#as is the god given duty of the weed smoking girlfriend

[foobars-cool-car]

i think house could be cuddy's weed smoking girlfriend actually,

[primad0nna]

My Everything || Valk/Ela

Valkyrie and Ela oneshot in which Valk visits her beautiful girlfriend and asks her an important question. { written for my amazing gf @gay-for-iq <3 }

This post contains: Drug usage, mentions of NSFW content, and lotsa fluff

Her house smelled like weed, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Getting high was a hobby of Ela’s and she admired it. It brought her back to the days where Valk and Ela would sit in Valkyrie’s backyard and share a blunt or two, giggling at anything and everything. On the weekends they’d always go out longboarding then at sunset they’d go to their favourite secluded spot by the lake, pull out a bong and smoke until the stars came out. Valk inhaled deeply and set her backpack on the kitchen table, a single rose in hand, exhaling with a grin on her face. There was loud music blaring from the speakers, the beat sounding familiar. Once she realized it was Run Wild by Thutmose she started grooving her way to the living room. Ela was playing the air guitar in her sports bra and PJ pants. It was cute; something nobody really gotta see.

“Having fun?” She raised an eyebrow at Ela, twirling the flower in her hand.

“Can’t hear you.” Ela replied back, still jamming to her song.

Ela was a free spirit off duty and also very creative. Every painting on Ela’s wall was made by either Ela herself or from one of her favourite painters. There was a particular painting Valkyrie liked. It had two naked girls painted on it in a very provocative pose Nobody else really knew it was the two of them except for her, Ela, and the artist. Everything in Ela’s house was different and very unique. She had a modern look but some of her shit was oddly shaped and that’s what she liked. Ela was very unique and once you really got to know her off duty, she was a beautiful human being... who could also punch your teeth in.

The way Ela moved was smooth and on beat. Valk liked to joke and say she could dance better than any other white girl she’s seen. That always ended with Ela chuckling and shaking her head. The song ended and the green haired girl paused her music. “You’re late, you know.” Ela raised an eyebrow, waltzing over to her girlfriend, taking the rose out of her hand.

“Sorry, babe, the florist, uh..” Valk scratched the back of her neck.

Oh god it was that beautiful smile Ela gave her when Valk did something small like this. It always made her heart flutter and her knees weak.

“Well, English wasn’t her first language. Let’s just leave it at that.” She could feel the hearts bubbling around her and her arms began shaking. This girl made her weak, as previously stated before, and her mind foggy. Ela was on her mind all day and sometimes she’d miss important details to missions just because her mind was elsewhere... But it was all worth it.

“Hm.” Ela let her playlist shuffle. 

Oh no.

I’ll Still Have Me by CYN started playing. It was such a beautiful song and she was surprised Ela even had it on her playlist. Ela must have stolen it from Valk’s playlist while she wasn’t looking. Sure Valk seemed like one of the boys but she did love her slow songs too. Valk offered a hand and persuaded her to dance with a sweet smile. Ela gladly took her hand and swayed to the beat. Valk looked deep into Ela’s eyes, sighing happily. Ela was her safe place and her home. She was her person. 

“I’m surprised your hair isn’t in that tiny ponytail.” Valk raised an eyebrow at her, admiring the messy hair she had. 

“Oh you missed it, darling, it was up for a little bit but it must’ve fallen out while I was napping.” Ela shrugged. 

“You look-”

“If you’re going to tell me I look beautiful, you’re going to get punched.”

“Well, I was going for ‘adorable’ but that works too.” Valk scrunched her nose. 

There it was; the chuckle and head shake. And just like that her knees felt like they were going to give out on her. Her hands were definitely shaking and she knew Ela could tell. Ela wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s neck, head resting on her neck. You know, the typical slow dance. Valk placed her hands on Ela’s hips and buried her face into Ela. Every human being has their own scent and Ela’s was her favourite smell in the world. It was so comforting and it made her feel like everything was going to be okay.

For the time being it didn’t feel like time was going at all. These are the moments Valk loved. Having her girlfriend close to her and in such an intimate way just felt so right. 

I will see you in part of me and who I was back then If I don’t have you, at least I still have me. And if I don’t have you, at least I still have me.

