PLEASE! I Literally Don’t Care That It’s Short, It Didn’t Take To Long. THANK YOU! I Love My Wally

Marshmallow Miles

summary: prompt fill. Wally needs to get the hell out of Split River. thankfully, he finds the perfect excuse and takes you along for the ride. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. fluff. AU - everybody is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen. same 'verse as Cuddle Bug.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧁

Marshmallow Miles

Wally spent the last 40 years haunting the high school. Then spent the last few months within the town limits, adjusting to being a regular student while he got his second chance at life organized. Principal Hartman, Ms. Chung, and Mrs. Moretz—the guidance counselor—banded together to help the formerly-dead reacclimate, and part of that means they all need to graduate.

Except, obviously, Mr. Martin, who Sheriff Baxter's keeping a tight leash on. Or Janet, wherever the hell she is.

Point being, Wally and his friends are still tethered to the place they hate most in the world. Even if there is a light at the end of the tunnel this time, they don't get to enjoy it until they walk across the stage, diplomas in hand.

Which means Wally? Is feeling somewhat-very claustrophobic. Skin too tight, walls closing in, suffocated and nauseous at the thought of having to spend another goddamn second in the town that killed him.

It's as he's listening to you, hanging onto your every word like psalms, that the idea strikes. Light. Bulb. Wausau? Claire's stepdad's ski lodge? You don't say!

He knows your birthday's coming up (Simon made sure to stick post-it notes in every single one of Wally's text- and notebooks to remind him) and he's been fretting over what to do for weeks. But this? This is it! Not only will Wally be able to celebrate you the way you deserve, doing something you seem genuinely keen on, he'll be able to put Split River in the rearview for a whole week.

Is it a little selfish to use your birthday as an excuse to escape? Kind of, sort of, maybe. But he's desperate to find out if he can have a life beyond this. Beyond Split River High and Number 57 and tragedy and discombobulating rise-agains. And the only person he wants to find anything out with, well, is you.

It's two-birds-one-stone, honestly, and don't you always praise his efficiency? Hell yeah, you do. His biggest fan. Besides, he will dote on you, treat you right, make you feel like the center of the universe because you are. At least, you're the center of his, and that's why he has to do this. To prove there's a future with him that has more potential than cultivating small town syndrome.

You catch him grinning that dopey little grin he gets when he's thinking about surprising you, but Maddie distracts you before you can question it. Which gives Wally the rest of lunch to plot into his tater tots.

Thank you, Maddie. Best wingwoman ever.

‗•‗

The plan comes together seamlessly. Everyone pitches in to help bring Wally's vision to life. Claire gives him the keys to her stepdad's lodge. Maddie and Charley morally support Wally as he shops for warm clothes in your size that he can smuggle in his own luggage so you stay in the dark for as long as possible.

Nicole and Rhonda, the unlikeliest of best buds, drag him into The Body Shop and Victoria's Secret—"imagine a romantic bubble bath after skiing all day?" Nicole coos. "Imagine undressing her on a bearskin rug in front of a fire." Rhonda smirks around her new vape.

That's. Really. All the convincing Wally needs to make a dent in the allowance Rodney gives him.

Wally even swallows his pride, puts on his most charming smile, and asks Xavier for his truck. He knows the only reason Xavier agrees is because it's for you, but still, a win is a win. With a general, "hurt her and I'll rip your balls off," from your platonic soulmate, Wally joyfully departs. Tosses the keys in the air and catches them, his chest feeling lighter than it has in decades.

Everything is packed in the truck and ready to go the night before. He called you earlier to impart the vaguest of instructions as to what you should bring, proud of himself for not giving anything away too soon. Even when you asked in that silly-sweet voice, pouting on the screen like a princess, "Please? At least give me a hint!"

No. No hints.

Like a child on Christmas, Wally can barely sleep, he's so excited, but he manages a few hours. Dreams of the world beyond Split River as if he's setting off on some grand adventure and not just driving a 3.5 hour span of state highway.

Tomorrow, Wally will experience a first. Something that was so far out of reach there was no point entertaining it because all it led to was disappointment and regret. Instead there were years upon years of distractions. Mock Trials and obituaries and looking at his feet when he should've looked back.

Wally sometimes wonders if those missed opportunities weren't the yellow brick road that brought him to you. Everyone else walked through The Door with him, but there's no sign of Dawn who crossed over. If Mr. Martin didn't do what he did, Wally might've moved on, and you and he wouldn't exist...

His heart lurches in his chest.

No sense ruminating. You have him. He has you. That's all that matters now. And tomorrow, Wally will have his first real taste of freedom with the only person he wants to share that moment with.

It's going to be perfect.

‗•‗

Wally picks you up just after sunrise. You're grumpy and sleepwarm and, Jesus, Wally loves you. Pouting at him like he's both a menace and your savior. Arms up, lower lip jutted out, a sweet demand of carry me before you slump into his embrace and force him to take your weight. Which he does, easily, big grin on his face as he toddler-carries you to the passenger side of Xavier's truck.

He bundles you in, sets you up with the softest blanket Claire found at Target—Yuri and Ajay not doing their jobs as devil's advocate at all as the cart filled up with Claire's suggestions. Honestly, Wally doesn't care. Especially not after your eyes brighten as you run your fingers over it, wiggling happily in your seat.

"You cozy, babygirl?" He asks as soon as he's behind the wheel and the smile you give him makes him fucking melt.

"You got me a blanket." You state, tucking yourself in more securely; shoes off, feet up, elbow on the console so you can lean over it and kiss Wally's cheek. "Thank you."

Wally blushes, he can't help it, and shrugs as if it's nothing. "I got you a bunch of things, baby," he says as he starts the truck, "Just wait and see. You're gonna feel like a princess, I promise."

You slip your hand into his, fingers laced, and he rests them on your thigh as he drives. Down the street, turn left, continue to the intersection of Main and 4th. Right on 4th, all the way to the end and then left on Pine. Drive until the highway onramp. Now Leaving Split River, We'll Miss You!

Oh God... Wally's heart pounds, blood rushing in his ears. This feels bigger than his first step off school property. Bigger than feeling air in his lungs and a drum in his chest after being hollow for so long.

Somehow, and Wally doesn't know how, you manage to talk him through pulling over, crawling over the console to plant yourself in his lap. Hands cradling his jaw, you press your forehead against his and guide him away from the edge of a panic attack.

"—got you, Wally, I'm right here, you're okay, shh, you're okay..." The steady cadence of your voice sharpens as his breathing regulates. He's holding you like a lifeline, arms fastened around your waist, heaving great gulps of air as he trembles slightly.

"I'm sorry, baby," He gasps and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Nuh-uh, no apologies, Wally Clark," You say firmly. There's a lull before you chuckle, gentle and kind, "Hey, this was a lot better than the night you first stepped across the school boundary line, right?"

Fuck, that was a mess. However, Wally wasn't alone when that happened. Charley and Rhonda and Yuri, Mr. Martin and Ajay, Mina, they were all there too, equally as overwhelmed. Rhonda threw up on Quinn's shoes. Charley passed all the way out. Yuri and Ajay were fine, fuck them, but Mina just...screamed. And then laughed. Then cried. Then screamed some more, listening to the sound ricochet off the surrounding buildings in a way it wouldn't have days before The Door.

Wally snorts, "Yeah. Sure," and finally peeks up at you. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks that he realizes belatedly feel damp. Is he crying? Weak. But you aren't judging him, simply gazing at him like he hung the moon; you're perfect person, the man you love most, and Wally's chest swells. "We're out of Split River," Wally croaks.

You beam at him, "We're out of Split River."

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River.

‗•‗

After climbing out of the truck to holler into the ether. To chase each other around the Now Leaving sign. To grab you, spin you around and fall into the grass as you and he laugh and laugh and laugh, Wally finally gets the show back on the road.

Once again, he tucks you into your seat, takes your hand, checks his mirrors and then pulls back onto the highway, the town that raised him then witnessed his death becoming a speck in the background with every mile marker you and he pass.

He lifts your hand, grazes a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes on the road and his mind on you and everything he has planned for this trip. At the halfway point, he stops for gas, shadows you as you browse the aisles for exactly the right snacks. Fondly gazes after you the whole time as you make tough decisions: Nerds or Twizzlers? Cookies or chocolate? Wally, do I want a vanilla or butterscotch pudding with my Oreos? Because that's a normal combination, what?

He's absolutely no help at all, too busy mooning over you as you flutter between the fridge and the chest freezer, babbling about how integral to your mood it is to pick the right snack. To cover for the fact that he isn't paying attention, Wally grabs a bag of marshmallows off one of the shelves when you call him out for not listening.

"These." He says, holding the bag up and then glancing at the graham crackers and Hershey's displayed at eye-level. "Maybe these?"

"You wanna make s'mores in the truck?" You ask, dubious.

"No," Wally saves himself, "Just these," and he jiggles the bag of marshmallows. They're the jumbo kind; the kind he used to bet his cousin Dennis to eat five of in one bite or else he couldn't play Wally's Magnavox Odyssey.

