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bookyeom · 9 months

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hi leslie!!!!!!! there were so many good prompts it was hard to narrow it down, but i finally decided on:

vernon + “you’re important too”

hope you have a great week and a fun time writing!! 💜✨

Hi Savv!!! Thank you so much for this. (Fun fact: my birthday was this past Sunday and I may or may not have based this slightly in truth. Birthdays are hard.)

Thank u for submitting!!!! xx

A/N: If you read and enjoy this, please reblog and/or send a comment! I'd love to know what you think.

Pairing: Vernon x Reader Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: kissing, sad reader

Today is your birthday.

Today is your birthday, and there’s a room full of all the people you care about celebrating you, with the perfect decorations and a stunning cake and flowers and balloons and the perfectly curated playlist.

It’s your birthday, and everything has gone right, so nothing should logically be able to explain why you’re sitting on the floor of your room, your back against the bed, tears streaming silently down your cheeks.

The simplest explanation is this: you’re tired.

You’re tired of doing everything for everyone else and feeling like your energy is never matched. Why is it always you who remembers the little things? Why is it always you who plans the best parties and surprises, who knows what your closest friends like? Why is it always you who will go the extra mile without being asked?

You’d planned out your whole birthday on your own. You’d picked out the decorations, made the playlist, done it all because none of your friends had offered to do it for you. They love you, you know that, but why didn’t anyone take over? Would they have planned something for you if you’d left it alone? You don’t know, and you think the not knowing is what has you currently sitting on your bedroom floor. One minute you’d been in the kitchen, looking at how cute the cake was that you’d picked out; the next, you could feel yourself spiralling, and you couldn’t even say exactly why.

You’re tired, and you feel selfish for needing a minute to feel bad for yourself in the middle of your own party. You feel silly for crying, silly for not knowing what it was that set you off, silly for needing to hide away for a little bit.

You pride yourself on being a fairly level-headed individual. You can be dramatic at the best of times, of course, but you always try your best to keep your cool. You never want to cause a scene around the people you care about, or make anyone feel bad, especially about something as trivial as your emotions. The only thing that always throws a wrench in your plans to play it cool is that you will cry involuntarily at the most inopportune moments, no matter how much you try to avoid it.

That said, you’ve gotten a lot better at hiding your mini breakdowns lately – gotten better at sneaking away into bathrooms and side rooms to be alone before the tears start to fall, better at convincing everyone that nothing is amiss when you return. This time, even in the middle of your own party, you’d made it to your room without alerting anyone, and you’d thought no one was any the wiser.

You thought. You thought you’d gotten better at hiding your emotional spirals. You thought no one noticed when you were gone. You should have known that Vernon doesn’t count.

Vernon — your boyfriend of only a few months, and already one of the best things that's ever happened to you. Your wonderful and patient and funny and kind boyfriend. He’s a little clueless sometimes, but you don’t mind – you’ve always been a good communicator, and he’s always been a good listener. You promise to tell him when you’re upset, and he promises to ask if he’s unsure. That’s the rule.

Which you may or may not have definitely broken in the last month.

You hadn’t told him anything about how upset you were while planning your own birthday party. You had brushed off his offers to help, telling him you had it all under control, which was true – the party planning part, at least. What you don’t have any control over is feeling sad that none of your friends had offered to plan your day for you, but Vernon can’t fix that, so why should you have told him? He’s a chill guy, letting you take the reins because you had said you wanted to, oblivious to your inner turmoil. It isn’t his fault that he doesn’t know how you’re feeling – it’s your fault for not telling him — and you figure it doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re the one being silly about it all, and you didn’t feel the need for him to be dragged into it.

So you hadn’t told him anything.

Which is why saying you’re surprised to hear him knocking on your bedroom door only minutes after you disappeared from your own festivities would be an understatement.

“Hey.” His quiet voice, followed by the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut, has another fresh round of tears rolling down your cheeks. You squeeze your eyes shut, like that will somehow make the tears invisible to him, not opening them even as you feel him take a seat next to you. You really don’t want him to see you like this, but there’s no choice now. You’re grateful that he doesn’t comment, simply taking your hand and bringing it into his lap, thumb gently brushing against the back of it as he waits for you to calm down.

“Sorry,” you finally manage to whisper.

“Apology rejected.”

You feel the corners of your mouth tilt up at the phrase you both use when the other makes an unnecessary apology, even when they’ve done nothing wrong. It’s a joke between the two of you that serves as a reminder that you’re safe with each other. That you're safe with him.

It’s quiet for another few moments before he speaks again. “A birthday party doesn’t really work if the one being celebrated isn’t there, you know.”

You frown, wiping at your cheek with your free hand, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in a while. “Sorry,” you say again.

Your boyfriend gives you a stern look but doesn’t comment this time, a hand reaching across to brush off any remaining tears from your face. “You were so excited for today. Did something happen?”

You bite your lip with a shrug, looking down and away from him again. “Nothing really happened. I just got overwhelmed, I guess.”

“Sensory overload?”

“No,” you say softly. “Just… feelings.”

“I can see that,” he smiles gently, his tone soft with just the perfect amount of teasing, and you’re grateful for him yet again as he lets you process. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he just sits with you in silence, nothing but the sound of your breathing and the muted boom boom boom of Britney Spears in the background. Vernon squeezes your hand once, twice, before standing up and pulling you up and onto your bed. He lies down and brings you with him, moving onto his side to see you better, and you lie on your stomach, your arms folded so you can rest your head.

“I don’t want to sound selfish, or make you feel bad, or make anyone feel bad, or…” You trail off, feeling the tears start to well up again, and before you know it you’re crying once more. You feel absolutely ridiculous, not even sure how to explain how you’re feeling to yourself, let alone to someone else. “I don’t want to tell you because I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful.”

“Hey,” Vernon says softly. “What’s our rule? You need to tell me these things or I won’t know.” He pauses, fingers tracing the softest of circles up and down your spine “And I want to know.”

You feel a rush of guilt. You know you should have told him, that he would have helped, that he would have understood, or at least tried to. So why didn’t you?

“I just feel silly,” you admit, tears still flowing freely. “I just…” You sniffle, and Vernon watches you quietly, shifting so that his position mimics yours, his head moving to rest on his own arms. “I just wish that people did for me what I do for them. I wish that my friends knew what I wanted and did it without being told. I wish I didn’t feel like I had to plan my own party or I wouldn’t get one at all. I know that all sounds selfish, I know it does, but I just wish that I didn’t have to ask for someone to know exactly what I want!”

As soon as you finish talking, you’re immediately being pulled into a sturdy, warm chest. Your boyfriend wraps his arms entirely around you, pulling you in as tight as you can go. You have a fleeting thought amidst the tears that you’re so incredibly lucky to get this side of him – the warm, comforting, soft side. Everyone who meets him loves him – he’s shy, but witty, and he’s polite and thoughtful and a joy to be around, and though he doesn’t often approach people first, he has no trouble making friends — but not everyone gets to be wrapped up in his arms like this.

“First of all,” he murmurs as he pulls back just a little, enough to let your heads rest on the pillow as he looks at you. “You’re not selfish – you’re maybe the least selfish person I know.”

You sigh, but don’t offer a rebuttal, and a hand lifts to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You try to push down the guilt you feel for complaining at all, leaning into the feeling of Vernon’s fingers gently threading through your hair.

“You do so much for everyone around you all the time, it’s only fair for you to expect that in return,” he continues. “But the truth is that you’re not always going to get it back in the same way, even from the people who love you the most. That doesn’t mean we don’t love you in different ways. Think about when that girl at work gives you all of the red Skittles, or when you get a text with a song rec from Jihoon. Or When Seokmin buys you three bags of chips because he knows you like at least one of them but can’t remember which one.” Vernon beams when you crack a smile at that. “How many of your friends helped you decorate? How many of them did exactly what you asked them to do because they know you love to plan and wanted to help you make your vision come true? That’s love, too, isn’t it?”

You nod. You know he’s right. It’s quiet for a moment as you let his words sink in, your fingers idly playing with the chain around his neck.

“What about how you keep a list of my favourite snacks and our anniversary date in a note on your phone so you don't forget them?” You watch as his cheeks flush crimson as soon as the words leave your mouth, and you hold back a smile at his reaction.

“You know about that?” He sounds mortified, turning his face to bury it in the pillow. You can’t help but giggle now, your hand lifting to gently run through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Mhm. Saw it when you were pulling up your grocery list the other day.”

“Well then, yeah,” he admits begrudgingly, turning his face to look at you again. You teasingly pull at his earlobe before your fingers softly trace his jaw. “That counts.”

“As love?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it, your hand freezing against his cheek, but Vernon barely bats an eyelash.

“Yeah.”

You stare at one another for a moment, the air around you suddenly tense. You can barely hear the music anymore as he looks at you. He doesn’t seem phased by your comment at all, and you vow to bring it up later – but you’ll leave it for now.

“Okay,” you whisper in affirmation, and he smiles.

“Okay.”

You kiss him first. It’s soft, a quick press of your mouth to his, but it has your toes curling regardless. And before you can pull away completely, his hand finds your waist and he pulls you back in, mouth moving slowly against yours as he kisses you senseless.

You’re startled when he pulls away suddenly, eyebrows raised almost to the sky, and you blink back at him in surprise. “What?”

“You distracted me!”

You let out a snort. “Sorry.”

“I’ll accept that rightful apology,” he says, and you roll your eyes as he continues. “What I was saying before you attacked me was,” he dives right back in as though there had been no ‘I-may-have-admitted-I-love-you’ or make-out interludes, “that you’re important, too.” He waits for it to settle, lets you sit for a minute in the discomfort, knowing how hard those words are for you to accept.

“Okay,” you say quietly, and he smiles.

“You can ask for help when you need it, or you can do it all by yourself, whatever you want. You just have to ask. So many of us would have planned a party for you if we knew that’s what you wanted,” he tells you. “What you want matters. It’s just that sometimes, you need to tell other people what that is. We’re not all A+ mind-readers like you.” He’s grinning now at his own jab, and you pout.

“I’m not a mind-reader,” you protest. “I’m an empath. It’s different!”

Vernon is beaming, and you know he’s pleased that he’s distracted you from being sad. “How about using some of that empathy to come back to the awesome party you planned so I don’t have to talk to your friends alone?”

Tagging some loves @wqnwoos @dejavernon @tae-bebe @savventeen

#vernon x reader #chs x reader #chs fic #chs fluff #vernon fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #vernon x you #seventeen fluff #my writing

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batpham-discord-highlights · 11 months

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Pride Celebrations Part Two!!!🎉🌈💖

Welcome to part two: the electric boogaloo! This time we bring you prompts! We have two rounds of prompts lined up, along with this wonderful bingo sheet. Big thanks to all of our wonderful community members who pitched in to help with these prompts!!!

DP and Dc characters first meet at pride where Batman was giving out hugs.

First hero ever phantom is known to go to pride events, and that so happens to be where he meets Batman for the first time.

Dani isn’t really a girl, but they aren’t really a boy. They just, are.

Bart forgets to tell the rest of young justice that he is gay, which may have become a problem when he was caught kissing Phantom on their date

Twitter is convinced Batman is dating Clark Kent, and Bruce Wayne is dating Superman.

Ace(possibly aro) Damian trying his damndest to date and it never going well cause he doesn't know wtf is up with his own head. Him either entering a qpr with someone/s or finding someone else who is ace.

Dani ends up in Bludhaven during June. Dick spots a small, lonely girl staring around in wonder. Things happen, particularly Dad!Dick activates.

Dan and Jason meeting at an Ace support group

Danny meets Battinson at pride, but both as heroes.

Bruce's kids finding him, in a bad disguise, at Pride with a new partner they've never met.

Lawyer!Jazz meets Selina while working for a non-profit firm, and they hit it off.

Wes and Bernard meet at a conspiracy convention.

Halfa Jason au where his ghost form manifests surprisingly feminine.

Dani meets a hot girl at the skatepark.

It’s Amity’s first pride parade! It goes surprisingly well, but the justice league is called.

Amity's first Pride since the portal, and the ghosts all want to attend

The batkids only learn that Alfred is actually trans when Danny joins the household and Alfred's like “me too.”

Julia Pennyworth brings home her new girlfriend, Jazz Fenton.

Poindexter attends Pride and is finally able to feel accepted.

Katherine Kane and Sam Manson first met at a gala when it was interrupted by a rogue attack and they were the only two that did anything about it.

Tucker is the only one that can solve the Riddler’s questions. His reward is a dinner date.

Tucker goes to Gotham with one mission: get the gay Robin’s autograph. This proves harder than originally thought.

While working with Leslie Thompkins, Jazz meets Harper Row—part time doctor's assistant and part time vigilant.

Dash ends up going to Gotham U. Finally away from his dad's expectations, he lets himself explore the part of himself he had to keep buried. Dick runs into him at a gay bar and decides this obviously out of his depth guy needs support. Eventual Core Strength but only after Dick tries to help set Dash up with a date and realizes he's jealous.

A series of shenanigans where the batfam thinks that Jason is lying about having a boyfriend. Danny is a cryptid who keeps getting pulled away by either ghost king duties or general shenanigans.

#dpxdc prompts #dpxdcpride2023 #batpham server

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 2 years

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Kinktober Day 27 - Forniphilia

Pairing: Marcus Pike x named f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut 18+ only!)

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: H-human furniture?! (forniphilia), BDSM vibes, very sexy art exhibitions, descriptions of (naked) bodies, D/s dynamics, sub!Marcus, Marcus needs A Fucking Break, Feelings? In my BDSM fic? it's more likely thank you think.

Summary: Marcus’s latest case brings him to a small, niche art exhibition to interview an artist whose gallery of explicit art had recently been stolen and defaced. The exhibition awakens something in him that he did not expect.

A/N: @absurdthirst, this prompt HAUNTED me until I had to come up with some sort of idea because this was just too fun not to try. THANK YOU for the titillating Prompt List! Thank also you to @leslie-lyman, @honestly-shite, and @pedropascalsx who heard so much about this prompt that they probably don't even need to read this, it's already ingrained in their brains from how many times I've talked about it. I love you all, thank you for enabling me.

Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

That's it, Marcus thinks. This job is going to kill him.

He had always thought that it would be a bullet that took him down, but, as he stands in this little art gallery, he wonders if one can actually die of mortification.

This case had already turned more than a few heads at the office. An artist's studio had been broken into, nearly all of her collection either stolen or defaced. The few paintings that had been left behind had made their way to Marcus's office, all splashed with accusations in brilliant vermillion. Whore. Filth. Pervert. The paintings themselves are beautiful, detailed, and masterful in their technique. They’re also incredibly explicit.

More than one visitor to Marcus’s office has stopped dead in their tracks and stared. Marcus, for his part, had been getting used to staring at a wall of cocks and vaginas as he had worked at his desk, but now he wishes that had been the extent of his discomfort.

Marcus is supposed to be interviewing the artist whose entire collection had been destroyed tonight. He had been told that they were busy, at a friend’s exhibition, but Marcus had readily agreed to an interview at the small gallery, thinking it would be a nice, quiet place to talk to them about the case.

He should have asked what kind of exhibition.

Marcus tries to keep his eyes pointed straight ahead, not letting his gaze focus on any of the… art. When he had first walked in, he had been gobsmacked by the sight: bodies–naked bodies, everywhere. A nude woman, balancing a lamp on their back, providing light for a fully clothed man reading nearby. Another man, apparently being used as a chair. Marcus had barely been able to keep a straight face, his cheeks turning bright red as he cast his eyes around in alarm, finding the title of the exhibition on the wall. Forniphilia: The Eroticism of the Inanimate.

Marcus awkwardly strolls through the gallery, looking for someone who might be the artist he’s looking for. All he has is a name, which makes it difficult. He scans the various guests, feeling too off-balance to approach anyone. Before he can gather up the courage to ask, someone beats him to the punch.

“You look lost,” a sultry, feminine voice calls out to him from his right. Schooling his face into something he hopes resembles a normal expression, he turns to look.

A beautiful woman looks back at him with an amused smirk on her face. She’s dressed smartly, in a businesslike pencil skirt and white dress shirt, typing on a laptop. She just so happens to be surrounded by naked men on their knees. One, she’s using as a desk for her laptop, another for a footstool. Yet another is holding a cup of coffee on his back. The last, she’s sitting on, using him as a chair.

“I’m looking for Jacqueline Conrad,” Marcus says, ignoring the heat on his face. “My name is Special Agent Pike, I’m supposed to be interviewing her about a theft that occurred at her gallery last week.”

“Special Agent Pike,” the woman drawls, dragging out every syllable. “How nice of you to stop by the exhibition.”

“I was told she’d be here,” Marcus continues, making a point to stare at the woman's forehead, and only her forehead.

"I'll tell you where Jaqueline is if you tell me something, first," the woman says coyly.

"Sure," Marcus agrees, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible before his eyes run the risk of wandering. His cock is inexplicably half-hard in his pants, the sight before him far more erotic than it has any business being. He needs to go on a fucking date, or something, Marcus thinks to himself. He’s way too tightly wound if weird performance art is turning him on.

"Do you like what you see, Agent Pike?" the woman asks with a knowing glint in her eye.

Fuck. Marcus feigns ignorance. “As a lover of art, I understand that it takes on different forms for different people,” he answers diplomatically.

“Look at you,” the woman croons. “A Fed with a brain.” She smiles, showing all of her teeth. “But spare me the party line, Agent. Tell me, do you like it?��

Marcus cocks his head to the side, considering. “I think,” he begins carefully, “that anyone would be hard-pressed not to be affected by the sight of so many naked bodies.”

The woman throws back her head and laughs. She picks up the steaming cup of coffee, takes a sip, and places it back down on the man’s back, who moans. Marcus can see the circular tinge of pink on his skin from the heat of it. He swallows.

“I like you, Agent Pike,” she announces, still smiling. “Thank you so much for stopping by to discuss my gallery. I apologize that I had a prior engagement tonight, I’m helping a dear friend with a show.” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Jacqueline.”

Marcus regards her hand warily. He prides himself on being a polite person, but he’d have to step onto the stage, among all of the bodies, to shake it. Eventually, courtesy wins out, and he steps forward to clasp her hand.

“You’re blushing, Agent Pike,” Jacqueline teases.

Finally caught off-guard, Marcus chuckles nervously and breaks eye contact. “When they said you’d be at an exhibition, I had pictured something very different,” he says.

“As you said, art takes different forms for different people,” Jacqueline says with a wink, “depending on your source of inspiration, Agent Pike.”

“Marcus,” he corrects, his face heating even further.

“Marcus,” she croons. “Sweetheart, I can see your… inspiration from here.”

“Ms–Ms. Conrad, I apologize, but I’m here for–”

“I know, I know,” Jacqueline interrupts. “We’re taking a little break in five,” she says, patting her chair’s butt affectionately. “And we can talk about the theft. Until then, why don’t you grab a refreshment and enjoy the exhibition, hmm?”

Marcus obeys, grabbing a little glass of punch from the refreshments table and keeping his expression aloof as he studies another exhibition: a curvaceous woman with massive breasts, draped in coats and holding an umbrella. The placard in front of her reads ‘Coat Rack,’ and a small, amused smile spreads across her face as she watches Marcus get the pun.

Despite his best efforts, Marcus can’t help but glance back at Jacqueline. He watches as she murmurs something to the man she’s sitting on, stroking his hair with a small smile as he answers. Marcus can’t hear the exchange, but he can’t help but notice that the man’s cock is rock hard–flushed and weeping with how much he likes his predicament. His own cock twitches with sympathy. There is something inexplicably appealing about being used like that. Marcus tries–and fails–not to think about being in the other man’s place, feeling fingers gently stroking his hair as he just drifts, not needing to pay attention to deadlines or meetings or the endless string of unread emails in his inbox, but simply existing with another person.

“Marcus,” calls a voice over his shoulder, and he suppresses a shiver.

"Ms. Conrad," he says, a little too brightly. He spins, plastering his agreeable ‘Friendly Agent’ smile on his face, the one that gets him through more doors than it really should.

Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t–

“Isn’t Oliver brilliant?” she gushes. “He’s been working on this exhibition for quite some time. He’s designed every scene personally.”

“Oh,” Marcus says, nodding his head. “Right.”

Play it cool, play it–

“Most people, when they see a new kink for the first time, are either disgusted right away, or they’re completely intrigued. They might not realize it right at that moment, but once it stews for a few days, it starts to eat at them, and they want to see more.”

“Is that right?” Marcus comments, his voice sounding just a little too high-pitched to be normal. “Ms. Conrad–”

“Jacqueline, please.”

“Jacqueline, I–the theft, were you aware of any threats to your gallery? Perhaps any attention from conservative groups, or–”

“I’m going to give you a choice,” Jacqueline interrupts. “We can discuss our business here, and you can leave, and I won’t bother you again until the conclusion of the case. Or,” she continues, leaning in closer, “you can come to my apartment and we can discuss the case–or anything else you’d like to talk about–in private.”

The conflicting offers bounce around in Marcus’s head. One the one hand, he stays here at this gallery, asks his questions, and leaves. On the other hand… well, he’s not quite sure what will happen if he follows this beautiful woman home, but she’s looking at him as if she understands exactly what is on his mind tonight. Say yes, his brain urges. Say yes and go home with her. Say yes and let go for one fucking night.

“Sure,” Marcus finally agrees. “We can discuss the–the case in private.”

Jacqueline purses her lips, her eyebrows drawing up in the middle, as if she’s looking at a very cute puppy. “You are too cute for words, you know that?”

Marcus’s eyebrows raise in surprise at her words. He isn’t sure what to say in response–he’s fine at taking compliments surrounding the job, but about him? He feels as if he’s been knocked off-balance by the praise.

Jacqueline palms his cheek. “You are,” she insists. “Poor thing. Come home with me, honey. I’ll make you feel good.”

Marcus follows her home in a daze. When she hands him a glass of wine at her apartment, she deliberately lets their fingers touch, and the light caress sends him down a path of no return–he will do whatever this woman asks of him tonight, and he knows it.

“Why don’t you tell me what you liked about the exhibition,” Jacqueline murmurs in Marcus’s ear as he takes his first sip of wine, and he suppresses a shiver.

“I like, uh–” Marcus trails off, genuinely thinking of a good answer. Why did the exhibition speak to him, make his cock stiff in his pants when he was supposed to be there for the job? “”I like–” he swallows thickly “–I like how someone can just be… static, I guess, if that makes any sense? LIke, just to uh, have the self-control to not move a muscle while–” he clears his throat. “In a weird way, it’s almost about being useful,” he continues, more quietly. “Being able to be there in a way that–that just involves being there, and nothing else.”

Jacqueline nods, as if the words coming out of his mouth are something more than gibberish. Her open expression prompts him to go on.

“I don’t want to think,” Marcus admits quietly. “I overthink everything. Work, relationships, everything. I try so hard to be everything to everyone. I’m so fucking tired of thinking.”

Jacqueline nods, her eyes full of understanding. She gets it. She sees him.

“Tell you what,” Jacqueline says with a little smile. “I had to put on way too much makeup for this silly show. I’m going to take it all off and go through a little skincare routine. If you’re really interested, why don’t we take this elsewhere, and you can take off all of your clothes for me and get on your hands and knees in front of the sink.”

For a harrowing, endless moment, Marcus doesn’t move. He can’t. He feels stuck to the spot, legs glued to the ground by the weight of Jacqueline’s request. Marcus is always in control. Marcus is the one who gives in every relationship. Marcus is the strong one, the person with his head on his shoulders, feet planted firmly on the ground.

What if he didn’t need to be?

Jacqueline’s eyes sparkle when Marcus’s hands finally move to loosen his tie.

