I Ain't Ever Fucking Around With You Bitches Again Season 4 Of The Umbrella Academy Only Been Out For

October Moon

summary: everybody had had secrets. some more than others. and it'd been time for those secrets to be unearthed. too bad for Xavier he hadn't been privy to any of them.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER MOON pt.10

Aurora didn't know what she was doing. Read: She knew what she was doing, but hated herself a little for it and kept repeating in her head that she was going crazy. Nothing was wrong. It was a reaction to discovering Dave wasn't who she'd thought he was and now her brain had a hard time deciphering who was friend and who was foe.

Totally rational.

Despite how often she told herself this was confirmation bias or a side-effect of her paranoia, she couldn't shake the feeling that Austin Baxter was hiding something. How the hell had he known the missing ingredient in her tea?

She'd foregone drinking it after she'd remembered how nonchalantly he'd reminded her of the passionflower. Poured it down the drain and tossed the bag of ingredients in the trash. Aurora hadn't forgotten how you'd asked her not to drink it. How weird you'd been about the tea and Dave and, huh, Aurora wondered if you knew something she didn't. Say, about what was actually wrong with the tea or about Austin and his new gift of knowing things he reasonably shouldn't...

As she followed Austin's cruiser around the corner from a safe distance, she made a mental note to interrogate you about it later. For now, she passed the cruiser as it turned into an abandoned factory parking lot, pulling up down the street to stay out of sight. This was the stupidest thing she'd ever done. Seriously. Apart from marrying Dave, that was. She'd never been a Nancy Drew fan, wasn't about mysteries and sleuthing and stalking people for clues that probably didn't exist because there was nothing wrong.

"Whaaat~ the hell am I doing?"

Except her gut insisted there was something wrong.

Her intuition had crashed back in like a tidal wave after getting twenty-four hours out from under the tea's tranquilizing influence. She had brain fog for days, but was alert enough to crouch and dash across the barren stretch of unkempt tar after Austin, wearing Andrew's Black Sabbath sweater and a pair of black leggings. Seriously, what was she doing? She questioned herself again as she ducked and peeked around the corner of the building.

The building was dark inside and out, illuminated only by haphazardly installed emergency lighting, yet Austin didn't seem deterred. He disappeared through a side door that Aurora opened a crack and slipped through after counting to ten. Hoped that was enough time for Austin to put distance between himself and the door so Aurora would remain undetected.

As soon as she was inside, she felt it. Felt them. The cold air that displaced and resettled as bodies she couldn't see moved about. That icy chill and sense of desolation that clung to earthbound ghosts no matter their temperament. Only the emotion that lingered was more potent. Denser, somehow. The way she remembered it being whenever she felt Janet Hamilton or Rhonda Rosen back in high school. Established.

And, fuck, there were so much of it.

She heard footsteps echo further down the corridor and, as silently as she could, she followed the sound into a large, open space filled with machines that had been used to produce ammunition during the Second World War. There'd been another factory where Split River High now stood, thank you 8th Grade History, but it'd been reduced to brick and ash in 1952 after an explosion.

The factory she currently stood in had been shut down around the same time despite America's fascination with guns. It'd been cheaper to move production away from Split River, leaving the town's economy to steadily deteriorate over time. The one functioning factory that remained was owned by Molson Coors Beverage Company and even then, there'd been talk about relocating to another town closer to Milwaukee.

None of that explained why she felt about to two dozen ghosts haunting the space. Had they died homeless, escaping the winter? Frozen to death one night or one at a time? Perhaps that's why Austin was there, to do a walk-through and ensure there weren't any unwanted squatters. Or perhaps there'd been a sighting of Dave in the area.

No, her gut told her, that wasn't right. It astonished her how vibrant her empathy was after it'd been diluted for years. Weakened by that fucking tea she couldn't remember the reason behind. She hadn't been that stressed in New York. Certainly not to the level she'd needed sedatives to function. So, why the hell had she depended on it like oxygen for years!?

She peered around a machine and watched Austin trail down an aisle between conveyors, his head swiveling from side to side as if he was looking for something. Or at something, Aurora's mind quipped since, in the silence of the large space, his whispers were loud enough for her to hear. He was counting.

"...Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen..."

What the hell?

She wanted to slink further down the same aisle, however, in that moment, she heard Austin's footsteps double back.

Aurora made herself scarce, raced back to her car as quickly and quietly as she could. Slid behind the wheel and dropped her seat back until the cruiser had driven by. Readjusting her seat, Aurora decided, fuck it, she was already playing P.I., why not keeping going.

"What could possibly go wrong?" She murmured incredulously to herself, giving the factory one last glance before she started her car and drove after Austin.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

After long seconds staring at the photograph of the class of '60, you breathed deeply and said, "There's a ledger. Only Ginny has access to it, but if I can find it, I can compare the names from the yearbook to the names under our Circle."

"What for?" Ajay asked as he folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the wall, peered at you through an expression that conveyed how nervous he was to let you out of his sight now that things were coming to light.

You pulled your gaze from the photograph to look at him, "Anyone with connectedness is registered with a Circle. Even if you actively try to avoid it, your name will show up in the relevant ledger, complete with the bloodline and I swear to God, if you call it magic, Ajay—" You warned when his face did that thing that suggested he was about to call you out on it again.

He pressed his lips together and locked them with an invisible key.

Wally tightened his embrace around you, stating, "So, you think it was Anabelle and Amelia."

"Wouldn't more students have had to die if they did the ritual?" Charley asked, "There was only Janet and Mr. Martin. Plus the two students they stole the bodies from. That's four. And they didn't even use Janet and Mr. Martin." He glanced between everyone, trying to gauge whether anyone else was as lost as he was.

"Wouldn't have mattered if they'd had other ghosts." You murmured, deep in thought, before you took a grounding breath. "We also know that the symbols siphon in the energy from elsewhere. The farmhouse, for sure, but there must be other places."

God, you needed Ginny to wake up. Of everyone, Ginny would know if there'd been a cluster of ghosts in any particular place around town, including the school. While you weren't familiar with her and Nanna's upbringing, you could assume that they'd had to follow the same rules you did. That included vigilance and awareness of what ghosts residually haunted where.

In a low, wary voice, "Does anybody else feel like this town should be a lot less populated than it is?" Charley uttered, taking a step back to rest against the desk that held the microfilm reader.

Rather than answer his question with a resounding yes, "When we get you guys unstuck, we should all move. Just. Leave and never look back," you suggested, closing the yearbook and placing it back on top of the stack. "Everyone's leaving the state for college anyway."

"Ooo, we should go to the beach first." Charley smiled at Wally.

Wally shook his head, "Nah, first thing I'm doing is taking this beautiful thing—" Hand under your chin, he tilted your head back a fraction to kiss you quick and hard, "—somewhere with a massive bed. And room service."

You giggled and blushed at the same time Ajay snorted, "You're dead, bro, you can't get room service."

"Yeah, but she can," Wally grinned as he swept your hair back and stamped kisses across your brow. "You guys could use the spa or use another suite or something. Then we'll take a trip to the beach."

"I want somewhere walkable." Ajay outlined, clearly fantasizing about it. "I want to walk for hours in one direction without being knocked back to Autoshop. Then Mina and I can find our own accommodations." He smirked at Wally. "But, honestly, I just want to touch a fucking tree. Be somewhere that doesn't smell like mildew and bleach."

"Yesss." Wally and Charley agreed in unison.

As fun as it was to imagine, "Alright, boys, focus," you said, though you were smiling, "We need to find Amelia first and get her to remove the barrier before we start planning roadtrips."

"You saying there isn't something you've imagined yourself doing with your very own hottie ghost once you spring him from school property?" Ajay smirked.

You scoffed, "Oh, absolutely. I'm with Wally. I want a bed and room service and we're only leaving when he's made sure I can't walk straight."

Both Charley and Ajay cringed, unhappy at how easily you'd painted that picture for them. Wally, on the other hand, radiated joy as he turned you by your hips and lifted you under the thighs. Kissed the tip of your nose as he held you, his dark eyes sparkling.

"That's my girl," He beamed, but before he could add anything else, Ajay intervened, complaining in run-on sentences:

"Alright, yep, we get it, you guys love each other, it's gross and we hate it. Can we please investigate the fallout shelter before Charley and I throw up?"

"Or gouge our eyes out," Charley muttered as he grabbed his jacket and followed Ajay into the hall to wait for you and Wally. "Or our eardrums. Or both."

"Gory," You snickered.

Ajay deadpanned, "Necessary."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but acquiesced, taking Wally's hand in yours as had become the habit. You glanced between the boys and wondered aloud, "Should we get Rhonda? She's part of Team Parabnormal. She might wanna help."

It was Charley who answered with glum disposition, "She wasn't interested when I asked her earlier," his shoulders raised and eyes on the ground. He didn't say anything more, but you could tell he wanted to.

"She's been kissing Mr. Martin's ass lately," Wally explained what Charley must've been thinking, because Charley's head shot up and he nodded at you enthusiastically.

It seemed everyone was in agreement, Ajay in particular.

"I've been watching them. It's like a cult leader and his first student." He shuddered, "I'm getting real Marshall Applewhite vibes. Minus the potential for a suicide pact."

"Unless Mr. M is planning to obliterate us like Amelia wants to. In which case, total potential for a suicide pact." Wally's hand tightened around yours, his jaw set and eyes hard. "Maybe he's working with her. Amelia's inside man."

"Shit, bro," Ajay's eyebrows shot up, "Say you don't trust him without saying you don't trust him."