You consider the marshmallows for a moment and then, with a decisive nod, "And hot chocolate."

"And hot chocolate," Wally agrees, following you around the shop to the coffee station.

Wally pays for everything, hip-butting you (carefully, no spills) out of the way when you try to pass the cashier your card. He takes the bag and the tray of hot chocolate and still holds the door open for you with his heel. No fucking way is his princess lifting a finger on her birthday-slash-Wally's-freedom trip.

For every mile, you dip a marshmallow in your hot chocolate—dipping Wally's as well and feeding him, giggling when he nips or sucks the gooey sugar from your fingertips. It's silly and sweet and Wally basks in every second of it. Every second of your off-key singing, your trivia answers, your arguments over which is better, Thunderbirds or Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons.

"You know, I have been catching up on TV shows, right?" Wally laughs, "You can use better examples."

"What's wrong with puppets, Wally? Are you a pupaphobist?"

Wally barks a laugh, "That's not a thing!"

"It definitely is a thing," And you wield your phone, flashing Google as Exhibit A. "So? Are you? Just say it, you hate Jim Henson and everything he stood for."

And it's amazing. It's anything and everything and so much more than Wally could've ever hoped for. Even the quiet intervals when the sugar wears off and the early wakeup call catches up to you; your body curled up in your seat awkwardly just so you can angle yourself right to rest your head on the console and place Wally's hand in your hair.

Adorable little diva.

As you doze, Wally watches the scenery drift by, his lungs expanding more and more with every mile he puts between himself and Split River.

Eventually, he turns off the highway and onto the backroads without you noticing a thing. His fingers card through your hair, trace the shape of your jaw and cheek as he absorbs the softness of the moment and tucks it away behind his ribs. Safe and sound, to be pulled out and cherished when he's alone.

When he parks, he's reluctant to wake you. So, he doesn't. Not immediately. Rather, he spends a few minutes just resting himself, sinking down a little in the driver's seat. Then slants sideways, curls over and around you to kiss your ear, cheek, jaw.

He couldn't dim his smile if he tried, enamored when you protest at first, but then sigh, realize where you are and who you're with before groggily chuckling at Wally's antics.

"Surprise, baby girl," He whispers, letting you sit up so you can take in your surroundings.

The look on your face tells Wally he did a good job. The way you tackle him into the inside of his door and kiss him tells him he's going to have to start planning next year's surprise tomorrow, because, fuck yeah, this is exactly the reaction he's looking for.

Getting out of the truck and staring at Claire's stepdad's lodge; at the trees and the snow and the vast expanse of sky, it hits him again like a ton of bricks.

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River!

‗•‗

He doesn't wait to celebrate. As soon as he closes the door behind him, he reels you in, kisses you deep and hungry while you're only halfway out of your jacket. That's okay, he helps you get it the rest of the way off, along with everything else.

"Let me make you feel good, baby," He whispers against your skin, hands everywhere, his hips rolling into yours as he pins you to the wall beside the door. "Let me show you how much I love you..."

Wally kisses you deep, hungry, groaning into your mouth as he keeps grinding his hard cock against you, fuck, you get him going like nothing else. All you have to do is breathe in his direction and his pants tent.

Heat courses through him, curls tight in his belly and flushes outward to his limbs, God, he needs you. Now. Right fucking now, baby, come on. He carries you to the enormous kitchen island, peels your leggings and panties off and has his lips on you and tongue in you faster than you can cry out his name.

"So sweet, baby," He moans into your pussy, panting, not bothering to breathe in his greed for your taste and pleasure. "Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you."

He spears his tongue in and out of you before teasing little circles around your clit, his fingers plunging into you in place of his tongue. Wally could do this all day and never get tired; the sounds you make, the way you writhe and beg for him, Jesus, he can't imagine ever wanting anything else.

Cruel, desperate, he doesn't care what you call it, he stops right as you're about to come, shoves his sweatpants just below his balls and drags your hips off the counter to punch his cock into you. His head falls back as soon as he feels you around him, so tight and hot, "Fuck, yes, baby, so good for me."

And he sets a frenzied pace, unable to keep himself in check now that he has you like this. His fingers dig into your lovehandles, your legs hooked over his elbows. He's grunting, you're mewling your pleasure, and Wally about loses it before you do. But he doesn't. He's better than that, fucks you like a beast until you scream and shake and squirt around his cock.

It's game over after that. No way can he hold on, his body tensing, hips grinding, as he spills deep inside you. Carefully, he sits you more firmly on the counter and leans in to kiss you, soft, sated, a little blissdrunk in the afterglow. Bodies pressed together, slowly recovering, Wally strokes the arches of your cheeks with his thumbs and gives you a muzzy smile.

"You're my whole world, you know that?" He tells you and then captures your lips in a kiss that quickly turns heated, "I'll do anything for you, baby." Fuck, he's already getting worked up again, needs more of you, always needs more. "I'll die all over again if you asked me to."

"Wally..." You gasp when he rocks his hips forward, driving his cock back into you.

It's just after sundown before you and he finally check out what's beyond the open kitchen/living room space, the table and couch and ottoman and, shit, bearskin rug fully christened in sweat and come.

You and he jump on the beds with childlike glee, music blaring on speakers that cost more than Rodney's mortgage. Claire explicitly forbade Wally from using the master suite so, taking that into consideration, that's the first bedroom he fucks you in—from behind, driving his hips forward while he pulls you back against him. What? He'll do the necessary laundry.

If he remembers...

‗•‗

After a supper of haphazardly thrown together and grossly microwaved nachos, Wally snuggles you between his legs on one of the Adirondack chairs outside, under a thick blanket and dressed accordingly in the thermals and sweater and fuzzy socks he secretly bought and brought for you.

The fire pit blazes, the stars above twinkle, and the land around is a peaceful kind of dark. Not the ominous, suffocating dark Wally grew accustomed to in the confines of the school. The comfortable silence between you and him is accentuated by the crackle and pop of the fire, the scene so peaceful, Wally has to wonder if he ever experienced any such feeling before.

His arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss to your cheek from behind, watching the flames dance as you lance another marshmallow on your stick.

Tomorrow is your birthday and he intends to take you skiing. Or, when he knows you'll diplomatically decide to trade skis for slippers, he'll bring you back here at noon and spoil you rotten with presents and a homecooked meal; that bubble bath Nicole suggested (thank you, Nicole), and a long night on that bearskin rug (thank you Rhonda).

It's going to be an incredible week, he assures himself. And on Saturday, the others will arrive while he takes you into the resort town to explore so they can set up your big surprise party. Yuri will grill in a t-shirt, and Charley will force everyone to play 90s boardgames he died too soon to play, and Rhonda will make everyone take shots whenever Wally gives you heart eyes just to watch the messiness unfurl.

Claire will probably reprimand him for fucking in her parents' bedroom, but Wally doesn't care. Because it means he celebrated you right. That you and he had fun. That there's evidence of the fact that, for the first time in 40 years, holy fuck, Wally made it out of Split River!

fin.

🧁___________________________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Tongue Twister.

a PWP drabble highlighting Wally Clark's addiction to eating your pussy like a man possessed.

Wally Clark Headcanons

Our babe loves to have his hair played with. It's one of the only things that truly relaxes him. Initially, he asks you to run your fingers through his hair just when he's extra stressed. Too much going on. Can't sleep, brain too busy, please help.

But then it becomes routine. Whenever you're lying together on the couch, watching a movie, he'll scooch over and lay his head in your lap, give you a sweet smile and then melt when you start to comb through his hair. He always falls asleep. Always.

Cuddled with you in bed, right before lights out, he'll nudge you with his nose; blink big eyes at you and ask, "head pats?" And how the hell can you say no? Have you seen those sweet brown cow-eyes!? That little pout!? You oblige instantly.

Still, there comes a day when you're maybe wondering if he's taking advantage. You're grumpy and overstimulated and annoyed, and he never asks anymore, just assumes you'll do The Thing if he gets in your space and presents his hair.

So, when it comes time for bed and he gently snuggles up, arm over your waist, head on your chest, expecting you to do what you always do...you decide not to. And he notices instantly. He gazes up at you, "head pats?" with those eyes. You don't move. Wally nuzzles his head against you, a tiny whine, and then, finally, a mousy little, "please?"

If you don't go gooey at that and give that boy his head scratches, you don't have a heart. Pointe finale.

October Moon

summary: it had been game night. Xavier had told Simon who'd told you about Maddie's backpack. A weird and unfortunate game of telephone that your friendship had dissolved into. regardless, you'd had a surprise for Wally and you'd wanted to make sure to execute it, so whatever grievances you and Xavier had had, those had been shoved aside for the night...until you'd received a damning message that had brought to light why Mr. Anderson had called Claire.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.2

Xavier stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the Send button, rereading his message for the fifth time. He hadn't spoken to you since last Friday. Not more than a handful of blunt words, anyway. He knew you knew about him and Claire. He hadn't needed Simon's confirmation that you'd been told; he could see it in your eyes, in the way you held yourself around him, the defiance in your stance and the disenchantment around your mouth.