Layer by layer, Marcus lays himself bare for her. He strips off his persona–the confident, collected Agent who allows every blow to glance off his shoulders without faltering, no matter how devastating. He shrugs off his shirt in the same way he’d had to shrug off his divorce, his broken engagement. He unbuckles his belt and steps out of his pants, the same way he’s stepped away from every bad thing that’s ever happened in his life, walking away with his chin up and never truly facing any of them. Few people would ever know that underneath it all, he’s a vulnerable man.

With his heart in his throat, Marcus slides his boxers down, shedding his last barrier. Jacqueline watches the entire time, but it isn’t until he’s fully bare that she smiles kindly and steps in close to him, palming his cheek.

“You’re a beautiful man,” she tells him softly.

Marcus mumbles a low thank you, and Jacqueline’s smile widens. His breath stutters as he starts to walk over to the vanity, but he’s stopped with her gentle fingers on his forearm.

“Hang on,” Jacqueline says. “I want you to think of a word–something you don’t normally say in regular conversation. If at any time you feel uncomfortable in the slightest, you say that word, and we stop. Okay?”

A safeword. She’s asking for a safeword. Marcus casts his eyes around and lands on a classic painting of waterlilies hanging near the sink.

“Uhh, Monet,” Marcus answers awkwardly.

Jacqueline smiles. “That’s perfect, honey.” She nods in the direction of the vanity. “Go ahead.”

“Monet,” Marcus immediately says, and she cocks her head to the side in confusion. “I–can I–may I kiss you?” he asks quietly.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Jacqueline breathes. “Yes, honey. Of course.”

Marcus is torn between capturing her lips gently with his and striding forward and crushing her against him. In the end, he does a mixture of both, taking her face in his hands and slotting his mouth against hers with a fervor unbefitting of what has thus far been a strange, kinky one-night stand.

Jacqueline opens to him willingly when his tongue seeks entrance, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging lightly on the strands. It's then that she takes charge of the kiss, angling Marcus’s head ever so slightly, and he’s all too happy to let her. He gives her everything he has to give, until she comes up for air, breathing heavily–something that gives him far too much satisfaction.

"You're trouble, aren't you?" Jacqueline teases against his lips.

"I usually am," Marcus agrees, a playful smile coloring his words.

"What are we going to do with you, hmm?"

"I'm sure you already have plenty of ideas," Marcus says with a breathless laugh.

"I have a few," Jacqueline murmurs. She runs her hands down the planes of his chest appreciatively. "Right now, I want to see this big, strong man on his knees."

Marcus had thought it would be harder to take his place on his hands and knees. He had thought his ego might protest at the last second, that when faced with the reality of this bizarre situation he’d found himself in, he’d come to his senses and question the sanity of being, of all things, a fucking chair for a woman he’d just met.

In reality, none of that crosses Marcus’s mind. It’s anticlimactic, when he finds himself on the floor in front of Jacqueline’s bathroom sink. He’s achingly hard for having done nothing but kiss her. He finds it’s the anticipation that’s making him so incredibly aroused–the idea that anything could happen tonight, and that he has absolutely no idea what to expect from this. ‘Furniture kink’ has never once crossed his mind as a thing anyone would do, much less him, but when Jacqueline sits in the middle of his back and reaches down to reassuringly stroke his cheek, it all feels so natural. Like it’s a normal thing he does with his partners.

“So, Agent Pike,” Jacqueline says with a playful seriousness as she goes about her routine. “What made you want to be an art detective?”

Marcus huffs a laugh. “Flunked out of art school,” he answers.

Jacqueline laughs above him. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“So you aren’t making it as an artist,” she says, “and that makes you think, ‘fuck it, I’m joining the FBI?’”

“Well, it was–” Marcus shakes his head, reminiscing. “It was on a bulletin board outside of the lecture hall. It was becoming clear that I was not going to make a living otherwise, and it sounded interesting.”

“Did you always like it?” Jacqueline asks quietly.

“Being in Art Crimes? Yeah,” Marcus answers truthfully. “It was everything that was missing in my life.”

Jacqueline’s breath catches. “And is anything missing now?” she asks, a knowing timbre to her voice.

“Well,” Marcus chuckles self-deprecatingly. “Not with the job, at least.”

“Oh, honey,” she tuts, but it’s not condescending, it’s empathetic. Marcus stiffens slightly as he feels Jacqueline’s hand gently stroke his hair back from his forehead. “You’re doing so well, you know that?”

To Marcus’s humiliation, a genuine whimper falls from his lips at her quiet praise.

Jacqueline giggles softly. “You are,” she insists. Her fingers card through his hair as her hand moves down the back of his neck to rest on his shoulders. “You have wide shoulders,” she observes.

“Yeah?” Marcus asks.

“Very,” she murmurs appreciatively. “So thick.”

Marcus watches out of the corner of his eye as Jacqueline removes the last of her makeup. She had been beautiful with it, and she’s just as beautiful without. She picks up a bottle of lotion and puts a little dot on her finger.

"You're doing so well," Jacqueline says again. "You're very still."

Marcus had been desperately trying not to move a muscle the entire time, wanting to do a good job, and he finds himself preening under her soft praise. His last partner had never really complimented him for simply… being him. All his life, he was always praised for what he gave to other people, so he gave and gave and gave and gave–and of course, everyone took.

When Marcus had first walked into that exhibition and discovered an as-of-yet unexplored territory, he had assumed that playing these roles would be punishing or stern–not that he'd be sitting and making comfortable conversation, almost like a date. Except he's naked, being used as a chair, and his cock has never been this hard.

“I didn’t expect it to be like… this,” Marcus says quietly, breaking the silence.

“What did you expect?” Jacqueline asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“More… serious, I guess?”

She laughs happily. “Don’t let those faux-romance novels fool you,” she says. “Kink is supposed to be fun. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“I’ve never really thought about it that way,” Marcus confesses.

“Thinking about kinky stuff a lot, are you, Agent Pike?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “I do have an office full of genitalia, at the moment.”

Jacqueline laughs again and sets a little container full of eye cream down on the counter with finality. “There,” she says. “All done.”

“Yeah?” Marcus perks up. That… that was it?

“Yeah,” Jacqueline repeats, stroking his hair again. “You did a good job, honey.”

Marcus hums in appreciation, but she continues.

“I’d like to give you a reward, for being so good for me,” she says.

“Oh,” Marcus says, dumbly.

“You’re rock hard,” Jacqueline observes wryly.

“I did notice,” he answers teasingly, matching her deadpan tone.

“Behave,” she warns, sliding off of his back and kneeling beside him. “Or you don’t get your reward.”

“Sorry,” Marcus says automatically.

“You’re cheeky,” Jacqueline says with a smile. “I like that.”

Marcus smiles to himself but doesn’t respond again. Is it too soon to fall in love with this woman?

“I’d like you to stay exactly as you are,” Jacqueline instructs. “No moving. And I’m going to stroke this pretty cock until you cum all over my floor, right where you are. Does that sound like a nice reward?”

“Yes,” Marcus answers immediately, not bothering to hide his desperation from her. Too soon or not, he’s gone.

Jacqueline hums in amusement, and reaches out to grasp his weeping cock.

“Fuck,” Marcus hisses, dropping his head between his shoulders in relief. “Oh, fuck.”

“Shh,” she soothes. “You don’t need to say anything,” she murmurs. “You don’t need to move. Just feel it, okay? Just focus on how good it feels.”

Jacqueline starts to stroke him up and down, and Marcus can only close his eyes and whimper pitifully at her touch.

“That’s it,” she encourages him. “You don’t need to do anything else. No moving, no talking, just me, touching this perfect cock until you turn inside-out for me.”

Marcus groans at her filthiness. No one has ever talked to him like this, and it’s a revelation.

“It’s so big,” she pouts. “Next time I’m going to take advantage of that and sit on it, instead,” she promises. “What do you think about that?”

“Yes,” Marcus exhales. “Please.”

“I wouldn’t let you cum for quite a while,” Jacqueline warns him. “I’m going easy on you tonight.”

“Fine,” Marcus says immediately. “Whatever you want.” He finds that he means it–he’s putty in her hands. Anything she’d ask, he’d do in a heartbeat.

“Ohh, I like you,” Jacqueline breathes. “Yes, you’re incredible. Cum for me, I wanna see what you look like.”

Marcus nods thickly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Gonna–”

“Shh,” Jacqueline reminds him. “Stay still, remember? Right now, you’re mine to use.”

The statement causes everything to draw up tight. With barely any warning at all, Marcus cums with a sharp inhale, forcing himself to stay still as he spills over her knuckles, coating the floor with ropes of his spend.

"Oh, honey," Jacqueline murmurs. "That was a lot, huh? You are pent up."

Marcus laughs breathlessly. "Been–Jesus–been a rough couple of months."

"I'd like to hear about it," Jacqueline says quietly, rubbing up and down his back as he comes down. "Not tonight–but if you're interested in doing this again, I'd like you to tell me about it while we do a scene," she explains. "Honestly, it may help you let some of it go."

"Oh," Marcus exclaims softly. "I–yeah, I want that."

Jacqueline laughs quietly. "Good," she whispers. "I think you're cute, and sexy, and fun, and I'd love to get to know you a little better."

"Same," Marcus murmurs, smiling at the absurdity of asking to get to know someone better while naked, on his knees, his cum splattered on the floor beneath him.

As if she's reading his mind, Jacqueline says, "You know, if we'd been doing this for a little while, I'd make you lick it up for me."

Marcus's brain goes fuzzy at her words, and he lets out an obscene noise, somewhere in between a whine and a moan. The image of him licking his own cum off of her floor, combined with the prospect that she wants to do this again is causing him to short-circuit.

Jacqueline laughs at the broken sound. "Oh, you like that idea, huh? You want to clean up your mess for me?"

"Do just about anything for you right now," Marcus says with a wry grin.

"Have you ever tasted yourself?" Jacqueline asks.

Marcus shakes his head. "No."

She dips her finger in it and brings a little drop to his lips. He sucks it into his mouth, the light salt of her skin combining with the slightly bitter taste of him on his tongue.

"We're going to put a pin in that," Jacqueline is saying, "because this is the first time you've ever been a sub, and you're probably feeling a bit vulnerable, and I don't want to go too far before you're ready." She grabs a wad of toilet paper and wipes it up before Marcus can protest. "Sit up for me, honey."

Marcus rises to his knees and is able to look, really look at Jacqueline for the first time since getting down on the floor for her. She's right–he is feeling vulnerable, although he isn't entirely comfortable showing it just yet. But her eyes are warm and kind, and her expression is open and unguarded, and he finds himself already wanting more of this. It's not just her–it's everything, everything they've done tonight, the way he was finally given permission to just slow down for a moment, to do nothing.

"You can kiss me again," Jacqueline teases with a glint in her eye.

Marcus doesn't need to be told twice.

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal #kinktober 2022

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th3sp4rr0w · 8 months

Text

Day Ten

A03 Link <- Starts at Chapter/Day One for those just joining us :))

Prompts For Day Ten Branding/Scarring/Collar

Alt. Prompt For Day Ten Bullied

Prompts Used for Day Ten Branding, Scarring, Bullied

Tw's; Death Mention, Mentioned Experimentation, Panic Attack

Chapter Ten under the cut :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being able to hold his baby again brought up so many emotions.

Sure, he had given him affection while he was injured. Soft touches and forehead kisses he’d never be able to remember, locked away by the worst two weeks of his life forever. The whispered words of encouragement hung in the air until they were no longer needed, fading away into whisps you only catch glimpses of.

It hadn’t been what either one wanted or needed. Now that he could hold him without fear of aggravating his injuries, he could hold him close to his chest, breathing in his scent. Talia had gotten up a while ago and was awkwardly hanging around, probably waiting to escort them out.

He’d have to apologize to her later. He knew he’d been a jerk. He’d make it up to her someday.

For now, he smoothed down his child’s hair, thumbing over the small white patch gently. He had never had it before; he assumed it was the effect of the pits. When they got back to the plane he was going to give him as full a medical work up as he could, take his temperature, see how the burns had healed-

“Papa?” he asked.

That was another thing. Neither of his kids had ever consistently called him anything except for Bruce and B. After he came back, Jason had exclusively called him papa, willingly climbing into his lap and clinging to him. He tried not to show it, but he was worried; it was such a stark personality change-

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can I get some water, please?”

He and Talia made eye contact. He slowly moved them so his legs were hanging off the bed, “Yes,” he grunted, standing up. “Lets get you back to the plane so we can get you home.”

Talia nodded. She briskly walked over to them, grabbing the cot herself and wheeling it out as Bruce carried his boy.

He was already planning on giving him some more hydrating I.V. fluids, but debating on removing his nasogastric tube. He was awake and alert, so it’s not like he needed it anymore.

… Lesli and Alfred would kill him and nobody would ever find his body. Dick would probably help them and there was only a few other people who would care, all of which would support their decision after hearing what he’d done. He decided against it.

They boarded the plane and Bruce rushed him over to the med bay. Talia came in with the cot, wheeling it to the center of the small area.

“Thank you,” he grunted, placing Jason down gently.

She nodded. Then she was gone. That was just how it was when they were together; it was passionate, and possessive, and it left them wanting more than they knew they could have. They always had to be gone by morning.

He still held the zebra. His hospital gown was splattered with Lazarus waters.

“Alright,” Bruce muttered, “I’m going to do an exam really quick.” He grabbed a water bottle and handed it to Jason, who opened it.

Jason nodded, playing with the zebra’s mane with one hand and holding the opened bottle with the other. “Before we do that, can I, um...”

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked.

“I’m cold,” he said, looking up at Bruce with puppy dog eyes he knew had come straight from Dick’s book. “I think I have some sweats in here. Can I change into them?”

Bruce sighed. “I’m sorry, Jaylad, I need to check you over. I can grab you a blanket,” he offered, turning around to look in the cabinet. Dick ran cold, so he always kept a stash somewhere in most of his various cars, planes, what have you.

“Okay, papa,” he said sweetly.

Bruce brought down some thick blankets and watched as Jason piled them on. He didn’t question it; he was just glad he was sitting here.

Bruce checked his forehead temperature first. 96; no wonder he was cold. He’d be back into range shortly.

He checked joints next, bumping his knees to check their reflex. He checked them off in his head while he did them.

“Jaylad?” he asked.

“Yeah, papa?”

He took a deep breath. “Can you tell me your full name?”

“Jason Peter Todd-Wayne,” he said immediately.

“Remember these words; ball, dog, house. Can you do that for me?” Jason nodded, so he continued, “What’s your birthday?”

“Augast 16 th , 2007,” he said.

“Good, you’re doing very good,” he praised. He didn’t have ear checkers or anything like that, but he did have a flashlight pen on him. He shined the light into his eyes as he asked; “Do you know the date today?”

“Umm... No.”

“That’s okay,” he muttered, brushing a wayward curl out of his face. “That was perhaps a little dumb on my part, of course you wouldn’t know the date today.”

Jason giggled brightly. It was like hearing magic. Bruce hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed it. “Yeah, it was a little dumb,” he agreed.

Bruce tried not to smirk. That would only encourage him.

“How about this,” he said instead, beginning to check his head for any tenderness, “What’s the last date you remember?”

“Um, April 8 th ,” he replied. Bruce hummed.

Most people didn’t remember their traumas right after they happened. He had dared to hope Jason was part of that majority.

“Okay, chum,” he said, brushing hair gently with his fingers so he could separate it and get a better look at the scalp underneath, “Can you tell me what we did?”

“We went to Ethiopia for... a case,” he avoided mentioning that name, “And you saw me awake working on a project,” he continued. “You told me to go to bed and that we’d sight-see. You took me to a lot of different buildings, and we went to get souvenirs for people,” his eyes widened a bit, sitting up straighter. “Did you give Alfie and Dick their presents?”

Bruce grunted. “No. Figured you’d want to do that,” he said.

Jason relaxed immediately. “Thank you,” he said.

Bruce grunted in lieu of, ‘you’re welcome’. “What else do you remember?”

“Um... we came back to the hotel to get ready for patrol,” he said quietly. “You left Flynn on my bed. I... I didn’t even see you get him for me.”

Bruce hummed. “You remember more than I thought you would,” he said softly.

Jason nodded, hugging the Flynn a little tighter. “... Papa?”

“Yes, Jason?”

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.

Bruce paused. “Sorry for what, chum?”

Jason looked up at him. His hand tangled in Flynn’s mane. “I... I messed up.” He took a deep breath.

Bruce stayed silent, offering his hand to the boy. Sometimes silence and a little bit of support went a long way.

He took it. “I let you down,” he said. “I- she, mmm.” He trailed off, looking at his lap.

“I was talking with her. Before we went, I mean,” he admitted quietly. “She didn’t want you to know. I think she just wanted to manipulate me for money,” he admitted.

Bruce’s heart broke. “You don’t have to talk about it, sweetheart.

Jason nodded and braced himself. “It started when I got sick and Dick brought me all those files.”

Bruce was patient as Jason went through the whole story. He still preformed the medical exam as he went. He never interrupted Jason, other than to ask what the words he said were. He didn’t hesitate saying them before continuing on to prove to Bruce that Sheila was the biggest piece of shit he’d ever heard of.

He remembered that case. He remembered the mom screaming that she had not given her kid permission and now she was dead, and all she could think about was that she hadn’t checked on her that night before she went to bed. It was the girl’s father that had taken her to get surgery from a back-alley surgeon to save money.

“Jason?” he asked.

Jason paused from where he was ranting about how stupid he’d been. “... Yes?”

He put his hands on his shoulders. “It’s not your fault,” he said firmly.

“But-”

“Nope,” he said. He finished up the exam, sitting on the bed. “Did you ever find your mom’s file?” he asked.

Jason flushed and nodded.

“Then you know I left it blank. Do you want to know why?”

He nodded again.

“I had tracked her down to Ethiopia,” he started, wrapping an arm around Jason’s shoulders. “She had only been there for maybe a month, and she was thriving, for the most part. When I cornered her in an alley when she was coming home from work, she begged me not to take her back to New Jersey because she had a kid buried here,” he said gently.

Jason looked suddenly angry. “She lied.”

“... What?”

“Well, I don’t know to who,” he amended, “But-” he groaned. “She told me that my older brother choked to death and my twin got swapped with someone else’s dying kid,” he said.

Bruce’s expression darkened. “She said what?”

Jason looked over to him, somewhat desperate. “We have to find him. They should know,” he pleaded.

He thought about what he would do if Jason or Dick got swapped for other kids. He’d want to know. He’d still care for whatever children needed it, he thinks, but he’d... he’d want to know.

“Of course,” he said softly. “But, at the time,” he continued, “I didn’t know about all this. She cried. Said that night was her biggest mistake and she’d just wanted to help. That she had been desperate to treat her own kids herself since she didn’t have any money to take them to the doctor and lost them both because of it.”

Jason looked at the floor. “You believed her.”

“I believed her,” he echoed. “Trusting someone and wanting to believe them isn’t stupid, Jace. It makes you a good person, a better person than them, anyways. It means you want to see the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it,” he kissed his temple. “I’m sorry she didn’t deserve it.”

Jason let himself fall sideways and into Bruce’s arms. He held him for a few minutes in silence.

He stared at his cheek, brushing his thumb over the mark. He still didn’t know how to tell Jason about it. That was, until the curtain of silence gently pulled away.

“I have scars now,” his voice was neutral and soft, “Don’t I?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath. “The J he carved is still there, isn’t it.”

Bruce put a hand in his hair. “Yes.”

He hummed. “I want to see,” he said softly.

“Jaylad-”

“Please, papa,” he whispered. He looked up at Bruce. “I don’t want the first time I see it to be when I’m alone. If Dick sees it before I do, he’s going to make it sound worse than it is because he loves me and he’s worried but it’s going to get me freaked out and then, even after I see it, I’ll think it is worse than it is. If I need to live with it, I want to prepare myself first.”

He couldn’t argue with it. He helped Jason sit up and got up himself, finding a hand-held mirror he kept in the plane for Babs when she tagged along for missions and handing it to him. At first, he kept it pointed to the ceiling. He played with Flynn’s soft mane before taking a deep breath and looking.

His eyes widened. “Whoa,” he said softly.

Bruce stayed silent as Jason turned his head back and forth, pinching the white shock of hair in his bangs. “I think this might get in the way,” he muttered.

He kept looking in the mirror. His eyes trailed down to his arms and hands. His eyes scraped over the flesh of his legs, using the mirror to check the back of them. He whistled. “I’m gonna have to wear pants this summer, aren’t I?” he joked.

Bruce snorted. It was never “shorts weather” in Gotham. It was like the city was allergic to anything besides “foggy overcast”.

The gown slipped below his shoulder as he grinned up at Bruce. When he looked back in the mirror, he furrowed his brow. He angled it different ways before sliding the gown off the other shoulder and looking there.

“Jason? What’s wrong?”

He made a small sound. “I... where are my scars?”

“What.”

“Not those,” he amended, “My other ones. From before the warehouse,” he clarified.

Bruce looked more closely. The small scar hidden by his hairline he’d had forever was missing upon closer inspection. That shouldn’t have...

He knew what scar Jason was looking for. The day his mom died...

Well. Willis was never the most reasonable or rational man. Jason wore that scar like a badge of honor, saying it brought him closer to Cathrine. He’d talked about getting the date she was born and the date she died around the scar as a memorial tattoo.

He checked the boy’s shoulders himself. It was gone.

“No...” he muttered. His fists clenched, bringing themselves down on the cot. “No!” he shouted. “No, he doesn’t get to take this away from me! He’s already taken enough, why does that bastard get this, too-”

“Jason,” he said, catching his fists. “It’s okay. We can think of something else,” he promised.

Jason looked up at him, his baby blues a light shade of green. “I hate him,” he snarled.

“That’s okay,” he said as soothingly as he could.

“I want him to die.”

“That’s okay, too.”

He made a sound like he was dying. “Why does he get this too?” he asked, voice fragile. “I want my mom. My actual mom, not that two-faced lying blonde bitch-”

“It’s okay,” he said and put a hand over his shoulder. “It’s okay. You miss her. You loved her. I know all you wanted was to have a mom again, sweetheart. That’s okay,” he said, his voice low.

“When we get back to Gotham, can we visit her?”

Bruce found himself nodding immediately. “Why don’t we make a day out of it? We can visit mine and Dickie’s parents, if he wants to,” he promised.

“That sounds nice,” he said softly. “Can I bring an Austen book? Mom could never choose a favorite anything, but Jane Austen-”

“Was her favorite author,” Bruce finished, smiling. “Yeah. We can make that happen.” he took a deep breath. “Maybe I’ll bring along a book of my own. My mom loved Heidi by Johanna Spyri.”

Jason looked at him. “Really?”

Bruce smiled softly. “Yeah. She used to read it to me every night.”

“What’s it about?” he asked.

“A little girl, Heidi, is being raised by her aunt after her parents pass away. She never wanted kids, and she hates having to take care of her. She’s out of work, and struggling financially when she finds a job, but she can’t take Heidi with her. She finds her sister-in-law’s father in the mountains and tells him he needs to take care of her now. He didn’t want to raise another child after losing his daughter, but Heidi was determined to get him to come out of his shell. Just when she gets settled in, her aunt comes back and takes her to live with her and the family she works as a nanny and maid for,” he glanced at Jason, who had stars in his eyes. “I don’t know what happens after that.”

“Why not?”

Bruce was silent a moment. “Mom never got to finish reading it to me.”

“... Oh,” he said, grabbing Bruce’s hand. It was so small. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” he said, squeezing his hand.

Jason was quiet for a moment longer. “Mom used to read Pride and Prejudice to me at bedtime, ‘fore she got too sick,” he admitted. “She passed before we could finish, too.”

Bruce squeezed his hand. For all their progress, there would always be things in his boy’s life he could never undo.

“I’m sorry,” he mirrored Jason’s words.

