated much more beautifully than she anticipated, but her brain paints it perfect just for them. Javier doesn’t make a move on her the entire night of the dance, it wasn’t his style. When the two decide it’s time to go, he kisses her gently and slowly against the brick walls of the gymnasium. Heart in her throat, she grips to the lapels of his blazer, pointing her foot in a beautiful disney first kiss. What a lovely dream it was, maybe that’s why she feels well rested the next day.

She gets ready with an empty house, Frankie spent the night at Genie’s, again, a photo of Sharon Tate taped to her mirror. Eyes squinted as she messes up with powdered eyeliner for the… eighth time. The guitar riff in Marmalade’s I See the Rain bouncing off the walls of her bedroom. She pats down the wrinkles on the pale yellow dress. Her chest still not quite filling the thing but the built in lace shawl like jacket covers her modestly. Melissa had found too many of the short dresses too grown for a freshman. Andrea’s eyes flick up to her own, then down to her lips. She liked those, pinching her lips together her eyes narrow attempting to give her reflection a sexy pre kiss smolder. Her nose turns up in a cringe. Stomach flipping, will Brian kiss with tongue? He’s seventeen, god, he will for sure. Her eyes survey the room, she is alone… her mom got out of work at 9 pm. Frankie had no intention of coming home until tomorrow.

Screw it.

Andrea bunches her hand, her thumb lapping her pointer. She brings her hand to her lips and attempts to emulate what she thinks a kiss should look like. Her eyes close for just a moment when she feels a rhythm that feels right, hmm this doesn't seem too bad. Hopefully his breath doesn't smell like punch–

“Andrea-what the fu-”

She squeals at the top of her lungs when her eyes fall on a hurried suit clad Javier. Her wet hand is covered in Avon’s ripe cherry lipstick. “Ah! Oh my god.” It's her worst nightmare, her none kissed hand wiping the other while Javier stares with confusion and a hint of amusement. “What-how-why–how did you get in here?!” She yells, jumping to her feet. Javier tugs at his bow tie and stares at her hand for a moment, eliciting an ahem from her throat. His cheeks hint a blush.

“Door was unlocked.” He stated flatly. Andrea blinks a few times, her lashes still wet with mascara, was he really here or had she kept dreaming.

He was just as nervous, as he got ready in the morning he wavered his options. He goes to homecoming and tells her while she’s there with her prick of a date, he tells her everything. He shook his head at that, he knew that could be a mess, it could create a scene. Javier crossed that off the list, he thought of just calling, he let that idea go too. As he crouched down to tighten his dress shoes his eyes caught a glimpse of the dusty space below his dresser, a white border poking out into view.

Javier leaned forward and pulled the thing out from under his dresser. There Andrea is, her hair long and braided, her classic teal bike to her left. To her right is Javi with his arm slung over her shoulders. With a sting in his eye and heart beating in his throat, Javier ran all the way to her, to Andrea.

So without warning to Lorraine, Javier lays it all out.

“You can't go to homecoming.”

Andrea rolls her eyes, “Javi I’m tired of this weird protector complex you’ve developed, but I’m fifteen now I-”

“I won't let you go because that douchebag is being paid to take you, being paid double if he kisses you and triple if he fucks you.” He says it so rushed, just to get her to zip it. He saves Andrea in a sense, she was ready to spill some cliche lines that will have her cringing in t-minus six hours. The urgency was useful only in that facet, because then it hist Andrea all at once. Her eyes fall to the floor, heart dancing in her chest. How could I have been so blind. She knew of the senior bucket list, she knew, yet–

“Oh.” Her eyes screw shut for a moment, really hoping this was a dream. My god was she humiliated. She bought a dress, taped magazine clippings, painted her nails, kissed her hand and pushed Javier away for nothing. For someone to plan to use her for a checkmark on a list, she felt like a total idiot. Javi must think I look so stupid, Andrea thinks. Here in the middle of her room practicing kissing in an over priced dress. And despite her efforts to prove to Javi that she is in fact mature and strong and no longer in need of acceptance, her chin begins to quiver in the same way it did when she was just a kid. Her eyes blurry, she doesn’t even realize Javier is walking over to her with a soft pleading voice. Makeup ruined already, his hand grips her shoulder and instinctively she reaches out to grip his wrist. He’s frantically trying to get her stop crying but she just felt so embarrassed, crying is the only thing distracting from that pain in her chest. He’s whispering promises,

Andrea please stop crying

I’ll stay here or-or we can go together

We can stay in—watch something

We can egg his car—please stop crying.

Shaking her head, her fingers dig into his wrist and he takes it as a sign to gather her up. Pulling Andrea into his chest, she knows her mascara tears must be staining his tux yet he couldn’t seem to care. The ache in his own chest settling the second he flattens a hand on the back of her head. Cheek resting on the top of her head. Andrea leans her entire body weight into the embrace, absolutely exhausted of being the joke, of being a pawn. Tired of being behind and naive. Javier tucks her head below his chin, resting on the top of her head. Ans oh boy is he in trouble because he hadn't thought of Lorraine, not even once.