“What’s the rose for?” Ela whispered, rubbing her finger on the stem and letting her thumb break off one of the thorns.

“Do you remember that promise I made about sending you a rose for everything I love about you?”

“You’re still adding on? I should at least have a 10 by now.”

“Two dozen, now, actually.”

“Hmm, then what’s today’s?”

“You feel my hands shaking? That’s because of your smile. I love the smile you give me when I say something stupid or romantic. Whenever you smile it’s like the heavens are telling me that it’s safe and the world will be all right.” Valk’s cheeks were a bright pink and she could feel it.

Ela’s head was filled with all the reasons she loved her and she could feel a smile creeping along her lips.

This first one is simple. I love your style. 

You’re unlike anyone I know and you’re your own person.

You don’t let anyone control you and you take charge when you feel like something could possibly fail.

You’re very creative and talented in the arts. I could never draw and I admire you when you’re painting. You’re so focused and determined to get your drawings just the way you want it.

You might be a professional soldier but you still pushed to keep your hair colour. That’s so beautiful.

You can handle yourself well.

This is a touchy one but even though your father didn’t favour you like he did Zofia, you still love him like he did and visit his grave when you can. Especially on Father’s Day.

Your skin is so soft and it’s so delicate. I could suck on your skin lightly and you’ll get a mark so easily. I’m surprised your concealer can cover up all the hickeys I’ve given you. That leads to my next five. I love the way you moan in my ear while I’m fucking you. I love how you whimper while I’m eating you out. I love when your legs shake afterwards and you walk like you’re drunk. I love your lips on mine and my skin. Most of all, I love how you whisper ‘I love you’ even when you’re out of breath.

I love how you we can laugh at scary movies together and how dumb people are. You know, because they haven’t had military training like we have. I’m pretty sure that person would be dead in minutes if they crossed us.

I love your face on Christmas when you open the gifts I picked out for you. You don’t take things for granted and it’s not about what I’ve gotten you. It’s the thought that counts and you appreciate every little thing.

I love the way your face lights up when your favourite artists post new projects.

This one might be odd but I love how you fight. The way you, well we, but it was mainly you, beat that dude’s ass at the bar for calling us faggots and abominations. That was hot. You are so strong.

You’re a great solider and your aim is impeccable.

You’re very independent and you don’t need me or anyone but you want us to stay.

You’re so good with kids when they approach you and ask you about your hair. It was cute when the little girl asked when the pictures were gonna appear on her skin and when her hair is going to turn green. Also how you interact with my little niece is adorable.

You don’t notice this one but when you really get focused on something you stick your tongue out and suck on your lips.

You always leave an extra tip to add on what I give. My favourite game we play is “Tip the Bill” and even then you do it.

You always offer the last hit even if I say ‘I’m done for now’. 

By the time Ela was done daydreaming about all the roses she has received, the song was over and Valk had taken her chin with her index finger and thumb and looked deep into her eyes. 

“You’re my world and my rock. Nothing could ever come between us. And now I think it’s time for you to know how I really feel.” Valkyrie placed a small kiss upon Ela’s lips.

“This has been the best 5 years of my life and I know I’ve said this before but I couldn’t be happier. You are so kind, badass, and just amazing. You’re everything I could ever ask for. I love you and all of your flaws. Everything has fallen into place just perfectly. We have gone through all the good and terrible. We might fight and it might get ugly at times but we always make sure to never go to bed upset. I hope you can forgive me for everything I have done, which I know you have already but it’s nice to know that you’ll say it, and every mean thing we have swapped to each other. And I am so very happy you got the house you’ve been eyeing for a while. It fits you well. You’re the woman of my dreams and my prayers have been answered.” Meghan knelt down on one knee and pulled out a ring from her jacket pocket, looking up at her girlfriend lovingly. “Elżbieta Bosak, will you make my last dream come true and be my wife?”

Ela gasped and turned a bright red, covering her mouth with one hand. She screamed and nodded her head. “Of course!” She exclaimed. This day couldn’t have gotten any better.