“Me too,” he said, his voice the ghost of a whisper.

The moment was peaceful. No emergencies. No heartache. Everything was okay, and the silence was bliss.

Of course, that meant that it wasn’t meant to last.

Talia ran up to the plane and ran inside. “We have to go,” she said.

“What?” Bruce morphed into Batman in seconds, standing up and already working his way to Talia. “What do you-”

BANG! Jason ducked down on instinct, Batman tackling Talia to the ground as a shot rang out.

The bat recovered first, closing the door to the plane before he ran off in the direction of the cockpit.

Jason put Flynn in the shelves with the blankets, where he’d be safe and wouldn’t fall to the ground no matter how bumpy this ride got. He looted the cupboard where extra clothes were stored and found a Robin suit, domino masks and mask fluid and all.

He ducked into the bathrooms and changed quickly. He hadn’t moved much since waking up, but he took the fact that he hadn’t landed right back on the ground yet to be a good thing. When he emerged, Talia looked at him. She made some sort of... sad sound. He didn’t know what it meant.

He didn’t have time to figure it out.

He went into the cockpit with Batman. The bat growled at him to go back to the med bay, but he ignored him in favor of strapping himself in and yelling to Talia to get into some sort of seat.

Whether the bat liked it or not, they worked in synch. It was like a work of art, each of them flipping switches and pressing buttons without talking.

And maybe it was dumb. He knew if this was Nightwing, he’d be making fun of him relentlessly. He knew Agent A would probably get cross with him in that way that only he knew how. None of that mattered right now.

Batman fell apart without Robin. He could tell by the way the man’s eyes looked like he put greasepaint over them, except they weren’t shiny so he knew he didn’t. The slight tremor in his hands suggested he’d been drinking too much coffee.

He knew the bat, and he was fucking exhausted.

Robin needed Batman. He wasn’t going to let him get himself killed.

Jason might be terrified, but Robin had always been fearless.

He ignored how his heart had been hammering against his rib cage since Talia had ran into the plane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had been talking for a few hours and everything was going probably as well as it could be all things considered.

Danny had been disorientated at first, especially after so much information was just thrust upon him. Gotham had a spirit protecting it? He was ‘hers’? He was welcome? What knights? How did the Waynes play into it?

Most importantly, a grown man with a bat phobia really decided to play dress up and punch people in the face for a living? Thank the ancients he was rich because Danny’s pretty sure that didn’t count as a real job.

His tongue felt loose tonight. It kept blurting out odd shit, and he was pretty sure he was scaring the... what does he call these? Birds?... The nice people currently feeding him and bantering back and fourth.

Eventually, Agent A had told Nightwing he was headed upstairs. He said he could reheat leftovers in the microwave if they needed to, but “If you mess up my kitchen, young sir, I assure you Batman will be the least of your worries tonight.”

He’s pretty sure that, in his rush to say “Yes, Agent A” he’d accidentally name-dropped the guy. Batgirl Danny had been distracted, but it was funny seeing the look on the vigilante’s face. He and Batgirl had been ganging up on the man ever since.

“I still can’t believe it, ‘Wing,” she tutted. “After all these years-”

“Oh, hush it,” he’d responded. “Like you didn’t almost call you-know-who dad the other day.”

“Voldemort’s your dad?” Danny whispered, pretending to be star struck.

They cackled brightly in response. Batgirl was wiping tears from her eyes.

“N-no,” she finally wheezed out.

“Man, what would that say about you if he were?”

“That I was a poorly written fanfiction character that doesn’t make much sense?” she guessed.

Danny snorted. “I bet by the end it’d reveal you were a secret Weasley kid Molly thought was stillborn or something,” he joked.

“Hey!” she snorted as she fought back laughter, “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I’m on whichever side’s more entertaining.”

Nightwing sounded like he might be dying. “I love this kid,” he breathed.

“Of course you would,” she said without any heat. “You would probably choose him over me, your poor, poor girlfriend-”

“ You’re dating him ?” Danny interrupted. He smirked, trying to make it obvious that he was joking.

“What’s wrong with me!” he yelled. Danny raised an eyebrow.

“You carry tasers on you. Tasers are the worst weapon ever,” he made sure to put enough in it to not sound like he was being mean on purpose, but it wasn’t wrong. “You’re probably a cop.”

Batgirl’s laughter turned into a roar. She fell out her chair.

“I’m a cop in training!” the man squawked indignantly.

A second passed. Then two. Then-

“YOU’RE ACTUALLY A COP?!” he yelled out. “I WAS JUST JOKING!”

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH BEING A COP?!” Nightwing matched his energy. They were both still giggling. Batgirl hadn’t even tried to get off the floor.

“COPS ARE THE WORST?!” he banged his hand lightly against the table for comedic effect. “They KNOW mind control is a thing and yet, when I have a perfectly reasonable explanation, they still want to try to charge me!”

Nightwing doubled over. “Dude,” he wheezed out. “Where the fuck do you live? Why is that normal to you?!”

He devolved into more giggles. “You guys live in Gotham-”

“You don’t! People on the outside-”

“Nightwing, we aren’t in jail,” Batgirl laughed out from the floor.

He could tell both of them were having a good time. He was having a good time, exchanging banter like this. It reminded him of Tucker and Sam.

They’d love them.

He sat on the floor and leaned over. “If he thinks the mind control’s weird,” he stage-whispered to Batgirl, “Wait until he finds out we have a school evacuation protocol incase the food starts getting possessed by the lunch lady ghost again.”

“Again,” the adults said in unison. Danny laughed at them.

“Dude, this is probably the most insane town I’ve ever heard of,” she grinned. “If you’re fucking with us,” she added, “You’re doing a phenomenal job at it.”

“I’m a terrible liar,” he dismissed. “’Sides, my town’s weird enough, I don’t need to make shit up to sound more interesting.”

“Language,” they scolded simultaneously.

“Seriously, where is this town? I kinda want to visit,” Nightwing said.

He paused for a second. “That’s not a good idea.”

He frowned a bit. “What? Why not?”

“The ghosts,” he said simply. “Though, they’re the least of your worries. It’s more the government that’s the problem, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy about that until the time’s right.”

“Phantom, are you being for real?” Batgirl stepped in.

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “It’s a bummer, but we kind of only have one shot at this. It has to go well.”

They shared a glance. “Tell us how to help. When the time’s right, of course.”

Nightwing turned to face him. “We know all about having to wait to tell people things until the right time. We respect it, but we wanna help,” he clarified.

Danny found himself smiling a little. “I’ll have to talk to the team,” he said finally. He his phone out of his thigh. “Huntress is the one-” he looked up at their horrified faces.

“... Phantom?”

Oh no. “Yes?”

“Did you just pull our phone out of your leg?”

Danny tried not to look suspicious. “... No?”

They looked at him for a few minutes.

“Wow,” Batgirl said eventually. “You really are a bad liar.”

He stood for a second. “I’ll explain when the time’s right?” he said, giving a guilty smile. “Anyways, Huntress and Dahlia are the ones organizing the plan,” he said. “I need to update them anyways,” he said, opening the group chat. He typed up the message as he spoke.

Ghost Boy

Turns out bat vigilantes exist

They got a sweet cave and good cookies

They want in on the plan, that cool?

Black Dahlia

Oh my god??

Pics or it didn’t happen.

Danny snorted. “Is it cool if we take a picture? ‘Dahlia doesn’t believe me,” he explained.

“Yeah, for sure,” Nightwind said as Danny got his camera ready.

“I can’t wait to blow their minds,” Batgirl added.

They took the picture, peace signs held up to the camera. Danny opened the group chat again.

The Pharoah

Dude how do you go to Metropolis and end up in Gotham with the bats??

I’m not good at math someone explain

Red Huntress

You dumbass

He obvi got on the wrong bus

Black Dahlia

Be nice kids

Anyways give us pics or I’ll kill you again

The Pharoah

Considering you killed him twice that’s not funny

Ghost Boy

Its hilarious, actually

[pic]

Proof btw

Also use codenames!

Theyre reading over my shoulder

Nightwing laughed as Batgirl huffed. The phone chimed again

Black Dahlia

Holy shit you actually did it

Go little rockstar

The Pharoah

ASDFGHJKL

WHAT DID YOU DO

I THOUGHT YOU ONLY COMMITTED CRIMES WHILE MIND CONTROLLED

Ghost Boy

I DIDNT COMMIT A CRIME????

NIGHTWING FOUND ME ON A ROOFTOP

The Pharoah

WHY WERE YOU ON A ROOFTOP?!!!

Ghost Boy

Oh, the spirit of Gotham wanted to talk to me

Said I was hers??

Nightwing and Batgirl both made questioning, concerned noises. Danny ignored it.

The Pharoah

The fuck

Red Huntress

Phantom stop being cryptic and make sense for once in your damn life

How childish are you smh

The Psychiatrist

Ignoring the fact you three are up at a ridiculous hour

Phantom. Explain. Now.

Ghost Boy

I have no clue

Got on bus, bus did not go to Metropolis, lady on roof called to me and now I’m here

The Psychiatrist

See this is what we aren’t supposed to do

You followed two vigilantes' home??

Ghost Boy

I followed them to their cave hideout that I suspect is underneath their home

I think Nightwing carried me actually

I think talking to the lady messed w me btw, I did the brain thingy for a bit afterwards

The Pharoah

Brain thingy

Red Huntress

You got carried by Nightwing??!

The Psychiatrist

That does not narrow it down

Did you dissociate?

Ghost Boy

What’s that?

The Psychiatrist

Did you feel the “my skin isn’t mine and there’s a fire in my brain but I can’t move” weird

Ghost Boy

OHHHHH

Yes

Nightwing snorted softly. Sue him, these kids were entertaining.

Red Huntress

Jesus fucking christ

I dated you

Black Dahlia

Hell, I knew he was like this and still dated him

The Pharoah

You could’ve dated Jhonny disguised as you-know-who

Black Dahlia

That truly was his worst fail

Red Huntress

Hang on a sec

They want in on the plan??

Ghost Boy

They know nothing beyond that a plan exist

Like very little information do they actually know

This is your plan, I dont want to mess it up

Red Huntress

This could probably help us

Bc if we get bigger names on board the public will eat it up

We'd have a higher chance at getting the article too

You trust them?

Ghost Boy

I ate their cookies and they didnt poison me

They also looked at my head and havent asked for anything in return

I think they gen just wanna help, I trust them

The Psychiatrist

You ate food from strangers

Ghost Boy

It was home cooked I couldn’t resist

It was also delish

Can we make cookies when we get together again

Black Dahlia

“[redacted] [redacted] [redacted] you are so absolutely grounded when this is over, I did not raise you to take food from strangers you just met idc that they’re vigilantes-’

I'm sick of typing you get the gist

Ghost Boy

… no cookies then?

Batgirl cackled from where she sat.

The Pharoah

I didn’t know she knew this many curse words

You’re fucked

Ghost Boy

Shes swearing?? Im so screwed

“Phantom? Can I type for a sec?” Nightwing asked.

“Sure,” he said, handing him the phone.

Ghost boy

Hi all!! I’m Nightwing

BG and I just wanna help

Phantom seems like a good kid, you all do, and if there’s trouble we can help

Red Huntress

Hello, Nightwing, Batgirl

I’m Red Huntress

I really am sorry, but I think it’d be better not to loop everybody in just yet

It’s a very delicate thing and if we get too many people on board too quickly it could get really screwed up

Black Dahlia

Plus, the people of our town wouldn’t trust you guys to know what was best for us.

Ghost Boy

Then what can you loop us in with?

Red Huntress

Can you give the phone to Phantom?

I need to talk to him and ONLY him rq

“Phantom?” Nightwing started out, “Red-”

Danny took the phone gently, reading over the messages. He could see he already had a DM from Val.

“I’m gonna go over here for a sec,” he said, moving away from the vigilantes. They stayed still, smiling at him.

Red Huntress

Tell them a gov agency is holding us against our will and manipulating the people

Maybe tell them you had to run bc of it?

Ghost Boy

What abt ghost stuff

Like what would be the reason for the gov to hold an entire town captive p much

Red Huntress

I mean

Being dead is a medical condition

Just specify that it’s non-contagious but incredibly common and bc of the stigma around it you don’t wanna talk abt it much

Ghost Boy

“Okay,” he said, pocketing his phone this time, “She gave me the information that’s safe to explain.”

“Okay,” Nightwing said. “What’s going on?”

“Why isn’t some of the information safe?” Batgirl asked.

He took a deep breath. “Our town’s been through a lot. About a year and a half ago or so, something happened. You know how most of your rogues have mental illnesses?”

“Yes,” both of them said. “We try to treet it, but it’s often too aggressive. Why?”

“Because,” he continued, “A lot of the rogues in the town have, a medical condition is how I’ve been told to put it,” he said, shrugging. “It’s accurate enough. Anyways, it causes a couple weird brain quirks and most of the rogues we see are just trying to fulfill those.”

“Is this ‘medical condition’ being dead? Are we talking about ghosts?” Batgirl asked.

Danny rolled his eyes. “I’ve been told I cannot confirm nor deny,” he said. Val could be so paranoid sometimes.

Nightwing nodded. “Naturally. Where does the government fit into this?”

Danny could feel himself starting to shut down. “As far as I know, the particular agency we’re dealing with has been around for a while, more or less unused. But because our town is so bad, they got called in.”

He took a deep breath. “They are horrible. They cause a lot of damage to our town, and they’ve almost ended lives. I think that if they stopped fighting, we could probably come up with a solution that’s good for everybody, not just one party,” he continued, “But the agency just wants to eradicate us!”

“Whoa, they’re trying to commit genocide?” Nightwing asked. He pointedly didn’t mention ‘us’.

“Pretty much,” he confirmed. “I think I’m saying too much,” he backtracked a little, “But... it’s not good. They’ve convinced everyone above voting age that they’re here to protect us, but they’re not. Everybody younger than that knows it. I think some of the adults do, too, but it’s enough that they’re allowed to stay in town. They’re using a couple’s lifelong dreams to manipulate them into giving up research.”

“How is it legal?!” Batgirl exclaimed.

Danny looked at her. “Ghosts aren’t considered sentient. We’re considered braindead and hostile, and any evidence to the contrary is immediately thrown to rot. And if they even think you might be a ghost or ‘corrupted’ by one? You disappear. Nobody knows where they’re being taken.”

“Is this people, too?” Nightwing asked.

Danny got quiet. “We don’t know. One couple went out of town for two weeks and wrote back months later that they had so much fun on vacation that they lived there now. They had to go to a funeral. A classmate’s older sister left for college and nobody’s heard or seen her since, and the police said she never showed up for the first day of classes. The police told us she ran away somewhere.”

He closed his eyes. “It’s subtle. We might be reaching a bit. But-”

“No, that’s... that’s awful,” Batgirl breathed. “Why hasn’t anyone done anything?”

He looked at her. “We only found out about the missing civilians recently, while we were looking into other things to make our case stronger. Believe me, it would not have gone on this long if we had known sooner,” he swore. “We uh, we know they’re taking ghosts though. We’ve seen them take ghosts before.”

It was silent for a moment. “Why are they taking ghosts?” Nightwing asked.

A few seconds, then- “I’m not really sure if I can tell you. But they are. We haven’t been able to do anything because of public opinion. We’re trying to start a social media buzz before we go to any reporters, so more people are willing to read about it. The only issue we might hit with that is-”

“-The government could find out what you’re doing and go to the media first to spread misinformation,” Bat girl finished.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I trust my guys,” he said. If Red and Dahlia say this’ll work, I believe them. Besides, the psychiatrist in the group is backing their plan and she’s usually never wrong, so.” He shrugged.

“So, you were going to Metropolis to...?”

He saw them exchange a look.

"I really don’t know if I can tell you. I think I’m not supposed to,” he said, nervous. “If this plan fails, I think we’re in deep trouble.

“What do you mean?”

He was silent. “I’m not supposed to say,” he said quietly. “I... look,” he said, straightening out. “I lost everything. Most of the civilians still have their heads, but others are absolutely freaking out. I lost everything,” his voice cracked, “to this stupid war. I had to leave because of it. My, uh, my parents were gonna send me over to the agency,” he mumbled.

Batgirl grabbed his shoulder. He felt himself move closer to the edge.

“How is it legal?” she asked softly.

“... They snuck in a bunch of things a long time ago while making a bunch of laws. A few made it legal to hunt ghosts.”

She made a sound.

“Are they dangerous?”

Batgirl snapped her head up. “What?”

“Are they dangerous?” he repeated.

Danny looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Have the ghosts hurt people?”

He licked his lips. “They often underestimate how fragile a person is. Ghosts are just people, though; saying all ghosts are evil is like saying all humans are evil,” he explained.

Nightwing wet his lips. “Are you sure? I just looked it up-”

“A lot of the main research groups are incredibly unscientific with their methods,” he said, near robotically. “If you read further into the article-”

“Oh my god,” he interrupted. “Batgirl, come look at this,” he said.

Danny got up too. He felt like someone had grabbed his throat seeing the article name.

“LOCAL PARENTS CLAIM GHOST KILLED BABY AND REPLACED IT FOR FIFTEEN YEARS”

Nightwing was talking, probably giving details. Batgirl was making comments. He couldn’t breathe, there was something on his throat-

He started clawing at it. Both adults turned and attempted to grab at him.

On instinct, he turned intangible. They were looking at him and now they knew and oh god they were going to hand him over-

He backed away. They could do their placated gestures all they want he knows what they do to people like him-

He runs. He can’t help it.

Seems like that’s all he’s been doing lately.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #dp x dc #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc robin #robin #batman #ai-less whumptober day ten #kite flies over the nightingale nest

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inafieldofdaisies · 1 year

Text

WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @thesingularityseries <3 | Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @strangefable @nightbloodbix @nightwingshero @aceghosts @madparadoxum @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @euryalex @sstewyhosseini @detectivelokis @purplehairsecretlair @jinfromyarikawa @shegetsburned @clicheantagonist @locustandwildhoney @fourlittleseedlings @poisonedtruth @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @wrathfulrook and anyone with something to share this week <3

I'm dropping bits and pieces from Chapter 9, this it the final WIP post on it before I post the whole thing sometime later this week.

After taking few minutes to shake off the sleep and what remained of the awful dream, Sabrina got up, her eyes focusing on their bags by the door. She knew it was time to stop avoiding the inevitable, so she picked them up and put them on the bed, methodically pulling out clothes and folding them in a dresser at the far end of the room. When Savannah's things were neatly sorted away, she moved onto her own bag, opening the zipper and taking out garments until something made her freeze and blink in confusion. What the fuck. The lacy bralette John had picked up back in her room and joked about was now in her hands, when she had put it back into her underwear drawer. To make things worse, tucked between a pair of jeans further down into the bag was what he probably deemed as the matching panties. No way. There was only one explanation, and she laughed at the ridiculous idea, until she remembered his lack of boundaries and how he was on his own in her room for a short while. But why would you even… She thought back to what she could only describe as lust filled looks he had given her then, how he always managed to invade her personal space. Thinking I'm putting these on? Watch me burn them in the fireplace, Seed.

[John is a broody boy and misses dinner because he's conflicted af]

She was set on catching him as he came home, on not letting him sneak off without getting anwers. Even if she fell asleep on the couch, it was a better alternative than waking Savannah up with her reoccurring nightmare. As she waited she took her time to snoop around the living room, shooting another look of disgust at the portrait of Joseph. Something that kept tempting her since her arrival was a landline that was placed on a side table there. With her sister fast asleep she took the chance and picked up the receiver. Who do I even call? Sabrina didn't have many numbers memorized, aside from her ex-partner's number in Portland and her precinct's, The Spread Eagle's since Joey regularly ordered food from it for the Sheriff's Department and the one of the jail her mother was serving her time at. She knew she could depend on Leslie to believe her and get outside help, that he would go as far as finding a way to storm the County even with the lockdown Eden's Gate was enforcing. She took a deep breath and dialed his number, but the line refused to connect.

"Fuck. Why did I even think it would work?", she whispered, then set on punching in the bar's digits next. The same thing happened again, making her huff in frustration. Then another strange number that was haphazardly jotted down at the the phone itself caught her eye. "What do we have here?", she stared at it in curiosity and before she could stop herself she dialed it. Seconds passed by that put her on edge, making her question her choice as she feared who would pick up and wondered if she should hang up. Instead an automated voice finally responded, "You have one new message from September, 4th." "Voicemail, thank fuck.", she released the breath she was holding and held the receiver to her ear as the machine prompted the caller to leave a message after the tone. The voice she heard next spread goosebumps over her skin, an awful reminder of the arrest and the constant nightmare that haunted her. "After all the Atonements, all the Confessions, all that you've done for me and Eden's Gate is not enough, is it, John? I worry what has gotten into you since the Reaping had started. You ignore my calls, anytime I reach out to you I'm met with Mathias on the other side instead, telling me you're busy. It's the urges again, isn't it? You have to cast away your past, John. You need to open up your heart, you need to see that there is more love all around you. All the pain and suffering you spread will not help us in the long run. These actions will only feed the sin inside you. It will grow stronger, it will convince you to do wicked things. Those you scar too deeply, they will heal, they will become carriers of your sin. They will spread that sin to others. I've seen your death in a vision, you are destined to be slayed by your own sin. It will come back around in a new form, it's only a matter of when. I've seen you die young, I've seen you die old. The difference between the two outcomes is how much love you let into your heart. I pray that you hear these words before it's too late. I want to see you become an old man in the Paradise we prepared for. I love you brother." Joseph's voice faded away, replaced by the automated one, "Press 1 to listen to the message again. To delete the message, press 2." Sabrina put down the receiver back in its place, leaning against the table as her mind ran over what she had just heard. "What the hell…", she sighed. She doubted John had listened to the message. What worried her more was the fact Joseph seemed suspicious of his brother's behavior. "If it's so damn important, why leave it in a voicemail, Joseph?", she gritted out. Sabrina wanted to laugh at Joseph's hypocrisy masked as concern. His tone, the ultimatums, subtle guilting, all sounded way too familiar to her. He wanted John to let love into his heart, yet he was enabling him in his quest of hurting others. The Project's pointless torture he called "Confessions", was the reason he almost had died on that road that very morning, she doubted Charlie would be the last one to go after him for revenge. If Joseph wanted someone to blame, he didn't have to look far. "And Savannah is now in the middle of it all.", she bit her lip, the frustration making her restless. Joseph's warnings were a cryptic mess, hinting at someone's arrival. She had no doubt if he ever finds out about her visions, he'd declare her to be that person, convince John she would cost him his life, when she had seen him alive as disaster struck, the event his brother predicted as "The Collapse". "You're going to live, Seed. I'm going to make sure of it, then your brother will show his true face. His type always do eventually." She didn't delete the voicemail, instead retreated back to the couch and wrapped a blanket around herself. It was way past midnight when she heard the front door open and quiet footsteps carrying towards the stairs. John was either set on ignoring her completely or hadn't noticed her sitting in the dimly-lit living room.

After the realization he missed Sabrina and looking into her phone, John threw himself into Confessions even harder, convincing himself at one point he'd manage to exorcise her out of his thoughts. He found himself making Wyatt bring in Sinner after Sinner until 12 am rolled around. By then he could tell the man was exhausted and quite suspicious at the urgency he was showcasing. His people were used to him burying himself in work prior to Sabrina's arrival, but never really to that extreme, so he wrapped up the last Confession for the day reluctantly. He parted ways with Wyatt and after cleaning up and picking up his things, John got into a truck and headed back to the Ranch. On his way over he contemplated if sleeping on the couch at his office like he'd done so many times before was a better idea, but he was aching for a shower and his own bed for once. He hoped Sabrina would be asleep, that she would have taken the hint, and keep her distance. He didn't want to face her, not that night, not when no matter how much he tried to focus on the Sinners in his chair, thoughts of her poured back in little by little until he felt like he was drowning.Until the Confessions became the distraction while she turned into the main thing occupying his mind.