Despite the circles she’s talked herself into about her need to be self reliant—god did it feel good to just be hugged.

With a squeeze to Andrea’s hip she pulls back, her eyes in all their raccoon glory, somehow she was still so beautiful. "Let’s go downstairs and watch something. Then we can flip through the yellow pages and sign the bastard up for the most incessant and embarrassing subscription with his home phone. How does Cat Scratch sex line sound?” Javier suggests. Just there, she feels it again, Am I too young to feel this much?

Through tears and smudged makeup, her lips quirk at its corners.

“Okay.”

Christmas 1979

Christmas at the Diaz house wasn’t actually so bad. On the eve of christmas Melissa sets out all of the presents she’s bought her kids, then in the corner of her room lays a second pile of gifts for the people of Laredo that she’s made her family. Then she dresses her children, yes, even at their old age, in outfits she bought. The three take a drive to their church’s party and it goes the same way each year. The Smithfield’s lead a prayer, they play their mix of american christmas classics and spanish ones, then they regret serving alcohol at their christmas party.

Two days before the party half of their christmas lights fall and in a fit of anger Melissa calls over Chucho to bring his latter and fix the damn thing. It must be genetic because when the Diaz women call, the Peña men come running. To Andrea’s surprise Javier shows up with his father. The group of friends watch the disaster that is Melissa Diaz with Holiday anxiety.

Melissa stands at the foot of a ladder while Chucho puts up her lights. “A la derecha!” She yells from below, Frankie, Javier and Andrea sit on the lawn watching in amusement. It was chillier, a low fifty, it became Andreas' excuse to wear her lacrosse sweatshirt. Her brother and Javier joke about something that happened in school, something she didn’t witness. So she picks at the grass surrounding her and looks off at the two geezers arguing with each other in Spanish. Nat King Cole and Celia Cruz blasting from inside their house, windows open and in the December sunset their christmas tree twinkles beyond the window.

Andrea decides maybe she likes Christmas with her family, with this family.

She decides to take that statement back when her mother forces her to run the boutique from opening till closing on Christmas eve. Andrea stands behind the cash register wearing a headband with twirly attachments that jingled with each slight movement. If she hears happy holidays one more time she’ll kill Santa Claus herself. So it’s safe to say that when she locks up shop with a daily sale of five thousand dollars, she couldn’t be bothered with seeing half of Laredo in the church basement.

Somehow Andrea finds herself in a stockings and a puffy green dress. She is half asleep by the time she spots the black leather couch at the farthest corner of the large basement. The basement of Los Tres Reyes church was the home of many parties. Many that could be considered non-fitting for a church but to most it was simply just a venue. Considering Lorraine’s father was the english mass pastor and his daughter was the most admired girl at the school, Mr. Smithfield held the Laredo Christmas party-invite only. Contrary to most parties at Los Tres Reyes, the Smithfield Christmas extravaganza (nice dresses and day drinking) was exclusive in Laredo terms.

Lorraine was suited in the prettiest outfit in the room. Too fashionable for this town, plaid flared pants and a cashmere turtleneck. Andrea wants to groan at the silly dress her mom forced her into… and she was so tired. The party began to fill with the most prestigious faces of town, mostly store owners and Lorraine’s friends. Flashes fake smiles at each wave and struggling to stay awake the second she sits down. The familiar crunch of the couch with the sound of the tool of her skirt created a new strange ear splitting sound that has Andrea cringing. Legs crossed she wondered how many feet of tinsel they used for the ceiling.

Fleshy nylon rubbing together with each leg-crossed readjustment. God she wished she had a magazine or something to not look so socially awkward in a setting like this. Deep inside Andrea was praying for Monica or Liandra to show up and save the day. She knew Javier was on his way, she knew she couldn’t bear the sight of the couple, especially how romantic it is to spend Christmas with your girlfriend’s family. Frankie was talking off Genie’s dad’s ear while nursing a beer.

With the Ronetts playing on speaker and the bustling chatter, Andrea finds it awfully easy to drift off. Head falling back against the rest of the sofa.

“My god she’s really sleeping.” Melissa whispers to Chucho about nearly four hours into the party. Eleven pm, nearly Christmas day. “Señor dame fuerza…” Her head falls into her hands while Chucho watches Andreas' fully laid out body in amusement. Her flats fully kicked off and her cheek squished to the leather.

The Peñas arrive quite late to the party. Lorraine dragged Javier to the church bathroom to scold him for embarrassing her. He kissed her hoping it’ll soften her up but she slapped his arm instead. “Don’t be mad please.” He pleads as she opens the restroom door. Lorraine looks over her shoulder with a frown.