Valkyrie put the ring on her now fiancee’s finger and got up, cupping Ela’s cheek and kissing her deeply. A single happy tear streamed down Ela’s face as she kissed Valk just as passionately. It felt like her soul had left her body and burst into fireworks. Now it was Ela’s turn to feel weak in the knees. The rest of the night was spent watching movies and smoking as much weed as their lungs could handle. 

[savegraduation]

John Hensle, 1993-2016

It was three years ago today that my friend and fellow NYRAnian John Hensle passed away.

I first met John in 2010 when he was 16. I had finished the first draft of my libretto for The Bittersweet Generation (then called Angst). For those who haven't read my previous posts wherein I reference it, The Bittersweet Generation is a rock musical I'm writing that tells the story of a year in the life of six teens (Melanie Hayworth, Bryce Schlitter, Paul Moreno, Trina Evangelisti, Alan Isaacs, and Sarah Chiang) in the fictional Sun Belt suburb of Armando, starting in the summer of 2007 just before school begins, and ending with the alternative prom in 2008. They experience their struggles with youth rights issues. Their high school, Dulcevida High, has an assistant-principal named Mr. Pittman who lectures students about how they "must obey the rules", despite being very underhanded himself, a social conformist math teacher named Mrs. Dahlgren, and a believe-the-worst-stereotypes-about-Millennials AP Bio teacher named Mr. Orozco, among other faculty. One student is even framed for doing graffiti in the boys' restroom by Mr. Pittman as revenge for being intransigent when his teacher and assistant-principal expect him to take his hat off. It is highly recommended reading. (Oh, and the songs are great too.)

I had the libretto and lyrics, but wanted someone to set my lyrics to music. John, who was posting under the screenname Badlands1790, contacted me by PM on the NYRA Internet forum, telling me he was willing to collaborate on my rock musical. He said he played guitar and had had writer's block "for the longest time". He put up a YouTube video for our song "Students of the World, Unite!", which he later took down. "Students of the World, Unite!", the song sung at the climax of the story, is a pop-punky rocking tune that sounds something like Green Day, the Offspring, or Lit. John's melisma on such lines as "Now we form a wall that is gia-ant" is superb.

I researched John Hensle's activities with NYRA and learned that John had coauthored a booklet to help youth with students' rights issues with a number of other NYRAnians. I maintained an interest in John's posts on the NYRA board.

After a few Facebook conversations with John, I discovered John and I had many things in common. I discovered, for instance, that we were both youth rights supporters and both rocked out. We were both fascinated with drugs. We also share our dislike for the way the holidays are hyped and our deist religious views. There are some differences, though. For example, John is an INTP per the Myers-Briggs taxonomy of personality, while I'm an ENFP. And John was an avid cyclist, whereas hearing or reading the word "bxke" makes me have to pick my navel due to my logaesthesia (it feels as if a jagged piece of metal is caught in my navel).

Shortly after we met, I discussed my logaesthesia with John. He told me he had been diagnosed with Asperger's when he was 2 years old, but called for an end to all the IEP's in the eighth grade after he stopped meeting the diagnostic criteria. He had his diagnosis revoked, and said it was the only time a student with a diagnosis of an autism spectrum disorder had been undiagnosed and taken out of special ed in his school district.

Once I was discussing the cynicism that led many people to McCarthyesquely accuse youth rights supporters of being pedophiles, and commented that if a state senator or assemblyperson wants to lower her or his state's age of consent from 18 to 16, someone in the audience is sure to claim that that politician really wants to touch 7-year-olds' junk. John replied: "Yeah, I wish the general public could have intellectual debates about actually understanding articulate points, instead of reacting to a word or two and painting a negative stereotype. The world would be a lot better of a place if we could do that." That has become one of my favorite John Hensle quotes of all time!

Another time John said: "Youth is largely a relative construct, I would agree . . . but it's a matter of society seeing potential in youth. Society does not see youth as a period immediately useful to it so it marginalizes it and doesn't give young people meaningful opportunities."

When I asked John about his religion, John said: "I have come to believe in destiny and it's a great way to live life. You can't prove it either way, so you might as well believe what makes you happiest is true."

Sometimes when I created art, I'd listen to John Hensle's masterpiece with Secret Lands, "Voyager Golden Record". It is still my favorite Secret Lands song, as it makes me think of creating alien conlangs!