Wally didn't skip a beat, "I don't fucking trust him. Not anymore. Not after how he grilled Maddie about talking to the living." He looked at you, his eyes softening, "He looked right at you when you were doing that Mock Trial thing. I didn't like it," He returned his gaze to Ajay, "Something about it sets my teeth on edge, man."

"Someone's coming," Charley announced, and before you could react, Wally pulled you into his arms and hid you and himself behind end of a row of lockers, winking at Ajay and Charley as they continued down the hall to steer the person in another direction.

As you waited for the all-clear, you peeked up at Wally, felt it was time to admit, "So... I actually found the fallout shelter the night Dave was sneaking around."

Wally gaped, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Honestly? I forgot. I was a lot more freaked out about telling you that Zav kissed me." And then, at the expression on Wally's face, "Don't look at me like that, Maddie was there, too. And Simon."

"Does Zav know?" Wally asked, lip curled in displeasure.

You pulled back slightly, brows knitted, "No. Why?"

"No reason."

But Wally appeared marginally less upset than he'd been seconds ago. Because of course he did. It was no secret how he felt about Xavier. That Wally despised someone you considered your platonic soulmate. A sentiment made worse after Xavier's rash decision to kiss you.

Wally flinched whenever Xavier's name was so much as hinted at, never mind mentioned and it fucking s u c k e d. These were two people you loved to your marrow; you wanted them to get along, had hoped that they'd eventually see eye-to-eye, but it didn't look like that was ever going to happen.

Xavier wasn't terrible; at least tried—with gritted teeth—to remain neutral where Wally was concerned. Wally, on the other hand, stubbornly refused to give Xavier the same respect.

Annoyed, "It's not a competition, you know," you muttered. You didn't pull away, couldn't, not from Wally, but this weird dick measuring contest had to stop.

"I know," Wally said as he gave you a funny look, as if his grip on you hadn't secured like Xavier had appeared to snatch you away.

"You sure about that? Because it feels like you're lying to me."

"Or," Wally countered, "Maybe I just forgot to mention it. Like you forgot to mention the fallout shelter."

And that time, you did pull away, wrenched right out of his arms. As you opened your mouth with a comeback, Ajay returned, cautious. He'd obviously heard what Wally had insinuated since he clarified that he, too, had known about the fallout shelter and hadn't disclosed it to anyone. For years.

"Buddy, calm down." He put a hand on Wally's shoulder, "It wasn't some big secret. If I'd known it was important, I would've brought it up sooner. How was anyone supposed to know?"

"Does it matter?" Wally soured. "You said that's where Mr. Martin hides out. Therefore it became important the second we suspected something was off with the guy." He took a breath, two, turned his head for a moment to get himself together before sighing and catching your gaze with his own again. Taking a step forward, he held out his hand, a somewhat pleading expression on his face, "Let's just go see what's there. We can talk about everything else after."

You wanted to protest. To ignore his hand, give him the cold shoulder and stomp by him just to make him regret pissing you off.

You couldn't bring yourself to do it. After a moment of letting him believe you'd refuse, you took his proffered hand. Allowed him to reel you in and tuck you into his side. He kissed your head, whispered an apology that sounded like a band-aid, and guided you down the hall to the stairwell with a hand on your hip.

"Trouble in paradise?" You heard Charley whisper to Ajay who responded with an equally as quiet, "The tea is hot..."

"What does that even mean?" Wally grumbled and squished you closer to him.

You couldn't contain it, you snorted, "I'm still mad at you, but...you're cute when you're clueless."

Wally scoffed, kissed his teeth, panned around so you wouldn't see the glimpse of affection in his eyes, but you caught it anyway. After a beat, he repeated:

"No, seriously, what does that mean? Are you talking about Aurora's tea or what?"

And you laughed along with Charley and Ajay, the latter of who patted Wally's shoulder and said, "You were getting so good at Gen Z slang, what happened?"

"A magical murder mystery!" Wally defended himself as he pouted adorably. "Why won't anyone tell me what it means?" And then, "Is it dirty?"

Traipsing ahead, "Nobody tell him," Charley commanded with a cheeky smirk, opened and held the door for you, Wally, and Ajay. "I want to see what he comes up with."

"You guys are the worst." Wally grumbled bitterly, "I'm totally not saving your asses when Amelia vanquishes your souls for her stupid ritual." Except he once again sealed you to his side, stamped a kiss to your temple and stage-whispered, "Not you, baby. I have a different punishment in mind for you."

He pinched your ass cheek so hard you squealed.

Together, "TMI!" and "Face!" Charley and Ajay scolded.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier hadn't intended to enter 4916 Quebec Street. It was meant to be a simple, relatively safe stakeout, just as he'd promised you. But Nicole and Claire's bickering had driven Xavier to the edge. From the moment they'd crammed into his truck, it'd been nonstop. Catty jabs that hadn't quit until Xavier lost his shit, made an impassioned speech that he was, yeah, a little proud of, and abandoned the girls for the peaceful refuge of a so very creepy house.

He was going to regret his decision, he just knew it.

Claire remained in the truck while Nicole boldly trailed behind him into the darkened house, muttering under her breath about fair-weather friends who shouldn't help if all they wanted was a redemption arc.

"So what if she does?" Xavier asked, turning on his flashlight as Nicole did hers.

"She can't make up for everything she didn't do for years." Nicole insisted, paused halfway through the front door. "Claire abandoned Maddie. And now she thinks she can swoop in and save the day? I don't trust her."

Xavier see-sawed his head, "But...you trust me?"

He couldn't quite make out Nicole's face in the dark, yet Xavier could tell she was embarrassed. Maybe because he'd pointed out the hypocrisy, or maybe because she felt just as outside of the whole SimonandMaddie dynamic as Xavier always had and was desperate for someone to relate.

Either way, she surprised him by admitting, "Yeah. I do."

That. Felt really good to hear, actually. Xavier's chest swelled as he looked bashfully away. "Thanks."

They stepped further into the house, the wind whistling eerily through the cracks in the windows. This house was even creepier than the old farmhouse or the house on Lasher and 10th. There was an impression in the air that chilled Xavier to the bone. That same supernatural prickle he felt around the ghosts at school, only more persistent. He couldn't be sure, but it meant something.

Before he could announce that he had a really, really bad feeling about this, Nicole spoke.

"I just wanna state for the record, this is basically my worst nightmare come true."

Xavier briefly wondered if Nicole felt the same close, icy aura he did, but immediately brushed it aside to comfort her. Placed a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye.

"But I'm here," He said, "I got your back. Just look around and see if you can find anything." He continued at her lost expression, "Clothes, food. Stuff someone might have left if they were squatting here."

His leadership seemed to rouse her determination. They split up, Nicole doing a tour of the main floor while Xavier found the door to the basement. The chill thickened as he descended the stairs. God, he wished you were with him, but you'd told him in no uncertain terms that you intended to do research with Wally at the school.

Ugh. That guy.

Look, Xavier didn't hate Wally the way Wally seemed to hate him. He was honestly—really, truly—happy that you'd found your perfect person. Dead, sure, but Xavier could tell that you two had some kind of cosmic bond. A golden thread that tied you and Wally together. In fact, he could literally see it, not that he'd told you.

It was so new, in and out like bad reception; something he'd only noticed over the last couple of days. Different colors for different connections. He didn't know what they meant, or why, all of a sudden, he'd gone from simply seeing ghosts to being able to track who meant something to whom, but, hey, guess he was officially part of the family now, huh?

Yeah, he needed to talk to you about it. For sure.

And he would.

Just...not while a fucking semi-transparent hippie was standing in the middle of the empty basement, smiling at him like a long-lost friend. What freaked Xavier way the hell out wasn't so much the mysterious ghost staring at him. It was the thin, loose green thread that stretched from Xavier's heart to the ghost's, evaporating and coming together again and again like a tendril of smoke.

It clicked like common sense as soon as the ghost shifted forward.

"Holy shit, you're Dead Grandpa John." He wheezed, eyes the size of dinner plates.

"And you're my granddaughter's best friend." Dead Grandpa John—no, Xavier was not doing that—Grandpa John said. "The troublemaker. Always into mischief." He smiled wider, laughed as if he'd been there for every caper you and Xavier had pulled as kids. Jesus, he probably had been there, Xavier realized with a gulp.

"I didn't flood the bathroom, I swear, it was all her!" And he didn't know why he felt compelled to confess, but he did anyway, a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Grandpa John raised a bushy brow.

Xavier instantly caved, "Okay, so it was my idea, but she helped..." and he stared shamefully at the floor.

And Maddie and Simon had really thought he was a good liar? Wow.

"I'm not here to judge you," Grandpa John assured and shifted closer. Unlike the ghosts at school, Grandpa John glided like water over rocks in a stream, despite how his feet did, in fact, move. One and then the other. Heel-toe, heel-toe. A person walking normally. Just...not quite touching the ground.

While Wally and Ajay appeared solid, as real as you or Claire or Nicole, Grandpa John was exactly the kind of image Xavier would've pictured if someone had told him to close his eyes and imagine a ghost. Silvery. See-through. Other. Unconsciously, Xavier took a step back, although part of him—a big part—already trusted Grandpa John as if he'd been aware of Grandpa John's existence the whole duration of his friendship with you.

"She was looking for you the other day," Xavier found himself saying, dropping the glare of his flashlight to the ground. "Have you been here the whole time?"

Grandpa John shook his head, "No." Then a strange look came over his face, "I'm here to apologize to you for what has to be done."

Xavier blinked in confusion, "What's that mean?"

"It means, this is going to hurt."

The next thing Xavier was conscious of, he was flat on his back. The ground was cold and everything hurt, his head especially throbbed. He heard the screech of tires against pavement, Nicole and Claire shouting, the noise distant as the world slowly faded to black.