John parked the truck, releasing Mathias from his post for the night, the man gave him a strange look as he passed him on the way to the front door. Bennett knew his moods well after working together for years, so he left with a simple "Goodnight". He stepped inside, navigating the living room in the darkness, moonlight and memories of the layout guiding him to the stairs, to the safety of his room. "You're here.", her voice stopped him in his tracks, the one thing he had been yearning to hear the whole day, instead of Hartley's whiny voice or the Sinners' neverending screams as he released their sins. John's lack of response didn't discourage Sabrina. "I have a feeling you're ignoring me for some unknown to me reason, but I don't deal with situations like that, John.", she sighed, "You told me we'd go over the fine details of the deal, so let's talk like adults. And… Savannah waited for you at dinner." John stole a glance her way, memorizing the way her gray hair picked up the faint light from the windows as she sat on the couch. She looked almost illusory. A part of him wished she'd disappear and take the urges with her. "You gonna reply at some point or am I as good as talking to a wall here, or maybe one of the taxidermy animals? Scary fuckers." He couldn't help a smirk from emerging on his face at her undying wit, still he kept his silence, gripping the railing, while his feet remained rooted at the spot, unwilling to move. He had no idea how long he stayed like that until he heard Sabrina let out another disappointed sigh as she got up from the couch. Her footsteps nearing him, anticipation raising in him at her approach, at the unknown. What are you up to, Deputy? She simply breezed past him, her own feet hitting the first step, as she said, "Fine, play your childish games on your own, Seed. Goodnight."

He wasn't holding the railing anymore, instead grabbing her hand as she passed him and turning her around until she was facing him, one step above him, bringing them to the same eye level. John's gaze drank her in hungrily: running over the tight blank tank top that hugged her form and matching sleep pants she was wearing all in contrast to her fair skin. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in soft waves, her tattoo was peaking out under the straps, teasing him. His fingers were still wrapped around her wrist, her pulse beating against them, picking up as the seconds passed. "Sabrina.", it was the first thing he had said since entering the ranch. Her eyes narrowed in confusion, as they searched his. "So you do speak… Can we move onto full sentences next? I'm kind of on my way to bed." John's gaze shifted to her forearm, the sight of a bandage making him smile. He felt pride at the fact she had listened to him and taken care of the wound. "Okay, this is officially awkward.", Sabrina pursed her lips, the move drawing his attention to them. His free hand grabbed a piece of her hair, wrapping it around his fingers, her breath hitching as he said, "Kept you waiting again, didn't I?" She shook her head, "Nope, you're not doing this again. I have questions, John. I'm not in the mood for whatever game you're playing." He couldn't help but smile at the fire in her gaze, "Tomorrow, Deputy, we're both exhausted." "How do I know you will keep that promise? I left you a plate, you know. Even though you didn't show up." Her words held a note of disappointment while her face remained passive. "I'm sorry." "Do you mean that, or is this another act?" Sabrina wasn't holding back, her eyes shining in conviction. "I mean it, Sabrina." "Why are you avoiding me?" "Just doing us both a favor." The cryptic reply made her roll her eyes, "You're just going to keep doing this, eh? Fine, one last thing. Did you pack things for me while I was gone from the room?" John raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion while knowing full well she was talking about the lacy number he had shoved into the duffel bag, but he wasn't going to incriminate himself. Sabrina ripped her hand out of his grip, shaking her head, "Let me guess, you have no idea what I'm talking about?" "Yes.", he challenged. "You're unbeliavable. First chance I get, I'm throwing them in that fancy fireplace of yours, John." "Now that would be a shame." "I thought you didn't know what I meant? Are you getting rusty, Mr. hotshot lawyer? Losing track of your claims?", her lips curved into a triumphant smirk. "I assure you, Sabrina, nothing is rusty about me." She rolled her eyes and took a few steps up, holding the railing for security while she was still facing him, anticipating he might try to stop her from retreating again, when there was enough distance between them and no indication for anything nefarious, she turned her back, headed to her own room. As she made it on the second floor she called out, "We're talking tomorrow, Seed. I'm holding you to it." "Wouldn't expect anything else, Deputy." Good, walk away, before I do something we both regret. He waited until he heard her door close before he climbed upstairs too, preparing himself for another night where she would reign over his dreams, wearing allure like a second skin. Promising all kinds of sinful things if he just gives in. Daring him to forego Eden.

Bonus scene because I know y'all love Savannah.

"Where did he go?" To his bunker. But saying that would raise even more questions, instead she replied by simply saying, "He had some business to take care of. He's a lawyer, you know, boring adult things." Torture. Kidnapping. Murder. Running a cult. Checking crimes off his list at a rate that would make him into any lawyer's worst nightmare. Hell, he'd probably represent himself. Just boring adult things. Savannah giggled, "Does he wear an actual suit?"

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bisexual-horror-fan · 2 years

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First of all, congrats on the 2k!! So happy to see you get the recognition for some damn good writing that you more than deserve.

For the raffle, I humbly offer this prompt: having Leslie Vernon give you the reigns in the bedroom. He might like feeling full control (or most of it), but what if Y/N learned how to push the buttons and make him fold like an omlette? What if they found every spot on his body with their mouth that he tries to evade from only because he knows theyre sensitive and it'll make him shiver, and let them do whatever they want so long as they keep that up? What if he looks at their expression when they realize they've got him and consider he might like that side of them far more than dominating it out of them? Maybe he even likes the idea of what that face will look like after he gets it back.

Okay, that's all hahaha! Congrats again Bex my love ❤️❤️❤️

Ahhhhh! Riri! Thank you sooo much, I am so fucking happy that you asked for this! Been a minute since I have done our boy and this is such a fucking great prompt! I hope you like what I did with it! I went in and tried to make it hit really hard in a short little bit, for real I hope this all works for you! Let’s not waste time, let’s get right into it.

—

Rating. Mature. Leslie Vernon X GN! Reader. No Pronouns Or Specific Parts Mentioned. Warnings: Softness. Established Relationship. Survivor Person Reader. Blood. Gore. Violence. Intense Emotions. Kissing. Needy Leslie. Begging.

—

Touch Me There.

—

Leslie Vernon is without a doubt the most observant person you've ever met, hell he might be the most observant person currently alive today. His ability to understand people, key into individuals emotions and pick up on even the smallest details was unmatched.

It could be scary how good he was at reading the average person but the way he was able to read you has the opposite effect. You loved that quality of him.

You wished you could return it in kind and for the past, longer than you'd care to mention, you watched out for an opportunity to do just that. The longer you are together, the easier he is to figure out, the more he lets you in.

The physical side of your relationship is incredible, truly, again with how observant he was he figured you out quickly. He could ruin you so easily and you wished to do the same and slowly, over time, you began to figure him out too. Once when you were walking together outside in the orchard, hand in hand, he was talking about preparing for something, he went to pull away and you let go, letting your fingers ghost over the inside of his wrist and you caught it. Almost imperceptible, this slight, you’d almost want to call it a shiver and a shift of his expression.

Interesting reaction.

You wondered if that was a one off, maybe it was a fluke or the cold or any number of things.

Except a week and half later you discovered that was not the case. Leslie and you were sitting on the couch, both relaxing on opposite ends and reading, it was almost lunch time and you were getting hungry and you wondered if you should go make something for you both. You finish your current chapter before sliding your bookmark back inside and looking over to Leslie, “You want something to eat?”

He looked up from his book and then to his watch, “Shit, it’s almost noon. Yeah that would be good. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You got up and set your book down before coming around the back of the couch, you leaned down to give him a kiss and instead of one of the more usual places, his forehead or cheek or even kissing his lip upside down. No, instead, your lips barely had the chance to press behind his ear, almost as if just your warm breath there set him off and made him jump nearly a foot. “Woah, woah! What are you doing?!”

He turned so fast, his book dropped and his place lost, one of his hands on the back of the couch, looking up at you, wide eyed and you were so startled by his reaction you jerked up. A hand on your chest as you said questioningly, your tone rife with confusion, one eyebrow raised, “Kissing you?”

He said, “Oh, yeah, sorry, you just uhm-I wasn’t expecting it, sorry.” He shook his head and picked up his book, a deep inhale before letting it out as he attempted to find his place once more. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this bothered. His breathing was a little uneven too, this is weird, you scared him? You seriously doubted that. Obviously there was something else at play here.

“Ooohhh-kayyy.” You say drawn out as you pull away, “I’m gonna go make lunch now.”

“Uh-huh, I’ll be here.” He was refusing to look at you and his voice sounded off.

Hmm.

You make lunch and by the time you come back with lemonade and a plate of sandwiches he had seemingly calmed down and acted like nothing happened. You chew thoughtfully as you watch him, he was talking about the latest chapter he just read in his book, you were listening, nodding along but in the back of your mind a plan taketh shape.

This couldn’t be rushed but you wanted to do this sooner rather than later. You play it just like Leslie would. Biding your time until just the right moment presents itself for you to take advantage and turn the tables.

One morning when you wake up before he does, early morning light pouring into the upstairs window, you look upon him, so sweet and peaceful and you think that this might just be the time to make your move. He had his back to you and you scooted closer, eased nearer, he was in just his pyjama pants, strong shoulders and back on display. You press your chest to his back carefully, you gauge his reaction, he still seems asleep and so you move. You lean in, your lips press and you kiss that same spot you had unintentionally discovered, right behind his ear and you swear you feel him tense slightly. You kiss again and again and he shifts, he tries to roll onto his back and you hold him there. Your hand on his side, your tongue traces over that spot and you feel him jolt, a sharp inhale and yes, he is awake now.

He turns his head, eyes barely open as he looks over at you, “Wha-?”

His voice is still thick with sleep, he is weak and tired, you need to ramp this up, you reach out and your hand closes on his wrist and you bring it towards you. Maintaining eye contact with him you kissed the inner part of his wrist and his expression shifts, like he is still confused, trying to figure out what you were doing but in his still sleep logged brain like he couldn’t comprehend it quite yet.

A few more soft kisses, another pass of your tongue all while staring up into his eyes and he exhales hard. It is like his mind is finally starting to catch up, he starts to squirm, you need to bring it home. You leaned up, kissed him hard, he stilled for a moment and you kissed down the line of his jaw and neck. He was on his back now which was perfect, you kept moving down and he was starting to shift again, his hands met your sides and he said, “Slow down, what are you do-”

Since he wasn’t wearing a shirt it made this next part easier. You manoeuvred down his body, he wasn't fighting you that hard, clearly he was enjoying this more than he was willing to admit yet, your lips dragging down until you reached your desired destination.

The long, jagged scar that creeped up the first few bottom ribs on his left side. Your lips met the edge of it and he stopped. Body totally frozen and his eyes darted down to you. Still looking up at him. Your fingertips skated over him, tracing the edges of it as your mouth moved in tandem. You kissed up one side as your finger and the edge of your nail dragged down the other. He shivered and the feelings hit him all at once. A total wash of pure emotion.

It was like being transported back to that night.

You in your muddy, ripped and bloodied clothes, him having you pinned under him in the moonlight near the orchard, you fought so hard. You screamed and swore and spat at him as his hands finally found purchase around your throat and he began to choke you but you didn’t stop. You took hold of a weapon, of his weapon on his hip and you moved quickly, you plunged it into him, penetrated him and it stole his breath away. All the air left his lungs and his fingers loosened their grip and your leg came up, foot finding his stomach and you kicked and kicked hard so he was on his back. The sickle still lodged in his side. You grabbed hold of the wooden handle and you pulled hard, dragged it down, giving him the very scar that you were now tracing with utter love and reverence.

You were something special, he knew that, it was why he chose you but seeing you in action that night, how you didn’t give up? Witnessing the change in you, the one that he set in motion, it was indescribable, it was everything he had ever hoped and dreamt of as he watched you. He remembered the sight of you looming over him, haloed by the moon as you held his weapon you had just ripped from his torso, dripping crimson in your trembling fist as you stared down at him, more rage and fury than he had ever seen in anyone’s gaze, before or since as you said to him, “Fuck you, Vernon.”

He thought he loved you before that moment. He thought he loved you months before that but no, that moment right there he realised what true love was. It was you with dirt under your fingernails from when he dragged you closer, it was you running towards him unafraid and symbolic weapon in your grasp, it was you painted with blood, it was you, you, you.

He had to stitch himself up that night and he enjoyed every stab of pain and pass of thread as he did and the entire healing process too. It scarred beautifully. A memento of your first night together, when the real change happened, when you started to feel so intensely for him, he saw it in your eyes, saw it happen, the confusion, the trepidation, the awareness that you shouldn’t feel what you did for him, the anger.

It was all so much.

He loved this scar, adored what it meant and represented for both of you, of your journey and his, where you were now, your relationship, this scar was a representation of it all and it meant more to him than any other mark on his body. It was more important than any possession he had, the first thing you ever gifted to him and a gift that could never be taken away or stolen by anyone. One of a kind and all his.

So to have you here, worshipping his body, worshipping it, seeing a similar amount of depth and meaning in your eyes that said you understood?

He was weak, so smitten and so taken and so in love with you. It felt amazing, from a mental, emotional, spiritual and yes, a physical standpoint. He knew what you were doing now, he knew you were exploiting his weak spots, he knew you were trying to gain the upper hand but it felt so fucking good that he gave in.

It reminded him of that night, you dominating, being in control, and fuck, he liked it, he liked it far too much.

He briefly wonders why this hadn’t happened sooner, his body going slack below you, melting into the mattress. One of your hands found him achingly hard through his pyjama pants, palming him as he breathed into existence his one current thought and want, “Please, don’t stop.”

#eggsandbeer #BHF asks #Leslie Vernon X Reader #Slasher x reader #ENJOYYY #I know you really needed this #I was so happy to do it for you #BHF 2K Follower Raffle

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daydreamgoddess14 · 11 months

Text

My bad habits lead to you pt. 5

MASTERLIST

Sequel to We lie awake in love and fear

From a prompt by @lilacmermaid25:

5 times Ted returns from Kansas for a wedding, one time he returns 'just because'.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Here we go... nearly at the end now. Sorry in advance for the cliffhanger! 😘

Chapter 5

Colin and Michael - New Year's Day 2025

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 31st November 2024

Subject: Stuff

Hello Henry,

Thanks for your email, I hope you've recovered from Thanksgiving? How's the TIE Fighter coming along? You'll have to send me a photo next time. I was thinking of getting a Millenium Falcon for Christmas but I'm not sure your mum would want it taking up her house! Maybe I can get one and you can keep it here. I'm sorry to hear about your dad and Marie, you were right - he didn't tell me. I hope he's OK, he told me what you said when you came over last time. He wants to be close to you, and I can't blame him - you're so much fun to hang out with! Next time you visit we'll have to plan some days out - as long as you don't mind me tagging along?

Speak to you soon!

With warm regards, Rebecca

(Hi Michelle, of course I don't mind, it's lovely to hear from both of you. I sometimes wonder what might have happened if Ted hadn't been so stubborn in keeping his UK and Kansas lives so separate. Take care, R)

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 7th December 2024

Subject: Christmas

Hey Becca (can I call you that? Dad does so…?),

I hope you're ready for Christmas? I can't wait to visit again, I hope I can get dad to agree to take me in the spring. It would be so cool to have a Millenium Falcon! But it is huge, mom said it could live at yours and we can build it together when I visit. I asked mom whether I could visit more but she said it's up to my dad.

Thanks for the Roblox credits! There's a way cool new game on there I want to try!

Love H xoxo

Hey Rebecca, at this point I think Henry’s ready to hop on a plane alone to visit. He misses Richmond so much! I think I'll join him! It's a shame Ted can't understand that it's not just about where he is. I'm guessing you haven't spoken to him recently but he's probably less present a few blocks away than he was 4000 miles away. How can I persuade him that home isn't a place? After what I've heard about/from Marie, I get it now. It's you. Will keep trying, but you know how stubborn he is! Speak soon, Chelle xo

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 18th December 2024

Subject: Christmas

Hi both!

Did you get the Christmas box OK? Just some things for both of you. The Falcon is safe in my office ready for when you visit!

You're both welcome to visit whenever you want - without Ted if you wish!

(Here’s the boring bit for mum! If only you knew the things I suggested to him. Schools for both of you - anything you wanted or needed. I know it was too much to ask of you though. Just as I'd never ask Ted to leave Henry, he'd never ask you to uproot your lives in Kansas. It's not about me, I know this is the sacrifice he believes he needs to make as a parent.)

We had a crazy Christmas party this week - Isaac dressed as Santa again and we somehow managed to get Jamie to dress up as an Elf! I've sent some of the tamer pictures for you, but it did get wild! Nate has got a new Karaoke machine and it gets a bit of a workout every Friday after training. I’m pretty sure it’s just so Roy can go and do some work in peace though and he knows they won’t bother him. I’m going to Leslie’s for Christmas dinner this year, but first I have to go and take some gifts to some families in the community. I’ll pop in and say hello to Mae for you, H - she asks after you all the time! She suggested one of the gifts in your box - I wonder if you can guess which one?!

Love, Becca (of course you can call me Becca, darling. I love it!) xxx

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 24th December 2024

Subject: Christmas

Hi Becca,

Merry Christmas!

Your gift box was way too generous - thank you! Henry loved all of it - especially the dart board! And I'm so grateful for the things you included for me, you really shouldn't have!

Hen told his dad that we'd been mailing you, I think he was a little surprised!

I don't think you overstepped by looking into schools etc. It just shows how much you care for Ted - for all of us, really. Things were obviously a bit strained at the time with Jake around. Turns out he wasn’t as great as I thought - always the way!

Have a great Christmas & hopefully we'll get to see you soon.

Love, Chelle & H xoxo

~~~~~~~~~

Rebecca beamed at her inbox, the month she’d spent exchanging emails with Henry and Michelle had been lovely - her responses had gotten less and less formal and she’d really been able to see Michelle in a new light. Though she hadn’t heard from Ted personally and therefore wasn’t supposed to know about his split with Marie, she was grateful that Henry had told her. It had brought her so much joy to send a huge gift basket over to them for Christmas. She’d laughed hysterically at the thought of Henry and Michelle trawling through the big box with gifts for both of them while Ted looked on utterly bemused. She’d sent a box to him too, a separate one with new LASSO Richmond shirts - she hadn’t taken him off the staff workwear order list so every few months a handful of new training polos arrived for him, she’d taken to sleeping in them. She’d also put a really great picture of the two of them from Keeley and Roy’s wedding where they’d been laughing together in the box along with the snacks she knew he’d come to love which he couldn’t get in the US. She’d had the guru in the IT department burn a CD for her - to their horror - of songs she’d noted that reminded her of Ted. She could picture him driving Henry to school and the Macarena coming on. She’d had a wonderful Christmas dinner with the Higgins’ and members of the team who didn’t have family locally. Since the year when everyone had descended on his house, the event had remained popular and once she’d done her gift deliveries she’d joined them. She’d taken photos of the huge table - the surfboard needed to be used again, selfies with half the team and Julie, and sent them to Ted. She’d video called Keeley, Roy and Jamie who’d had a quiet morning but were expecting Phoebe for a sleepover, she’d caught up with her mother, Sassy and Nora and exchanged messages with Trent. By 10pm she was back home and exhausted. She poured a large glass of wine and took it to her sitting room where she could put her feet up and Netflix on. Her phone buzzed on the arm of the sofa with a call from Ted.

“Hello stranger. Merry Christmas.”

“Hey Becca, Merry Christmas. Sorry it’s been a while.”

“I’ll forgive you. How’s your day going?” She checked her watch, late afternoon for Ted.

“So far so good. Been at Michelle’s with Hen and both of our moms.”

“Hmm… ouch?”

“Something like that. I keep running into Michelle in the kitchen trying to hide from them. Henry keeps dragging us back in so he doesn’t have to handle them alone.”

“Poor boy, you can’t do that to him!”

“Good job someone sent him a heap of lego to keep him busy?”

“If you think that’s a lot of lego, you should see my home office.”

“You didn’t have to, you know?”

“I wanted to. Henry means a lot to me, he deserves to be spoiled.”

“And Michelle? I didn’t realise my ex wife and my… you had gotten so close.”

“My you? We’ve made a connection, that’s all. And I remember you said she’d heard about my skincare routine so I thought I’d send some products. One of those luxuries she’d never purchase for herself.”

“At 200 dollars a bottle?”

“Ted, we’re in our forties, I have no intention of looking like my father when I get to 70 and ‘m sure neither does Michelle. We have to take care of ourselves.” He didn’t respond. “Ted, are you mad that your ex wife and son and I are emailing each other?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. Why does it feel like you’re all conspiring against me?”

“We would never do that. I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, Ted, but I distinctly recall telling you that I would never influence your choices when it came to Henry. And Henry and Michelle are looking out for you.”

“Some would call it meddling.”

“Some would call it loving you. If you’re going to be a prick, I’m hanging up. It’s Christmas day and You’ve Got Mail is on.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Of course Henry isn’t meddling, he’s a kid.”

“He knows more than you give him credit for. He knows his own mind, and he knows when the people he loves aren’t happy.” Silence again. “Are you coming over next week? For the wedding?”

“Of course, I’ve got a streak to maintain.” Rebecca choked on her wine. “In that, I haven’t missed a Richmond wedding yet?”

“Right, that streak. Well Colin is very excitable. Everyone is looking forward to seeing you.”

“I’m surprised they’re not sick of me. Is it me or has there been a lot of weddings since I left?”

“No, there has. Keeley and I were talking about it. They all seem to be happening in very quick succession. I’m ready for a break from them now. But you know us, any excuse for a good party.”

“True.” He mused. "How've you been?"

"Good, I've not long gotten back from Leslie’s. Half the team were there, it was a lovely day. Thierry is awful at charades and Richard brought his new Victoria's Secret model girlfriend."

"Sounds fun, what's she like?"

"Oh she's lovely, she's doing a PHD in mechanical engineering. The modelling is just a side hustle."

"Sounds like the premise for a romcom."

"It does, doesn't it? Suffice to say all of the boys were very enamoured with her. Though I think she's far too smart for them."

"Someone I know is remarkably similar, actually."

"Keeley? That's what I said."

"You, sweetheart."

"Don't be silly."

"Underestimated by anyone and everyone."

"Except you."

"Oh I'm definitely stupid enough to have underestimated you in the past. I try to avoid it now." She heard hushed voices in the background of the call, "hang on a sec." She waited for a minute and her phone beeped with a request to switch to video. She accepted and the screen filled with Ted and Henry.

"Henry!"

"Becca! Merry Christmas!"

"You too! Having fun?"

"Both grandma's are asleep on the sofa. I came to get dad to do some lego."

"You guys had better run then! Can't miss out on lego."

"Have you had a good day?"

"I have, thank you, all the better for seeing you though!"

"Mom says hi, she's starting the book you sent her."

"That's wonderful, darling. You've still got the rest of the day to have fun, it's nearly bedtime for me." Ted watched back and forth, first surprised by Henry calling her 'Becca', then by her calling him 'darling'. "I'll let you both go, thank you for calling me. It was so lovely to hear you both. Ted, I'll see you in a few days? And H, we'll work on a Spring visit? See you soon my love!" She said with a wink.

"Go choose a lego set, Hen, I'll just say goodbye to Becca." Henry disappeared from view, "A Spring visit?"

"We've got some great days out planned. You should join us." Rebecca said with a smirk.

"You're trouble."

"Only occasionally."

"I'll see you in a few days."

"You will. Goodnight, Ted. Merry Christmas."

"Goodnight, Bec. Merry Christmas."