In his heart, he'd forgiven you for keeping him in the dark about your abilities. Your family's abilities. Now his abilities. And while it ached to have been lied to, he understood why you'd done it. That it hadn't been entirely your choice. That, if you hadn't had the pressure of generations on your shoulders, you would've told Xavier in a heartbeat. He trusted that that was the truth because, despite everything, he knew you. It didn't completely soothe the rejection he felt, but it made it less sharp.

Rather, he hadn't reached out because he was afraid. Of your anger, of your hate, of your disappointment. Of you icing him out until you and he were strangers. He couldn't face that. Kept it Schrodinger's Box so he'd never have to know if you forgave him or not. However, right now, things were getting bigger than he could manage and he needed someone on his side. Simon barely tolerated him. Maddie... Jesus, he hadn't been able to stomach looking at her, never mind confiding in her. He sort of had Nicole now, a budding friendship built on being shoved to the outside and left to fend for themselves while their closest people banded together to save the world. Nevertheless, Nicole wasn't you. Who he'd always counted on. No questions asked.

With a shaky hand and a deep, worn-out exhale, Xavier pressed Send.

"Cops found Maddie's backpack. I'm going to the house. Corner of 10th and Lasher. Meet me at 6."

After a few short seconds of deliberation:

"I'm sorry."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You sat on the workbench while Nanna cut, assembled, and pinned the boutonniere you intended to present to Wally before the homecoming game. It was perhaps a silly gesture, but one you felt strongly about making. Cute and romantic and so unlike you that you barely recognized who you were when you were in lo—involved. Granted, you'd never been in a relationship (was it a relationship?) before so how were you to know you'd be the gushy, head-in-the-clouds, affectionate type?

Nanna hummed as she worked, timeworn hands expertly fitting the olive branch and white lily together around a flush of black baby's breath. Nanna had opened and run the flower shop Aurora had inherited ownership of upon returning to Split River. A charming, cozy place squished between Jerry's Wine & Spirits and an upscale pet store. The perfect resource for whatever dried ingredients went into the tea Nanna had iced and sipped occasionally as she worked.

You stared at the half-full mason jar, observing it as if it were a bomb to dismantle. Questions crowded your mind: Was it the same tea you'd been drugged with? Was it related to what you'd smelled on the three teenagers in the cavern before Amelia's ritual? Wally was of the opinion that Aurora's tea was connected to the cult, at the very least, though you found it difficult to believe. You studied Nanna, tried to find a trace of peculiarity in her behavior, but nothing stood out.

"You're thinking awfully loud, sweetpea," Nanna commented gayly, grey eyes sparkling as she put the finishing touches to the boutonniere and laid it carefully in a plastic container.

Without preamble, "Why do you drink that stuff?" you blurted, gaze flickering between Nanna and her tea.

Guzzling tea in your household wasn't uncommon. The kitchen and bathroom cabinets were crammed with a variety of bygone natural remedies that included stocks of loose tea blends. Getting a cold? Don't take Tylenol, drink milk thistle. Can't sleep? Passionflower and lavender. Stomach flu? Ginger and peppermint broth. Hell, when you'd sprained your ankle running track last year, you'd been smeared in turmeric and arnica paste. Your ankle had been stained yellow for days after.

Nanna cocked her head like you'd asked something outrageous, several speechless blinks and then, "It tastes good." Simple, easy. Strange because the tea sure smelt like a biological weapon and not what one would dip one's biscuits in. "Your sister introduced it to me when she came back from New York." She did? That didn't correlate with the image you'd always had of Aurora when she'd been in New York. The corporate baddie whose entire mood had relied on the quality of espresso in her latte. When she'd switched to tea, you'd assumed it was the other way around. That Nanna had led Aurora to the worst kind of river. "Aurora raved about it whenever she made some, and one day I was curious enough to try it."

"You sure she didn't brainwash you into liking it?" Your face twisted in disgust, "It stinks."

Nanna chuckled, "It doesn't taste like it smells, sweetpea, it's very refreshing." She lifted her mason jar and tilted it at you, "Would you like to taste?"

You reared back like you'd been threatened with a fist, "Blech, no thanks. I'd rather drink toxic sludge."

"You're as dramatic as your mother," Nanna said, taking a sip. She put the mason jar down and handed you the plastic container with the boutonniere in it. "You never told me who this was for."

"A boy." You grinned as you hopped off the workbench. In the same instant, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

"A boy we know?" Nanna pried, her expression glowing with mischief and meddling.

You scanned the text notification, unable to disguise your shock when you read who it was from. Xavier. Who'd been actively avoiding you and his newfound ghost-detecting abilities all week. Your heart jumped to your throat and your belly tightened as a wave of anxiety rippled through you.

Nanna retrieved your attention by setting a chilled hand on your forearm. "Is that him now?"

"Uh...no." You looked up and smiled at her, "No, it's just Xavier."

"Oh good," Nanna said gladly, "You've patched things up, have you?"

Not wanting to open that box when you now had approximately no minutes to leave the house, "Getting there," you offered and angled yourself toward the door. Gesturing gently with the boutonniere, "Thanks, Nanna," you said and stepped across the mudroom.

"You still haven't told me who the boy is," Nanna reminded you, tone as puckish as her grin.

"Right, yeah, it's..." You floundered internally for a second and then tossed in the air the first name that came to mind, "Simon. Elroy. You haven't met him."

Shit.

"Well, I can't wait to meet him tomorrow." Nanna said kindly as she began to tidy her workbench.

"He hasn't said yes yet," You peeped, gulping, because now you had to drag Simon into a ruse and convince him to meet you at your house before the dance.

Nanna flapped her hand, "He will. If you think he's worth giving that—" the boutonniere "—to, then he must be smart enough to know how lucky he is."

You melted at Nanna's flattering remark, warmed to your toes that your grandmother thought so highly of you. Naturally, grandmothers were inclined to dote on and adore their grandchildren no matter what, but it felt wonderful regardless. Nanna was the woman in your life who celebrated every single one of your accomplishments, no matter how small. She comforted you when you were upset, encouraged you when you were nervous, praised you when you were insecure. The wind in your sails since your mother had grown distant, comparatively detached, in the years that had followed Aiden's death.

Sometimes you wondered if your mother blamed you as you blamed yourself.

"Thanks, Nanna," You said again, pink cheeked and pleased. When you turned to leave the mudroom, you almost bumped into Ginny. Mercifully, her tiny frame was a lot more dense than it appeared, even at 80-something, so you weren't at risk of pulverizing her on impact. "Sorry, Ginny," You apologized, shamefaced.

Ginny scoffed, "It'd better take more than a knock from you to kill me, chicken. These old bones still have a lot left to do on this earth."

"Good. Because I don't want you going anywhere until I'm in my eighties." You giggled, giving her a short hug and smacking a kiss to her saggy cheek. You noticed she wasn't done up in her usual regalia—strings of costume jewelry and feathered robes. Today, she was dressed down in a plain frock, her only necklace the small silver pendant she always wore, "To ward off evil." One day it was going to be yours, Ginny had promised as she'd disregarded Aurora's accusations of favoritism. Ginny's cryptic response to that had been, "You don't need it, little lamb. Your sister will."

To this day, you had no idea why you'd need it or if it actually warded off evil like Ginny claimed, though you did enjoy rubbing it in Aurora's face that you were clearly Ginny's favorite grand-niece.

"She's got a new boyfriend," Nanna piped up from behind you, shades of glee in the lilt of her voice. "We'll get to meet him tomorrow night."

Ginny gave you wide eyes and a toothy smile, "Oh, is that so?"

"I'm leaving now," You announced, plucked your way around Ginny, and proceeded to ignore the hoots and coos that followed you out of the house.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Mr. Martin spotted Maddie as she entered the stadium, pensive, withdrawn, an impression he'd come to recognize as meaning she'd unearthed another possible clue in the mystery of how she'd ended on the wrong side of the veil. Something he didn't need right now with Amelia breathing down his neck.

His attention diverted upward to Charley, bunched in a seat and scribbling away in a notebook, his face drawn in straight lines of concentration. A new graft Mr. Martin hadn't authorized. Not that his students needed his approval to pick up new hobbies, of course. But he'd never seen Charley so intent, so determined. Writing the hours from end to end like he was composing the next hit teenage opera.

Things were getting out of hand. His students straying from the perfectly planted path he'd composed over the decades to keep them close. Keep them grounded (in more ways than one). If they drifted too far into death, too far from the thin boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead—Mr. Martin didn't want to think about what would happen, Mina's final moments blinking in and out of focus behind his eyes like fragments of a bad dream.