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PART NINE - PART ELEVEN

note: not exactly where i'd planned to end this chapter, but it felt right 🤷‍♀️ who am i to argue with the characters? anyway, because of this, the next part is basically halfway written 🙌 hopefully i'll be able to deliver it a lot sooner, but no promises beautiful frens 😭

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: we're not about that life around here (•¯ ∀ ¯•) things got too outta hand and i'm still cleaning up the mess left behind by the demons i accidentally summoned trying to get the damn thing to work 🕳️👹......there's a dustpan over there if you feel like helping 🧹💨 or, if you just wanna stay up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS

October Sun

summary: Wally had lost his grip on reality. Even for a ghost, what had transpired in the theater had been messed up. What the fuck had happened? Where had you gone? Where had everyone gone? How had he ended up in a dirty, cramped cellar that had looked like something out of a horror movie? And who had been the people he'd been stuck with?

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: manslaughter. depictions of lethal violence against a child. eventual smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

⏰we continue...🐾 we clocked in at 6818 words. for anyone triggered by violence or murder, especially involving children, the plot will still make sense if you choose to SKIP that scene. it begins in Act 3 when we return to Wally's POV. i have indicated that act with "‗‗‗‗🚩‗‗‗‗" to avoid confusion. if you wish to back-arrow out but would like a summary of events, please DM me and i'll happily catch you up in a gentler way 🧡

stay safe & bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER SUN pt.26

Question Three.

Why did the Monster seek revenge?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

The supernatural wind hit Wally like a solid force, a blunt and brutal strike that propelled him backward, flung through the air, and spat through the farmhouse door. His back slammed against something hard and immovable, head cracking against the uneven surface. Grunting in pain, he fell forward, breath kicked out of him, barely catching himself before his face met the ground. He lay there for a few beats to allow a wave of nausea to settle before, on a shaky arm, he pushed himself up.

"Jesus Christ," He coughed, sitting back on his haunches, and closed his eyes to center himself. It took too many deep breaths before the throb at the back of his head receded and he felt stable again. In the absence of pain, Wally's other senses returned and he realized something was different. Wrong. The light too bright and the air too damp. He pressed the meat of his hands into his sockets, blinked rapidly, and then opened his eyes fully to take in his surroundings.

Dazed, he uttered, "Uh, okay..." and hoisted himself to his feet to look around.

He wasn't in the theater.

Exposed stone walls, low ceiling, packed dirt floor. Wally did a circuit of the space, as sparse as it was, and tried to find some clue as to where he'd ended up. A weathered work table sat against the wall to his right, its contents the typical accouterments one might find in a hobbyist's garage—drill, crowbar, hammer, welding torch. Totally normal. Except for the chemistry set assembled across the back of it.

"Weird," Wally muttered, fingers ghosting over the looping glass tubes and empty beakers. He picked up a beaker and sniffed, his face instantly twisting into an expression of disgust, "Gah!" He shoved the beaker back on the table, panting through his nose to expel the pungent odor. "Nasty."

Moving around, he saw a metal-framed shelf boasting three-deep rows of jars containing a variety of dried plants, all labeled—datura, rose, groundcherry, tobacco, mandragora, and more—and tightly sealed. That explained the reek from the beaker, Wally thought, cringing as it lingered in his nostrils. It was so bad he could almost taste it at the back of his throat. Heady and floral. Like licking soap.

Eventually, he came to a stop where he'd appeared, nothing else of interest in the space apart from a bare, stained mattress lying in the middle of the floor and a pile of wood under the staircase. Rising on his toes, he peered out one of the high windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of something familiar; a landmark or sign or anything. But there was nothing. Just trees and unpaved road and more trees.

As he sank back to the flats of his feet, the world around him flickered like film in an old VHS. Fast as a blink. Gone then there. Wally's eyes widened and he staggered a short distance, stunned that things had gone from milky daylight to dark and stormy in no time at all. As if the day had been sucked away as night forced its way in. And more shockingly, Wally wasn't alone anymore.

"Fuck. FUCK." Someone shouted. A deep, male voice that belonged to a man in uniform who was pacing a groove into the floor, gesturing wildly; hands gripping his head, beating the wall, tugging his military jacket. Agitated. Feral. Eyes blazing as he climbed the stairs, banged on the closed door at the top, kicked and punched it, "LET ME OUT!!" and then descended again.

Wally cleared his throat, cautious as he approached the man, "Erm...hi?" He started, hands raised like he was about to engage an angry lion. "Dude, are you okay?"

The man didn't acknowledge him. Didn't even seem to hear Wally. Which, sure, Wally was used to after decades of being ignored by the living, except that this man wasn't the living. Wally felt it in his bones the same way he always did. That lack of physical pressure that arced from living bodies. Yet, even when Wally stepped directly into the man's space to force his attention, the man didn't bat an eye. Continued cursing and lashing out at everything within reach. Everything but Wally.

"What the hell?" Wally murmured, peering at the man and then around the cellar. He tried again, waving his arms, getting right in the man's face, "Hellooo~?"

Nothing.

The man continued his rampage, grabbed the hammer off the worktable, and began to smash the jars on the shelf, yelling with every strike. They reset in seconds and he'd do it all over again. And again. And again.

"Cool." Wally swallowed, "That's cool," a tad more anxious than he had been moments before. Being dead and trapped and ignored by the majority of people he was surrounded by, he could handle. Being dead and trapped and completely invisible to everyone, including other ghosts? He didn't like that at all. He had to get out of here. Now.

Wally charged up the stairs two at a time, his breathing ragged as he began to panic. He grabbed the door handle and twisted to wrench the door open, only it seemed he needn't have bothered as someone on the other side was already on their way in. Wally reared back as the door was kicked open, stumbling a few steps down before he pressed himself against the wall to make room for that arc of physical presence that pushed outward from a living body.

When Wally glanced at the person, his mouth went dry; his eyes bulged; his heart stopped mid-tick. He hadn't felt this lost or confused since the first few minutes of his death.

"H-holy fucking Christ." Wally stammered, watching the man—who Wally was pretty fucking sure was still downstairs breaking shit—shove through the door, his steps laden under the weight of what he carried. Wait. Not what. Who. "Holy. Fucking. Christ." Wally repeated, syllables breathless and strained.

One body slung over the man's shoulder, the other, much smaller, tucked under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Both limp, unconscious, limbs loose and heads swaying with every encumbered movement. The man ranted, words punched out of him as he stomped down the stairs one heavy step at a time, briefly stopping to adjust the body on his shoulder before continuing.

"—and had I known, you useless little bitch, I would've taken care of it while he was still in the womb." The man spat at someone who'd remained upstairs, just out of sight. Almost regretfully, the man added under his breath, "Save us both from the pain of doing it like this."

Wally's attention snapped to the bottom of the steps when an identical voice shouted, "What the hell are you doing!?" And then, "Jesus," distressed, "they're just kids!!"

Twins? Wally questioned of the two men who were identical down to their military-issued boots. He followed Living Man down the stairs, watching as Living Man teetered slightly at the last step before correcting his stance. While the two men might've been mirror images of each other, Wally noted that Living Man moved differently than Dead Man. Dead Man was straight lines and authoritative strides. Living Man, on the other hand, was strangely graceful despite his bulk. Sort of...feminine.

Living Man scowled at Dead Man, biting out, "You have no idea what is really going on, you ignorant fool," as he moved further into the cellar, dropping the body tucked under his arm unceremoniously onto the mattress before trudging to the back wall. With more consideration, he lay the second body down, pillowing the head and placing the arms and legs in a comfortable position. He caressed a cheek, gaze softening as he muttered, "We'll get this all fixed, child." A shuddery breath, "I still need you, after all."

Wally frowned as he noted another difference. The way Living Man spoke felt unnatural in that voice. The care in each intonation, the antique vernacular. Dead Man didn't speak like that. He was rough, gritty; belly-deep pitch, and sawed off suffixes. A sensation of wrongness crept up Wally's spine as he thought about it. There were many weirdnesses setting off alarm bells in Wally's brain—the fact that Living Man, like you, could commune with the dead and that Living Man had apparently abducted two people and delivered them to a creepy cellar. But also...something Wally couldn't yet identify.

He shifted closer to Living Man and the body, the person, on the ground, leaning over to look at who Living Man had spoken to so apologetically. And, oh God, no, no way. How!? He sprung forward, dropped to his knees, immediately taking Living Man's place when he stood and walked away.

"Baby!"

Although you looked younger by a few years, he knew without a doubt that it was you. His stomach flipped, heart beating at triple speed in his chest, hands near your face as he tried in vain to rouse you. But his palms wouldn't touch. A thick halo of energy repelling his efforts. You looked pale, sick, a frail little thing drenched to the bone and Wally whimpered in dismay when he couldn't hold you. All he wanted in that moment was to scoop you up and run, to get you far away from whatever sinister plot was unfolding around him.

"Fuck." He choked, "Fuck, what did he do to you?!"

Then he smelled it on your rattled breath. Heady. Floral. Like licking soap.

At the bottom of the stairs, Living Man called up, "Hurry up! I didn't bring you here to sit idly in the kitchen, I brought you here to learn!" But Wally was too busy trying to figure out how to wake you up, how to help, he needed to help. Distantly, he heard faint footsteps descending, mild and even.

"What are you going to do to them?" Dead Man asked in a tone that edged on fear.

Living Man didn't respond, simply moved toward the mattress. Rather, a new voice answered Dead Man's question, a voice that made Wally's blood run cold. All-American, sweet as sugar, an amused hum before a statement that, on the surface was friendly, but beneath was cold and unaffected. "Isn't it obvious?" A pause. "She's going to kill them."