With a snapping attitude and sarcasm, “Nice sweater.”

Javier looks down at the thing, his face softening at the sight of his own sweater that his uncle knitted himself. It’s a thick gray cable knit sweater. For a moment Javier wonders why he lets these things slide from Lorraine, just a few weeks before he nearly broke it off after her intrusive suggestion on how to get over his mothers absence.

Javi decides he’ll just drink tonight.

With his hands shoved in his nice jeans, the pants Chucho bought two years ago for him to be forced into every holiday. His keys in his back pocket jangling as he walks down the stairs to a slowly dying party as the night closes. The lights around twinkling and the smell of clove and cinnamon filling his nose. He passes two girls in Lorraine’s friend group, Hilda and Diana. “Do you think she’s drunk?”

“I don’t know, but it’s tragic.” Hilda giggles, sipping her beer. Both their eyes planted on Andrea, in all her Christmas tree glory. Surrounded by her large green dress, socked feet curled and the most peaceful face he’s ever seen. His brows knit together, it was unlike her to fall asleep in a place like this. He shoots a glare over at the two girls and walks straight past them, straight to her. He grabs a cracker crown from one of the tables. Ignoring Lorraine’s call as he makes his way next to Andrea.

For a moment he feels watched, a bit insecure as he surveys the room as people pretend to not stare at the two. He frowns before wrapping his hand around her ankle and shaking her awake. She stirs slightly but just furthers herself into comfortability. He drops his head in an endearing smile. “Andrea.” He calls to her and she jolts at the sound of his voice.

Her smooth nylon clad feet brushing over his lap, causing a flip in his stomach. Something stranger happens in his christmas jeans. “Oh!” She chirped, wiping her mouth clean of drool. “Javi!”

“Andrea.” He laughs moving her small feet from his lap. Leaning forward and placing the gold crown on her disheveled hair. She giggles slightly, and blinks her eyes into full awareness.

“Did I really fall asleep? What time is it?” She flattens her shimmery skirt. He just knows Melissa picked out the dress. He remembers the second summer they spent together, when her style changed completely. He knew she got her mother to back off on the kids catalogs, it seemed she still held higher ground when it came to christmas attire. Despite the forest pooling her body, to him she might have been the prettiest girl in the room, he should ask Santa Claus for a smack upside his head because the selfish thought came quickly and stuck like glue. Her shimmering eyes glance at the clock, fifteen to twelve. “Jesus!” She slaps her hand over her mouth at the decision to call the man out on his name, on his birthday and in a church. “I slept for so long.”

Javier chuckles a hearty laugh, “Yeah, decided to save you some embarrassment, you got quite comfortable.” His eyes fall to her feet. She burns mistletoe bow red and shoves them back into her flats. Still sitting up straight tenser than ever, and it aches his chest. He had her over just a week before, they joked around together in his house over dinner–he invited her to New Years at the bar. Two months before that the two sat awfully close on her couch watching Star Wars: A New Hope and signing up her one time homecoming date to awfully embarrassing subscriptions, using different personas and voices on the phone. Yet here, under everyone's surveillance she sat uptight and all frowning like she was afraid of being under the gaze of others. That drove him a bit crazy, she was his best friend too, hadn't she known?

Silence falls between them for a moment as he nurses his beer and she looks off, her mind running wild.

“You treat me differently when it’s not summer.” He blurts, bringing his drink to his lips. He knows why, he knows deep inside. Their summers together were organic, devoid of outside influences. She could just exist as Andrea, his Andrea. In summer she could just fall asleep on a couch and not have to worry about judging eyes. She could crush on Javier without guilt and restraint. He could call her pretty and not feel like the entire world is watching, prepared to scrutinize him. It was warm, it was easy to be close to one another, easy to ignore what others felt about them. Summers were just for them. It stirred something devastating in the cavity of his chest at the sight of her in a sweaty dress, with her hair done up and perfect posture. It wasn't her, it wasn't like her to be so afraid of him.

Her lips quirk in a polite fake smile, as her eyes survey the room. She’s extremely aware of the eyes on the two of them. Javier’s jaw clenched at the sight of Andrea of all people being fake to him. She clears her throat like he asked her a scandalous question. Then she turns to him all at once and he swears under her makeup he sees a hint of the freckles that deepen under the Texas sun, and her features fall all sincere, like he’s the only person in the room.