John hoped to meet me in person when he was coming over to the West Coast, but that never materialized. John began smoking weed and attending Buddhist meditation sessions and later Bahá'í temples in college. As his college years progressed, John became deeply into weed and later psychedelics. He once rode his car into the wilderness under the influence of drugs. He became a Shia LaBeouf fan and suggested I try a guided psychedelic experience to help me with my logaesthesia. In 2015, John was diagnosed with schizophrenia. While he had been a down-to-earth, even cynical realist when I met him -- he reminded me of Howe & Strauss' description of the Nomad archetype -- his drug-induced schizophrenia made John start to sound like what Howe & Strauss would call a Prophet instead. All this for a Millennial born in 1993. (Although, to be fair, few Millennials I know fit the dutiful authoritarian description of the Straussian generational theory.) At the end of 2015, he closed down his Facebook account. I emailed him, and he replied that there were too many people he didn't care about following him on Facebook (but that I wasn't one of said people). In May of 2016, his Facebook account was reactivated. I last spoke with John on October 22. We never met in person.

In mid-December of 2016, I was shattered when I went to John's Facebook wall and saw messages about how he had passed away. At first I was just numb -- in shock -- but then I lay down on my bed and started to feel ill. I knew John was into psychedelics, so at first I suspected it was a drug overdose, but then I read the obituary that said he "passed away on Dec. 5, 2016, in his sleep". At first I was just in shock -- stunned. Then I lay on my bed and felt really bad.

When I heard John had passed away, I thought about the things Landau & Hensle will never be able to do together, like accept music awards. I read the stale obituary, which didn't do justice to this amazing friend with an amazing and unconventional mind. I want to meet John again, but I don't know when or under what circumstances it's going to be. I want to share so many new songs with him, but I don't know whether he's hearing them as I play.

Until December of 2016, my circle of friends didn't overlap much with John's circle of friends. To the people in my life, John was just "the boy who's writing the music for James' play". And to John's Facebook friends, I was just "the boy who's writing a rock musical with John". But after John passed away, I've had his friends reach out to me.

I wrote John Hensle's mother on Facebook on January 3. For almost 5 months, she didn't even read my IM. Then, on June 2, she read my IM and friended me. I later learned that John was hit by an 18-wheeler while riding his bicycle in Terre Haute (where he’s from) in November. He had his tibia replaced with a rod, and John said, "Thank you all. I hope I didn't bum out your day too much." as he was lifted into the ambulance. On December 5, John finally passed away. The official cause of death was given as cardiac arrhythmia.

John jammed with Daniel Mutchler in the John Hensle & Daniel Mutchler Unnamed Project. He also did a number of songs on a project called Secret Lands, which are up at Soundcloud. Secret Lands released such songs as "Trap", "Ebbinghaus", "Floating" (about his transmale ex-girlfriend), and "The Final Girl Lives On", which can be read at the /secretlands directory on Soundcloud. I enjoyed all the times I spent songwriting with John and remember the dreams we share to have our music become part of the national repertoire.

I never met John in person, even though we discussed meeting up on many occasions. Our friendship was an online friendship, and yet it was much more than another online friendship. We were like soulmates. We were artistic partners. I was his brother from another mother.

After Avatar composer James Horner was killed in a plane crash, someone wrote, "I hope, you are somewhere, you would want to be after the death". This is the best wish John can receive. I, too, hope John went where he wanted to go, instead of the popularized version of the Christian Heaven where angels play harps and sit on clouds all day, doing notiing but singing songs that never run out of things to say about the glory of God and how he has saved us all from our sins.

And that song, "Students of the World, Unite!"? A few days after John passed away, I searched for it in my email box at Yahoo, and finally found a demo version of John singing the first verse, with his guitar, on video. You may email me at savegraduation@yahoo.com if you'd like a copy.

In commemoration of John today, I've been listening to his favorite artists on my iPod -- the ones I also have (Muse, Primitive Radio Gods, the Sundays, Third Eye Blind).

John has always had the view towards life and death that Patrick Henry had:"Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!" He believes life is not worth living if you can't enjoy it, which is a very youth rights attitude. It's ageists who believe in enforcing punitive laws like curfews and MIP's that punish teens "in order to protect them from their own stupidity". His views on life and death are attested to in his song Six Feet Below.