Time stopped. The world narrowed as Wally turned slowly to confirm the impossible. Standing primly at the end of the mattress with a darling dear smile on her face was someone Wally had seen every day since his death. Every day, that was, until last Friday.

"Janet..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You froze when the man held out his hand, staring right at you with a soft, private smile that made your skin crawl. It didn't look right. A sharp, twisty curl to its corners. You didn't know what to do. Running seemed pointless. Never mind that you couldn't—fuck, please—make your feet move. Couldn't make your tongue work or your lungs expand or your heartbeat slow. The man's smile widened, uncanny and odd, and he shifted closer.

"Amelia," He said with a fond lilt.

Finally, you budged your foot a scant half-step back, muscles stiff with fear. In your periphery, you saw something reach toward the man's waiting hand and then a voice like birdsong replied, "Alastair," with equal fondness. Your attention snapped to the right, the fear abating somewhat, and took in a vision of a woman. About your mother's age, auburn hair pleated and pinned; eyes that sparkled with an attractive combination of mischief and mirth; and a pink petal smile that grew as she placed her delicate hand in Alastair's.

Beside her was a much older woman whose severe features shared a resemblance to Amelia's. Beneath her wrinkles, the roundness of her face was the same, and her eyes held that same youthful sparkle. However, unlike Amelia, and the other female guests, who were draped in tasseled frocks and strings of pearls, the woman wore a beautifully beaded floor-length gown, her hair fluffed and wrapped in matching Gibson Girl style.

"Anabelle," Alastair bowed in deference, plucking her gloved hand in his and bussing a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm so pleased you were able to join us."

Anabelle's only response was to nod her head and take back her hand. She swept her gaze to Amelia's and the two appeared to have an entire conversation with their eyes in the time it took you to process that, no, Alastair hadn't been looking at you, he'd been looking through you.

A blessing as much as a curse, you thought grimly, still uncertain as to where the hell you were and what the hell was going on. You watched in fascination as the crowd parted for Alastair and Amelia, their hands joined and raised as if they were stepping onto a ballroom floor, about to engage in a waltz. Anabelle glided along behind them at a close distance, hands clasped, eyes trained ahead, unflinching. Instinctively, you followed, observing how the crowd closed the space behind you and positioned themselves in an arc that faced a raised platform you hadn't noticed before. They moved in perfect synchronicity. A sci-fi hive mind that made a cold chill trickle through your veins.

When you turned again to creep along behind Alastair, Amelia, and Anabelle, your gaze snagged on what was at the center of the formation. Almost choked on your own saliva. Your brain seemed to malfunction as your eyes absorbed the image of three low stone altars set into the shape of a triquetra. On each altar—holy hell—lay a person. Two young women and a young man. Unbound, eyes closed, skin like porcelain. Serene in repose. If you had to guess, they couldn't have been much older than you, possibly even the same age, and all were strikingly beautiful.

Sacrifices. The reality hit you like a punch. Casting about, you began to understand exactly what was going on, Ajay's voice echoing in your head: "The Something-Something of Dagda."

The unconscious teenagers were dressed in ceremonial robes, green velvet with gold clasps at the waist, but were otherwise nude beneath. Their chests were exposed, ash smeared like ink down their sternums in the same triskele pattern you'd seen on the broaches in the portraits. There were other symbols across their collars, over their hearts, wrists, ankles, and foreheads. Similar to the bastardized symbols you'd been investigating with Ajay, except more elegantly drawn and with flourish.

You approached the young woman closest to you, blonde with a dusting of freckles across her nose, and crouched beside the altar to inspect her. When you leaned in, a bold, flowery smell tickled your nostrils. Heady. Familiar. Like Aurora's horrible tea but worse.

"Dearest friends," Amelia began, projecting her voice to be heard in the large space. She stood behind a podium on the platform, Alastair and Anabelle flanking her. Amelia's smile was gentle and kind as she regarded her congregation. "Tonight, you will bear witness to what we have all been working so hard toward." The crowd applauded, some of the men declaring hear hear! while the women tittered daintily. "Though not all of us could be here tonight, I am pleased with our number." She paused, expression softening, "After all, it takes the power of many to change the world, does it not?"

Again, applause which Amelia silenced with a faint gesture of her hands. "Before we get started—" Anabelle and Alastair turned on their heels in synch, striding to a ceremonial table at the back of the platform, each lifting a carafe of what appeared to be red wine before stepping down from the platform and starting to replenish the crowd's empty coupes. "—We drink to the Father who will deliver us into a new and glorious future."

Everyone waited patiently for Alastair and Anabelle to finish and resume their places on either side of Amelia with their own coupes in hand. Amelia raised one that had been set for her on the podium, stepping out in front of it to admire the crowd who mimicked her action in one hybrid motion.

"To youth and revival!" Amelia saluted and the group returned the claim in a boastful chorus.

You glanced around as everyone chugged their drinks in unison, the sound of indulgent slurping spooky in the large, echoey space. Alastair, Amelia, and Anabelle, however, didn't take more than a refined sip, watching on with secretive smiles as the crowd downed the wine and then placed their empty coupes on the floor at their feet. Dainty clinks against the marble and the shuffling of cloth all made as if by one person. Vaguely, you pondered if they'd learned the choreography like churchgoers learned at what intervals to stand and sit.

Amelia began to speak again, but you weren't listening. It was the usual culty drivel anyway: We're here to celebrate the Father's approval; we're going to live forever with His blessing, blah blah blah. Rather, you stepped onto the platform and moved toward the table at the back, wanting to get a better look at the items laid across it. The whole thing—steeped in pomp and circumstance—felt contrived. As if put on to give the crowd's devotion value. Shallow. False. Orchestrated. A script and a stage to give a convincing show.

You weren't sure where that thought came from, but the longer it lingered the more certain you were that you were right. The pieces on the table were neatly placed; the carafes equal distances from the centerpiece—a green silk cushion with a wooden box upon it—a couple of blunt daggers that, so far, you didn't see a use for; and an arrangement of tarot cards—the Juggler, the Lovers, the Wheel of Fortune, and the House of God. Major Arcana. Set out to look important but meaningless within the context of the ritual unfolding behind you.

Thump.

Your head shot up and you spun around, marching to the front of the platform to stand between Amelia and Anabelle.

Thump. Thump. Thump thump thump—

One by one, Amelia's flock collapsed, some clutching their throats, red eyes bulging, cheeks flushed, lips purple. Others simply fell like puppets whose strings were cut. Meanwhile, Alastair, Amelia, and Anabelle remained poised, monitoring the proceedings with mild expressions until each member of the crowd was a mass on the floor, their bodies forming a perfect arc. Although no one could see or hear or sense you, you took several steps back, away from the danger that had manifested; away from those you knew had to be responsible.

At her sides, Amelia turned her palms face-up, closing her fingers around Alastair and Anabelle's hands when they took hers. "Let's begin," She said in a tranquil tone, lifting her chin as she led Alastair and Anabelle in a chant. The words were soft around the syllables, drawn and pretty and entirely foreign. A language lost to time that was only resurrected for this purpose. You gasped as the bodies on the floor jerked and quivered, chests arching up to release amorphous balls of bright white-gold light that floated above the bodies they belonged to.

Not lights, you corrected, souls.

"Shit." You croaked, watching in horror and fascination as the souls swelled and bled into each other, forming a dome around the altars at their center. A breeze fluttered through the space, quickly turning into a wind and then a roaring gale like the one that had flung you out of the theater and into this nightmare. Amelia continued to chant, louder and louder as the gale found its strength, her knuckles white as she gripped Alastair and Anabelle's hands, the vein in her neck throbbing, eyes rolling back, shouting the spell into existence.

You raised your arms against the gale, shuffled further away, and crouched in front of the table, trying to glimpse what was happening through the building supernova ahead. The light grew more intense, bigger and brighter, and Amelia kept chanting, ferocious now, practically foaming at the mouth as she screamed above the powerful noise of the gale.

And then, as the roar increased, her voice diminished and together, Alastair, Amelia, and Anabelle took a step forward. And then another. Slow. Deliberate. Down the few platform steps, shedding their skins like old coats. Their bodies dropped in heaps on the platform behind them as they continued forward, unphased. Two more thoughtful steps, then the light embraced them.

Unlike how it had started, it ended abruptly. The light expanded to the edge of the arc of bodies as if trying to escape before popping like a balloon. Shattered into fine dust that glittered in the air, but turned to motes of dry ash when they reached the ground. The sudden silence was heavy, weighing down on your shoulders as you pushed yourself to your feet, short of breath in the aftermath.

Just as you climbed down from the platform, you heard a sharp inhale, followed by a second, followed by a third. Simultaneously, three pairs of eyes flew open. The colors in them waned, changed from one to another. Amber to blue. Hazel to blue. Brown to seafoam green. Features subtly shifted, freckles faded or appeared, lips pinked or paled, hairs leached new hues.

On the altars, the three teenagers sat up; stiff and labored.

Alive.

But no longer themselves.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question Four.

What happens as a result of Frankenstein's ambitions?

‗‗‗‗🚩‗‗‗‗

Wally stared, stunned, as Janet strode to the top of the mattress and knelt as if about to pray, setting her hands modestly in her lap. She was exactly as Wally remembered her. Brown hair perfectly groomed, outfit tidy, blue eyes sharp against a sedate expression. She studied Living Man as he hovered above the small body he'd deposited on the mattress. It was a little boy, Wally realized, dread sinking into his bones. Adorable and pudgy, no older than six or seven. Tiny beneath Living Man's bulk.