And she whispers, “Well maybe I don’t know how to be your friend in the winter.” Her eyes drop and her forehead forms that tiny crease of worry between painted brows. Javier’s stomach pits and maybe the holidays made him feel sentimental, maybe he’s afraid that being in the same school will somehow create a wedge in something he cherishes so deeply, maybe he feels like strangely time is running out. Perhaps he regrets meeting Lorraine at this time. It’s something about being surrounded by love, warmth and home cooked meals. Something about the sounds of chimes, organs and jingle bells in the music filling the air. Something about spending Christmas eve next to Andrea Diaz, something about not being able to kiss her under the mistletoe. Maybe because it actually snowed in Texas this Christmas, small flurries that didn’t stick–but snow nonetheless. He’s never had the urge to before but her, in front of him, at this time, with those eyes–he wonders what he’s doing wrong.

With his heart in his throat he can only muster out one thing.

“Merry Christmas.”

Christmas 1980-85

Houston isn't home. The holidays become a brain splitting headache he ignores for years to come. He's no longer seventeen. He had one holiday with her, and it wasn’t really with her, yet he can't imagine having one without her.

What a scary feeling.

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

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deandoesthingstome · 9 months

Text

Walk with Me - Ch 7

Pairing: FBI Agent!Syverson x OFC, Drug Czar!August Walker x OFC

Chapter Summary: This is it. The warehouse and beyond. The end.

Chapter Warnings: I’ll be real honest, I don’t really want to give anything away here. There’s gonna be some more sex if that interests you. (It’ll be outdoors. What?)

Word Count: 5K

Masterlist: For full series Summary and Warnings

Spotify Playlist: If you’ve followed the playlist, you should know what’s new.

A/N: Super grateful shoutout to @dadralt for helping me with a few French translations. I put the English at the bottom.

A/N 2: I really really appreciate everyone who has read and commented/reblogged this story. I had ideas when I started and those took on a life of their own. I got stuck a little on the way, but I think I figured it out and I hope you like the wrap up.

Francesca

It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. While August was busy looking into his associates to root out a mole, I had made myself available for anything, anytime, no questions asked when he got back from Asia. That also meant ignoring Sy and making sure any information he received came through the agency and the agency only. One incredible night in the arms of the man I had once thought would be the only one I’d ever love. That’s all the sanity I had to hold onto.

As I found myself continuing to slip deeper under August’s spell, I also relished the memory of Sy’s arms wrapped around me, holding me close and safe. On my own, I was reckless and wanton. I’m sure it’s what drew Sy, and most men to me originally. But while most men gave up trying to handle the edge after a while, Sy had always somehow found a way to smooth it out. And that edge only grew sharper the longer I was away from him. It drove men crazy when they couldn’t hold on, most opting to let go rather than risk the deep cuts.

Walter had understood what it took to dull the blade, because he needed a soother too. So while he came to understand he couldn’t offer me respite in his arms, he was there to try to ease every ache I came away with after losing out on love time and again. I envied him for the way he had been able to take each ending as a sign for a new beginning and hold on waiting for what he really needed. I think he could see the damage each heartbreak was doing to me, could tell that the longer I went without a net, the easier it was to embrace fire and danger with no regard for myself. But I don’t think he realized how deep down that hole I was falling. He thought it was just part of the game we played. Instead, this is how I let August in against all my better judgements.

August didn’t fear my sharp edge. He honed it. And until Sy reappeared, I struggled to make sense of why it felt so good to have August keep pushing me, why every time I saw him it felt like I was being forged in his fire. In the haze of the smoke we created together, fueled by drugs and sex and more passion than I’d known in ages, I let myself begin to believe there was a way through that didn’t involve putting him behind bars. Like a fool, I continued to gently broach the subject of just leaving everything behind. I no longer knew if it was still the smokescreen I meant it to be.

I kept Walter appraised, but there had been no new developments from what I had seen. No new security breaches initiated by any number of August’s club girls. No more state secrets passing his way. August apparently had everything he thought he needed to make his next move and he was just looking for the right time. I simply had to wait until Will had the data stripped off the club’s computers and was ready to hand it off. I had been unsuccessful in my previous searches, but Will was a masterful hacker. I just needed the call, but it never came and walking into the warehouse I knew why.

August had figured out Will was CIA. And now I had to hope Will had been able to keep our secret even after everything it was apparent August’s goons had done to him. I couldn’t tell for sure how long he’d been here, but some of the wounds were fresh enough to tell me that while August had been fucking my brains out this afternoon, Will was getting the shit beat out of him. And I hoped his training was just as good as mine and he’d been able to withstand the obvious torture I could see he’d been put through. This was never how this mission was supposed to go.

While August continued to share his credo about not letting anyone hurt him, I rubbed my thumb over the microchip I had pressed against my forefinger. I knew I had what we needed and there was no reason to keep playing this game that had stopped feeling like a game weeks ago. I wanted to rise to my feet, lean in close and whisper to August that we could still run. That I could hide him and maybe we’d be apart for a little while, but in the end I’d be his and he’d be mine and we would be together.