~~~~~~~~

Ted was due to arrive the day before New Year's eve. Rebecca and Keeley had planned on attending the match late afternoon on New Year's eve and then a low key team celebration to see in 2025. Roy had given strict instructions for everyone to have a tame night, nothing wild or crazy, so that they could all be fresh and ready for Colin's wedding.

"Come on, Jamie!" Rebecca roared alongside Ted as Jamie received the ball from Dani and found space through the center of the pitch. They were 2-0 down and the second half had just started. They needed three goals in the next 45 minutes to avoid struggling in the second half of the season. He hit the post and Rebecca growled in frustration, the ball bounced back towards Sam who managed to get it under control and take a shot of his own. Nelson Road went crazy as Sam's shot found the goal. Rebecca was on her feet, as were Keeley and Ted. The ball was barely back in play when Dani took a shot of his own to make it 2-2.

"I don't know whether I like watching from up here more, or down by the pitch. I didn't realise how excited you get." He said with a knowing grin.

"Ted, this is nothing - I thought she was going to run down to the pitch during your last game!" Keeley laughed. The match frustratingly slowed down and Richmond were unable to score again, luckily neither did the other team so they settled with a tie. Beard did some complicated math over dinner at Ola's and tried to come up with the various combinations of final standings until Rebecca took his notebook away with a glare,

"We are 5 months away from the end of the season. We're only halfway through." She sat back down next to Ted and stashed the book into her bag. Isaac's hand came down to knock on the table.

"Get the karaoke out - Jamie's gotta sing Britney!" he ordered.

"Why?!"

"You hit the post. Thems the rules bro."

"Nah man, we got the goal!"

"Sammy got the goal. You got the post. Sing for me, pretty boy." Jamie cursed and grumbled while Nate set the machine up. He soon warmed up to his audience and treated them all to a rendition of Toxic - complete with saucy dance moves.

"It's no Macarena, but that boy can dance." Ted pointed out.

"One day, I'm sure he'll teach you how to Macarena if it means that much to you." Rebecca soothed.

"I'd rather learn it from you. Them hips definitely don't lie, honey." They’d hardly left each other's side since he arrived at Nelson Road just in time for the match, they'd also not said a word about Marie. Rebecca could feel the knowledge that he was single coursing through her veins, it both put her on edge and comforted her all at once. It seemed to put more tension between them. Should anything happen, neither of them would be in the wrong this time, but the arrival and departure of both Matthijs and Marie hadn't never really been the issue. They'd just been disguising the original blocker of Ted's move back to Kansas. The karaoke continued despite Roy trying to tame them all. When it became clear that Colin and Michael were also up for a party, no one else had any excuse to leave early. If the grooms wanted to sing karaoke the night before their wedding then the team wouldn't let them down. After much persuasion from Rebecca and Keeley - who'd both worked their way through the Spice Girls back catalogue - Ted was finally on stage. He'd refused to sing alone though so Keeley cued up a duet for him to share with Rebecca.

Don't go breaking my heart

I couldn't if I tried

Honey if I get restless

Baby you're not that kind

Don't go breaking my heart

You take the weight off of me

Honey when you knock on my door

Ooh, I gave you my key

They bumped hips in time to the music, Rebecca’s arm over his shoulder and a shared microphone between them. Around the room, the team loved every second.

Woo hoo

Nobody knows it

But when I was down

I was your clown

Woo hoo

Nobody knows it

Right from the start

I gave you my heart

Oh-oh

I give you my heart

Rebecca pointed at Ted, singing every word to him. He joined in, laughing and spinning her around. Jamie watched curiously,

"Ey, are they together or what?" He nudged Roy.

"Fuck if I know."

"I mean, they look like they're together. They act like it. Do ya reckon they've fucked?"

"Course they have." Despite having asked the question, Jamie still nearly fell off his chair in shock.

"Fuck offffffff! How'd you know?"

"Cos I fuckin' know."

"Keeley told ya dint she?"

"No, she wouldn't tell me anything. I guessed. And I had to go back to our room at Beard's wedding so I overheard them. Scarred me for life."

"Obviously dint scar ya that much, me an Keeley had a great night." He teased. "I can't believe it. I mean, I can, it's just weird to think about."

"Too weird to think about?"

"Too fuckin weird."

"What's weird?" Keeley asked, squeezing between them.

"Ted and Rebecca fucking."

"That's not weird. That would literally be the hottest thing in the world. I'd combust."

"Hang on, hang on, you've got us… but you wanna watch that?" Jamie asked, affronted. Keeley nodded her head,

"Duhhh! Anyway, it's nearly midnight so get ready for a snog boys!" Sam managed to wrestle the microphone from Beard and gave them a two minute heads up. He switched the speakers to the radio for the countdown and went back to drag Simi away from the bar where she was lining up row after row of shots. Ted returned to Rebecca after catching up with Nate for a while.

"So, boss-"

"Not your boss, Ted."

"If you say so. Who ya kissing at midnight? Keeley Jones-Kent? Beardo the Weirdo?"

"You?"

"Me? You sure about that?"

"I'm not fully convinced, but I don't exactly have long left to find an alternative." Ted turned to face her.

"You want an alternative? How 'bout Dani?"

"Hmm. Both girlfriends are here."

"Jan?"

"You?" She suggested again, an exasperated smile forming.

"Back to me again, huh? Wow you're really limited on options." In the background, the team were counting down.

"Oh, I think you might be the best option." She leaned in towards him,

Six, five, -

"In fact, you're the only option."

Four, three, two, -

She hesitated briefly halfway to a kiss, but of course, he met her in the middle.

One! Happy New Year!

The noise of their family around them faded into the background as Ted's hand cupped the back of her head and his fingers tangled into her hair. He pulled her closer, sliding along the bench to bridge the gap between them.

"Happy New Year, Becca." He whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

"Happy New Year." She went to lean back in to kiss him again, "Will you come back with me tonight?"

"Sure will, sweetheart, if that's what you want?"

~~~~~~~

The party quickly began to fade with the new year coming in. Colin and Michael left to try and get some rest before the next day. With Leslie, Julie, Trent and the other older members of the group heading out, Rebecca and Ted decided to join them. They all jumped into a selection of waiting Ubers, calling out goodnight, blowing kisses and looking forward to the wedding. No one said a word when Ted got into Rebecca’s cab. She leaned against him in the back seat, her hand on his thigh and his hand tracing patterns down her arm. At her house, he helped her out of her coat and followed her upstairs where he unzipped her dress. She sat on the edge of the bed while he removed her high heels, a hand stroking up her calf. She pulled the dress up and over her head, leaving her in the lingerie set she told him she brought with him in mind. He sat back on his heels with a smile.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you," she said shyly. "I missed you." She reached out for him. "I've had enough of quick, stolen moments."

"Tell me what you need, baby?"

"I need you to make love to me, Ted." He stood up to remove his clothes while she watched. He blushed, but she pulled him towards her by the waistband of his boxers and kissed a line from one hip to the other. She palmed the hard line in his boxers but he gripped her wrist before she could touch him any more. He pushed her gently back onto the bed, still holding her wrists, and raised them above her head.

"Keep those hands right there for me, honey." He muttered against her skin, then he kissed a hot path down her body, his mustache scratching against her stomach and hips. "I just realised the most terrible thing." He said, pulling her lace knickers down. He pulled her thighs apart and dragged her down to the edge of the bed. "I haven't gone down on you since the first time."

"That can't be true." She whined as he licked through her folds. He stopped to reply, making her moan with the loss of contact.

"Sure is baby, it's been more than a year of quick, stolen moments, remember?" Before she could reply again, his mouth was on her clit and he was pumping two fingers inside her. He had her on the edge almost immediately, knowing exactly where and how she needed him. She came hard, her hands still above her head but frantically gripping the sheets. He didn't let up as she came, he continued to suck and tease her until her thighs clenched around him again. Unable to touch him with her hands, she ground her hips against his mouth, desperate for more contact, more of him. He took his time so he could really see her fall apart, he'd missed being able to drag it out for her - they’d had such little time together. When he released her clit with a pop, she moved her legs and reached to pull him up the bed. "Where d'ya want me, sweetheart?" He asked, hands coveting her body, biting a nipple through her bra.

"Sit up." He did as she asked, back against the headboard. She straddled his lap and wasted no time in sinking down onto him.

"Hmm, thought we were taking our time?" He asked, grunting into her collarbone as she settled. She stopped moving,

"Maybe you were. Shall I go slow?" She teased, bringing his face up to her. She ground her hips so slowly, it was like she'd barely moved at all. They both groaned deeply. She fucked him slowly, languidly, rising and falling onto his cock at an agonising pace. The friction against her clit was exquisite each time she rolled her hips. The tension built until they were both mumbling each other's names and little else. Rebecca captured Ted’s mouth in a filthy kiss, sending them both over the edge as he gripped her hips tightly while he spilled inside her. He held her against him as they caught their breath.

"Fuck, Becca. I love you." They fell asleep together quickly, knowing that for the first time in over a year, they'd also wake up together. Their morning together reminded Rebecca of the morning after their first time - right before Ted had left. Before Matthijs, before Marie. She woke to him spooned around her, hands roaming her body. He pulled her leg back to hook over the back of his knee and open her up to him. His hand snaked across her waist, dipped to guide himself into her and then rolled around her clit until she reached behind her to pull him into a messy kiss. Then in the shower, he’d gotten to his knees while she was trying to wash her hair. In the kitchen, bent over her kitchen table, just as he’d dreamed about. And then finally, on the stairs before they left for the wedding.

~~~~~~~~

Rebecca watched Colin fiddle with his tie again. The young Welshman looked more nervous than she had ever seen. She couldn't hold herself still any longer. She passed Ted her bag and brushed past him. It was only a few steps to the front of the room where she took his hands away from his tie and held them gently. Ted watched her smile at the young man, she talked quietly to him as she released his hands, unknotted and retied the tie. She kissed his cheek, also turned to Isaac alongside him, and held his hand for a second before popping back to her seat.

"Soccer mom." Ted teased.

"Fuck you."

"Please do. That was very sweet, is he OK?"

"Have you not had enough of me since midnight?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "He's nervous. He'll be fine. The very public declarations of love are the hardest part." Michael appeared in the doorway, appearing far calmer than Colin.

"There's no such thing as enough of you." He whispered. Once again, Rebecca cried during the ceremony while Ted supplied tissues and held her hand. Once the ceremony was over, the attendees headed toward the bar. Colinand Michael had chosen a lovely boutique hotel in central London for their venue, both families had descended en masse along with seemingly all of Richmond.

“Someone had a good night.” Keeley said to Rebecca while Ted was at the bar with Roy and Jamie.

“Are we talking about you guys? Because, I would probably pay to watch that.”

“Aww babe! I’d let you watch for free. I meant you though.”

“You’re too kind.”

“You’re glowing. The kind of glow that only comes from about 5 orgasms.”

“Pretty sure it was more like 7 or 8.” Rebecca muttered.

“Fuck me!”

“I’m a bit tired actually, can we reschedule?”

“I’m not surprised you’re tired! How are you still standing?!” Keeley asked gleefully.

“No idea. Gin and the promise of more?”

“Yeah that’d probably keep me going too. So are you… together? Giving it a go?” Ted was on his way over with Roy and the drinks.

“No idea, haven’t talked yet. Mostly just fucked.” Rebecca managed to admit just before they were in earshot.

“Hi Ted!” Keeley greeted him with a knowing grin. “Get back to Mae’s ok last night?” She asked innocently.

“Hey Keels,” he kissed her cheek, “did you guys have a good night? I stayed at Rebecca’s last night, shared a cab y’know. New Year's Eve, crazy Uber prices and all that.”

“Hmm yeah. I mean, it’s not like you’re both filthy rich or anything. Who needs to spend an extra 30 quid on a taxi, that would just be reckless.” She raised an eyebrow. Rebecca cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, I’m just going to the ladies. Keeley?”

“Nope, I’m good right here thanks babe.” Rebecca hesitated,

“Sure?”

“Yep, off you pop.”

“What is it with you two and off you pop?” Ted questioned as Rebecca disappeared from view.

“I’m asking the questions here, pal.” Keeley spun to face him. “What’s going on?” Ted had a caught in the headlights look about him.

“I… don’t know?” Roy stood behind Keeley shaking his head.

“Wrong answer. You’re in for it now.”

“Wrong answer. You’ve got this whole perfect boyfriend vibe going on since you arrived yesterday, loving on her like you two haven’t been torturing each other for over a year. And she told me about last night. Or this morning. Whichever, whatever.”

“Keeley, I-”

“I want to make sure that you’re not going to hurt her. You have no idea how brightly she shines when you’re around - those little infrequent visits and the hot, sneaky sex and then you bugger off back to Kansas and it’s like she’s not sure of herself.”

“She always shines.”

“She does, yes. But when you’re here it’s… honestly it’s something else. And maybe you don’t see it, but when you’re not here there’s a piece missing.”

“Let me guess, the lemon in the gin? The salt in the tequila?”

“Yes! See - you do get it!”

“Beard said something similar. So did Becca, actually. But they were referring to…” he gestured around the room, the team. “All of this. Everyone.”

“It is everyone, don’t get me wrong. But we all have something, someone. I’ve got Roy and Jamie, Leslie’s got Julie, the team are the team. We all pulled each other along when you first left and we got by, but you just don’t see how much harder it is for her. Going home alone every night? She’s the only one with no one.” Ted looked down into his whiskey. “I, we,” she looked around the room, “care too much for her for her to be alone. We care too much for you too.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks Keeley.”

“I love you , Ted.”

“I love you too, hon. You’re the best.” He put an arm around her.

“Don’t fuckin’ tell her that, she’ll get a big head.” Roy groaned. “She’s already got enough people under her thumb.”

“Including you, baby!” Keeley replied with a wink and a finger gun.

“Oh god, are we telling Keeley how great she is again?” Rebecca rejoined them.

“I’m the best, apparently.” The younger woman beamed.

“Yes you are, darling. I certainly can’t live without you.” The party soon got into full swing, despite hangovers from the previous night. With Keeley’s comments echoing in his mind, Ted focused on Rebecca. Slow dancing with her, joining her with the team and staying by her side. No one questioned it, no one asked what they were to each other. He stayed at her house again that night. He made her a cup of brown water in the morning to take back up to her in bed, eager to get back to her.

“Goodness me! Ted, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Mornin’ Deborah, nice to see you again.”

“Good morning. Nice to see you’re wearing clothes.”