Ajay, Bernadette, and Katelynn were in the midst of discussing their ideas for a post-game celebration, seeking Mr. Martin's input. They wanted to show Wally some extra love on his "death date"—that the date changed every year notwithstanding—as was customary, and Mr. Martin was glad at least those three had remained on the straight and narrow and continued to defer to him for guidance.

Briefly, he panned to the field, observed for a moment how Wally had passed Maddie something while they sat against the goal post. The distance was too wide for him to see what it was, but it further made him feel like he needed to double down and shepherd Maddie into the fold. Before Amelia cottoned onto the fact that Maddie was still defiantly marching to the beat of her own cursed drum.

When he'd had to report to Amelia what had happened to Maddie's body—to Amelia's prospective vessel—he'd been delivered a monologue about how critical it was to keep Maddie's memory scrambled. If she were to remember the one thing that had kept her safe all those years, she'd be impossible to wrangle. And that meant Amelia would fulfill every dark promise she'd made to Mr. Martin before and after he became a permanent fixture in Split River High.

Mr. Martin came back to the present when Katelynn said his name, her tone indicating it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get his attention. He apologized and asked politely for her to repeat, listening with half an ear as he nodded along, yes, Wally should have a cake; yes, we can certainly bake one in time; and no, the crown of sparklers is still vetoed.

In his mind, however, he was developing a plan to steer everyone back under the right influence. He needed to correct their course. He needed to figure out what was going on with Charley and Wally and Maddie.

He needed to talk to Rhonda.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Sloped against the side of his truck, Xavier scrolled restlessly through his phone while he waited for you to show up. If you'd show up. You hadn't texted back and it was already 6:03PM. He was steadily losing faith that things between you and him could be repaired. Fuck. He needed you. He needed his best friend. He needed time to back the hell up so he could undo every mistake he'd made so you'd be there for him like he desperately needed you to be.

He shoved his phone into his pocket and sighed, mentally preparing to break into a deserted house, play hide and seek with whoever had stolen Maddie's backpack, and persuade them to tell Xavier where Maddie's body was stashed. Alone. Jesus Christ. As he straightened, squared his shoulders and took a step forward, he caught movement in the corner of his eye.

Down the street, at the corner, in the pool of lamplight, you stood, gaze doubtful as you stared at Xavier. You were dressed in customary breaking and entering black. A jumper dress and tights, turtleneck that definitely wasn't yours, and combat boots. Totally committed to the part. God. He couldn't believe you were there. You'd come. You'd shown up for him like you always had. No questions asked. Even after a week of radio silence and cold shoulders and outrage.

Xavier felt a pressure behind his eyes as he stared back at you, positioning himself to face you fully, arms outstretched, ready to catch you when you began to sprint toward him. You and he collided, his arms closed around your waist and his face in your throat, shaking from the force of the emotions that swirled through him.

"You came," He whispered against your skin, breathing in the comforting scent of your shampoo and the DIY detergent your mother preferred.

"Always, Zav," You soothed, arms slung around his shoulders.

His body shook as he hugged you, the immense relief he felt opening the floodgates to everything he'd been holding on to all week. "I can't do this without you," He confessed, voice tight as a rubber band about to snap. And that encompassed so many truths. He couldn't laugh or breathe or live if he lost you. You and he had been through too many losses, changes, heartbreaks, wins together. There was no world in which Xavier could sustainably exist if you weren't in it with him. "I love you," He said weakly. Nothing new, you and he had shared the sentiment plenty of times, but it still carried weight.

"I love you, too," You replied, slightly turning your head inward as you pulled back.

Xavier happened to simultaneously shift his face toward yours, accidental, a reaction to your movement, and then, time slowed. The world retreated. His breath left him in a shaky gasp. One of his hands instinctually moved to your cheek, fingers barely tracing a bruise he wanted to know the origins of. And then his lips gently, so very, very gently, brushed yours. He heard you inhale, sharp and subtle, and that was all it took for impulse to drive him.

His lips crashed against yours, one arm tight around you, the hand of the other splayed on your cheek, thumb pressed close to the corner of your mouth. Sweet liquid heat curled low in his belly and he released a low sigh of pleasure. He'd never imagined this, had never entertained the idea nor held space for it, yet, in that moment, he couldn't recall quite why. It felt so good.

The kiss couldn't have lasted more than a second before he felt you break away, your fingertips replacing your lips as you shook your head. Your eyes were somehow both caring and regretful, filled with a love that Xavier had to acknowledge wasn't the kind that invoked the sort of insatiable desire he craved. It was milder, sweeter; affection in lieu of attraction, and he immediately cooled.

He didn't jump back or apologize or hate himself and the world. There was no pang of rejection. Just plain, honest understanding. Xavier lowered his hand and loosened his grip on you, a tiny smile of acceptance.

"Sorry," You lamented, but Xavier insisted it was fine. Because it was. Like, actually was and not in the way that people insisted when they were anything but.

"Thanks for coming," He said, easing a breadth of space between you and him.

You rolled your eyes, "Like I'd let you go into a freaky abandoned house where a possible body snatcher may be lurking all by yourself." And then you snickered, "As if I'd miss you screaming like a girl if the floor creaks."

"Ha-ha," Xavier sneered waggishly, "You're such a good friend."

"I know." You grinned. As Xavier took the lead, he heard you ask, "Why'd you do it?"

He didn't need you to elaborate, that telepathy bred from a lifetime of familiarity doing the heavy lifting. He admitted, "I don't know." When you didn't say anything, Xavier expounded, "I mean it, I have no idea why I even started things with Claire, never mind why I kept it going." He glanced back at you, taking his phone from his pocket and turning on the flashlight before climbing the front steps. "It felt like I was in a fugue that I only came out of when Maddie went missing." Another glance back at you, this time with the caveat, "Don't tell me it was in the weed, kiddo, I didn't smoke that much."

In response, you locked your lips with an invisible key that you subsequently tossed over your shoulder. "I wouldn't dare."

Xavier tested the handle on the front door, surprised and grateful to find it twisted to the left without resistance. Whoever was using the place must have decided it was easier to leave the door unlocked than slip back inside through a window whenever they left. Faster and less conspicuous, certainly. He entered first, held a hand up to signal for you to wait while he sussed out whether it was safe or not.

In the meantime, you inquired, "You didn't by any chance happen to drink a lot of bad smelling tea while you were cheating on Maddie with the cheer captain, did you?"

The question, to Xavier's mind, was completely random and, frankly, ridiculous. "Tea? When have you ever seen me drink tea?"

"Whenever you get a cold and Nanna insists on nursing you back to health."

"I think we both know that doesn't count." Xavier reckoned, treading slowly and carefully down the hall, which, okay, he was starting to think the whole stealth operation thing wasn't necessary if you and he were talking at a conversational volume anyway.

"When you went through your Jimi Hendrix phase and drank a bajillion cups of apple cinnamon black tea with—"

"—milk and two sugars, yeah, okay, I get it. The answer is still no. I didn't become acutely British one night and then fuck Claire."

"Ew."

"You asked."

You took to the other side of what would've been the living room to look for clues, "Still. Ew."

Someone was definitely living there. Though the house smelt overall stale and mildewy, the place was tidy. Ish. The makeshift bed against the living room wall was made. The messiest thing about the room was the scattering of old mail. When you suggested splitting up, Xavier vigorously quashed the idea, taking your hand just to keep you from wandering off out of spite.

"Is it because I'm a woman?" You griped.

Xavier raised his eyebrows at you, asserting, "No. It's because you have a bruise on your cheek and I don't know if you got it from walking into a door or into someone's fist. Which, please tell me it's the former so I don't have to beat the shit out of someone."

You chuckled, "Technically the former. I projected out of my body to make it look like I fainted. I needed to get out of math class."

About to open another door, Xavier stalled, "You did what." He said, monotone, nearly dropping his phone in disbelief because, surely, he'd misheard you.

"Astral projected. I, uh, ahem, I can do that, too." Suddenly shy, you tipped your gaze down and pressed your lips together.

"Oh. Yeah. No. That's...what."

You tugged his hand, made him look at you when you said, "No one besides Wally knows. So...please don't tell anyone. The fewer people who know, the better."

Xavier wanted to retort, something snappy and sarcastic, but he picked up on the note of earnest pleading in your voice. Instead, he nodded, squeezed your hand, and promised, "I won't." Then, "Your family doesn't know?"

"Nope. I never told them."

"Why not?"

You hesitated. Xavier could tell it was more to choose your words than because you didn't want to explain. Eventually, "I found out when Aiden died. I wasn't able to do it before that. I wanted to tell my mom, but she was a mess after, and Ginny and Nanna were busy taking care of her and me, and it just...the more time passed the less I wanted to talk about it." A pause thick with memory. "When mom was actually getting back out into the world, it felt kinda wrong to bring up anything to do with that day, you know? I didn't want to trigger her and make her backslide into depression again. So, I pretended the ability didn't exist."