And then I heard the words coming out of his mouth and I knew suddenly how utterly fucked I was. I was about to ruin what was probably the biggest bust of Sy’s life and I was about to end August’s reign. Sy would never forgive me for lying to him and August wouldn’t be around to put me in my place. I’d end up with neither of them.

Like a specter, the voice drifted through my thoughts.

“We’re in position.”

“Take him.” I fought to keep my eyes open. I would not turn away from this mess I had made.

August had barely stopped speaking, head at tilt and eyebrow raised in query at my words when the bullet hit. I watched him fall and barely registered the second round that took Mateo out. I couldn’t really stop the tears if I wanted to. Everything was in shambles around me. Not only was my partner hanging on by a thread, the man I had come to love in some sort of fucked up fantasy where I believed I could save him was dead.

And I had to somehow explain to Sy why I had let him believe he was ever going to have a shot at taking down August.

I heard sirens and shouts from outside the warehouse. Flashing lights flickered through the doorway each time a new body entered the space. Medics were on the scene and Will was getting the attention he needed when Walter found me sunk to the ground on my knees, resisting the urge to crawl to August and take him in my arms one last time. Doubt crept in, as if I’d made the wrong choice and it took everything I had not to let the bile rise up in my throat.

Walter wrapped an official jacket around me and asked if I was alright. I shook my head slowly and I felt him hold me closer. He knew what was coming. I don’t know how he knew. He never once asked if I was falling for August, but somehow he could tell and he knew what I had just done. He knew I would be in my head about this one for a good long time. Longer than any of the others.

“We just need to finalize the report and record your statement. We can do a video now and then you can go. Okay?”

I felt his concerned gaze on me and mustered the strength to nod at his question, still amazed how he looked after me after all these years. We were never going to be together, but that didn’t stop us from caring about and wanting only the best for each other.

We set up in a corner of the warehouse, away from the noise of the agents processing the scene. Before he turned the camera on, I dislodged the molar mic I had installed before leaving the hotel earlier and handed it over. I had already sent in encrypted typed reports and the final video interview was just a recount of the last few days that I hadn’t been able to upload yet. I signed every affidavit he put in front of me, half numb with shock. He put me in the cab to the train station with a gentle press of his hand on the small of my back as he bent to whisper in my ear.

“I’ll get him a message along with the rest of the Miami files. He won’t be hung out to dry. He’ll have everything he needs to make the case against the rest of August’s associates. And he’ll know you're on your way to being okay, too.”

When I looked up at him, I could tell he saw my gratitude, even if I didn’t yet know how to voice it. Even if I still doubted every decision I’d made so far.

“Will?” I managed to whisper.

“Will’s gonna be fine. He has more than a little R&R coming, too. Don’t worry.”

We said a final goodbye and I headed off, ready to try to put this all behind me, starting with a deep detox. I spent weeks in the remote cabin, fully stocked with everything I needed to avoid everyone for as long as I wanted, including a method of emergency contact if things got really bad.

I rocked myself to sleep every night only to enter dreams that turned to nightmares. August leading me down a floral path, only to turn a corner and find myself ensnared in briars and brambles. August preparing a delicious meal only to serve me Will’s head on a platter. August making me come, over and over again, only to find myself ripped apart at the seams.

I dragged myself out of bed every morning, no matter how badly I wanted to curl up in the sheets and just die. I journaled every day and raged at the papers that held my lovelorn tears, my foolish fantasies and ridiculous notions. At night, I burned them in a fire meant to keep me warm, but every bit of me felt cold and lifeless. I took long swims in the crystalline lake and long walks in the woods and prayed that maybe I’d twist an ankle and fall down the mountainside. I longed to be lost and rid of the torture I felt forever.

I could tell my storm was easing when I awoke one morning with the recollection of August morphing into Sy. When the drugs were finally fully out of my system, I sat quietly by the placid water and put all my pieces back in place. August Walker was a drug kingpin who had put an insane amount of product on the street. August Walker was a murderer, who had put his competition out of business permanently. August Walker was a traitor who had bribed politicians and military brass for national secrets that he planned to sell to the highest bidder. August Walker was a monster.

No amount of fucking was ever going to change those facts.

I pushed the button on the SAT phone and waited for Walter to answer while I practiced the speech over and over in my head.

Syverson

Syverson turned off the ignition of the rental car, peered at the number on the house and checked it against the message from Ramos on his phone. He stepped out and made his way up the narrow path to the front door, gravel crunching under his feet. He stood still at the door and paused before knocking, suddenly unsure if he’d made the right decision.

“Ah, fuck it,” he muttered and raised his hand to rap on the wood. In the moments of stillness as he waited for a sound from inside, a shuffle of feet, any tell-tale sign that someone would answer, he took several deep breaths and tried to calm his nerves. It would be the first time seeing her again after months with no communication and he hadn’t exactly been invited by the occupants of the house.