"No!" Dead Man cried out, flinging himself at Living Man but tripping and dropping to the ground on his side before he could make contact.

Janet laughed, nails on a chalkboard, "Idiot. You're a ghost. You can't touch the living." A smarmy smile and then, "Even if it is your body."

Wally gawped. Because that wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. People couldn't steal bodies like that...could they? And it couldn't be a ghost thing, definitely not. Wally couldn't get close enough to walk through a living person, never mind shove their soul out so he could wear their body like a meat suit. The only conclusion he could draw was it had to be magic, something you might know about—you you, the you he knew, safe and healthy back in the theater where Wally hoped to God you still were.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, on guard between you and the rest of the room as if it would do any good when Living Man decided to do whatever he planned to do with you. It didn't matter, Wally had to try. You looked one strong breeze away from crumbling to dust and he couldn't live with himself if he sat back and watched, a silent audience to a movie he never wanted to see.

"I'll get you out of here." He promised you, jaw tense, determined against all odds, "I don't know how, but, I swear, I'll figure it out."

Dead Man hollered in frustration, hit the ground with his fist before hauling himself upright to attack Living Man again. Failed. Tried three more times before he fell back on his ass, elbows on his knees, head hung in defeat. Throughout the commotion, Living Man hadn't so much as flinched, totally transfixed on the little boy beneath him, thumb stroking his cheek, eyes brimming with sorrow as he muttered, "You shouldn't have come back...you self-righteous bastard," the last word spat in a hush that Wally's ears almost hadn't picked up.

"He's just a kid." Dead Man implored, broken. "He hasn't even lived yet."

Living Man snorted, "That's where you're wrong, Christopher." Living Man turned his head to pin Dead Man—Christopher—with a dark stare. "You should know better given your family's connectedness."

Christopher growled, "I told you before, I don't know anything about that! We aren't magic! We're normal people!"

"Wrong again," Living Man rolled his eyes derisively, "Your family has been a thorn in my side since the earliest days of the Order. How else could I have taken your body so easily?"

Shaking his head, pressing his palms into his eyes, openly annoyed, "What fucking order? What do you even mean!?" Christopher dropped his hands, casting about, arms gesturing wide, "My grandfather was a beef farmer. My grandmother was a seamstress. My dad worked at the gravel pits. He was a loser and a drunk who beat my mom until she never woke up, what the fuck makes us so special!?"

"Your bloodline." Living Man stated, the hardness in him abating when he returned his gaze to the little boy. "It's funny, you know..." Living Man began conversationally, "I thought I'd taken care of all the loose ends last time. Turned out I was wrong and now I've spent the best parts of this life snuffing out every. single. one of them. all over again." He chuckled, dry and without humor, "You should be glad that I need your daughter or she'd be next." At the last part, Living Man shot Christopher a grin that would look at home on the Devil's face.

"You piece of shit," Christopher hissed, "You'll never lay a hand on her!"

"You won't be around to stop us." Janet chimed in blithely, leaning forward to put her hands on the little boy's shoulders as Living Man instructed her to. She seemed surprised that she could touch him, giving Living Man a brief look of amazement.

"They're the same," Living Man explained. "It's part of their connectedness. Death ushered them into the world and left a piece of himself within them." Living Man continued, fitting his big hand around the little boy's small neck, not tight, but with intention.

"You can't hurt him," Christopher pleaded, "He's six, he doesn't know anything. He can't do anything!"

Janet piped in, voice thick with undisguised condescension, "The thing about souls, Chris-to-pher," A lovely smile, "Is that they're infinite." She deferred to Living Man, "Right?"

Living Man appeared reluctant to agree, like Janet was a fly he couldn't swat, bothersome, eager for approval. "Yes. And, regrettably for dear Aiden, his knows too much, whether or not he remembers." Living Man sighed, burdened, "You are already too powerful, child. I cannot risk letting this go on any longer..." His hand began to tighten around Aiden's throat. "May God forgive me..."

Wally spurred into action, pivoting to lean over you, "Hey, hey, come on sweetheart, you've gotta get up. Please....fuck, please, get up!" He remembered what Living Man had said, that you were still part of some bigger plan, but Wally didn't trust it, gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut when he heard Aiden start to protest, clearly coming to when his lungs couldn't take in enough oxygen.

"Stop!" Wally shouted, tears rolling down his cheeks (when had he started crying?), his hands over his ears to muffle the sound of Aiden's gasps, choking, begging for his big sister—"S-sissy May..." Please no, please no, "I'm so sorry, kid, I'm so sorry." Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop, stop, stop. Wally hacked a feeble whine, a kicked dog of a sound, hating himself, hating the world, because he couldn't do a damn thing to make it "STOP!"

When Wally cried out, a pulse of energy burst through the room, emanating from Aiden's tiny body. Below Wally, your eyes shot open and you inhaled as if sucking in that first breath after being held under water. You heaved and coughed, rolling over to leverage yourself upright on your arm. You were disoriented and muzzy, movements drunk.

"Ai-Aiden?" Your head hurt and your limbs were wet-paper weak, mouth tasting like soap. You had no idea where you were. The last thing you remembered was the back seat of Christopher's car; accepting a juice box after handing one to Aiden and helping Aiden puncture his with the straw. "Aiden, what's...?" You squinted your eyes to hone your vision and then screamed when you grasped what was happening, "AIDEN!"

Janet shrieked, "She's awake!" just as you launched yourself at Living Man, tackling him like a linebacker.

Commanding Janet, Living Man released Aiden, "Hold him down! Don't let him go!" to fend you off. It didn't take much, you weren't strong enough against his mass and still weak from whatever you'd been dosed with. A mouse against a bear. Aiden sobbed, Janet kept her hands firmly on him so he couldn't crawl away, and Living Man managed to push you off with little to no effort. One punch and you muddled backwards several steps to crumple onto the cold, packed dirt.

"You can't stop her!" Janet sneered at you, "You're just a twig!"

On the other side of the mattress, Christopher rose, snarling under his breath, "But I can."

Seconds. That's how fast everything happened. Wally barely had time to jump out of the way (not that it would've mattered) as Christopher rushed you, propelled himself forward, fueled by adrenaline and anger, and hurled himself at you. No. Into you. Your ghost lurched out of your body, stammering into the wall behind you where you sank to the ground, eyes as wide and frightened as Wally's.

Living Man yelled at Janet, "You stupid girl! You didn't make it strong enough! You didn't listen!"

"I did exactly what you told me!" Janet insisted, struggling to keep Aiden in place as he writhed and jerked, wailing to be released, pleading for his Sissy May, for his mommy, for home, he wanted to go home, snotty and tear-stained and so, so small.

Without hesitation, Living Man seized his tiny neck again and squeezed with renewed vengeance. "You have to die, you bastard. You made me do this! It's your own fault!" And Janet held down his arms when he tried to claw Living Man's wrists, gagging, gasping, apologizing for something he thought he'd done to cause this, wanting desperately for it to end.

In your body, Christopher swayed on your feet, the sensation of going from massive, military-built to preteen featherweight dizzying. But he still had his strength, he knew that, to his very core he knew that and Wally could tell Christopher knew that without having it said aloud because his eyes—your eyes—bled to hazel, the same color as Christopher's, as Living Man's. Wally knee-walked closer to you, to your ghost. You were wobbly, fragile as a fawn, calling Aiden's name over and over as you wept.

Christopher turned your head to look at you and then—Wally's breath caught—he looked directly at Wally. In the eye. No questions, no uncertainty, no confusion. Just a firm order. "Don't let her see." And he sprinted forward. Wally didn't second guess it. He shifted his body to shield you from whatever the fuck was about to happen, his chest tight, a lump in his throat that strangled his words as he said them.

"Don't look, sweetheart," He choked, vision starting to blur as he was forced to watch you in agony, helpless to save Aiden. Remarkably, when you caved to your knees, reaching toward the nightmare unraveling behind Wally, you and he made contact. "God, f-fuck," Wally stuttered, catching you, grabbing your head, and pressing your face into his chest. "Don't look, I've got you, I'm here." Every word felt like cinder in his mouth. Meaningless. Empty. Because a little boy who meant so much to you was dying and all Wally could do was hold you as it happened. "I'm sorry," He whimpered, "I'm so sorry."

And then Wally heard Janet shout, "Amelia!" in warning, followed by a bloodcurdling squelch.

Wally chanced a look over his shoulder. Christopher in your body had a crowbar in his hands, raised to deliver another strike, stance set, face twisted in rage, and something else...something like grief. It's his body, Wally thought despondently. May God have mercy. Christopher kicked Living Man onto his back on the other side of the mattress, Living Man groaning and disoriented. Janet was hysterical, scurrying into a corner to hide.

"You piece of shit," Christopher bit out as he positioned himself above Living Man, one foot on either side of Living Man's ribs. "You will never. use me. again." And he swung the crowbar with the strength of a grown man, the forked tip stabbing Living Man's temple. Again. Again. Again. Over and over until Living Man's face—Christopher's face—was caved in, a pulpy mess of sinew, blood, and bone.

In Wally's arms, you cried. You cried like the world had ended. Like love didn't exist. Like all you'd ever feel again is hollow and hurt. His arms tightened around you as he rocked you, wet sniffles and a broken heart, shushing you softly. "It'll be okay, you'll be okay." He didn't think it would be. Didn't know how you'd survived this, how you had a life after this with laughter and friendship and trust.

If murdering a ghost was possible, Wally would've killed Janet. He wasn't sure if his ability to touch you extended to her—she certainly hadn't indicated that she'd seen him—but if he could, he'd beat her into oblivion. Because she'd been here, she'd participated. Wally had always had a sense about her; that she was twisted and ugly beneath the America's Sweetheart mask she'd worn around Split River High's dead.