Xavier regarded you with sympathetic eyes, "Thanks for telling me." Ignoring the part where your dead boyfriend knew, Xavier felt like you'd let him in again, that you trusted him to carry your secrets with you, and he didn't want to take it for granted. Just then, he heard creaks from the back of the house. "Stay here, don't move," he commanded and advanced to the back room. Opened the door. Stepped inside. Caught a shadow at the window that propelled him forward.

"Hey!" He called, racing to the window. The jump was too high for his comfort, brain calculating the distance between the window and the operating table he'd definitely find himself on if he attempted to pursue the person. As he watched the person disappear behind another house, he smacked the wall, "Fuck!" feeling like a coward. He wanted to be better. To help. To get Maddie her body back.

To be forgiven.

"Hey, did you find them?" You stepped up to the window and peered outside.

Xavier nodded, "Yeah, but they took off."

You must have identified what Xavier was ruminating in his expression because the next thing he knew, he was bundled in a hug and reassured, "I'm glad you're okay. They could've been dangerous."

He returned the hug, not having considered that possibility.

"Let's look around and see if we can find anything useful." You suggested, "And then I need you to drive me to the stadium. I have a sexy football star ghost to ask to the dance."

Xavier smirked, slinging your earlier statement back at you, "Ew."

"Shut up, you're the cheating manwhore."

"Still. Ew."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally waited outside the locker rooms for you, geared up and ready to go. His blood was pumping, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Tonight was his night. He was going to make his mamma proud.

Less than five minutes later, he saw you turn the corner and scurry to him, grabbing his hand to pull him into a secluded area just inside a door to the stairwell. The connection between you and him roared to life and he followed its call, crowding you against the wall and kissing you senseless.

When you and he parted for air, he gazed down at you, heated and hungry, "Hey, baby."

You smiled back, "Hey yourself." With a hand to his chest, you pushed him back a step, your other hand hidden behind your back. "I have something for you."

He raised a brow in intrigue, broad grin on his face, "Oh yeah?" He tried to shift closer, but the look you gave him forced his legs still. "What is it?"

Slowly, you brought your hand out from behind your back and presented him with a clear plastic container. He took it, examined what was inside briefly before snapping his head up.

"Wally Clark, will you go to the homecoming dance with me?" You proposed, big, gorgeous smile all for him.

He glanced down at the boutonniere again and then up to you, his heart quickening for a reason entirely separate to the excitement of tonight's events. His soul soared. He'd never been asked. Okay, back when he'd been alive, it wasn't exactly acceptable for the girl to ask the guy, and he had asked his then-girlfriend, Jenny Johnson, to the dance. Went ahead and had died under the enormous bulk of an Outlaws linebacker. Thereafter had attended stag in the company of his fellow ghosts, most of whom hadn't been enthusiastic about dressing up and dancing to cheesy music.

But...here you were.

'Yes' wasn't going to cut it. Wally wanted you to know how much it meant to him that you'd asked. How elated he was, how thoroughly in fucking love with you he was. And, holy shit, he was, wasn't he? He loved you. A joyous laugh bubbled out of him from the depths of his being and he closed the distance between you, hovering over your frame that seemed so small in comparison to his. In measure increments, he bowed his head, free hand smoothing down your waist to your hip, and he grazed his lips against yours. A lingering tease before he pressed in firmly and gave you his answer.

He heard you whimper, the sound making his head spin, and he felt your fingers at the nape of his neck, tickling the short hairs, sending frissons of want and need down his back. When you pulled away, biting your lip, gaze caught on his mouth—fuck, he had to close his eyes just to maintain some semblance of self-control.

"Is that a yes?" You asked, voice sultry and low.

Wally grinned. Unequivocally, wholly, utterly, "Yes."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

At halftime, Xavier humbly handed out the fliers Sandra had printed off. He hated himself a little bit for it since he could see Maddie sitting at a table with your dead boyfriend, as Simon had dubbed him, having what appeared to be a deep and meaningful conversation.

Although he wasn't shackled to the same commitment to secrecy as you were, he couldn't imagine it going very well if he sat Sandra down and told her the truth. That her daughter was half-ghost and some sick individual was out there doing God knew what to Maddie's body. Oh, but don't worry, Maddie isn't alone, there's a bunch of dead kids to keep her company, can you believe that?

No. No one outside your family would believe that. Except Simon, but he was paddling the same shit canoe as Xavier so that rendered him irrelevant.

Xavier glanced at the table again, watching Maddie and Wally laugh and talk and eat. Since ghosts ate apparently. Like people. With heartbeats and working digestive systems. Did ghosts need to eat? Did ghosts use the bathroom?

"What're you doing?" Simon's voice jolted Xavier back to earth.

Xavier ticked his attention to Simon, suffering for what to say. "Nothing," was a shit answer, and he could tell Simon didn't believe it, but there it was.

"You've been staring at them for five minutes." Simon informed, unimpressed. "Did your humanity finally come back online and now you're feeling guilty?"

Xavier clenched his jaw, "You don't have to be such a dick all the time, you know. I'm here. I'm trying to help."

"Yeah," Simon scoffed, "I bet. As if your guilty conscience isn't the reason you've been at Sandra's beck and call all week. Did you tell her you betrayed her daughter?"

"Actually, yeah, I did." Xavier stared Simon dead in the eye, "We covered that in our first conversation."

Simon seemed shocked to hear that, gaping for a beat before covering it up with a stony cast. "It learned how to be honest. I'm impressed. Maybe you will become a real boy after all."

"Fuck you," Xavier snapped, giving Simon his back so he could focus on emptying his stack of fliers.

He didn't hear anything for long enough that he assumed Simon had walked away, but, to his complete surprise, "Are you guys talking again?" Xavier pitched Simon an inquisitive glance. "You know what I'm talking about," Simon said, "For some reason she actually considers you a friend. And I consider her a friend. So, I wanna know. Have you apologized to her yet?"

Sucking in a deep breath, Xavier opted to take the olive branch Simon was offering, as thorny and shriveled as it was. "Yeah, we're good." Remembering the kiss (his kiss, he rectified, taking responsibility for his actions), he slipped another peek at Wally. Too bad for him, Simon was perceptive.

"It's weird, right? Dating a dead guy."

"If she's happy, I'm happy." Xavier said sincerely.

"Great. So why do you keep looking at Wally like he's your middle school bully come back to haunt you." Simon viscerally thought about what he'd said, "Is that a pun?"

Xavier snorted, "I don't think so." And then, bravely, wanting to impart an olive branch of his own. Stupidly. He disclosed, "I kissed her."

Nothing. No comeback, no quip, no insults. Nada. Xavier turned to Simon only to find him trembling with suppressed laughter, back of his wrist over his mouth.

Finally, "Oooh~ ho ho, her dead boyfriend is so going to kill you." Simon glanced at Wally and then back at Xavier, "Please don't let it happen when I'm not around, I really wanna watch."

"You're such an asshole." Xavier grumbled, practically shoving a flier at a passerby.

"You know, I'm surprised she let you," Simon mused.

Conversationally, "She didn't. She stopped it."

"That's my girl."

"She's not your anything," Xavier let him know.

Simon shrugged, casual and delighted, "Doesn't matter. She's definitely his," He nodded to Wally, "And he's going to break you in half."

Xavier swallowed, sizing Wally up and internally agreeing with Simon that, yep, that guy could definitely beat the crap out of Xavier if he wanted to. "But he can't." Xavier said, more a prayer than a statement. "He can't touch me, right, Simon?" Simon didn't respond. "Simon? He can't, right?" Xavier spun around and saw Simon heading back to the bin of fliers, "Simon!?"

Simon threw his head back and cackled.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You said goodbye to your friends after the game, everyone, including yourself, in high spirits despite the Bandits losing. It had been a close game, fun to watch though you maintained you weren't into sports.

Wally was easy to find, propped against the wall near the exit, one foot up, hands in his pockets, already staring at you with soulful eyes and a soft smile. Your belly clenched and your skin flushed under his appraisal, butterflies swarming inside you.

The crowd was distracted and dense enough that you threw caution to the wind and tucked yourself against him when you reached him. You felt him tense, but it wasn't even a second before you felt his arms wrap around you and his nose in your hair.

"Did you have fun, pretty girl?" He asked. His tone was oddly serene for someone who'd been vibrating out of his skin earlier. He didn't sound exhausted or depressed or anything else you'd expect from someone who'd, a) seen their parent who couldn't see him back, and, b) had watched the same game that'd killed him. Rather, he sounded...at peace, if a little apprehensive around the edges.

You peeked up at him as you soaked up the heat of his body like a needy sponge, "Are you okay?"

Again, that soft smile, tinged very faintly by nerves. Maybe because you were being too forward with your abilities in a public setting? You studied him and found that, no, that wasn't it.

He licked his lips nervously, said, "I need to tell you something. But I'm scared it'll change the way you look at me."

"Nothing could do that," You reassured him, encouraging him to say what he wanted to say.

Wally appeared to think about it, deliberating, but eventually revealed, "I don't like football."