“Comment puis-je vous aider?*” the elderly man asked, peering out the entryway with a perplexed look as if trying to recall who might be scheduled to visit today.

“Mr. Malloy? It’s Dean Syverson, from the States. I’m sorry I don’t speak French. I’m friends with your daughter, Frankie, er Francesca. I was told she was here.”

“Papa, c'est qui?**” a voice called from down the hall and Syverson’s heart almost exploded with elation. He took note of the waver in her voice as she appeared next to her father looking radiant in her summer dress and spoke again. “Sy? What are you…?”

Sy wanted her to burst through the door and wrap her whole body around him so he could slip his arms around her back and hold her close to breath her in. In reality, she froze in place next to her father, though he didn’t imagine the way he saw her stop herself from reaching for him. At the sound of throat clearing, Frankie turned to her father to speak.

“Papa, tu te rappelles de Dean ? Du lycée. À l'époque on l'appelait Sy.***”

Sy watched as the old man seemed to light up with memory and a small smile, then listened to a conversation between father and daughter that he couldn’t understand. Frankie’s father reached out to shake his hand with a wink, then turned to head back into the front room.

“Wanna take a walk with me?” Frankie asked, motioning down the path. “Or I could invite you in and we could do the pleasantries of small talk over cold lemonade and cookies I baked the other day?”

“You bake?” Sy asked with a chuckle.

“Been goin’ through all of Mom’s old recipes. It’s therapeutic in more ways than one. And sorry about that. Dad’s kinda given up on English, especially now that she’s passed,” Frankie answered and watched Sy’s face fall a little, eyebrows furrowed and head atilt.

“Well now I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t know about your Mom.”

“Thank you. It happened just before my last mission. I hated leaving but I promised him we’d spend time together once I was done with work.” She gave a quick glance back into the house.

Sy heaved a breath in and out. “Let’s walk.”

He waited for Frankie to close the front door and let her lead the way as they stepped back onto the gravel path and followed it around to the back of the house and down into the large, lush garden where she motioned to a stone bench facing a pond.

“I feel like I know this answer, because I doubt you’d be here if you did, but I have to ask: Do you hate me?” Frankie asked, turning to him with a look of concern on her face.

“Sugar I could never hate you,” Sy answered immediately without any hesitation. “Couldn’t for the life of me figure out why you shut off all communication and never came back, though. Marshall wasn’t exactly forthcoming either.”

“Did they at least tell you about...? About the case?” Frankie asked, unwilling to voice the name just yet.

“You mean the part where no one was ever gonna let him take the stand?” Frankie nodded at Sy’s question. “Yeah. Said if he had an opportunity to implicate any of the people he’d bribed information from, national security was fucked. Sure. Apparently, all those other traitors had guardian angels sitting on their shoulders. The number of retirement announcements from the military and congress was staggering. Is that why you didn’t come back?”

“Are you asking if it made me sick to my stomach? That August Walker took the fall for all of them? I guess that’s part of it for sure, yeah.”

“Fuck, Sugar. You really were in deep with him.”

“I was blind, Sy. I wasn’t not doing my job but I let a lot of things get in the way of reality and when I found out they were all getting off the hook I couldn’t stomach it anymore.”

Frankie turned to stare out over the water while Sy took a moment to ponder her words and consider if he really wanted the answer to his next question. It could make all the difference to the end result of his impromptu visit. But if he didn’t ask, he’d never know and if somehow things worked out between them, the possibility would hang over his head forever.

“Did you love him?”

He watched her slow-blink her eyes closed, inhale and let out a deep sigh. He felt the bottom begin to drop from underneath him, afraid now of her answer and what it would mean. He wanted to reach out and grab the words back, stuff them down his throat and never let them out again. He swore to whatever god would listen that if she would just come home with him when this conversation was over, he’d never give August Walker another thought. When she spoke, he almost couldn’t hear her answer, the way the blood from his beating heart rushed passed his ears.

“Not really.” Frankie turned back to Sy and opened her eyes. As her voice trickled through the dense fog of his worry, he could at least see the promise in what she was saying. “For a while I thought I did. It took me time to figure out that I just loved the way he made me feel. Alive and reckless with no one to answer to but someone who only loved me for the person they thought I was.”

“And who are you, Frankie?”

“I’m figuring that out now, Sy. That’s the other part of why I couldn’t come back. I didn’t want to step back into whatever it was we had started again without a better understanding of what my life means now. And what that means for whoever is going to be a part of it.”

“What do you mean ‘whoever’, Sugar?” Sy asked, struggling to hide the emotion her words had stirred within him. He was certain she couldn’t possibly think he wasn’t the one even as he realized how little time they’d actually had together. It killed him to think she might not give him a chance to prove how much he wanted to give her everything.

“I don't want someone afraid of losing me,” Frankie replied.