“Yeah well, Rebecca warned me you have a habit of dropping by unannounced. I’ll go and get her.” They spent the day together, went out for dinner with the coaches, their partners, Leslie, Julie and Trent. Rebecca could almost believe that it was real, that this was their life together. She watched as he packed up the small suitcase he’d retrieved from Mae’s after apologising to her for not once sleeping in the bed he’d paid for. She sat cross-legged in the center of the bed wearing one of his coaching t-shirts. He’d found the drawer full and she’d had to come clean about why she had them.

~~~~~~~~~

The following morning, he left her with a kiss at the front door to go to the airport. She managed to wait all of 20 minutes before she was hurriedly dressing and following him out of the door. Habit again saw her purchasing another first class ticket.

“Well this feels a lot like deja vu.” He said, stepping away from the ticket desk. “Another first class ticket? Where for this time?”

“I need to say something.” She replied nervously. “I didn’t say it last time, I was too scared. But I can’t let you leave again without saying it. We’ve both ruined potential new relationships because we can’t seem to let go of whatever this is. I need you to know that I love you, Ted. I love you more than anything in the world and I’d do anything if you’d stay. I want-” her voice broke over her tears as she voiced everything she hadn’t said previously. “I want you to come back to me. I want you to come back for me. If it means I spend half a year in Kansas with you, I’d do it. Whatever it takes, I need you to know that I’ll be all in, just say the word. But we can’t keep doing whatever this is. I love you too much to keep stringing this along. I love Henry too much to take you away from him. So we either find a way, or we don’t.” He stepped forwards to hold her as she cried in his arms again.

Last call for passengers to Paris, France.

“Let me… let me think. Let me talk to Michelle and Henry. God, sweetheart I’d give anything to be selfish right now, but I can’t. I love you, Rebecca. I’ll love you forever, but I need to figure this out first.” She nodded through her tears, her fingers holding onto his until the last moment as he stepped through the gate to his waiting flight.

#ted lasso #tedbecca #tedlassoedit #ted and rebecca #rebecca welton #rebecca x ted #ted lasso s3 #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fic

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abyssal-ali · 2 years

Text

Yet Forgives the Butcher's Knife

It's finally here! Yet Forgives the Butcher's Knife is my submission for the Jaysteph Weekend 2022, filling the prompts "Do I Want to Know?", College, and the chaotic bonus the Trifecta of Trouble.

Disclaimer: This follows Canon events up to a point, but since DC has the inability to stick to one timeline or version of events without retconning it, I'm taking liberties with some plot points.

(Canon-complicit to a point)

Rating: T TW: non-graphic talk about death/torture

(Read the teaser first as the first scene picks up directly from there :))

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

“Okay, J. Are you trying to be a vigilante? I gotta warn you, it's brutal. It's actually why I'm here. My dad's a D-list rogue, Cluemaster, and I hated how he ruined my mom's and my life, so I became Spoiler, spoiling his plans. Batman didn't like me running around as a tween without his approval, even though I was older than, like, all the Robins.

“Anyways, I ignored him, he kinda accepted I was there to stay, I had a couple months internship with as Robin before he fired me, and I went back to being Spoiler, started a gang war by accident, got caught by an A-list rogue and tortured...I flatlined in Leslie's OR and she faked my permanent death and moved us here to teach Bats a lesson about his kids or something.

“So, now you know Steph Brown,” Steph laughed easily.

“Wow, that's, um, a lot to process. Are you okay? Seeing a therapist or something? That sounds like a trip.”

“Oh yeah, it was. I'm okay-ish now...I mean, your black helmet isn't really helping my PTSD, but they're pretty common and it's not blatantly skull-like so...I'm okay.”

“You got caught by Black Mask?”J's jaw dropped, though Steph couldn't see it. “And survi-I mean...”

Steph grinned at J's faux pas. “It's fine, I have dark humour—being a Gothamite, and from the Narrows at that, it's kinda a prerequisite.”

“You're a Narrows kid? You hide the accent well,” J commented in surprise.

“Thanks? You know another Narrows kid or somethin'?”

“Wasn't it speculated that Robin 2 was from the Narrows?” Jason deflected, hoping Steph would bite.

“Yeah, he was my favourite. Street kid, Narrows like me—we might even have been neighbours!--fought smart but dirty, and he understood us in a way Bats and the first Robin didn't...he cared about us, y'know? The others cared more about stopping crime than the victims—I mean, obviously the crime needed to stop so there wouldn't be more victims, but Robin 2 was one of us and could connect with us. Batman and Nightwing are strangers, practically. Once I was on my way home from stalking my dad and some creep was trailing me. I could tell, but Robin swung down and took 'im out before I was in danger, and then he followed me home...it was so sweet. I always had the biggest crush on him...I was so sad when I heard he died. He was one of ours, one of us...sometimes I wonder what he'd be like if he was alive.”

With a sigh Steph shook off the melancholy and turned to J. “Sorry for the infodump. So, J, thanks you for the assist. And don't become a vigilante for fun.”

“I won't. Thanks for livening my evening. I liked your right hook...but saw your form was off on a couple moves. Did Batman not train you? I thought all his little birdies had a Ph.D in karate or somethin'...”

“Well, I was never a true Robin. Barely got any training from the big guy. He didn't even let me know anyone's ID or anythin' cool—basically all I got was the suit and a ton of lectures, more than Spoiler ever got. What a prick,” she muttered.

“He sounds like a huge prick,” agreed J. “If you'd like...I could improve your skills a bit? I've had a few professional trainers myself...”

“Sure, I'd love to get some formal training for once! When and where?”

“I have a building in town. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah, all day.”

“Be ready at 9 a.m., then. Night, Doll!” J left her on Leslie's doorstep and Steph went in to Leslie's worried questioning.

At 9:00 sharp J pulled up on a black motorcycle. Steph was waiting with a duffel and hopped on, driving to a nondescript warehouse-style building 15 minutes away from Leslie's. J walked to the door and went through fingerprint, retinal, and password locks. Finally J and Steph walked in to see an enormous gym, with mats, weights, ropes, a shooting range, archery range, pool, and various intense workout equipment.

J showed Steph to the bathroom and she changed into a tanktop and shorts before joining him in warmup stretches on the mats. “You're flexible,” J noted.

“Thanks— I took gymnastics lessons for 3 years before my dad got worse. I liked it and kept doing what I could...and that was one thing Batman helped with.”

For the next month J drastically improved Steph's form, skills, and stamina.

“How do you know all these skills? Do I want to know?” asked Steph one day during a water break.

“Can you keep a secret?” J asked, leaning in. Steph nodded. “I'm the second Robin.”

Steph stared at him, then started laughing. “Fine, then, keep your secrets.”

J stared back. “Fine. My mom has been training me for the past 3 years with various martial arts forms and weapons and some other fun stuff, like poisons and bombs and strategy. Happy?”

“You're serious,” Steph said flatly.

“Yes!”

“Huh. So...you're a ninja-in-training?”

“I am a ninja, but sure. I was just here to take care of a couple things for my mom when I met you.”

“You...stayed...here? For me?”

J nodded. “I really like you, Steph. A lot.”

“You like me too?”

J blinked. “You like me?”

Steph nodded emphatically. “Even if i still don't know if you're a 10 or not with that dramatic mask you always wear,” she joked.

“Will you go on a proper date with me, Stephanie Brown?”

“No.” J's face fell, but Steph continued, “I will join you in a spar and I will kick your butt one day.” She sat up and moved to the mats again. J laughed, “You're perfect.”

After their training session J walked Steph home as he always did. In sight of Leslie's, J paused and Steph turned to see why. He took her hand and took a breath. “My name is Jason. Jason al Ghul.”

Stephanie smiled at him. “Thank you for telling me, Jason. Jason...I like it. It suits you.”

~♡~

The next morning before their warm up began, Jason opened up to Steph. “Do you have time to hear my life story? It's depressing, at least for a non-Gothamite.”

“I'll always listen,” Steph said softly, taking his hands in hers. It always seemed to ground him and lately he'd started to do it unconsciously. Jason smiled at her and began.

“I'm a street kid from Crime Alley. My dad was a two-bit goon and my mom had a heroin addiction since she had cancer. She died when I was 8 and my dad was...gone, so I hit the streets. When I was 12, I was adopted by a wealthy man and I was actually safe—he was one of the few good ones. Sometimes we'd go back to Crime Alley to help my friends or the street kids. I had an older brother, but he was gone in Blüd most of the time. He didn't like me too much at first because our dad “replaced” him with me, but we'd started to get closer when he realized he was being a Dick.” Jason smiled at some joke Steph didn't get yet, then continued. “When I was 15, my dad and I got in a fight and I was grounded...I found my bio mom in Ethiopia and flew there to meet her. I thought she was blackmailed by Joker and tried to get her out, but she...she sold me out to him and smoked a cigarette as she watched him beat me half to death. Then he tied her up and left us in the warehouse with a bomb...I managed to get my mom free but I was caught in the explosion. I'm strong considering I'm from Crime Alley and the beating and bomb didn't finish me off," Jason smirked at that absolutely devastating tidbit. “The smoke and dust inhalation got me. I woke up in my coffin 6 feet underground and dug myself out with my belt buckle and left my fingernails in the dirt there. I wandered around, catatonic and relying on muscle memory for a few months until I started beating up some of my third mom's men and she came to see what the fuss was about. When my catatonia didn't lift, she put me in a pool of magic life juice, which healed me and upgraded my trauma to insanity and bloodlust. Once the Pit Madness settled, Mom sent me around the world, training with masters to become the best.

“I know it was partly to stall me, because my dad is her baby daddy and she doesn't want him dead, while I did. He never killed the Joker for me, for everyone else's safety, and I almost killed him and my brothers. Thankfully the Madness subsided, and while I'm still mad he didn't kill Joker, I'm not going to kill him over it. He won't kill, so I'll leave him alone and do it myself. I need a moniker for when I make the statement that I'm a better man than him, and since you don't like my black helmet, I'm thinking of stealing the clown's old name as a last laugh. So, could you stand a red helmet?”

Steph blinked. “Wow, your life is sadder than mine. Yeah, a red helmet wouldn't bother me at all. You look good in red, anyways.” She understood deflection very well, and let Jason steer the conversation away from what he'd just unloaded.

“Then meet the Red Hood,” Jason bowed to Steph and she giggled.

“Your story sounds kinda familiar, though.”

Jason removed the domino mask he normally wore around Steph (since he didn't wear the helmet around her). “You weren't kidding?” she gaped. “ You are Robin 2...wait, you look familiar...”

“My headstone says Jason Peter Todd, if that helps,” offered Jason.

“If Jason Todd was Robin 2, then Robin 1 has to be Dick Grayson, which means...” Steph's eyes grew larger. “Brucie Wayne, Ph. D in idiocy, is Batman?!”

“Got it in one, Doll,” Jason winked.

“That makes so much sense,” moaned Steph. “No wonder he never told me his name!”

“Your friend Robin 3 is Tim Drake, Bruce's newest adoptee. Looks like Drake finally died and B got custody again.”

“Wait,” interrupted Steph. “Why did Bruce adopt you? You met him as Batman, right? Well he caught me and never adopted me...how unfair!”

“You don't have black hair, Blondie,” Jason teased. “Step 1: dye your hair black. Step 2: Be a smart aleck and make Batman laugh because you stole the Batmobile's tires. Step 3: Reverse psychology: Hit 'im with your tire iron and run. Be reluctantly caught and thus adopted when he finds out you're a homeless orphan.”

Steph wheezed with laughter. “Of course you stole the Batmobile's tires! Oh man, the look on B-man's face must've been legendary!”

Jason grinned proudly. “At the time I was scared to death, but looking back, it was pretty funny....So, what'm I like, since I am alive?”

She buried her face in her hands. “Ughh, why? I can't believe I rhapsodized about you to you! Oh, kill me now. And I told you I had a crush on you...whyyyy?!” she wailed dramatically and Jason chuckled at her expense, the brat. Steph glared at him through her fingers.

“Sorry, I kinda like you, so Imma have to pass on the offer to murder you.”

“Stoppp,” she blushed, glad she was already hiding her face from him.

~♡~

This is a shorter chapter because my two sentences referencing tomorrow's prompt come directly after this 😆

Hope you enjoyed and feel free to Nicely leave constructive criticism!!

@jaystephevents @demonandangeltwins

#Jaystephweekend2022 #Jaysteph weekend #Jaysteph #Jason Todd #Stephanie brown #Ayftbk #And yet forgives the butchers knife #ali writes #Fic

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wildroseofarran · 2 years

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If I’m in Limbo, Where are You? || Luna, Logan, & Gertrude || November, 2019

Dana/Gertrude: November 2019

Days since laying eyes on Logan. Days since the stranger had stepped through the wards of the Draegan house, his new employer. Some wraiths might argue his captor. His master. Tolvin was not of such opinion. The Giovanni had been the open window in which to crawl through the Shroud. Death many lifetimes ago, he could not find the will to resent his executioner. Blame lay with the living, and what had been his living self. Every personal flaw which led to that rather uneventful evening.

"I'm going out," Tolvin announced.

"I needn't remind you not to be seen," said Gertrude, slowly flipping the thick page of a large brown book.

"You needn't, but you did."

She smiled to herself. "Bring me back something pretty."

"I'll be back before sunrise."

James Rosmond's aviator jacket was plucked from the rack by the basement door. One size too large; wide in the arms and waist.

"Dana. You're doing it again."

"Mm." Tolvin tore his eyes from the material. Caught up in the sensation and weight. Nothing comparable within the Shadowlands. How quickly we forget.

"Eight times now?"

"Ten."

The large double doors were gently closed, locked from the inside by the vampire. The air was thick with humidity, filled with the stench of burning wood and leaves. Rain, soon. He could just taste the promise from above. This would be a brief trip across the autumn blanketed town. Just one stop to Logan Riley.

Logan: Logan hopped out of her truck and scanned the trees, a new habit she'd developed since Dana's passing.

Some days she wondered if there was anyone out there watching her, others she hoped there was. Today, there was only a brief moment of wondering before she locked the truck and went inside her house.

She'd babysat at the trailer park tonight and although she thoroughly enjoyed spending time with her charge, there was simply too much weighing on her mind for her to be fully present. There were still too many emotions in too fresh a state for her to sort through, to the point where she'd seriously considered accepting the cigarette little Jonathan's mother always offered her.

Smokers had clear heads, didn't they? Or at the very least had something to help them sort themselves out.

Sighing, she sank onto her couch and added smoking to the list of things to contemplate.

Dana: Tolvin paused in the driveway of what was once his cabin. Rented, it had been, so long ago now he could not remember the interior. Fragments of memory; a couch with years and a druid; conversations around a small round table with a short leg; staring into frosted glass with freezing water running down his back. He could remember the sensation perfectly.

Dead leaves crunched under his boots. Fingers touched and road along the length of the truck. The back of his fingers rapped against the old wooden door.

Logan: Logan turned toward the door at the knock, her brow furrowing as she then glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was late; too late for a casual visitor.

Could it be Leslie coming to check on her? That made sense. He would've seen her headlights when she drove in.

Still, she made sure there was a weapon within reach as she approached her door, calling, "Who is it?" before even touching the doorknob.

Dana: "Good instincts," came from the other side of the door. "It's me." Was his voice the same? Was it memorable? It seemed mechanic now. Air in the lungs, the larynx, the inflection required to sound human.

Logan: The door was all but thrown open before Dana could even finish speaking.

His voice may have been a bit mechanical, but it was still familiar. Still memorable. Still his.

And it still prompted her to throw her arms around him and squeeze. "Oh, thank God. Thank God. I didn't dream you."

Dana: The wraith blinked, having expected just a little more caution than what was given. His arm wound to her shoulders.

"Do you often dream of missions?"

Logan: "More often than you'd think." She squeezed more before pulling back to look at him. "Hi. How are you?"

Dana: A question which required a moment of processing. It seemed so pedestrian.

"Alright," he decided on. "You're fine, yes?"

Logan: "I'm...here. That has to count for something. Here, come inside. Sit."

Dana: Tolvin closed the door behind them, locking on instinct.

The cabin looked... familiar. Of course, it should, but he hadn't expected the nostalgia for having lived only a brief period in Edenton.

"How do you live?"

Logan: "I actually just got home. I was babysitting for a family in the trailer park. Other than that...things are pretty quiet. Should I put the kettle--wait, do you still need to eat and drink or?"

Dana: "It's not necessary, but... go ahead and make tea."

Logan: "Yes, okay."

This felt so bizarre and so familiar at the same time. She'd made tea for them in this cabin dozens and dozens of times and yet, it felt like she was doing it for the very first time.

"How have things been for you at the Harrak house?"

Dana: Sitting seemed the appropriate action, but preferring to stand, leaned himself against the kitchen wall.

"Comfortably slow. I'm little more than an adviser playing fetch. A not-coterie of odds and ends. Smells like a graveyard in that house."

Logan: "A Giovanni is in control. It is a graveyard in that house."

Dana: "You remember your training."

Logan: "I couldn't forget that clan even if I wanted to."

Dana: "Is there more to life than my death?"

Logan: "There wasn't, for a long time. But I think I've managed to build something...decent for myself."

Dana: "Decent?" He wanted her to elaborate.

Logan: "I have friends, I have work I enjoy. I have things outside work I enjoy. Just recently I started volunteering at the hospital, in the NICU."

Dana: "You're American now?"

Logan: Logan nodded and got mugs from the cabinet. "Yep. Father Patrick helped me with the process."

Dana: "I can't tell you to go home, then. You've made a home in a town of murder."

Logan: "For better or worse, this is my home now. My godfather is here and my best friend is here and you're here. Besides, Sydney made it clear they don't want me."

Dana: "The Church made it clear, not the nuns, or your teachers, or any women you knew I was oblivious of." But there seemed to be no fight in his voice, unlike that of previous conversations on the subject.

Logan: "The Church was all I had left in Sydney. The nuns and my teachers were part and parcel."

The whistle of the kettle drew her attention and announced the end of the subject.

"What kind of tea would you like?"

Dana: "What tea did I like?"

Logan: "Irish breakfast," she said, getting the canister.

Dana: "What do you drink?"

Logan: "Earl grey during the day, chamomile and lavender at night."

Dana: "What are you drinking now?"

Logan: "Irish breakfast." She prepared his tea as she had so many times before and handed him the mug.

"Let's sit and warm up."

Dana: "You need something stronger?" he asked, taking a seat nearest the window, facing the doorway just as he used to.

Logan: “Probably. Apparently I look like a need a cigarette.”

Dana: "I meant your tea. Who said you need a cigarette?"

Logan: "Oh! Oh no, this is fine. Something stronger will keep me awake all night."

Logan curled up in her usual corner of the couch. "The mother of the little boy I was babysitting tonight. She always says that, though."

Dana: "You look tired. I expected that," said Tolvin into his cup. He let some of the tea rest on his tongue, not quite swallowing.

Logan: "I'm fine, just a late night and a lot on my mind. I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you, stuck in that place with those people."

Dana: "You're taking it very well. Working. Not going back."

Logan: "I've had to stop myself from going back every day since I last saw you. A couple of times I was halfway there and turned back."

Dana: "So, your patience has improved," said Tolvin with a small smile.

Logan: "Marginally," she said, taking a sip of her tea. Still too hot but massively comforting. "Spending a lot of time with tiny children does that, I guess."

Dana: "Or worsen it, depending. Have you argued with a five year-old yet? That I remember as clear as I see your face."

Logan: Logan laughed. "Oh, yes. I have waged many battles over bath time and bedtime and why ice cream is not an acceptable breakfast."

Dana: "You've become mother without the pain of childbirth."

Logan: "I guess I have. It hits me sometimes that I'm watching some of the kids I look after grow up. I have one that I've looked after since she was a newborn."

Dana: "They become the clock." For the Quick, anyway. To dwell on his daughter would only evoke emotion he could not utilize.

"How is Luke?" As though that were any better conversation.

Logan: Logan sipped her tea, trying to find the best way to answer. Not only for Dana's sake, but for Luke's as well.

"He's...managing."

Dana: "Is he moving on?" was the question he wanted to know most of all.

Logan: "Depends what you mean by moving on," she said softly.

Dana: "He barely knew me, Logan."

Logan: "You make an impact. But, for what it's worth, he's trying to get better."

Dana: "Seeing him will only bring it back."

Logan: "That's assuming anything ever went away. You can't not see him, Dana. Maybe he didn't know you for long, and maybe you don't understand it, but he sincerely cared for you."

Dana: "You want me to keep him tethered?"

Logan: "I just think he deserves some closure."

Dana: "The fog can be very thick. Has he already forgotten he's seen me?"

Logan: Logan shook her head. "No, he hasn't. How could he?"

Dana: "The logic of the Skinland is to pretend nothing else in the universe exists."

Logan: "As a whole, yes, but individual experience varies. Luke is too logical to ignore something right in front of him and not logical enough to write everything off."

Dana: "Then when should I see him? And how?"

Logan: “In the daytime, if possible.” Nights still tended to be difficult for Luke. That was gradually improving but even so.

“And gently. Kindly.”

Dana: "Something more tangible than that. Should we go now? Together?"

Logan: “I don’t know. Part of me doesn’t think I should be there and that it’s best if it’s just the two of you. But I know he’ll be confused and have questions and maybe be a little afraid.”

Dana: "Exactly why you should be there. You're a hunter, with or without your bow. You have knowledge and mental fortitude."

Logan: "Didn't feel like I had much mental fortitude when I saw you the other day." She sighed. "But you're right. As much as I think the two of you need that moment alone, I can't send you to him alone."

After all, she herself had had Leslie to support her. Her best friend deserved the same kind of support.

Dana: Then, he would see to Luke. Something which would not be forgotten by a space of months and years. Had it been years? He was so terrible with time now.

"After tea?"

Logan: Logan nodded. "After tea."

If memory served, Luke wasn't working at the pub with his brother tonight and despite the lateness of the hour, she knew he'd be awake. Luke always waited up for Pete on nights when he wasn't working.

Still, she grabbed her phone and sent him a quick message to make sure he was at home.

"I'm asking if it's okay if I stop by," she said to Dana.

Dana: Tolvin looked up from the table. His mind having drifted somewhere else entirely. "Am I a surprise, or is there some code word?"

Logan: "Something of a surprise. I told him I have to talk to him about something. I don't think there's a code word I could give that would come close to giving him an idea of this situation."

Dana: "'Your friend that isn't a hooker is back' would work."

Logan: "Dana," she chastised.

Dana: "Yeah, yeah."

Logan: "Drink your tea."

Her phone lit up with Luke's response. He was home and free and she was welcome to come over at any time.

"We have the green light."

Dana: Tolvin's jaw rolled east and west. He looked up once more. "Let's go."

Logan: "Now?" Well...why put it off? It was going to happen either way and the longer they waited, the more time she had to overthink. And the more time Luke had to overthink.

"Okay." She finished her tea and got to her feet to grab her keys and jacket. "Let's go. I'm driving."

Dana: "After tea," he reminded, which was now. What was once a comforting drink - to his knowledge - sat heavy on his stomach tonight. Not surprising.

"By all means."

Logan: Logan shrugged her jacket on. “I’m guessing I should stick to the backstreets and approach from the rear of his house? So no one sees?”

Dana: "I doubt anyone remembers my face."

Logan: "That's not a risk I'm willing to take." There was no telling who besides them was out at this time of night. "Come on."

The pickup didn't look too much different from the last time Dana would've seen it, apart from an absence of dents and some new paint. Payment from the father of one of the children she looked after, when he hadn't been able to give her cash.

"Okay," she said to herself as she got in. "Let's do this. Everything will be fine."

Dana: "You still do that," he said absently. The seat belt was clicked into place, and felt more mechanical than a thoughtful reaction.

Logan: Taking the backstreets meant taking the long way, so instead of turning right onto the road, she turned left. "Still do what?"

Dana: "Assure yourself out loud."

Logan: “Oh! Force of habit,” she said with a small smile. “Helps calm me down. Some of the time.”

Dana: "I know." Some things he had not forgotten through the space of time. "That boy we rescued, what became of him?"

Logan: "He's living happily with the man who loves him."

Dana: "Romantic." Said deadpanned.

Logan: "It is. And very sweet. After the hell he went through, I'm sure the idea of having anything remotely approaching romantic seemed impossible."

Dana: "We didn't see the end of his story. Saw the end of some unholy creature and a pack of leeches."

Logan: "Whatever his story, the sheriff is a good man. I don't believe he would be with Bo if he didn't see in him something that was good and worth loving."

Dana: "Should ask the opposite."

Logan: "Why Bo is with the sheriff?"

Dana: "Yes."

Logan: “Because he loves him.”

Dana: "So simple."

Logan: “Sometimes life is that simple. It doesn’t happen often but when it does, it’s a small, beautiful miracle.”

Dana: "Not to take into account protection, convenience, familiarity based on trauma."

Logan: “Trauma bonds. Love is something else altogether. They love each other. It’s palpable, you can see it and feel it.”

Dana: "What does love feel like?"

Logan: "Like...warmth and hope. It gets you right here." She rubbed the middle of her chest. "I know this must all sound like romantic nonsense, but it's lovely to see."

Dana: "Love felt like protection." The first time here. "Intermingled with obligation to serve victims. Protect my daughter, sister, the church, the dying, the robbed."

Logan: "That's what your love feels like. Protection, safety, home. My life would've turned out very differently if I didn't have you to love and raise me, Dana Tolvin."

Dana: "Did you always talk like this?"

Logan: “You’d know that better than I would. Maybe I did. If not, and if for some reason I never told you that, I’m telling you now.”

Dana: "You don't remember how you spoke before?"

Logan: “I guess I never noticed. My students seem to enjoy listening to me well enough.”

Dana: "Students?"

Logan: Logan nodded. "Yes, I teach Sunday school. Started as a favor for Father Patrick but I've really come to enjoy it. I'd missed working with children."

Dana: "Missed?" He thought a moment, recalled the church in Sydney, the orphanage, and nodded. "You were helping families by hunting."

Logan: “Now I help them by picking their children up from school and taking care of them when they have to work the night shift.”

Dana: "Have you seen anything abnormal? Hunted anything at all?"

Logan: "The schoolroom is haunted."

Dana: Tolvin turned enough to study her.

Logan: "It's either the secretary of the priest three priests before Father Patrick or the priest himself. I think it's the secretary though, she pulls hair."

Dana: "Nuns do that," he nodded. If there was a smile, it was slight.

Logan: Logan smiled back. "I think she doesn't like me because...well."

Dana: "What will you do?" He arched a brow. "Or do you want me to do something?"

Logan: "I'm trying to figure out where she's buried or if she left something behind she's tethered to. Would a nun get attached to a desk?"

Dana: "Anything can be a fetter. It's what keeps us here."

Logan: "Apparently what's keeping her here is a lesbian Sunday school teacher sitting at her desk."

Dana: "I can ask."

Logan: "You can? Even if she isn't there all the time?"

Dana: "She'll be back. I doubt she goes very far."

Logan: "She probably goes to the sanctuary to judge my cleaning."

Dana: "Your jokes are still humorous."

Logan: "At least you and my students think so," she said with a smile.

Logan turned off the main street and onto one of the smaller side streets. Luke's house wasn't normally too far, and even taking the scenic route, it wouldn't be a long drive.

"Have you decided what you're going to say?"

Dana: Tolvin stared out the window. He saw no point in lying. "Haven't thought about it," he admitted.

Logan: She nodded. "Are you excited to see him?"

Dana: "I suppose." The emotion didn't seem in line with circumstance. Keenly aware no one seemed to listen to him. Quite fitting for a wraith.

Logan: “Are you sure you want to see him?”

Dana: "Don't backtrack now."

Logan: “I’m not, I just want you to be sure.”

Dana: "You seem to think he needs this, and think he's forgotten?"

Logan: "I worry he's forgotten but I don't think he has. I don't think he ever really could, but...he does need closure. Some sort of answer."

Dana: "Then we're going."

Logan: Logan nodded again. "Okay." But now that they were on their way, a part of her couldn't help but worry. She had no idea how Luke was going to take all this, or if he would even accept it, or if accepting it would erase all the progress he'd made since he started going to therapy.