It was your astonishment that kept you from responding right away. Not astonishment for what he said, but how he said it. Like it was a weight off his shoulders. A burden he'd been carrying for too long at last lifted. You tilted your head, eyes on his, and smiled, overjoyed that he'd shared something that was clearly so personal, so vulnerable, with you.

"Me neither." You said and the smile that spread on his face made your knees weak.

You and Wally stayed like that for as long as you were able before he couldn't put off joining the others anymore. You and he parted with a kiss, as was becoming customary, and you walked back into the school. As you wandered down the hall toward the front of the building, you noticed something out of the ordinary. To be more precise, someone.

"What's he doing here?" You muttered to yourself, following Ken Doll Dave around the corner, away from the front of the building and toward the basement door. You maintained a decent distance, made sure your footsteps were silent on the linoleum, and crept along behind him, catching the door before it could close with a shatter.

Down the stairs, along the narrow corridor....you heard voices coming from behind a door you hadn't known existed. The door was open and when you took a gander, you placed who the voices belonged to. You checked both ways down the corridor, but Dave was long gone. Whatever reason he had to skulk around a high school basement would have to wait.

"What're you guys doing?" You asked Simon and Maddie when you entered the subbasement area and stepped further into the room. Casting about, you realized it wasn't just another storage space. It was a full-on, military-grade, nuclear bunker like one would see in the movies, complete with decades-old tinned food, a pristinely made cot, and a system of outdated machinery. "Whaaat the hell is this?"

"Mr. South said it's been here since the Cold War." Simon told you, "That it hasn't been used in decades."

"And he just let you in here?" You wondered, running your fingers across the dusty machinery.

Simon gave you a toothy smile, "He likes me."

Before you could snark back, "Where do you think that goes?" Maddie brought your attention to a panel in the wall.

You and Simon approached with caution, Simon saying, "No idea, but," he pushed the panel open along the small pair of rails set into the wall, "I'm guessing this is how Claire dragged your body out of here."

The dust on the floor below the space had been disturbed, supporting Simon's theory about Claire, and while you'd been reluctant to jump on the Claire is the new cult train, you couldn't refute the physical evidence. You bent down, inspected the floor beside Simon's shoe, and came back up with something between your thumb and forefinger.

Shuddering, you showed Simon and Maddie, "I think you might be right, Si."

Yet, Simon didn't gloat, too disturbed by the sight of the bloody fingernail you'd just found in the scuff marks on the floor.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Deep inside the tunnel, Janet crawled back toward the exit, sleeves of her hoodie pulled down over her hands to avoid potentially losing another nail. That'd been close. Too close. She'd barely sealed the door before those two interlopers had entered the fallout shelter.

After her hideout had been discovered, she'd meant to sneak into the school undetected and stay the night in one of the many secret spaces she'd used for privacy as a ghost. But she'd seen that man again. The one who she knew Amelia had enlisted to find her. As she pushed open the gate at the other end of the tunnel, the muscles in her arm protested, pained and stiff. She groaned, rolling onto the ground below, tripping and scraping her palm on the gravel.

"Fuck!"

Time was running out, she needed to get that book and she needed it now. But the walls were closing in around her. She had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go to finish what she'd started. Gathering what little strength she had, she made the decision.

It was time to cut and run.

💀___________________________

PART ONE - PART THREE

fun fact: Eli is the guy who, in episode 5, tries to sit with Maddie and Simon at the lunch table and pops tater tots in his mouth until Simon wordlessly banishes him. On his way to another table, he stops Reader as she goes to sit with Simon and Maddie, telling her, "Don't even bother, Simon's being fucking weird."

note: smut in the next one, stay tuned! also, i couldn't take away from Maddie and Wally's sweet moment at halftime. like, it's too meaningful and i refuse to mess with it. so they still have it. but, you know, as homies instead of love interests. i'd toyed with the idea of Reader conveying a message from Wally to his mom at the game, but felt that didn't serve anything beyond insinuating Reader into everything and that's just not a road i wanna go down...

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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.

Go give @whoopsyeahokay some love, they my #1 hype person. This shit made me feel so special.

Hey luv bug, I started my first fic I'm gonna @ you on it cus you inspired me. I might not be nearly as good at writing as you are but I'm really proud of it so far. I'm at 1.3k words rn and cant wait to post it. Just wanted to let you know that you truly are an inspiration and gave me the motivation to write. Hope you start feeling better soon. :)

my beautiful autumn soul 🌰😇🍂 i am so beyond proud of you for doing the Thing! and please listen to me when i say, in all my novice wisdom and experience, writing isn't about the words you use. it isn't about how you construct the sentence or whether or not you repeat words 1000 times. it's about translating an image onto a page and imbuing the emotion beneath that. it doesn't matter how. remember, you're unique therefore your writing will be unique, incomparable, no one will ever do it the way you do so you can't hold yourself up to any standard you believe exists.

to everyone else, i read the first sentence of our bb's story and it was already 👏 fucking 👏 diamond 🗣️ for those who are triggered by drug use and addiction, this gorgeous story is a very real, very impactful representation of that. it's beautifully written. submersive and visceral and dense with emotion. like, i cannot praise this enough. *whips @patrickispinky with a soft wooden spoon of love* child, do not ever in my presence say you can't write again bc those are lies that need to be ejected from your brain.

i literally can't express how incredible Sex, Drugs, Etc. (Wally Clark x reader) is. literally. our sweet bae has managed to capture the hollow despair and numbness of addiction, especially in someone so young, and it shook me.

again, if you're triggered by those themes, take leave and stay safe, but for those of you who aren't, i highly highly recommend. check it out and give our lovely summershine soul some love 🫶 this community is kind and mature and i thrive here knowing that we understand as a collective that if something isn't our thing, we're responsible for our own filtering; we have the faculty to back-arrow out of where we feel isn't our space; it's no one else's job to make the world a padded room for us 👍

to my bae, thank you for sharing such a profound and personal story with us. it can be scary and vulnerable but know that i'm along for the ride and i've got you 😉 doing something we enjoy though feel too new at takes courage, and to expose ourselves on such a public forum takes even more courage. you fucking slayed it, love ⚔️💖

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

October Sun

I'm slowly but surely getting back on my grind. Working on a Mr.Martin request (ion wanna hear anyone saying it weird okay, ask and you shall receive.) No clue when the next part of Sex, Drugs, Etc. is gonna be out because it takes a little more time than requests but hopefully I can get it done soon. Love y'all 💞😘

Sometimes I wonder if my psychiatrist even knows me.... That might be caused by me not telling her about the fact that I created so many fake scenarios in my head to the point that they all get jumbled together and keep me awake at night... But yeah it's my psychiatrist fault that she can't put a name to what I have.

I ain't ever fucking around with you bitches again season 4 of the umbrella academy only been out for TWO FUCKING DAY and someone already spoiled it for me, ive been waiting so fucking long for this i deadass cant anymore 😭😭😭

October Moon

summary: So, Claire had been working with Mr. Anderson, you and Xavier hadn't been speaking, the Homecoming dance had been on the horizon, and no one had been any closer to getting answers. But, hell, you and Wally had made progress in...other ways.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.1

Aurora chatted merrily at you as she drove you to school, the radio playing Top 40 hits between the DJs' try-hard youthful banter and super exciting, don't miss out contests to win tickets to things you couldn't summon an interest in. Which was apparently suspect, because Aurora kept shooting you looks of sisterly concern.

As she turned into the school parking lot, she lowered the volume and said, "You know the answer to that question," as if she'd peeled back your layers and uncovered your growing treasury of secrets. She pulled into the drop-off zone, put the car in park, and turned to you, "Are you and Baxy still fighting?"

Yes.

And no.

Band practice on Saturday had been tense and awkward, but you and Xavier had made it through without Hana or Lucas or Eli commenting on it. Of course, they'd probably been pretending with everything in them that nothing was wrong for the sake of the upcoming performance. Whatever. You hadn't had to spin another tale of deceit and Xavier hadn't had to confess to cheating on Maddie to your face, so win-win.

Neither of you had even attempted to speak since, barely making eye contact when you happened to be in the same space. Mathilda had informed you that Xavier had been spending his free time with Sandra Nears, which had caught you off guard, because what? Why?

"Sort of," You finally said, tilting your head back against your seat and closing your eyes. "We're not fighting but we're not talking," you summed up as you rolled your head to the side to look at Aurora. From the corner of your eye, you saw Ajay step tentatively up to the driver's side. Hands in his pockets, gaze soft, peering at Aurora like a long-lost friend who needed to remember what it felt like to be known by someone.

And, as it had been every day since Aurora had started driving you to school, she simply sniffed the air, frowned in thought, and then shooed you out of the car with a final statement. Today's was, "You guys will be fine. Things feel a lot bigger at your age than they are. Trust me."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Rory, you nailed it." You muttered, climbing out and giving Ajay an apologetic look. Part of you understood why Aurora couldn't acknowledge that she sensed Ajay. The "Golden Rule" and a lifetime of family gospel. But. But...there was a twist in your gut as you watched her drive away, the stink of her tea clung to your hair and clothes after you'd had to sit in it for the fifteen-minute drive. Something wasn't right.