In a voice that grated Wally's nerves, "Wh-what have you done!?" Janet panicked and scrambled toward the mangled corpse on her hands and knees. "You've ruined everything!"

Christopher tossed the crowbar aside, giving Janet a mean look as he voiced Wally's thoughts, "If I could kill you too, I would." And then, he turned on your heel and marched with purpose toward the worktable. In one swipe, he sent the chemistry set to the ground where it shattered. Next, he toppled the shelf and stomped on the jars that didn't break on impact. Finally, he stumbled back to you and Wally. He—you—was covered in blood, hair stringy and matted with it, skin stained red, speckles and smears across your face and hands and soaked into your clothes. Wally would never be able to unsee that image.

The cellar was eerily silent apart from Janet's sniveling and your weak sobs.

"I'm sorry, kid." Christopher lamented, placing a hand on your shoulder. He looked at Wally and said quietly, "You have to let her go now."

Wally swallowed, "You can see me?" as if that mattered right now.

Christopher snorted as if it was somehow funny, "It's him," he nodded to indicate behind him. "You're here but not here. I'm here but not here. A loop he dragged you into. A cry for help."

"I don't understand," Wally said, further securing his arms around you, unwilling to let you go.

"You will," Christopher assured, and then it was like he switched, got back into character, an actor on a film set redoing his lines when the director called action. "You have to let me in, kid." He told you, gentle, parental, taking your spectral face in your own physical palms. "You have to let me in so I can get out."

You didn't even protest. Simply closed your eyes and evened your breathing; embraced your physical body like a friend and melted back into it while Christopher slumped out.

Wally attempted to take your hand and give you some comfort, but, as it'd been before, he couldn't get a grip, unable to touch you, repelled by that thick halo of living energy.

Christopher crouched in front of you, blocking your view of the mattress, of Janet who was scooping flesh and brain back into the gored face of Christopher's body as if she could piece it back together, a sick cat with her dramatic wails. "I need you to do something for me, kid," Christopher said, pausing for a moment, expression apologetic, "There's something in my pocket. I...I need it to find it's way to my daughter."

You nodded, but it was clear you were only half there. Your eyes were glassy, gaze distant. Christopher didn't seem to mind as he continued, "Please, tell my daughter I'm sorry." His voice sounded pained. "Tell her...Tell Maddie I love her," and you nodded as if you understood. As if the request was as normal as pass the salt.

Before Wally could react to what he'd heard, his wrists and ankles were suddenly restrained, pitch black shadow clutching him and yanking him back through the farmhouse door before it slammed closed and vanished.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

"It worked!" The boy declared, excited, admiring his new hands with a lopsided grin.

You couldn't know for certain who was who, but it didn't take a genius to deduce that the boy was likely Alastair. The girls, however, were impossible to distinguish, both moving with the grace of a grown woman of high social status. Neither seemed as taken by their new skins as Alastair; another day, another body to wear.

"We need to finish the ritual," One of the girls said primly, brown curls getting lighter with every moment that passed. The girl glided to the platform, up the steps, and to the table at the back. She stood at the box on the cushion. Opened the lid and retrieved whatever was inside, concealing the object in the folds of her robe.

Meanwhile, the other girl padded to the podium and fetched three glass vials from the cupboard in its reservoir. Corked. Filled with clear liquid.

Alastair cocked his head as he watched the girl at the podium come to him. "What else is there to do?" He asked, brow furrowing when she handed him a vial.

"We have to bind our souls to our new vessels," She smiled prettily. "Drink up."

Trusting the instruction, Alastair uncorked his vial and poured the contents into his mouth. You glanced between the girls, but neither one followed suit, merely observing Alastair as if he were a monkey performing tricks in a big top. They shared a look similar to the one you'd seen Amelia and Anabelle share earlier; a whole conversation passing between them. Alastair didn't notice, swishing the liquid in his mouth before swallowing, frowning at the vial.

"I thought their souls were what bound us to the bodies." He said after a few beats.

The girl who'd gone to the box shook her head. "Oh, no," She said, speaking as one would to a child, "That was merely to cast the lambs from their flesh."

It sounded like a lie, you thought, peering between the girls.

The first girl lifted her hand to cradle Alastair's soft jaw, "There you go, good boy," She praised when he started to look dazed.

"What's happening?" He breathed, strained.

The girl regarded him sympathetically, "You truly were marvelous, Ali." She sighed, "But mama thinks it best that you don't come with us." Amelia. It had to be.

Alastair swayed on his feet, "I don't understand," and if he could muster concern or shock or anything more than groggy confusion, you were sure he'd make a run for it.

The other girl—Anabelle—spoke, stepping into Alastair's space and presenting him with the object she'd removed from the box. A shiny silver revolver. She pressed it into his hand, curled his fingers where they needed to go, her smile somehow simultaneously wicked and gentle. "We couldn't have succeeded without your connections, Lord Belgrave, and, for that, I thank you." Anabelle took Amelia's hand to lead her away, "However, my daughter is correct. You are a loose thread that needs snipping."

Alastair began to shake, scraping together a sentiment to Amelia, "But...I loved you."

Pitying, Amelia answered, "I know."

Anabelle lifted her chin, authoritative and commanding, voice smooth as she directed Alastair to, "Put the gun to your head." Which he obeyed, the metal rattling as he put the barrel to his temple, the action obviously made against his will.

"Please," He urged, "I could help you. I know more like them."

Amelia exhaled sharply and reminded him, "But they don't know you."

"Enough," Anabelle said, forcing Alastair's attention back to her.

Again, Alastair begged for his life, "Please, I don't want to die like this."

"You don't have a choice," Anabelle said, and then, "Now be a good boy and pull the trigger."

One thin, shallow breath.

Two.

Three.

BANG.

And you were snatched back through the farmhouse door.

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-FIVE - PART TWENTY-SEVEN

note: unedited. written at midnight. you know the drill: i will most likely come back to tinker at the bits i think need fixing 😅

this chapter was written to Daylight (Cinematic) by David Kushner (Act 3). parts of Act 3 had also been inspired by Devil Devil by Milck, specifically the violence that unfolds when Christopher Nears attacks Living Man. the last act was written to Outta My Head by The Eagle Rock Gospel Singers. if anyone is interested in an October Sun playlist, it will be released upon completion of the story (i.e.: after PART 27)🥲🥀

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: y'all know, it ain't a thing around here anymore due to the overuse of ritual magic, some demon-summoning, and an unfortunate sacrifice that resulted in more technical issues than tumblr could handle 🔮🗡️ if you'd like to be kept up-to-date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS. we have fun here (•¯ ∀ ¯•)

Starting a collection

Reblog if you've ever cried over the death of a fictional character

IM NOT WRITING SO MUCH TO COPE WITH THE FACT THAT SEASON 2 IS OVER *I scream as they drag me back to my padded room* okay on a real note I think I need help. I'm done with midterms, I'm off work for the next 2 days, no more school spirits and I just don't know what to do. Am I expected to be a normal average member of society and hang out with my friends? I can't rant to them about my pain because they're normal about things. They don't get obsessed to the point that they write till their fingers are numb. Okay I think I got it all out there, anyways imma go back to pretending that I'm not mentally ill 😊

October Moon

summary: you and Wally had had an incredible night at the homecoming dance, and he'd managed to surprise you with something you'd never expected.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

🌶️🌶️🌶️ for over 93,000 words, you've been patient. today, i stand and deliver, fam. here is what you've all been waiting for.

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER MOON pt.4

Wally stood by the punch bowl, goofing around with Rhonda and Charley as he waited for you to arrive. The gym felt like a different world; dim lighting and disco balls, old pop music playing low as people started to trickle in. He saw Simon enter with an easel and a large framed picture of Maddie.

And if Simon was there, that meant—

"Wow." Charley stated as he stepped up beside Wally, taking the sentiment right out of Wally's mouth.

Everything moved in slow motion, the music faded, the world slipped away as you entered through the balloon arch. A vision in emerald satin. Wally's heart thrummed, his breath caught, and, for a moment, he forgot every thought he'd ever had.

"You good, superstar?" Rhonda teased. Stared up a Wally with an amused smirk on her face.

Wally couldn't respond, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He wanted to rush over there, pick you up, never let you go. But his feet didn't move. Couldn't. Not until after, you'd said. After what, Wally could only guess, but you'd assured him he'd know. You did catch his eye and smile, waved discretely, then made your way to the small stage that had been set up for the DJ.

Wally's eyes tracked you, unable to look away even for a second. He stared longingly at you as your friends arrived and surrounded you, discussed something with you, you and them glancing at the door as if waiting for someone. To Wally's surprise and delight, you excused yourself and speed walked to the refreshments table, ladling a cup of punch right beside Wally.

"Hey, big guy," You said quietly, turning slightly to smile up at him.

Wally smiled back, eyes softening, "Hey, pretty girl." He leaned down to whisper in your ear, "When do I get to give you a proper hello?"

You blushed, impossibly cute, "After your surprise." Simple as that, although Wally was stunned to hear you had another surprise planned. Already today, you'd skipped your last class to bring him his suit since nothing in the costume closet had fit; you'd DoorDashed another meal from Max's for Wally and Ajay; you'd shown up looking like a masterpiece come to life. What more could you have planned?

"What surprise?" He asked excitedly.

You daintily sipped your punch and then, "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?" And you swanned away, rejoining who Wally recognized as Hana, Lucas, and Eli. To his consternation, Xavier cut across the gym, laden with two guitar cases, and met you at the stage. He handed you one while speaking to Eli with a smile. Almost human, Wally grumbled to himself.