But she also knew that not knowing where Dana had gone or what had become of him was something that haunted Luke. He did deserve closure. And maybe in a way Dana did, too.

About fifteen minutes later she was pulling up behind Pete's house.

Dana: Tolvin simply stared, unsure of what he should feel, other than concern for Luke's sanity. Every day teetering on his fetters, whether he wanted them or not, whether or not he wanted to move on. He knew with certainty that they deserved closure, but this method seemed rather like throwing boiling water on ice.

"Is he alone?"

Logan: Logan wouldn't rush him. As much as she was here for support, for both Dana and Luke, this was still very much their moment and it was long overdue. Maybe this wasn't the best way to go about things, but it was all they could do.

She had faith that this wouldn't break Luke. He was stronger now than he had been for a long time.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "Pete won’t be home tonight."

Dana: "I'll wait here." Here being beside the truck, leaned against its door and staring forward in thought. So many reasons not to be here, and a half-hearted attempt to prevent this reunion. One he had caused need of by his reappearance again and again. Of borrowing one body after the other. So, this was his responsibility.

Logan: "Outside? Aren't you going to come to the door?"

Dana: "I don't intend to give him a heart attack so young."

Logan: "He runs every day and eats his vegetables. He's stronger than he looks." If everything in Luke's life up until this point hadn't given him a heart attack, Logan doubted there was anything that could. That being said, it wouldn't do to go tempting fate either.

She sighed. "I'll knock on the door. If he invites you in are you going to accept?"

Dana: "I'm not a Hollywood vampire. Of course I'll enter."

Logan/Luke: "I didn't mean because of that, but that's good to know." She reached over to pat his hand. "Be right back."

She grabbed her little pocketknife from her pocket and went up to the back fence. This time of year it was never locked, so she was able to slip the blade of her knife in between the slats and undo the gate latch to let herself into the backyard.

These days whenever Luke wasn't working at the pub in the evenings, he was catching up on paperwork for his current cases. He'd been testing the waters since leaving the firm in Raleigh and so far, he'd gathered enough business that he was outgrowing Pete's dining room. He'd have to start looking for some office space in town soon.

He got up to stretch, brow furrowing when he saw Logan approaching the back porch. That was weird. Why wasn't she around front?

Luke went out to meet her with a pleasantly confused smile. "Hey. What are you doing back here? Why didn't you use the front door?"

Logan took a deep breath. "I um...I didn't want anyone to see me."

"What, why?"

"Just...come with me. Trust me and come with me."

Back through the yard and the gate, where Dana was waiting.

Dana: Tolvin was curious, of course. Wondering what it was Logan had said to prepare him for this moment. He struggled to recall the last instance he'd seen Luke. Oliver's body, almost certainly. High off of something or another. Barely able to sustain until removed by force.

Luke Graham looked the same as memory served. Better than memory. He was smooth, like skin should be. Free of pallor. Vibrant. Alive.

He ducked his head, giving one more second, one more reason for Luke to squint, spare him the shock of his full face.

Luke: Despite his confusion, Luke followed, wondering all the while what could be so bad or so...scandalous? that Logan would go to the trouble of approaching his house from the back all so no one would...

...see.

Luke didn't have to squint, didn't have to take the extra second. He'd recognize the set of those shoulders blind. He'd felt them, seen them in dreams and standing before him in another life, another reality he'd often been convinced had been a dream as well.

A part of him wanted to fall back on that now, the safety and denial of telling himself this was all a hallucination, that Dana Tolvin wasn't standing in front of him looking so similar and so different to the image in Luke's mind. But Luke couldn't do that. Not after everything he'd seen.

Not when Dana cast a shadow, and Logan's eyes fell to him as well. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but the man he loved had somehow transcended death and was in front of him. There was no hiding in denial this time, no voice in his head telling him this was it, he'd finally lost it.

"Hi, Dana," he said softly, not meaning to whisper.

Dana: Every time he'd ever held this man had been through the arms of a borrowed body. Even now, his touch would not be the same. His skin still and forever partially numb, was disallowed such tactile pleasure. Wouldn't seem worth the trouble had this been anyone else. Anything else. Every fetter was a living being, and that was no coincidence. These precious breathing beings.

He was staring. What words could be spoken, not already spilled from the lips and tongue of Oliver Cole? Nothing seemed adequate to the task.

He offered his hand.

Luke: As Luke reached for Dana's hand, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if his hand would pass straight through. He could see a shadow, yes, but clouds cast shadows. It didn't mean that the Dana in front him--although present--was physically present, and he both feared and anticipated getting the answer to that question.

He didn't know how he felt or what he felt or how much he felt; all of reality seemed to pause for those few pregnant moments it took to make contact with Dana's skin

And he did make contact. Luke touched him, could touch him. Dana wasn't a specter or a wisp of smoke in danger of being blown away on the slightest breeze. He was here and he was solid, and Luke could do nothing but squeeze his hand and weep.

Dana: Tolvin considered a moment if this was happening to someone else. So long since his last possession of Oliver Cole that their first real touch, hindered by numbness, felt surreal.

Quietly, Tolvin pulled his fetter chest-to-chest. Said nothing as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Rested his chin on Luke's head.

Luke: It had been six months since Luke had last seen Dana, and longer still since he'd seen Dana. His last memory of the man he loved was a goodbye kiss. He never could've known what would happen after he pulled back, after he watched Dana walk away. He hadn't known just how precious and important that last kiss had been. Not then.

But now? Now he was being held by Dana, something he'd never gotten when Dana was still alive. Every time he'd been held by this man, it had been through another person, another body. Never the body he loved. It was always Oliver; Oliver's arms, Oliver's chest, Oliver's face looking down at him, and it was such a comfort and so fucking heartbreaking to finally be held by Dana Tolvin.

These were the arms and chest and body he recognized and remembered. This was what he'd wanted for so long, and it was so incredibly cruel that death had been what finally gave it to him.

So Luke clung and cried and silently railed at God. For taking Dana, for tearing them apart. For so many things.

It was a long time before he calmed enough to question how any of this was even possible, but all he got out was, "How?"

Dana: Tolvin said nothing, felt no need to interrupt the unsteady silence of tears with monotone comfort. His arms were enough. When the expected question was finally spoken, his initial response was nothing more than a glance to Logan.

"A lot of finesse," he answered. Seemed better for all involved not to go into great detail.

"Do you just live here now?" Giving in pieces seemed the best strategy. Redirecting the conversation back to Luke.

Luke: A lot of finesse. It wasn't really an answer but then again, was this the kind of thing he really wanted to know? Whatever process or magic that had been involved in bringing Dana here was bound to be something beyond Luke's comprehension anyway. Not going into details was simpler.

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm selling my condo, looking for a place here. I asked Logan to move in with me."

Dana: "That feels familiar." Not knowing something until last moment. Another look at Logan. Considerably less disappointment and confusion behind those eyes than there perhaps should have been, given his former nature.

"Do you... want to sit down?"

Luke/Logan: Logan gave him a small, apologetic smile. It occurred to her that she should've told Dana about Luke's offer before they'd come here, but the shock of seeing him again had driven it clean out of her head.

That being said, his silent reaction was better than she would've thought.

Luke sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve. "Yeah. Yeah, let's sit. Do you um....do you want anything...?"

Dana: I don't need anything. The words felt too weighted. He simply said, "No." Speaking through Oliver Cole had felt smoother. Or perhaps it was the weight of Luke's emotions which stilled his tongue. Still, he remained at his side, patient.

Luke: Luke almost wished he’d said yes. It would give him something to do or at the very least, a second to get himself together.

Not that he thought that was really possible. He doubted anyone in his position was capable of getting themselves together. How could they, unless their loved ones returning from the dead was an everyday occurrence?

He didn’t know what to do or ask or say, whether to put on a collected face or just let himself feel…everything.

For now, Luke settled on getting them all inside and into the living room where they could at least sit while they processed. He’d bet anything that he and Logan weren’t the only ones thrown for a loop.

“Where um…” He cleared his throat. “Where have you been…staying?”

Dana: Intimacy had felt simpler with another body. An absence of sensation had somehow enabled his confidence. Perhaps it was the presence of Logan which altered his behavior. Despite years beyond the Shadow, his soul was still a conservative Catholic.

"With my maker," he decided upon. "If you're thinking Frankenstein, you're close."

Luke: He hated that his immediate thought was, ‘that story didn’t have a happy ending’. After so much pain and unhappiness, it was damn near criminal that any part of him could still rub salt in his own wounds.

“And who’s Dr. Frankenstein in this situation?”

Dana: "What are you going to do with that information if I tell you?" Tolvin asked slowly.

Luke: Luke shrugged. “Not much I can do, is there? Can’t tell anyone. Can’t go to the police. Doubt I’d be able to do anything to whoever it is if I ever met them. There’s nothing someone like me can do in this situation.

“Frankenstein beats family lawyer,” he added softly. “Probably every time.”

Dana: "You sound defeated," said after a moment of contemplation, staring gently at Luke.

Luke: What curved his lips was too sad to be called a smile, but for a moment it brought some levity to his expression.

“I have been, haven’t I? Years ago when you were taken and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. When I lost you.”

Dana: "You were supposed to move on, like people do. You've been too close to things you shouldn't, and you're stuck in a limbo state because of it."

Luke: Luke did smile now, so sadly. “You’re the one who got Dr. Frankenstein’ed, babe,” he said softly. “If I’m in limbo, where are you?”

Dana: "I'm a hunter, still in the world I existed in. You're trapped in between, and so is Logan, for different reasons. Knowing us has pushed you to this edge. Logan trying for domesticity is in her own purgatory."

Luke: He was shaking his head before Logan could say anything. “No. I may be stuck but she isn’t. She’s making a life, Dana. It’s not the life you thought she’d have or the nuns thought she’d have but it’s a decent one.

“She’s my best friend. She didn’t push me to any edge any more than you did. Ya’ll didn’t do anything wrong and I don’t blame ya’ll for anything.”

Dana: "Living this life, knowing there are people out there, like me, like the ones that did this to me. Reading or watching the news and hearing peculiar stories, knowing in your heart there's something deeper, and closer. That's her purgatory, and your limbo. If I could take it from you both, I would."

Luke/Logan: “It was never going to be any different, Dana,” Logan finally spoke up. Her voice was just as soft and sad as Luke’s. “I’ve known all that since I was a child. The only thing that could change that is a time machine. But I don’t have one, and neither do you. We do what we can with what we’re given.”

Dana: "What if I were to change that? Free you from these chains. You wouldn't say no to a fresh start and clear head, would you?"

Logan: “This is my fresh start, Dana.”

Logan reached for her brother’s hand. “Luke and I are looking for a place to move into together, I do work that fulfills me. I’m not chained and you aren’t chaining me.”

Dana: "If that's the case, I wouldn't be here. You know that, Logan. Our specialty was vampires, but you knew enough to know that."

Luke: “You’re here because someone Frankenstein’ed you,” Luke said quietly. “Someone that’s probably a lot more powerful than me and Logan.”

Dana: "That wasn't what had me here when I was using a fisherman as a puppet."

Luke: “What are we supposed to do?” Luke wasn’t sure if he was sincerely asking or just voicing despair. Maybe both. “Forget you? Stop loving you? Pretend you never existed?”

Dana: "What would you tell your sister if her husband died?" He remembered that much.

Luke: Luke shrugged helplessly. He could barely figure out what to tell himself. How could he begin to guess what he’d say to console Stella when he had yet to be consoled?

“Probably the same thing I told myself before I realized it was hopeless. That I’d find the son of a bitch who took him from her and make sure he fried for it. You said I sounded defeated, well. Now you know why. Because that is the most naive and most human thing anyone could say and that’s all I’ve got, and I failed completely.”

Dana: Tolvin leaned forward, arms resting on his knees.

"You would tell your sister to find her murderer? That's all you would tell her? Not anything else, Luke?"

Luke: “I would tell her that I would. I’d tell her that I would do everything in my power to get justice for him and for her. I’d do what I couldn’t fucking do for you.”

Dana: "And that would be the rest of her life? To hell with her children, her friends, her future. Only revenge."

Luke: “It would be a damn good start, because nothing I could ever say would make it not hurt. That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it?”

Luke shook his head. “Logan‘s right. Only thing that could actually help is a goddamn time machine and we’re shit out of luck there. It’s always gonna hurt, Dana. It’s always gonna be heartbreaking and devastating but I’m fucking trying, okay? I moved back here and got a fucking therapist and I’m trying. I’m sorry if that’s not enough for you.”

Dana: "That's not moving forward. Those are steps backwards. That's hiding. That's going someplace safe so you don't have to let go. You're my fetters for a reason. You, Logan, and my daughter."

To that, he leaned back in his seat.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

Luke: Backwards. Hiding. There had been days where getting out of bed and bathing and working and breathing had felt like Herculean tasks but he’d done them. Getting therapy had made him feel like a failure but he’d done it. Laying himself bare and talking about his innermost thoughts and feelings had made him feel like an exposed nerve but he’d done that, too.

He had done everything he could possibly to do pick himself up, even when it was hard, and sometimes he even felt like he was starting to make real progress and get a handle on his life again.

But apparently what Luke saw as effort and progress, Dana saw as hiding. As him moving backwards.

Luke turned his face away and stood. He could recall feeling this way once before, sitting across a dinner table from Dana on an ill-fated date. He hadn’t been able to conceal his hurt then but he could now.

At the very least, he could keep Dana from seeing it.

“I need air,” he mumbled before stepping out onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

Dana: This reaction felt familiar to Tolvin as well. He'd been an expert at pushing people away since his early ears. Only a few had crawled beneath his barbed wire defenses. It was no wonder these two had become his tethers to the Skinlands. He hadn't said everything he intended to. The harshest reality left on his tongue. A question he felt, if asked, would sever Luke as he fetter like a broken piano wire. Looking inward and asking himself why he had fallen so hard and fast for a man he barely knew. A man that mocked and used him for personal and intimate gain.

Dating Luke had been a hasty decision, one which, upon reflection, had nothing to do with the goings on of Edenton. As though one man might have all the answers. It had been for pleasure. He could admit as much to himself. Had long ago. In doing so, he'd harmed this man to his core. And he might again, if only to set him free of his depression.

"He needs air, he says. I need a walk."

Logan: Logan watched Luke go with a sigh. He wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he probably hoped he was.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Logan murmured. “Would it really be so bad to just…coddle him a bit? Comfort him, make him feel loved? It’s been so long since you’ve spoken, much less seen each other. You and I both know it isn’t a miracle allowing you to be here now but it should be to him. He deserves to feel like he’s getting a miracle.

“God love him, Dana, he is trying. He wasn’t saying that just to say it. He moved back here because his therapist thought living alone was negatively impacting his mental health and it was. He’s smiled since he’s been here. He talks to people. He works. He goes out. They’re small steps but he’s giving it all that he has.”

Dana: "What you think moving on is, and what the reality is to those of us still here, are not the same. I can't tell you if it's always been that way or not. It's not the same. I've held that man, I've kissed him. I've said words to him I didn't when alive. I've told him truths; I'm not walking backwards to the man I no longer am. I barely understand the one I am now."

Logan: “What you’re saying may be absolutely true and I won’t argue it, but is it really necessary to make him feel like he’s failing? Like his best isn’t enough?”

Logan wouldn’t say that there was no virtue in telling the truth when doing so was cruel but she certainly believed it.

She sighed again. “No, I don’t imagine you do. No one would. I’m not asking you to walk backwards. I’m asking you to just…be kind and gentle.”

Dana: Tolvin considered her a moment, and the man outside. The situation, as it were, was a familiar thought through his long afterlife.

He got to his feet and tucked in his chair.

"We'll be a minute. A long... minute." He headed for the door.

Luke/Logan: "Take as long as you need." An hour. Two even. Logan could only hope that Dana took her words to heart.

She didn't doubt any of what he'd said. His perspective didn't have the limitations that hers and Luke's did; it was beyond anything that they could comprehend and it always would be until they themselves died.

Moving on to them didn't mean the same thing that it did to Dana. She accepted that. For her and Luke and it was about getting past grief. For Dana...

Luke would be found sitting on the porch steps with his back to the door, staring off at nothing while he listened to the crickets. He wasn't crying. That wasn't why he'd come out here.

Dana: Three fingers gently brushed the top of Luke's hair. One might suspect a spider, if not for the voice which followed.

"Walk with me." Not so much a command as a request, given the placidity of the wraith's tone.

Luke: Luke might have suspected a spider or maybe a moth if he hadn't sensed Dana behind him. And heard the door open, of course.

He nodded to Dana's request and got to his feet. He didn't much feel like talking, but he didn't mind walking. Maybe it would clear his head. If not, then he'd settle for the fresh air.

Dana: They didn't have to talk. If Luke didn't say a word, neither would Tolvin. He led them towards the backyard and between the houses, heading towards the patch of trees and away from the main road. As Logan had pointed out, it was best to stay away from public eye.

Luke: Even if he had wanted to talk, Luke didn’t have the slightest idea of what he would say. What he could say.

He’d put it all out on the table back there and it just hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been what Dana wanted to hear so…where did that leave him?

Walking along in silence, apparently. If something were to break it, it would have to be from Dana.

Dana: Still, Tolvin said nothing. He'd made up his mind not to until Luke was comfortable. Whenever that would be. Maybe never. For now, however, he would offer his hand. It was such a little thing.

Luke: Luke wasn’t uncomfortable. At a loss maybe but not uncomfortable.

He’d never known where he truly stood with Dana, even after he’d learned he was one of Dana’s tethers. That should have been answer enough—couldn’t be a tether if you meant nothing, right? But somehow the ground between them still felt shaky. Somehow, despite this bond, there was still a distance between them that had almost nothing to do with the fact he was alive and Dana wasn’t.

Luke took his hand. Maybe, just for this moment, that distance was a little less.

Dana: Upon taking, Tolvin stuffed their hands in his jacket pocket. Actions were his love language, if Luke hadn't figured that out yet. Words never his strong point, even in death. Even now, in keeping silent.

Were they meant to come across train tracks? He looked both ways, listened out for... anything.

Luke: Somewhere deep down Luke probably knew that the way they loved was very different. It would be something to reflect on when he was alone and his mind had settled.

Even so, he could cherish the gesture.

There would be no sound but the wind and the crickets. Trains didn’t pass through very often anymore, and when they did, it was usually during the day.

Enveloped in night, there was nothing around to bother them. Nothing physical at least.

Luke was just going to keep walking until Dana said something, the sun rose, or they hit the ocean. Words couldn’t always be his to give.

Dana: Tolvin only realized the direction they were taking when they reached a mile beyond the house. Just a few more miles to go, but the route was now obvious. As that realization dawned on him, the wraith stilled, but only for a moment.

Still, he said nothing. Only if Luke asked would he answer, but for now, they were walking home. His new home. He hadn't a plan. Not after what they'd just been through. Only reaction.

Luke: Luke noticed. It may have only been for a moment but he noticed Dana's hesitation.

He looked around. Nothing had moved. There had been no weird noises or cars or people suddenly appearing, so why had Dana paused?

Luke stopped walking and looked at his companion expectantly. Why had he paused? Had he remembered something? Had something caught his attention?

Dana: After two miles, he expected Luke to inquire. When they reached three, he paused again, looking down at his companion in wonderment. This was what trust looked like, he supposed. It was a quiet affair.

But they'd reached Willow Street. He expected a question.

Luke: The further they walked, the clearer it became that Dana didn't intend to say anything. He was probably waiting for Luke to say something but...he just didn't have the energy. He was mentally worn out and a petty, immature part of him resented always having to say the first word.

He turned and started heading back the way they came. They were miles from the house with no end to their walk in sight; Logan would worry.

Dana: Continuing their taciturn play, Luke was grasped by his wrist. He didn't move forward, but neither did he allow the mortal to retreat.

"Trust me," the wraith finally said.

Luke: Luke heaved a long sigh. "Where are you going?"

Dana: "We're going home. My home."

Luke: "Home?" His brow furrowed as he looked around. The houses were further apart in this area of town, the woods were thicker. Unless Dana was living in a rental or something there was nothing out here except--

"...Do you live at the old Harrak house?"

Dana: Tolvin released his hold long enough to press a button on his watch. Then, signing, he faced Luke head on.

"Yes. This is where I live."

Luke: "That place changed hands a few years back, it's occupied." The frown deepened, grew more suspicious. "How and why do you live there?"

Dana: "You think I don't know that." Not a question, a statement. Almost baffling.

"They are why I am here."

Luke: "'They'? Who the hell is they? Are you telling me someone living in that house brought you back from the dead?"

Dana: "That astounds you more than my standing here?"

Luke: "Who is 'they'?"

Dana: "Vampires."

Luke: "Vampires." Luke didn't sound surprised. Maybe he should have. Maybe if he'd heard the same thing before this evening it would have but it was as Dana had said.

Why should that astound him when he was standing here? Why should anything anymore? Luke wasn't even certain if he believed it but he had no reason not to. Dana wouldn't make up some bullshit lie after all that had happened.

Luke was quiet for a few long moments before he turned and started walking back home again.

He didn't want to see that house. He didn't want yet another reminder of how weak and powerless he was. And more than anything, he didn't want confirmation of the suspicions whispering in the dark corners of his mind.

So all he said was, "Logan will worry."

Dana: "You don't want to see where I sleep? See how I function? What I can do, Luke?"

After a few seconds, he began to follow behind.

Luke: Sniffles preceded a shake of Luke's head.

Dana wasn't supposed to be sleeping there. Wasn't supposed to be functioning or doing anything at all in that house of vampires. He was supposed to be somewhere safe, somewhere peaceful.

Not in a creepy old house people had been telling ghost stories about since he was a little kid.

If Dana caught up to him, Luke would reach behind for his hand but he wouldn't stop walking. He needed to take Dana back where it was safe and peaceful and light.

Dana: Luke's hand would be taken, only after the button on his watch was pressed again. Less than two minutes. Had he shown Luke anything, and traumatized this man, he would have taken it away. Had Rosmond reset the clock by honor of favor.

Because he loved this man. And when he took his hand, it was placed back in his pocket for safe keeping.

Luke/Logan: He squeezed Dana's hand. His eyes were fixed on the street ahead, mind focused on home to chase any dark thoughts away. If making it so Dana could spend some time away was the only thing Luke could do for him, then he was going to do it. He wasn't going to interrupt it by letting them go back to that place.

By the time they got back, Logan would be pacing up and down the sidewalk outside the house. There was visible relief when she saw them approach.

"Thank god, I was about to go look for you."

Dana: Still assessing if this was running away, or a rescue mission, when Tolvin laid eyes upon his sister.

"Think I can't bring him back in one piece?"

He wouldn't be revealing his intention to her, either. He couldn't see that going over.

"Just a walk."

Luke's hand was squeezed in return.

Luke/Logan: It was both. Luke was avoiding the confirmation of his worst fears and by doing so, giving Dana a reprieve from them.

“I know you can,” Logan said softly with a smile to match, and she did. But even a blind man could see how upset Luke was.

Luke wiped his face with his sleeve. “Gonna get some water,” he mumbled as he went inside.

Dana: Tolvin remained where Luke left him. Looking up at Logan from the bottom of the steps. So, they'd gone on this walk. What now? He was playing it by ear.

Logan: She waited until Luke had been inside for a few moments before she spoke.

“How did it go?”

Dana: "We... held hands." Was that what she wanted? Doubtful, but it was something.

Logan: “Yes you did,” said Logan, smiling. She’d seen them as they’d approached the house. Despite Luke’s upset, it was a lovely sight.

“Did you talk more?”

Dana: "I think we did." A very minimal conversation, but a conversation just the same. "Do we leave now?" Because he had no clue.

Logan: “I’m glad, Dana. Truly.”

Logan took her phone from her pocket to check the time. Late for them, but still early for those in charge of Dana.

“When do you have to be back?”

Dana: "Dawn." As far as leashes went, his was decently long.

Logan: “Then we’ve got some time. Dawn is still a ways away.”

She glanced behind her for a moment. “Do you want to stay here or go back to the cabin?”

Dana: "I'll do... whatever he wants to do." That had become his decision on the walk home.

Logan: Logan nodded. “Then we’d better go in. I doubt he’ll stay up all night but you can stay with him until he falls asleep.”

Dana: "Is this me staying and you going?"

Logan: "It can be, if that's what you'd like. I can come and get you before dawn and take you back home."

Dana: "I can walk." But that probably wasn't the point. Probably something about spending time with him.

Tolvin nodded to the door. "Go ask him what he wants."

Luke/Logan: “I’ll be right back.”

No, it wasn’t. Logan hadn’t expected this situation but now that it was before her, the thought of being away from Dana was unbearable.

Maybe it was because she’d missed him, maybe it was because she knew where he was going home to, but Logan couldn’t not see him home.

Luke felt the same way. He was laying in bed upstairs when Logan found him, staring at nothing the way he did sometimes while still paying attention to his surroundings.

He nodded when Logan asked if he wanted Dana to stay with him tonight, and nodded again when she asked if he was okay with her leaving them alone.

She returned downstairs a few minutes later, holding the door open for her brother in invitation.

Dana: Tolvin had kept his promise to see her again. Actions, again, his love language. He would see her after tonight, too. He was resolved to the idea, despite putting in his complaints.

"Are you gonna get some sleep?" he asked, stepping over the threshold.

Logan: “I’ll try,” Logan said with a nod. She didn’t know how much she would be able to get but maybe she could manage at least a couple of hours. She had a busy day tomorrow and a nap was better than no sleep at all.

“He’s up in his bedroom. I’ll be back before dawn.”

Dana: "I'd rather you sleep."

Like muscle memory, Tolvin leaned in to kiss his sister's cheek. Without another word, he began his ascent to Luke's bedroom. He'd been in this house before, with another body. This too, felt like muscle memory.

In the same taciturn light, Luke was greeted with a fixed, gentle stare. Wondering what it was he was thinking. In this form, he couldn't simply read his mind.

He began removing his clothes. His jacket, shirt, never averting his gaze, until sitting his clothes at the foot of the bed. Once his shoes were kicked off, he was joined, laying slowly, as though sudden movement would startle like a frightened deer.

Luke: In the time between Logan’s departure and Dana’s arrival, Luke had taken off his jeans and shirt and donned his sleep shirt. It was getting too cold at night to sleep shirtless but it wasn’t quite cold enough for pajama pants.

This in between was what Dana would find when he entered the room.

Luke had just gotten under the covers, and although he’d been expecting Dana, it hadn’t occurred to him that Dana would join him, or even want to.