“I already did. I ain't afraid of it anymore. Just don't want to ever feel it again.” Sy watched her face carefully, searching for any sign that she didn’t understand exactly what he was saying. Just to make sure, he spoke again. “I ain’t looking to change you, Frankie. I ain’t looking to stop you from being whoever you want to be. I just wanna be there with you for as long as I can. If that’s okay.”

“Fuck, where did you come from?” Frankie asked after considering his words and smiled at his comfortable laugh.

“Frankie, it’s always been you for me. Who you are now? She ain’t really all that different from that wildcat I fell in love with twenty years ago. I love every fuckin’ thing about you.” Sy saw the doubt creep on her face. “Yeah, Sugar, all of it. You are a strong, self-aware woman who ain’t afraid to take what she needs. I count myself lucky you ain’t never found someone else interested in all of that and if I don’t get you to let me kiss you right now to show you what I’m talking about, well this whole trip’s probably been for naught.”

Sy lifted a hand to brush his fingers past her shoulder and smooth up the side of her neck, pressing the tips into her nape and applying the gentlest of pressure, waiting for her to make up her mind and lean into him. When she finally did, her lips crashed into his and he felt gravity flip as he grabbed on to her with his other arm and pulled her all the way against him. He slid his hand down to her hip and urged her to lift a leg and spin to straddle him so he could feel her weight and know she was real.

Sy smoothed both hands up her back as he held her close and kissed her deep, parting her lips with his tongue and licking into the space she made for him while she did the same. When he realized he wasn’t going to be able to stop if they kept kissing for much longer, he raised his hands to tangle in her hair and pull her head from his as he cleared his throat and spoke low.

“Sorry, that’s more than I thought I’d get from you at the moment. I doubt your dad or the neighbors wanna see what else I’d like to do to you right now.”

“There are no neighbors nearby, Sy. And Dad doesn’t spend time in the back of the house.”

Sy couldn’t help himself from stiffening at the thought and raised an eyebrow in question. He grew even harder as he watched Frankie bite her bottom lip and nod as she ran her hands down his chest landing at the clasp of his slacks. She unhooked the waistband and slid the zipper down agonizingly slowly before reaching in to grab his aching cock and push his boxers down enough so that he was free and could feel her touch on his burning skin.

He dropped his hands to her thighs, smoothing the thin fabric up her legs and sweeping his fingers over her ass cheeks while she stroked him lazily and bent to return to the kiss. His hands found the strings of her thong and he slipped a thumb under the back so he could grab hold and tug up, applying pressure to her clit. Frankie moaned into his mouth and arched her back into the sensation.

Sy pulled the flimsy material to the side and reached his hand further down and under her ass so he could just feel the wetness as he brushed his fingers against the delicate lips he could barely reach. He only realized how much he was also loving the way her hand squeezed and pulled him when she stopped suddenly and he broke the kiss to see what could be wrong. Instead of disaster, he was met with her mischievous eyes as she wiggled the hand that had previously been making him feel so good under her skirt while her other hand pulled the material back so he could see exactly what she was doing.

He groaned and watched rapt as Frankie slid her fingers inside her underwear and into her cunt. She pressed deep and moved around before she pulled them back out glistening with her own juices. And just like that he was in heaven again as she smeared her slick all over his cock and bent to whisper in his ear.

“Fuck me, Sy.”

“Gladly.” Sy eased her thong to the side down her thigh as she pressed her feet into the earth beneath them to lift up and settle herself back down his length with a luxurious sigh. She had barely engulfed him completely before he began to squeeze his ass to pump his hips into her with fervor.

With her hands on Sy’s shoulders, Frankie used the leverage to lift and lower herself on him in tandem with his thrusts, as he delved deeper and deeper. He felt every squeeze of her walls around him and swallowed her cries of pleasure as the head of his engorged member brushed her cervix again and again.

Sy wanted to put his hands on her body, on her skin. He thought about lifting her dress up and over her head, but settled on simply wrapping an arm around her waist and sliding the other up her back so he could manipulate her movements to make sure they were both feeling as good as they could. He wanted this to last forever, but seeing her now, hearing her moan above him for the first time in months knowing the last time he saw her he was making her come too caused a rush of sensation to course through his body. He pulled away from their kiss again.

“I ain’t gonna last Sugar, not like this.”

“I need you to hang on a little bit longer, Sy. Please,” Frankie begged him, grinding her hips a few more times before she did the unthinkable. After easing herself off him, she pulled her dress off exactly the way Sy had just wanted to. She dropped it to the grass and then sank to her knees and finally her back with the dress as a makeshift blanket. She reached out for him and he tumbled forward off the bench and between her open legs, pressing a kiss to her lips as he palmed a breast.

His lips moved over her chin and throat as he began to ease his way down her body, pulling her tiny thong along with him and pushing it off her legs. He took a few moments to push his own shoes and pants off as well pull his shirt over his head and now just as naked as Frankie, Sy positioned himself between her legs, shoulders spreading her wide so he could get a good long look at her puffy, pink pussy dripping and waiting for him.