Over the span of the next few minutes, you and your friends climbed onto the stage and started connecting instruments to cables that hooked into amps. Adjust microphones, tuned strings, shared a brief exchange with Principal Hartman. At 9:30PM on the dot, the lights above the stage darkened. A spotlight shone on the ground in front of the stage and Principal Hartman stepped into it.

He welcomed everyone to 2023 Homecoming, excited to celebrate another school year. When Wally cast about, he noticed the gym was filling up quickly, the empty dancefloor flooding with students jazzed up in their best eveningwear. No one could compete with you, in Wally's opinion, but it was fun to see the sparkly dresses and pressed suits.

Wally's attention snapped back to the stage when Principal Hartman announced a live performance to kick the night off. The gym lights went out, people crammed closer to the stage when Principal Hartman moved to the wall to stand with the other staff chaperones, and then the stage lit up. Xavier was behind the middle microphone, you to his right, Lucas to his left. Behind you, Hana stood at a keyboard, and at the drums, Eli tapped his sticks.

Xavier began to sing as he strummed the first chords of a song Wally had loved since it was released. Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money. A cassette Wally had stashed to this day in his little box of ghostly treasures.

"Isn't that your favorite song?" Rhonda said over the intro.

Speechless, Wally nodded, too smitten with how your fingers moved over the strings of your guitar, the sound of your voice as you sang with Xavier who, Wally begrudgingly admitted, sounded incredible. The audience began to dance, clapping along, and Wally didn't want to be left out. He squirmed his way through the packed bodies, Rhonda and Charley in tow, and let the music wash over him.

He rocked out like he'd never rocked out before. Jumped. Sang. His body loose and his mind free. Even Rhonda got into it. Moving in tandem with Wally as he bounced and swayed. You were born to be up there and Wally couldn't take his eyes off you, your smile big and bright, vocals kindling through Wally's veins. Fuck, he wanted you. Badly. Right then and there.

The song ended, the crowd whistled and cheered as the DJ took over and began his set with another upbeat '80s classic for a smooth transition. Wally immediately searched you out, but he couldn't seem to find you. Xavier was packing his guitar in the corner beside the stage, the case you'd walked in with already closed and tucked away.

He did a tour of the gym, saw Simon and Maddie and Nicole. Hana, Mathilda, Lucas. Claire and her minion squad. Where had you gone? Many unsuccessful minutes later, Wally stood in the center of the dance floor, eyes peeled, examining every cluster of people for you. And then, just as he was about to give up, he felt a tap on his shoulder blade.

When he turned to see who it was, his jaw dropped. There you were. He felt the difference instantly, how the air moved through you rather than around you.

"Hey," You said, smiling sweetly.

Not wanting you to slip away, Wally pulled you close, hand to your cheek, arm around your waist, "Hey, baby girl." He chuckled, overjoyed, "You really meant it when you asked me to be your date, huh?"

"It would be kinda shitty of me to ask and then not spend the night with you, wouldn't it?" You said, flattening your hands on his chest. "Did you like your surprise?"

Did he ever. "How'd you know?"

You grinned, "Sophomore year. You rambled through my whole Geography class, remember?"

Laughing, Wally nodded, "Yeah. I mean, I don't remember what I talked about, but I remember doing that." He sobered, a tender smile curved his lips, "You remember that?"

A shy one- shouldered shrug, "You're kind of the one thing I've always paid attention to in school."

Wally's heart exploded. His mind exploded. His soul exploded. The music shifted from country pop to fast-paced electro house that encouraged more people to the dance floor, you and he surrounded yet the moment still felt intimate. He held you, swayed gently, leaning in as you angled your head.

"I really wanna kiss you." He murmured.

"I'm not stopping you."

He didn't wait, capturing your lips in a soft, slow kiss; the kind that coaxed those noises out of you that he craved. The hand around your waist traveled to your hip and brought you closer, as close as he could get you without absorbing you into his skin. Wally never wanted to let you go.

The realization struck him like a lightning bolt to the brain. Yeah, he loved you, but this was bigger than that. Heavier. He wanted you hold you while you slept, eat every meal with you, explore the world with you, have adventures. Accumulate a lifetime of memories, wild and mundane alike. He wanted to...to grow old with you.

His heart twinged, however, that didn't deter him. He'd make the most of whatever time you and he had together, regardless of how long that might be. You'd figure out the symbols, you'd lift the barrier, he'd haunt you like a dedicated boyfriend should haunt the love of his life. He didn't care if you grew old, aged into wrinkles and white hair. He was never—never—going to let you go.

The night was spectacular and Wally didn't want it to end. He had your full attention. You'd even brushed off Simon and Xavier when they'd asked for your input on Operation Claire—what appeared to Wally to be a cringeworthy experience for all involved. The DJ played an awesome selection of songs that Wally taught you, Ajay, and Charley the lyrics to.

Maddie came and went, as did Rhonda since she'd agreed to keep Bernadette and Katelynn distracted so they wouldn't look too closely at Wally's date. Though, how could they not? You were stunning. And goofy, and silly. And talented, as proven when you performed some of the choreography you'd learned in your 10 & Under dance class.

When the mass on the dancefloor began to dwindle due to the DJs choice in oldies music, Wally figured it was as good a time as any to reveal that he'd assembled a surprise of his own for you. Another '80s pop ballad and the dancefloor would be deserted entirely, and Wally didn't want to risk outing you to Katelynn and Bernadette.

He seized the opportunity to whisper in your ear as you were fetching another cup of punch, still breathless and flushed from the line dance you'd tried and failed to execute how it was supposed to be done. Wally brushed a strand of hair over your shoulder, slanted close so his lips hovered by your ear.

"It's my turn to surprise you, baby." He felt you shiver, his lips grazing down your neck, arm curling around your waist. "Come on."

Several feet away, loitering beside a patently bored Claire, Xavier watched you and Wally leave the gym hand in hand. Xavier cast a glance to Simon, who shot Wally a thumbs up when Wally glanced at Simon over his shoulder.

Behind Claire's back, Xavier bobbed his head at Simon, silently asking what was up. Simon returned the gesture with a slight and slow shake of his head, the sentiment plain, "Please do not ask me to spell it out for you."

Xavier frowned, returned his gaze to the now empty doorway, then back at Simon, suspicious.

‗‗‗‗🌶️‗‗‗‗

His fingers laced with yours, Wally led you through the school, out the back, and across the courtyard to the greenhouses. While most of the row was dark, warm, dim light spilled out of the greenhouse at the end. You had no clue what Wally's surprise could be, but you didn't think it involved potting plants given how nervous he seemed to get the closer you got to the last greenhouse.

He stopped in front of the door, turned, drew you against him and held your jaw in his large palm as he said, "Baby, I—I don't want you to think I'm expecting anything, okay?" His gaze was imploring and he waited for you to nod your understanding before he continued, "You've been amazing, getting me—us—things from the outside even though you've been busy trying to get to the bottom of everything. And, I just... I wanted to do something nice for you."

Wally reached behind him to grab and turn the doorknob. He opened the door and then stepped aside for you to go through first.

You couldn't believe your eyes. The long tables had been pushed against the glass walls, plants across their surfaces and beneath curtaining the space from the outside and giving it a sense of privacy. Above, strings of fairy lights had been threaded across the ceiling and trickled down the walls like a tent made of fireflies. In the center, to your utter astonishment, was a sheeted and covered air mattress laid upon a pallet to keep it off the floor. Candles flickered from various spots around the greenhouse and soft music filtered from an old stereo in the corner. Wally had even wheeled in and set up the outdated school TV, your favorite silver screen classic muted on the fishbowl screen.

"Wally..." You didn't know what to say. The atmosphere was intimate and magical, and no one had ever done anything like this for you before. "...how did...?"

Wally planted himself behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed his front to your back, mouth finding that sweet spot on your neck that made you keen when he bit it.

"You like it?" He asked nervously as the tip of his nose trailed up your cheek. He kissed your temple, "I didn't know you were gonna do your out-of-body thing and I wanted tonight to be special."

You turned in his arms and gazed up at him like he'd hung the moon, "It's perfect." The connection between you and him simmered, a low, intoxicating heat that preened at Wally's romantic gesture. You added in a whisper, "You're perfect," your hand finding Wally's jaw.

The way Wally looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in his world, made you melt. He brushed the backs of his fingers down your cheek, his face hovering close to yours, humid breath fanning your lips and chin. His other hand rested on your hip and he used his firm grip to drag you flush against him, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I love you," He said, so quietly you almost didn't hear it.

You gasped a weak breath, your blood pumping faster, pulse racing in your ears. The moment felt too much like a fairytale to be real.

Just as quiet, not wanting to ruin the intimate atmosphere, you returned, "I love you, Wally."

His eyes closed and you watched him absorb the sentiment, treasure it, hold it for a peaceful lull before he opened his eyes again and traced your features with his gaze, committing your face to memory. His thumb rubbed across your lower lip, tugged it slightly, and the hand on your hip glided lower until he held a handful of your ass through your dress.

The air warmed and grew thicker as you and he stood like that, the connection between you and him steadily swelling, little shocks of fire in your belly that made you mewl without realizing.

"Baby," Wally gasped and grazed his lips against yours as the hand on your jaw slid back into your hair and grabbed. His lips connected with yours, the kiss slow and deep and filled with desire. He moaned, an almost frustrated sound, as he spun you and pushed you against the door. "Fuck, baby," He exhaled, voice husky and dark, "you don't know how bad I want you."