What else is new? You thought. The sheer amount of holy fuck that had cascaded into your life over the last two weeks had numbed you to anything that should be a shock or surprise. A literal alien could pop up and declare that it'd burgled Maddie's body to blend into the human ecosystem. It could return it and then rocket back to outer space to report its findings to the Mother Ship, and you? Wouldn't be fazed. Thanks so much for stopping by, dust your hands off, onto the next thing.

Or maybe you were strung out on that awful tea stench and needed to diffuse it with real coffee and one of Wally's deep, handsy, distracting kisses that you'd been indulging in all week. The connection between you and him had remained rampant and alive in the wake of last week's mass hysteria. You could feel it even now, tugging you toward the back of the school, eager and impatient to find Wally.

"She didn't say anything, did she?" Ajay's voice interrupted your pining, solemn as he stared after the car.

You didn't reply for a moment, pondering the lips-sealed angle Aurora could be taking with Ajay's presence. "She probably doesn't want to say anything. Our family takes keeping secrets very seriously," you offered, yet that didn't sit right with you.

Ajay glimpsed down at you, "Even from each other?"

No. Not usually. Although no one discussed the ghosts at Split River High (or anywhere else around town), it was more out of mutual understanding than considered outright taboo. In the past, you'd shared a few crush-riddled anecdotes with Aurora about tricks you'd seen Wally do on the field that would've landed a living person in the ER. Those days felt like forever ago. She'd still been based in New York, pursuing a career in public relations. You'd called her every week to fill her in on the shenanigans you'd seen the ghosts commit and she'd giggled along and teased you for the obvious heart-eyes you'd had (have) for the Devils' Number 57.

A year later, she'd moved home, Dave in tow, and things had shifted. Your mother's business had expanded, Uncle Andrew had relocated to an apartment in Milwaukee—only home every other weekend—and no one talked about connectedness or magic or ghosts unless it absolutely had to be discussed. Usually to the tune of, "don't let them know you can see."

You sighed and rocked sideways, knocking your shoulder into Ajay's arm. "She remembers you," you assured him, grinning, "She brought home Bollywood Grill on Tuesday."

"That's not offensive," Ajay rolled his eyes though he snickered, clearly amused by the thought that Aurora's cravings were dictated by the smell she associated with him.

"I'm just saying, she obviously sensed you."

Ajay hummed, stood for a moment longer, and then, "It doesn't feel like it did," he conveyed. "The air is thicker around her." When you gave him a confused look, he shrugged, "I don't know how to explain it better than that."

"Fair enough," You supposed.

As you and Ajay turned toward the school, Simon jogged up to meet you, nodding his head cordially at Ajay before telling you, "I followed Claire home yesterday—"

"Terrifying."

"—and she stopped at Mr. Anderson's again. She waited outside his place for twenty minutes before she gave up. He never came out."

Ajay chewed his lip before asking, "Do we still think they're part of a newly reestablished Something-Something of Dagda?"

"You mean The Emerald Order," You supplied, snorting.

In the subsequent days after the nightmare in the theater, you'd managed to gather scraps of information about the cult. Archived forums online and newspaper clippings at the town library. There wasn't much apart from one headline, "Scandal at Maheive Manor". Several wealthy and influential men and women had disappeared during a party they'd all supposedly attended in 1925. It wasn't until 1926 that the bodies had been discovered, one at a time, over the span of a month. The blame had been laid at the feet of three former Maheive estate staff who'd pled their innocence right until the firing squad had pulled their triggers.

You glanced between Ajay and Simon, "I think it's too soon to say for sure. Amelia and Anabelle had a lot of help to get them to the final ritual. If Amelia's still around, she'll need more than a high school cheerleader and her English teacher to get things moving."

Simon see-sawed his head as he contemplated your statement. "Don't forget Claire has her little army of Chanels. And her step-dad definitely has the money to bankroll a shadowy organization like the Something-Something."

"Emerald Order," You corrected, and then, "You think Claire is smart enough or convincing enough to singlehandedly assemble that many people?" You asked.

"If they're gullible, sure." Simon said.

Ajay, pointed out, "And wasn't Alastair able to singlehandedly do that? That's what Amelia and Anabelle used him for. Claire herself might not have the right connections, but her parents probably do. Claire could just be the next tool in Amelia's culty kit of malice."

Simon smirked at Ajay, "Poetic."

Grateful, "I try."

You and Simon parted ways at your lockers with a promise to catch up at lunch. Ajay lingered for a moment longer, mind as distant as his gaze.

"Still no sign of Mina?" You asked quietly. Despite everyone assuring you that last Friday's events weren't your fault, you carried the guilt of it all the same. Those had been your memories, Aiden had been your brother. And if Mina, like the others, had been subject to a piece of your past so terrible it'd spooked her, you couldn't see how it wasn't your fault she'd gone into hiding.

"Not even a glimpse," Ajay reported, mouth weighed down at the corners, "I've looked everywhere...it's like she vanished."

A hand on his shoulder, "We'll find her," you promised.

Ajay pressed a tight smile to his lips and nodded in thanks, but you could tell that, as much as he wanted to, he didn't believe it. Eventually, he cleared his throat and changed the subject altogether, informing you, "Wally's outside. He's doing drills."

You chuckled, "Ah, yes, the big game's tonight."

"You'd better be there," Ajay warned with a slight glimmer in his eye, "He wants his girl to see him bring the Bandits to victory." For the last part, Ajay impersonated a hyped sports commentator and then a roaring crowd, shaking his fists in the air like he'd just won the Super Bowl.

You guaranteed, "I wouldn't miss it for the world," because you wouldn't. A kid at Christmas, Wally had been amped since Monday, pulling you onto the field after school to show you how to toss the ball well enough for him to practice catching. It was fun, although you refused to admit it. Every time you stubbornly announced, "Sports are sooo dumb," he could read through you and would tackle you (gently, playfully) and tickle you until you submitted. Laying under him, giggling, before he'd stop, breathless, grinning, and gaze into your eyes, lean down, brush his lips to yours—

The fact was you were looking forward to it. To the game, to the celebration, to the dance; it would be a welcome reprieve from the stress and uncertainty you'd found yourself up against recently.

"Tell him to be in the gym in half an hour," Ajay said as he gave you a quick side hug, dutifully checking to make sure the coast was clear. He then sauntered off to join his fellow Group members to prepare for Wally's big night.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally was halfway through a set of burpees when the connection between you and him exploded in his chest, causing him to almost fall flat on his face. Thankfully, he caught himself and snapped to his feet, wiped his forehead with a towel that he draped over his shoulder, and turned to watch you walk onto the field.

Fuck. You looked good. You always looked good, but today you looked particularly edible. Short skirt, curve-hugging top, hair tied up to show off the soft curve of your neck. He licked his lips and openly stared as your hips swayed with every step. Wally was keyed up, he knew, because of the big game, but so much of it was also the time he'd finally been able to spend with you without constant interruptions and impending doom.

"Hey pretty girl," He said as you got close enough for him to hook his arm around your waist and yank you into him. His eyes went heavy and dark, his hand sliding down your back to the curve just above your ass, "You come to see me workout?"

You blushed so pretty, pink cheeked and Bambi eyed. "I came to tell you that you have thirty minutes before you gotta be in the gym," You replied, a sweet little smile on your lips that Wally wanted to bite. "You're getting your sweat all over me," You complained, scrunching your nose up at him.

Wally leaned in close, nipped your earlobe, his voice low and husky, "Don't pretend you don't like it, baby." His hand slipped lower to sneak under your skirt while his lips grazed the soft skin on your neck. He heard you gasp, your body arching into his, and he grinned victoriously.

"Don't start something you can't finish, Clark," You advised in a light, breezy tone, leaning back to look him in the eye. "I have class in ten minutes."

Wally pouted, "I don't even get a kiss?"

You laughed, head thrown back, beautiful, "Fine, one kiss, but then you'd better freshen up and make an appearance. I hear there's a banner you're responsible for."

"There is a banner," Wally agreed with pride. "And balloons." He narrowed his eyes in thought, "And I'm thinking of a crown of sparklers."

"Because that's safe," You scoffed playfully.

Wally shrugged, "Can't get more dead." And then he dipped his head and captured your lips with his, the connection between you like fireworks behind his ribs. He kissed you until you and he were breathless, rested his forehead against yours, willing his body to cooperate and calm the fuck down otherwise he didn't know what he'd do. Well, that was a lie. He totally did. He'd pin you to the grass and remind you of the effect you had on him. Twice. "Fuck, baby," He murmured before he licked into your mouth and kissed you hungrily, hands gliding over your waist and hips and lower.

You broke the kiss with a whimper that went straight to his cock, petitioning, "Class. Test. Seven minutes." The connection flared as if it refused to believe that that was a good reason to stop things from progressing.