“Not sure I’m gonna last long this way either, but we’ll give it a try,” he teased before putting his mouth on her. He nipped at her clit and rubbed his forefingers along her slit, easing in and out with a tease she whimpered for. When he heard her beg with a “please” he slid his fingers all the way in and licked around them. Sy pumped and pressed the palm of his hand against her mound for a moment before he pulled his hand all the way out and let his tongue do the rest of the work.

He felt his cock rub against the fabric of her dress as he rutted against the ground and fought to stem the growing pressure.

“So fucking turned on eating you out like this, Frankie,” he groaned into her cunt before returning to the job. Frankie held his head in place, grinding up against him. When she came in a rush of heat and wet, Sy took the opportunity to crawl back up and slip his dick inside her, thrusting and pumping with vigor. He grazed his fingers up the side of her body and then watched as she grabbed his hand and moved it to her throat, pressing just a little.

“Just hold still right there,” she gasped. “Fuck me and I’ll do the rest.”

Sy grunted in pleasure at the thought and did as he was instructed. He felt Frankie lean up into his hand. All the effort it took to keep his hand precisely still for her meant his attention wasn’t on how good she felt around him as he pumped in and out. Where he thought he’d need just a few more strokes, Sy now felt the time slip by as she moved into his hand and back out again, playing with her own breath for him. When he finally felt her tighten around him, he wasn’t prepared for how fast his own release came as well. He was so caught up in the way she maneuvered that he hadn’t noticed the build at all.

They lay naked on the grass next to each other, catching their breath with hands on their chests, waiting until the pounding of their hearts had resided before turning to face one another.

“You sure no one could see us?”

“Would you hate me if I said no?” Frankie teased before leaning over for a kiss to taste herself on his lips. “Kidding. No one can see us. Even if Dad ventured back to the kitchen, where he never likes to go anymore, there are enough trees and bushes in the garden to obscure this view. Our closest neighbors are a couple kilometers away. Your virtue is safe, promise.”

“Funny.” Sy rolled her on her back and kissed her long and deep again before settling along her side, drawing lazy lines along her skin. “You know I didn’t know what to expect when I saw you again. I’m real glad how this has turned out so far.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you in limbo forever, I swear. I just needed to get my head on straight.” Frankie sat up and reached for Sy’s pants, handing them to him and motioning to her own dress below.

“Did I fuck up your timeline?” Sy asked, plucking his shirt off the ground next. He stuck his arms through the sleeves and tucked his thumbs in the neck hole to pull the shirt over his head, elbows wide, before checking around for his shoes.

“I’ll recover, I’m sure.” Frankie slipped the dress back on and did her own sweep of the lawn, looking for her panties.

“I got those, Sugar,” Sy grinned, making a show of tucking the small bundle into his pocket. “Safe keeping till you come back home.”

Frankie reached up to run her fingers through Sy’s hair, brushing a few stray pieces of grass from his locks and let him do the same for her before pulling him in for more kisses. She broke away reluctantly and hooked her arm through his to lead the way back up to the house.

“I honestly haven’t decided when that’ll be, Sy.”

“I’m pretty good at waiting for you if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Or if I ever will.”

Sy stopped short and turned her to him.

“I wondered about that. Not for my own selfish reasons, mind you. But I got to thinking about some of the things you told me over dinner that night. About having a safety net of sorts. This is a nice place.”

“I also told you I liked being useful…but you’re not wrong. It’s been a long time since I took care of myself.”

“Or let someone take care of you?”

“Sy…”

“I ain’t talking about keeping you under wraps, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, Sugar. I just mean, you don’t need to go it alone. Look, you are free to make your own decisions about going back to the agency, finding something else to do, or quitting altogether. But I wanna be with you, Frankie. Wherever that is. If you wanna stay here, I’ll let you know right now that if you’ll have me, I’m ready to leave it all behind, too.”

“You’d walk away with me, Sy?”

“I would.“

Translations of the French *,**,**:

* “How can I help you?”

** “Papa, who is it?”

*** “Papa, you remember Dean? From high school. We called him Sy back then.”

Taglists

Everything Henry: @sillyrabbit81 @kittenofdoomage @mayloma @kebabgirl67 @fvckinghenrycavill @geralts-yenn @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @thesaucynomad @just-chirpin @henryownsme

Walk with Me only (I added you if you reblogged or asked and Tumblr would let me): @kingliam2019 @valacircareads @sofiebstar @cardierreh15 @firstcashheroathlete @ylva-syverson @sunriserose1023 @cavilladdict @angreav @ellethespaceunicorn @mis-lil-red @peaches1958 @xhoneyxbeex @livisss @hangmanscoming

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