His words evoked a meek, needy whimper from you, but you couldn't respond, his mouth back on yours, his hands moving down your sides to your hips to your thighs where he clenched his fingers into your flesh and lifted you. He pinned you to the door with his hips and released your lips to kiss down your throat, nipping and tonguing your skin, sucking a mark at the juncture of your shoulder and neck.

That sweet, caramel heat smoldered inside you, deep at your core. You threw your head back, arms tight around his shoulders, arching your back when he ground his hips into yours so you could feel the effect you had on him.

"Do you feel that, baby?" He asked as he ground into you again, setting a steady rhythm, "You feel how hard I get for you?" And Jesus Christ, you were going to lose your mind. His voice was sandpaper rough, movements punctuated by choked moans and heavy breaths. A hand slip under your dress to grab your ass, the other crawling up your back to find the zipper.

"Wally..." You whined, hips rolling against his, and the need inside you was fast becoming dizzying.

You both heard and felt the zipper split down your spine as he dragged it open with a wanting groan.

"Let me see you, baby." He said. The hand now at your low back raised to fist into your hair, angling your head so you had to look at him, "Show me." And, as soft as it was given, you recognized it was a command.

He held you up as you pulled the thin straps of your dress down and slipped your arms out of them to bunch the bodice around your waist, chest exposed for him. A thick swallow and a desperate groan, and then his hand snuck from your hair to your breast, his fingertips featherlight as he explored the roundness of it. He rubbed over your nipple, licking his lips, grinding his hard cock against your core a little harder as his need for you built.

Lips by your ear, "I wanna see more, baby girl," greedy and sinful. "I wanna see all of you." In a show of strength, he turned and carried you to the bed, lowering to his knee and tipping forward to lay you down gently. He discarded his jacket, yanked off his bowtie and then fell over you when you spread your legs wider for him to fit between.

"I wanna see you too," You breathed and managed the first four buttons before you got frustrated. He chuckled, rich and wicked, pulled the dress shirt over his head and tossed it aside. As soon as it was off, he was on you, your bare chest pressed to his, the sensation stoking the flames within you higher and higher.

Shoes were kicked off, your dress removed, his pants undone, between feverish kisses. His touch left blazing fire in its wake, his hand climbing from your knee to your inner thigh, thumb teasing under the edge of your panties. "I need to touch you," he said, "Let me. Please."

All you could do was nod, consumed by a lust you never knew existed within you. He watched your face as he traced the waistband of your panties, his weight on one arm so he could hover over you. His eyes were heavy lidded and blown, lips slightly parted, gaze intense. Torturously slow, his fingers dipped under the elastic and brushed across your lips, middle finger rubbing between them.

"Fuck, baby, you're so wet for me." He crooked his finger and pushed inside. Just a little, just enough to make fireworks burst under your skin. As he pressed deeper, his eyes never left your face. "Do you want this?" He murmured, not even letting you answer before he took your lips in another hungry kiss. "Do you want to feel me, baby?"

"God, Wally," You whimpered, "please."

He moaned, lifting himself up to sit back on his haunches between your thighs. Carefully, he peeled your panties off your legs, then took what felt like an obscenely drawn out minute to admire you. You felt vulnerable, exposed, yet that didn't bother you as you thought it should. Instead, it made you ache for more.

"So beautiful," He said and rose to his knees to push his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs. He took himself in hand, stroked once, twice, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby, I promise."

You believed him.

Unexpectedly, he shifted back, and when he lay down again, his face was eye-level with your pussy. "Just relax baby, let me take care of you," was all the warning he gave. He licked into you, lips and tongue moving against and inside you as he kissed into your core, moaning as if you were the sweetest thing he'd ever had. "You taste so good," He groaned and surged in for more, a starving man at a feast.

You arched and writhed, hips humping against his mouth as he ate you out, your hand on the back of his head, "Fuck! Yes!"

Right as you got close, he pulled back and rearranged himself so he was draped over you, kissing you hard and hungry and hot. You could taste yourself on his tongue, tangy sweet, and keened, a sound that went straight to Wally's cock.

"Need you so bad," He groaned, grinding himself against you, cock sliding between your lower lips as he got himself nice and slick with your juices. "Please," He panted, "I need to feel you around me, baby, please."

At that stage, you couldn't deny him anything, offering your agreement by wrapping your legs around his waist. He shoved his hand between your bodies and lined himself up, nudging the tip against you, teasing himself, and then, "Wally!" he began to press himself into you in measured increments.

You felt like you were about to split in two, his cock thick and long, sinking deeper inside you with every slow thrust.

Once fully seated, he slid his arms between your back and the mattress and then, once again, lifted you so you were in his lap, your legs tightening around his waist. The position forced him deeper, rubbing every sensitive nerve ending inside you.

"That's it baby. Fuck, you feel so good."

Instinctually, you began to roll your hips, short snaps and long drags that made Wally moan. He moved with you, matching your tempo, driving himself into you over and over, sounds of pleasure spilling from you both as your movements and his quickened. You bounced in his lap, your punched out whimpers of need filling the air. The blunt tip of his cock met your sweet spot with military precision, again, again, again, until stars exploded behind your eyes and you cried out.

"I wanna see you come for me, baby," Wally told you, nipping and biting the skin of your neck. "Let me see you come."

You rode him faster, harder, his fat cock sending you closer and closer to the edge until, "Wally, I—I'm gonna—"

He groaned in desire, "That's it baby, come for me, let me see it."

One, two, three more hard, sharp stabs of his hips and you plummeted over the edge, choking on his name as the inferno within you burst and released. You trembled through it, convulsing around him, squeezing so tight as he kept moving inside you that—

"Oh, God, baby, I'm gonna come, I—" And he stiffened, his hips snapping in aborted motions, claiming your lips in a fierce and possessive kiss as you felt him throb his climax inside you.

It started when you found your peak, but detonated when he did. Visions of a thousand lives behind your eyes happening all at once. His smile, his hands, his eyes, a thousand times over. Sometimes old, sometimes young, always bonded, connected, drawn together across centuries. Over and over, past, present, future.

The visions vanished almost as soon as they'd appeared, and when you came to, your back was on the mattress and Wally was over you, in your arms, his wide, shocked eyes staring into yours.

💀___________________________

PART THREE - PART FIVE

note: note: the song Xavier, Reader and the band perform is Take Me Home Tonight (Cover) by Every Avenue. because it's Wally's favorite song.

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: we're not about that life around here (•¯ ∀ ¯•) things got too outta hand and i'm still cleaning up the mess left behind by the demons i accidentally summoned trying to get the damn thing to work 🕳️👹......there's a dustpan over there if you feel like helping 🧹💨 or, if you just wanna stay up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS.

Charlie Walker NSFW Headcanons

(So ummm I found this in my drafts and felt like it should see the light of day 😭 I don't remember writing this but I had a HUUUUGE Rory Culkin phase. Honesty it could have been way worse but the writings not terrible I just don't remember being such a little freak... thats a lie I 100% remember but I'm ashamed. 🥲)

Warnings: Smut obviously. an obsessive use of the word mommy. charlie being a subby little bitch boy. overstimulation. edging. dacryphilia. I think that's it.

Smut below the cut, beware.

He whimpers

I mean so much, all night it's just him whimpering and begging for his mommy

“Mommy please touch me, I need you”

Biggest munch ever, he gets so pussy drunk to it's not even funny

He's a crier

You can’t convince me otherwise, we will ball his eyes out after he cums. Especially if you edge him and finally let him cum. He’ll even thank you after with tears rolling down his face. 

“Thank you mommy, thank you so much” 

I just know this man is a perv. He steals your panties and thinks you don’t notice but it's kinda obvious when he leaves them in his room just out in the open. 

He really likes being overstimulated 

Just the thought that you love him so much that you would spend hours making him cum over and over again drives him crazy. He would also cry during this. Both from pleasure and pain, poor boy doesn't want you to stop but his body needs a break. 

“please don’t stop, I need it so bad”

As you can tell he has a mommy kink

I don’t really have an explanation for this but I feel like he just loves it. The word comes out so naturally that it just feels right to call you his mommy.

Headcanons

Spider Socorro x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mention of death, Big spoilers, but like why are you reading this if you haven't watched the movie? 🤨

(I re-watched Avatar twow and now I have Spider on the brain. Let's just hope and pray that this doesn't drag me back into my Jack Champion phase.)

Muscles Muscles Muscles MUSCLES. Need I say more? Bros jacked, years of running around the forest like Tarzan have done him good.

If you're human he could probably lift you. Would insist on giving you piggy back rides, especially when climbing.

If you're Na'vi he would try and fail. This will be an everyday occurrence until he can finally lift your feet off the ground.

Make-out session in the lab.

Watching an old 3 hour long documentary on the origin of werewolves. This is also how you both learned what werewolves are.

Getting along with the Sully kids is a must. Most of the time spent with him is also spent with Kiri and Lo'ak.

Babys got trauma. You have to remind him that he shouldn't carry the guilt for his fathers actions. He would confide in you about how he saved Quaritch. Leaving you with mixed emotions.

He blames himself for Neteyams death. The moment replaying in his mind, reminding himself that if they hadn't come back to save him Neteyam would still be alive.

He doesn't like crying but sometimes he can't help it. You make him feel safe so curling up in your arms and letting it all out is a monthly occurrence.

(idk why this got so sad in the end, I just wanna give him a big hug. Also I am working on the Sub!Simon Elroy one-shot I swear)

Store Worker *over the loudspeaker*: Would Aaron Hotchner please come to the front desk?

Hotch, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?

Store Worker: *points to Spencer and Y/N*

Store Worker: I believe they belong to you?

Spencer and Y/N: We got lost :(

Hotch: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-