Unfortunately for the connection, Wally was raised a gentleman and offered, "I'll walk you to class, pretty girl," letting you go with a pinch to your ass cheek and a boyish grin.

"You wanna carry my books, too?"

"And see your teacher freak out when they appear out of thin air?" Wally chuckled, "Absolutely."

He didn't do that. He knew better than to mess with the status quo. But he still enjoyed the banter between you and him as he walked you to the third floor.

"You're coming tonight, right?" He asked just as you and he neared your math class.

You stopped and turned to him, "Of course I am. And, I have a surprise for you. So you have to meet me before you get on the field, big guy."

Wally perked up, "A surprise?" And then he recalled the surprise you'd brought him and Charley yesterday. "Is it Max's?" He asked, excited. Max's Diner had been his favorite spot when he'd been alive. An old-school greasy spoon even in the '80s. Wally's parents had worked there when they'd been teenagers; it had been how they'd met. The diner held a special place in Wally's heart and he'd almost cried when you'd presented him with his go-to order: Double cheese burger, extra pickles, extra fries, and a large coke.

"Not quite," You said with a wince, "but I think you'll like it just as much..."

"Then I can't wait, baby," Wally said, glancing up and down the hall before leaning in to press his lips to yours once more. It was turning into an addiction. And since he was going to get caught up in game prep and might not see you for the remainder of the day, he took his time, impressing everything he felt into that kiss and smiling when he heard you release a pleasured sigh.

"You suck," You pouted when he finally released you, "I'm going to fail and it'll be your fault."

Wally smirked, admittedly proud of himself, yet he maintained, "You'll be fine, you've got this. We went over everything three times yesterday and you got everything right."

God, there was that blush he was starting to love so much, "You are a good tutor. Even if you can be distracting."

"Get in there and kill it, baby," He encouraged, winked, watched as you disappeared into the classroom, and then he turned to head to the gym as instructed, fantasizing about what your surprise later could be. However, as the connection between you and him dimmed, his senses rushing back in beyond how you felt and tasted and...smelled—he caught a whiff of something off-putting and familiar.

Pinching his shirt, he brought the fabric to his nose and sniffed.

Heady.

Floral.

Like licking soap.

Without a second thought, Wally spun around and rushed into the classroom. The teacher was already behind his desk correcting another class's papers, the room study hall hushed as everyone read over their test sheets. Wally hurried to the back of the class where you were sat, hunched over your sheet with the eraser end of your pencil between your teeth.

The connection between you and Wally sparked to life again and caused you to glance up before he even reached your seat. Your eyes widened when you saw him approach in a panic, but you otherwise remained still, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He crouched beside your desk, careful not to touch you, gaze supplicating.

"Why do you smell like that?" Wally asked in a whisper though no one else could hear him.

He watched you surreptitiously sniff your hair, make a face of revulsion, and then write in the corner of your test sheet, Aurora's tea which you erased as soon as you knew Wally had read it.

Wally swallowed, nervous, and looked back at you, "I smelled that in the cellar the night Aiden died." He explained, "It was on your breath. And in one of the glass things I picked up."

You stared at him, dumbfounded, for a split second before taking a deep breath and raising your hand. Wally had no clue what you were thinking as you slid out of your desk, leaning most of your weight on your other hand that held that back of your chair.

"Mr. Davis?" You said, and Wally was shocked at how weak you sounded, like you were—oh. "Mr. Davis, I don't feel well, may I please be excused?"

Mr. Davis stood and scrutinized you, brow deeply furrowed, "Are you sure this can't wait?"

You shook your head, took one, two small steps and then, whoops, fell forward. Or, your body did. Your ghost remained upright, freaking out at Wally, "You're sure that was the same smell?"

Wally nodded, his eyes on your unconscious form on the floor. "Did that hurt?" He had to wonder.

"Probably. I won't feel it until—"

And there you went, back into your body as soon as Mr. Davis' hands were on you to check you over. The class was in chaos, students shifting and hovering over your limp form. Mr. Davis instructed someone to fetch the school nurse and three students took it upon themselves to do the honors. By gentle degrees, your eyes fluttered open and you came to, looking for all the world like you'd genuinely fainted due to some unknown affliction. A sad Victorian child, pale and weak.

Oh, you were good, Wally mused, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing.

You sat up, blinked at Mr. Davis, and again asked to be excused. The school nurse dashed in and fussed over you for a moment until she discerned you could stand on your own two feet, "No need to call an ambulance," she said when you'd answered a series of questions she'd posed. "Probably dehydration or stress."

To be on the safe side, Mr. Davis dismissed you. Wally accompanied you to the nurse's office where you were given a glass of water and orders to lay down on the sofa for ten minutes. Wally sat on the ground, back against the bottom of the sofa, shaking his head at your sad panda-like reflexes.

"You just dropped like a sack of potatoes, baby, what were you thinking?"

Peeking out from beneath the cold compress the nurse had handed you, you noticed the nurse had left the room to speak to someone in the hall. Free to answer, you justified, "I was thinking that someone told me they smelled my sister's gross tea the night my little brother was killed by a woman wearing my friend's dad's body." You sat up to give Wally a significant look, "What else was I supposed to do without possibly failing that test?"

Wally conceded that that had been the best way to leave and avoid a bad grade or accusations of cheating. "Next time, maybe don't do something that'll leave a bruise," Wally said softly, reaching up and brushing the backs of his fingers down your cheek where a red mark was blossoming into a bruise from the angle at which you'd hit the floor.

"No promises," You grinned.

Ten minutes later, the nurse cleared you and gave you a note to give to the secretary to dismiss you for the rest of the day should you feel you needed it. Wally wished you could use it just to spend that freedom with him instead, but you reminded him that Mr. Martin would be heavily involved in the rest of Wally's day and that might not go down so well.

Hey, Mr. M, this is one of now three living people who can see us that we lied to you about. Also there's a cult and, oh, hey, did you know Janet was evil or did she move on by complete coincidence right when things got crazy?

Wally agreed, "Yeah, let's not do that." He led you into an empty classroom where you and he could discuss what the hell that smell meant, if it meant anything, which...it had to, right? He was quickly learning everything was connected in some random way, no matter how absurd.

"You're sure it's the same smell?" You wanted to know, leaning against the wall, thumb nail between your teeth.

Wally leaned in close and breathed in your hair, "Yeah, exactly the same. It smelled a lot stronger in the science glass than it does on you now, but it's identical." He confirmed.

A few beats as the gears turned in your head, "My Nana drinks that tea, too. So does Dave. And, honestly, I haven't noticed anything different about anyone. They're all still them." You said, appearing to have trouble connecting the right dots.

"It could mean nothing," Wally rationalized, "Maybe there's an ingredient missing that was in the stuff I smelled versus what's in your sister's tea, who knows."

He saw you process that and then something seemed to come to you, "When I was in that...memory or whatever, the kids Amelia and the others transferred into...they smelled kind of like it." Your gaze caught Wally's, brows knitted in worry, "It wasn't exactly the same but it was close enough. Really flowery. Like—"

"Licking soap?" Wally finished. "It might be related."

"Or it might not." You groaned, pressing your fingertips into your eyes. "Why do I feel like we have all the pieces, but we're putting together two puzzles that might not have anything to do with each other?"

Stepping into your space, Wally took your hands in his and lowered them, kissing your forehead before resting his against it. "We're getting there, baby. We'll figure it all out."

"I hope so," You murmured and Wally could tell you were overwhelmed. "Do you remember any of the ingredients you saw on the shelf?"

"Yeah, a lot of them." He leaned back and searched your expression. "Want me to write them down for you?"

You nodded, "Yes please."

With a gentle smile and soft eyes, "I got you, baby girl," Wally assured. "I'll give it Maddie to give to you." At your adorably lost face, Wally said, "Like you said, Mr. Martin is gonna be heading my hype committee and will probably want me around for my input all day. Maddie, on the other hand, has a habit of disappearing at random."

You chuckled, "Gotchya," and drew Wally into a short, but very hot kiss. One that got Wally's everything running. He moaned against your lips, hands trailing down your hips to your thighs then under your skirt, pressing you more firmly against him.

"You gotta stop doing that," He said with a heavy exhale.

"Doing what?"

Wally nipped your lower lip, flicked his tongue to soothe the sting and kissed you dirty and deep before telling you, "Making my god damn brain melt."

You giggled and told him in no uncertain terms, "Definitely no promises..."

💀___________________________

PROLOGUE - PART TWO

note: no note, just desperate and feverish writing! love you guys!

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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.

This is for anyone scared about college. Fuck what anyone said about shit 'not flying in collage' I promise you half of your professors aren't gonna give a fuck about anything. Today my professor canceled a 90 min lecture because she 'just wasn't feeling it today' probably the funniest email I've ever received.

Therapist: Mr.Winchester, your life isnt a movie.

Sam: i hope its a short film

Therapist: ....