He said nothing, did nothing. Merely watched and loosely clutched his covers to his chest like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, like maybe he was just that tired and his mind was playing tricks on him.

Dana: Tolvin remained sat up on his side, studying the confused man beneath him as though a long-lost book. At some point, he expected Luke to move, to say something. In the meantime, he would begin making himself comfortable.

Luke: No matter how tired he was, there was no denying the shifting weight on the mattress or the unique awareness of another person lying beside him. His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.

Dana was joining him.

Luke didn’t say a word, but after some debate, he sank further into the bed and turned so he was facing Dana. He tucked one hand under his pillow and offered the other.

Dana: Tolvin looked at the hand a few seconds before taking it. Warmth. Smooth, masculine skin, with a hint of hair on his knuckles. This was a mortal life, a mortal texture. As so many wraiths, Tolvin quickly got lost in sensation.

Luke: Luke wondered what Dana was thinking about as his hand was held. Was he marveling at this like Luke was? Was he counting down the hours or the minutes until he had to go home to that house of ghosts?

Subconsciously, Luke squeezed his hand. Squeezes as if…he was trying to hold on to him. To keep him from going away.

He held Dana’s hand to his chest and breathed deeply, closing his eyes.

Dana: Rather unlike Luke, he thought, to be so quiet. And he realized, outside of Logan, he'd never spoken as much as he had with this man, making the silence noticeable.

It was enough to pull him from his trance.

"Leaving before dawn."

Luke: Tiredness was finally catching up with him. His day had been long, the emotional turmoil grueling. It was all he could do not to pass out.

Luke nodded. “Okay,” he murmured, scooting closer. That was one question answered; they had a few more hours still.

Dana: Tolvin closed his eyes as well, though sleep would not reach him yet. Not at night, and a night like this. He could sleep during the day, with everyone else in the Harrak house.

Luke: Unable to shake the feeling that he was pushing his luck, Luke scooted closer still. And he’d keep doing it, until he hit the immovable force that was Dana’s chest or Dana told him to stop.

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye,” Luke whispered. “Wake me if you have to.”

Dana: Tolvin maneuvered his arm underneath Luke's body, allowing him to all but lay completely on his chest. He didn't mind. This was their default.

"Alright," he whispered.

Luke: Luke settled in comfortable and sighed with the heartfelt weariness of the exhausted. He was quickly losing the battle with sleep.

“Promise?” He could rest if Dana promised. It would mean one more chance to see his face until…he didn’t know when.

Dana: His tone remained quiet as he promised, turning his head to kiss whatever part of Luke he could. Mortals were exceptionally stubborn creatures. Was it any wonder everyone he ever loved had that same streak?

He would rest his eyes, for now, lulled by Luke's breathing.

#If I'm in Limbo chapter #danatolvin #lukebgraham #loganriley #gertrudedraegan

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ratfag · 2 years

Text

The Frolic (1982)

In a beautiful home in a beautiful part of town—the town of Nolgate, site of the state prison—Dr. Munck examined the evening newspaper while his young wife lounged on a sofa nearby, lazily flipping through the colorful parade of a fashion magazine. Their daughter Norleen was upstairs asleep, or perhaps she was illicitly enjoying an after-hours session with the new color television she'd received on her birthday the week before. If so, her violation of the bedtime rule went undetected due to the affluent expanse between bedroom and living room, where her parents heard no sounds of disobedience. The house was quiet. The neighborhood and the rest of the town were also quiet in various ways, all of them slightly distracting to the doctor's wife. But so far Leslie had only dared complain of the town's social lethargy in the most joking fashion ("Another exciting evening at the Munck's monastic hideaway"). She knew her husband was quite dedicated to this new position of his in this new place. Perhaps tonight, though, he would exhibit some encouraging symptoms of disenchantment with his work.

"How did it go today, David?" she asked, her radiant eyes peeking over the magazine cover, where another pair of eyes radiated a glossy gaze. "You were pretty quiet at dinner."

"It went about the same," said David, without lowering the small-town newspaper to look at his wife.

"Does that mean you don't want to talk about it?"

He folded the newspaper backwards and his upper body appeared. "That's how it sounded, didn't it?"

"Yes, it certainly did. Are you okay today?" she asked, laying aside the magazine on the coffee table and offering her complete attention.

"Severely doubting, that's how I am." He said this with a kind of far-off reflectiveness.

"Anything particularly doubtful, Dr. Munck?"

"Only everything," he answered.

"Shall I make us drinks?"

"That would be much appreciated."

Leslie walked to another part of the living room and from a large cabinet pulled out some bottles and some glasses. From the kitchen she brought out a supply of ice cubes in a brown plastic bucket. The sounds of drink-making were unusually audible in the living room's plush quiet. The drapes were drawn on all windows except the one in the corner where an Aphrodite sculpture posed. Beyond that window was a deserted street-lighted street and a piece of moon above the opulent leafage of spring trees.

"There you go, doctor," she said, handing him a glass that was very thick at its base and tapered almost undetectable towards its rim.

"Thanks, I really need one of these."

"Why? Aren't things going well with your work?"

"You mean my work at the prison?"

"Yes, of course."

"You could say at the prison once in a while. Not always talk in the abstract. Overtly recognize my chosen professional environment, my—"

"All right, all right. How's things at the wonderful prison, dear? Is that better?" She paused and took a deep gulp from her glass, then calmed a little. "I'm sorry about the snideness, David."

"No, I deserved it. I'm blaming you for long realizing something I can't bring myself to admit."

"Which is?" she prompted.

"Which is that maybe it was not the wisest decision to move here and take this saintly mission upon my psychologist's shoulders."

This remark was an indication of even deeper disenchantment than Leslie had hoped for. But somehow these words did not cheer her the way she thought they would. She could distantly hear the moving vans pulling up to the house, but the sound was no longer as pleasing as it once was.

"You said you wanted to do something more than treat urban neuroses. Something more meaningful, more challenging."

"What I wanted, masochistically, was a thankless job, an impossible one. And I got it."

"Is it really that bad?" Leslie inquired, not quite believing she asked the question with such encouraging skepticism about the actual severity of the situation. She congratulated herself for placing David's self-esteem above her own desire for a change of venue, important as she felt this was.

"I'm afraid it is that bad. When I first visited the prison's psychiatric section and met the other doctors, I swore I wouldn't become as hopeless and cruelly cynical as they were. Things would be different with me. I overestimated myself by a wide margin, though. Today one of the orderlies was beaten up again by two of the prisoners, excuse me, 'patients'. Last week it was Dr. Valdman, that's why I was so moody on Norleen's birthday. So far I've been lucky. All they do is spit on me. Well, they can all rot in that hellhole as far as I'm concerned."

David felt his own words lingering atmospherically in the room, tainting the serenity of the house. Until then their home had been an insular haven beyond the contamination of the prison, an imposing structure outside the town limits. Now its psychic imposition transcended the limits of physical distance. Inner distance constricted, and David sensed the massive prison walls shadowing the cozy neighborhood outside.

"Do you know why I was late tonight?" he asked his wife.

"No, why?"

"Because I had an overlong chat with a fellow who hasn't got a name yet."

"The one you told me about who won't tell anyone where he's from or what his real name is?"

"That's him. He's just an example of the pernicious monstrosity of the place. Worse than a beast, a rabid animal. Demented blind aggression… and clever. Because of this cute name game of his, he was classified as unsuitable for the regular prison population and thus we in the psychiatric section ended up with him. According to him, though, he has plenty of names, no less than a thousand, none of which he's condescended to speak in anyone's presence. From my point of view, he doesn't really have use for any human name. But we're stuck with him, no name and all."

"Do you call him that, 'no name'?"

"Maybe we should, but no, we don't."

"So what do you call him, then?"

"Well, he was convicted as John Doe, and since then everyone refers to him by that name. They've yet to uncover any official documentation on him. Neither his fingerprints nor photograph correspond to any record of precious convictions. I understand he was picked up in a stolen car parked in front of an elementary school. An observant neighbor reported him as a suspicious character frequently seen in the area. Everyone was on the alert, I guess, after the first few disappearances from the school, and the police were watching him just as he was walking a new victim to his car. That's when they made the arrest. But his version of the story is a little different. He says he was fully aware of his pursuers and expected, even wanted, to be caught, convicted, and exiled to the penitentiary."

"Why?"

"Why? Why ask why? Why ask a psychotic to explain his own motivation, it only becomes more confusing. And John Doe is even less scrutable than most."

"What do you mean?"

"I can tell you by narrating a little scene from the interview I had with him today. I asked him if he knew why he was in prison.

"'For frolicking,' he said.

"'What does that mean?' I asked.

"His reply was: 'Mean, mean, mean. You're a meany.'

"That childish ranting somehow sounded to me as if he were mimicking his victims. I'd really had enough right then but foolishly continued the interview.

"'Do you know why you can't leave here?' I calmly asked with a poor variant of my original inquiry.

"'Who says I can't? I'll just go when I want to. But I don't want to yet.'

"'Why not?' I naturally questioned.

"'I just got here,' he said. 'Thought I'd take a rest after frolicking so hard. But I want to be in with all the others. Unquestionably stimulating atmosphere. When can I go with them, when can I?'

"Can you believe that? It would be cruel, though, to put him in the regular prison population, not to say he doesn't deserve this cruelty. The average inmate despises Doe's kind of crime, and there's really no predicting what would happen if we put him in there and the others found out what he was convicted for."

"So he has to say in the psychiatric section for the rest of his term?" asked Leslie.

"He doesn't think so. He thinks he can leave whenever he wants."

"And can he?" questioned Leslie with a firm absence of facetiousness in her voice. This had always been one of her weightiest fears about living in this prison town, that every moment of the day and night there were horrible fiends plotting to escape through what she envisioned as rather papery walls. To raise a child in such surroundings was another of her objections to her husband's work.

"I told you before, Leslie, there have been very few successful escapes from that prison. If an inmate does get beyond the walls, his first impulse is usually one of practical self-preservation, and he tries to get as far away as possible from this town, which is probably the safest place to be in the event of an escape. Anyway, most escapees are apprehended within hours after they've gotten out."

"What about a prisoner like John Doe? Does he have this sense of 'practical self-preservation,' or would he rather just hang around and do damage to someone?"

"Prisoners like that don't escape in the normal course of things. They just bounce off the walls but not over them. You know what I mean?"

Leslie said she understood, but this did not in the least lessen the potency of her fears, which found their source in an imaginary prison in an imaginary town, one where anything could happen as long as it approached the hideous. Morbidity had never been among her strong points, and she loathed its intrusion of her character. And for all this ready reassurance about the able security of the prison, David also seemed profoundly uneasy. He was sitting very still now, holding his drink between his knees and appearing to listen for something.

"What's wrong, David?" asked Leslie.

"I thought I heard… a sound."

"A sound like what?"

"Can't describe it exactly. A faraway noise."

He stood up and looked around, as if to see whether the sound had left some tell-tale clue in the surrounding stillness of the house, perhaps a smeary sonic print somewhere.

"I'm going to check on Norleen," he said, setting his glass down rather abruptly on the table beside his chair and splashing the drink around. He walked across the living room, down the front hallway, up the three segments of the stairway, and then down the upstairs hall. Peeking into his daughter's room he saw her tiny figure resting comfortable, a sleepy embrace wrapped about the form of a stuffed Bambi. She still occasionally slept with an inanimate companion, even though she was getting a little old for this. But her psychologist father was careful not to question her right to childish comfort. Before leaving the room Dr. Munck lowered the window which was partially open on that warm spring evening.

When he returned to the living room he delivered the wonderfully routine message that Norleen was peacefully asleep. In a gesture containing faint overtones of celebratory relief, Leslie made them two fresh drinks, after which she said:

"David, you said you had an 'overlong chat' with that John Doe. Not that I'm morbidly curious or anything, but did you ever get him to reveal very much about himself?"

"Sure," Dr. Munck replied, rolling an ice cube around in his mouth. His voice was now more relaxed.

"He told me everything about himself, and on the surface all of it was nonsense. I asked him in a casually interested sort of way where he was from.

"'No place,' he replied like a psychotic simpleton.

"'No place?' I probed.

"'Yes, precisely there, Herr Doktor.'

"'Where were you born?' I asked in another brilliant alternate form of the question.

"Which time do you mean, you meany?' he said back to me, and so forth. I could go on with this dialogue—"

"You do a pretty good John Doe imitation, I must say."

"Thank you, but I couldn't keep it up for very long. It wouldn't be easy to imitate all his different voices and levels of articulateness. He may be something akin to a multiple personality, I'm not sure. I'd have to go over the tape of the interview to see if any patterns of coherency turn up, possibly something the detectives would use to establish the man's identity, if he has one left. The tragic part is that this is all, of course, totally useless information as far as the victims of Doe's crimes are concerned… and as far as I'm concerned it really is too. I'm no aesthete of pathology. It's never been my ambition to study disease merely for its own sake, without effecting some kind of improvement, trying to help someone who would just as soon see me dead, or worse. I used to believe in rehabilitation, maybe with too much naiveté and idealism. But those people, those things at the prison are only an ugly stain on existence. The hell with them," he concluded, draining his glass until the ice cubes rattled.

"Want another?" Leslie asked with a smooth therapeutic tone to her voice.

David smiled now, the previous outburst having purged him somewhat. "Let's get drunk, shall we?"

Leslie collected his glass for a refill. Now there was reason to celebrate, she thought. Her husband was not giving up his work from a sense of ineffectual failure but from anger. The anger would turn into resignation, the resignation into indifference, and then everything would be as it had been before; they could leave the prison town and move back home. In fact, they would move anywhere they liked, maybe take a long vacation first, treat Norleen to some sunny place. Leslie thought of all this as she made the drinks in the quiet of that beautiful room. This quiet was no longer an indication of soundless stagnancy but a delicious lulling prelude to the promising days to come. The indistinct happiness of the future glowed inside her along with the alcohol; she was gravid with pleasant prophecies. Perhaps the time was now right to have another child, a little brother for Norleen. But that could wait just a while longer… a lifetime of possibilities lay ahead, awaiting her wishes like a distinguished and fatherly genie.

Before returning with the drinks, Leslie went into the kitchen. She had something she wanted to give her husband, and this was the perfect time to do it. A little token to show David that although his job had proved a sad waste of his worthy efforts, she had nevertheless supported his work in her own way. With a drink in each hand, she held under her left elbow the small box she had got from the kitchen.

"What's that?" asked David, taking his drink.

"Something for you, art lover. I bought it at that little shop where they sell things the inmates at the penitentiary make—belts, jewelry, ashtrays, you know."

"I know," David said with an unusual lack of enthusiasm. "I didn't think anyone actually bought that stuff."

"I, for one, did. I thought it would help to support those prisoners who are doing something creative, instead of… well, instead of destructive things."

"Creativity isn't always an index of niceness, Leslie," David admonished.

"Wait'll you see it before passing judgment," she said, opening the flap of the box. "There—isn't that nice work?" She set the piece on the coffee table.

Dr. Munck now plunged into that depth of sobriety which can only be reached by falling from a prior alcoholic height. He looked at the object. Of course he had seen it before, watched it being tenderly molded and caressed by creative hands, until he sickened and could watch no more. It was the head of a young boy, discovered in gray formless clay and glossily glazed in blue. The work radiated an extraordinary and intense beauty, the subject's face expressing a kind of ecstatic serenity, the labyrinthine simplicity of a visionary's gaze.

"Well, what do you think of it?" asked Leslie.

David looked at his wife and said solemnly: "Please put it back in the box. And then get rid of it."

"Get rid of it? Why?"

"Why? Because I know which of the inmates did this work. He was very proud of it, and I even forced a grudging compliment for the craftsmanship of the thing. It's obviously remarkable. But then he told me who the boy was. That expression of sky-blue peacefulness wasn't on the boy's face when they found him lying in a field about six months ago."

"No, David," said Leslie as a premature denial of what she was expecting her husband to reveal.

"This was his last, and according to him most memorable, 'frolic'."

"Oh my God," Leslie murmured softly, placing her right hand to her cheek. Then with both hands she gently placed the boy of blue back in his box. "I'll return it to the shop," she said quietly.

"Do it soon, Leslie. I don't know how much longer we'll be residing at this address."

In the moody silence that followed, Leslie briefly contemplated the new openly expressed, and definite reality of their departure from the town of Nolgate, their escape. Then she said: "David, did he actually talk about the things he did. I mean about—"

"I know what you mean. Yes, he did," answered Dr. Munck with a professional seriousness.

"Poor David," Leslie sympathized.

"Actually, it wasn't that much of an ordeal. The conversation we had could even be called stimulating in a clinical sort of way. He described his 'frolicking' in a kind of unreal and highly imaginative manner that wasn't always hideous to listen to. The strange beauty of this thing in the box here—disturbing as it is—somewhat parallels the language he used when talking about those poor kids. At times I couldn't help being fascinated, though maybe I was shielding my feelings with a psychologist's detachment. Sometimes you just have to distance yourself, even if it means becoming a little less human.

"Anyway, nothing that he said was sickeningly graphic in the way you might imagine. When he told me about his last and 'most memorable frolic,' it was with a powerful sense of wonder and nostalgia, shocking as that sounds to me now. It seemed to be a kind of homesickness, though his 'home' is a ramshackle ruin of his decaying mind. His psychosis had bred this blasphemous fairyland which exists in a powerful way for him, and despite the demented grandeur of his thousand names, he actually sees himself as only a minor figure in this world—a mediocre courtier in a broken-down kingdom of horror. This is really interesting when you consider the egoistical magnificence that a lot of psychopaths would attribute to themselves given a limitless imaginary realm in which they could play any imaginary role. But not John Doe. He's a comparatively lazy demi-demon from a place, a No Place, where dizzy chaos is the norm, a state of affairs on which he gluttonously thrives. Which is as good a description as any of the metaphysical economy of a psychotic's universe.

"There's actually quite a poetic geography to his interior dreamland as he describes it. He talked about a place that sounded like the back alleys of some cosmic slum, an inner-dimensional dead end. Which might be an indication of a ghetto upbringing in Doe's past. And if so, his insanity has transformed these ghetto memories into a realm that cross-breeds a banal streetcorner reality with a psychopath's paradise. This is where he does his 'frolicking', with what he calls his 'awe-struck company,' the place possibly being an abandoned building, or even an accommodating sewer. I say this based on his repeated mentioning of 'the jolly river of refuse' and 'the jagged heaps in shadows,' which are certainly mad transmutations of a literal wasteland. Less fathomable are his memories of a moonlit corridor where mirrors scream and laugh, dark peaks of some kind that won't remain still, a stairway that's 'broken' in a very strange way, though this last one fits with the background of a dilapidated slum.

"But despite all these dreamy backdrops in Doe's imagination, the mundane evidence of his frolics still points to a crime of very familiar, down-to-earth horrors. A run-of-the-mill atrocity. Consistently enough, Doe says he made the evidence look that way as a deliberate afterthought, that what he really means by 'frolicking' is a type of activity quite different from, even opposed to, the crime for which he was convicted. This term probably has some private associations rooted in his past."

Dr. Munck paused and rattled around the ice cubes in his empty glass. Leslie seemed to have drifted into herself while he was speaking. She had lit a cigarette and was now leaning on the arm of the sofa with her legs up on its cushions, so that her knees pointed at her husband.

"You should really quit smoking someday," he said.

Leslie lowered her eyes like a child mildly chastised. "I promise that as soon as we move—I'll quit. Is that a deal?"

"Deal," said David. "And I have another proposal for you. First let me tell you that I've definitely decided to hand my resignation no later than tomorrow morning."

"Isn't that a little soon?" asked Leslie, hoping it wasn't.

"Believe me, no one will be surprised. I don't think anyone will even care. Anyway, my proposal is that tomorrow we take Norleen and rent a place up north for a few days or so. We could go horseback riding. Remember she loved it last summer? What do you say?"

"That sounds nice," Leslie agreed with a deep glow of enthusiasm. "Very nice, in fact."

"And on the way back we can drop off Norleen at your parents'. She can stay there while we take care of the business of moving out of this house, maybe find an apartment temporarily. I don't think they'll mind having her for a week or so, do you?"

"No, of course not, they'll love it. But what's the great rush? Norleen's still in school, you know. Maybe we should wait till she gets out. It's just a month away."

David sat in silence for a moment, apparently ordering his thoughts.

"What's wrong?" asked Leslie with just a slight quiver of anxiety in her voice.

"Nothing is actually wrong, nothing at all. But—"

"But what?"

"Well, it has to do with the prison. I know I sounded very smug in telling you how safe we are from prison escapes, and I still maintain that we are. But the one prisoner I've told you about is also very strange, as I'm sure you've gathered. He is positively criminally psychotic… and then again he's something else."

Leslie quizzed her husband with her eyes. "I thought you said he just bounces off walls, not—"

"Yes, much of the time he's like that. But sometimes, well…"

"What are you trying to say, David?" asked an uneasy Leslie.

"It's something that Doe said when I was talking with him today. Nothing really definite. But I'd feel infinitely more comfortable about the whole thing if Norleen stayed with your parents until we can organize ourselves."

Leslie lit another cigarette. "Tell me what he said that bothers you so much," she said firmly. "I should know too."

"When I tell you, you'll probably just think I'm a little crazy myself. You didn't talk to him, though, and I did. The tone, or rather the many different tones of his voice; the shifting expressions on that lean face. Much of the time I talked to him I had the feeling he was beyond me in some way, I don't know exactly how. I'm it was just the customary behavior of the psychopath—trying to shock the doctor. It gives them a sense of power."

"Tell me what he said," Leslie insisted.

"All right, I'll tell you. As I said, it's probably nothing. But toward the end of the interview today, when we were talking about those kids, and actually kids in general, he said something I didn't like at all. He said it with an affected accent, Scottish this time with a little German flavor thrown in. He said: 'You wouldn't be havin' a misbehavin' laddie nor a little colleen of your own, now would you, Professor von Muck?' Then he grinned at me silently.

"Now, I'm sure he was deliberately trying to upset me without, however, having any purpose in mind other than that."

"But what he said, David: 'nor a little colleen.'"

"Grammatically, of course, it should have been 'or' not 'nor', but I'm sure it wasn't anything except a case of bad grammar."

"You didn't mention anything about Norleen, did you?"

"Of course I didn't. That's not the kind of thing I would talk about with these… people."

"Then why did he say it like that?"

"I have no idea. He possesses a very weird sort of cleverness, speaking much of the time with vague suggestions, even subtle jokes. He could have heard things about me from someone on the staff, I suppose. Then again, it might be just an innocent coincidence." He looked to this wife for comment.

"You're probably right," Leslie agreed with an ambivalent eagerness to believe in this conclusion. "All the same, I think I understand why you want Norleen to stay with my parents. Not that anything might happen—"

"Not at all. There's no reason to think anything would happen. Maybe this is a case of the doctor being out-psyched by his patient, but I don't really care anymore. Any reasonable person would be a little spooked after spending day after day in the chaos and physical danger of that place… the murderers, the rapists, the dregs of the dregs. It's impossible to lead a normal family life while working under those conditions. You saw how I was on Norleen's birthday."

"I know. Not the best surroundings in which to bring up a child."

David nodded slowly. "When I think of how she looked when I went to check on her a little while ago, hugging one of those stuffed security blankets of her." He took a sip of his drink. "It was a new one, I noticed. Did you buy it when you were out shopping today?"

Leslie gazed blankly. "The only thing I bought was that," she said, pointing at the box on the coffee table. "What 'new one' do you mean?"

"The stuffed Bambi. Maybe she had it before and I just never noticed it," he said, partially dismissing the issue.

"Well, if she had it before, it didn't come from me," Leslie said quite resolutely.

"Nor me."

"I don't remember her having it when I put her to bed," said Leslie.

"Well, she had it when I looked in on her after hearing…"

David paused with a look on his face of intense thought, an indication of some frantic rummaging search within.

"What's the matter, David?" Leslie asked, her voice weakening.

"I'm not sure exactly. It's as if I know something and don't know it at the same time."

But Dr. Munck was beginning to know. With his left hand he covered the back of his neck, warming it. Was there a draft coming from somewhere, another part of the house? This was not the kind of house to be drafty, not a broken-down place where the win gets in through ancient attic boards and warped window-frames. There actually was quite a wind blowing now, he could hear it hunting around outside and could see the restless trees through the window behind the Aphrodite sculpture. The goddess posed languidly with her flawless head leaning back, her eyes contemplating the ceiling and beyond. But beyond the ceiling? Beyond the hollow snoozing of the wind, cold and dead? And the draft?

What?

"David, do you feel a draft?" asked his wife.

"Yes," he replied very loudly and with unusual force.

"Yes," he repeated, rising out of the chair, walking across the room, his steps quickening toward the stairs, up the three segments, then running down the second-floor hallway. "Norleen, Norleen," he chanted before reaching the half-closed door of her room. He could feel the breeze coming from there.

He knew and did not know.

He groped for the light switch. It was low, the height of a child. He turned on the light. The child was gone. Across the room the window was wide open, the white translucent curtains flapping upwards on the invading wind. Alone on the bed was the stuffed animal, torn, its soft entrails littering the mattress. Now stuffed inside, blooming out like a flower, was a piece of paper, and Dr. Munck could discern within its folds a fragment of the prison's letterhead. But the note was not a typed message of official business: the handwriting varied from a neat italic script to a child's scrawl. He desperately stared at the words for what seemed an infinite interval without comprehending their message. Then, finally, the meaning sank heavily in.

Dr. Monk, read the note from inside the animal, We leave this behind in your capable hands, for in the black-foaming gutters and back alleys of paradise, in the dank windowless gloom of some galactic cellar, in the hollow pearly whorls found in sewerlike seas, in starless cities of insanity, and in their slums… my awe-struck little deer and I have gone frolicking. See you anon. Jonathan Doe.

"David?" he heard his wife's voice inquire from the bottom of the stairs. "Is everything all right?"

Then the beautiful house was no longer quiet, for there rang a bright freezing scream of laughter, the perfect sound to accompany a passing anecdote from some obscure hell.

#short story #horror

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