Although I'm sad my friend passed away three years ago today, I hold onto my conviction that it would have been unspeakably wrong to arrest him for smoking weed and trying hallucinogens in college, while his brain was supposedly still developing according to the "25" myth. (Technically, your brain is still developing during the college years, but it turns out this is a canard, as science has now discovered that the brain continues to develop and change all throughout a person's life. It's like saying a 50-year-old shouldn't have any legal rights because her brain is "not finished changing".) It was John's choice, and John's having the freedom to choose drugs without being arrested or jailed for it was so much more important than whether John had a capacity to make what social-conservative arbiters would judge as "good" decisions.

Here's to John Hensle, youth-rightser extraordinaire. You don't look a day over 23. (OK, maybe 5 months over 23.)

R.I.P. John Alfred Hensle, July 5, 1993 - December 5, 2016

[titaniaintheflesh]

Wendy 2

Jerome Valeska x OC

Warnings: nada

Chapter 1

The sound of buttons clicking against the faux wood floor sounded again and again as Wendy stood at the white dresser she’d had since she was seven. It had tiny drawings of princesses, Shrek, and anything she had been into as a child. It also had crude stickers and tiny engraved messages, those were more recent. She had been digging through her clothes for almost an hour, unable to settle on an outfit. Of course, she knew she shouldn’t have been stressing so much, after all it was only an outing to the circus with her uncle. But this tiny nagging voice in the back of her head kept voicing her insecurities. What if someone she knew was there? What if they saw her in her old GCPD summer camp T-Shirt and she lost her bad bitch reputation? She had an image to protect, after all. So she stood in the middle of her and Micaela’s shared bedroom, a pair of old underwear that had seen more horrors than a war veteran, fishnet stockings, mismatched socks, and two different bras on. After throwing another shirt on the floor she grunted in frustration, falling to the floor and glaring at the pile of clothes as if it was their fault she wasn’t satisfied with any of them.

“Joe!” she shouted suddenly, turning her head up in hopes that the sound would travel more. “Joe can you dress me please! I don’t have anything to wear!” Joanne came in already laughing.

“That is ridiculous, the only thing you spend money on is clothes, how can you not have anything to wear?” Wendy stuck her tongue out at her sister.

“You sound like mom.” she mocked, kicking a pair of ripped jeans. Joanne didn’t spare her a second thought, twirling the eyeshadow brush she had in her hands and pushing off the wall to go back to her own room. When trying to settle on who got their own room the girls had decided to wrestle. They were young and arrogant (more than they are now) and thought they could beat Joanne, who was built more like a dodgeball than a six year old at the time. She had sat on eight year old Wendy and held little toddler Micaela in a headlock and now she had her own room. Wendy huffed, but accepted that she was on her own. Micaela has been knocked out since she came home the night before and no amount of noise would wake her. Wendy stood and cracked her neck, she put in her battered Peter Pan VHS and looked back to the pile of clothes. “Do your worst.” she told the inanimate pile of cloth threateningly. As she once again picked through the pile of clothes Peter Pan was telling Wendy how to get to Neverland. She hummed happily as the smiling face of the red headed boy floated into her head. Peter Pan. She released an audible scoff at the thought, but as the Disney movie continued in the background her thoughts kept returning to him. She frowned and shook her head when his hazel eyes stubbornly refused to flee her head. She hadn’t been like this over a boy since… Well, since Peter Pan. The real Peter Pan. Wendy remembered being entranced by the red headed lost boy when she was younger. She used to pause the movie and reach up to the screen, trying to reach through to touch him. She couldn’t, obviously. She had never felt Peter Pan’s hair, she had only felt static tingling against her fingers. She had felt his hair, though.The fake Peter Pan. When he kissed her in her van, her fingers had been tangled in his copper hair, using it to push him closer to her, always wanting more of him. More of his touches, more of his quips, more of his tongue. Wendy was startled from her daydream by Micaela stirring in her sleep, rolling over onto her back and snorting before falling still again. Wendy focused once more on finding an outfit, reaching for a pair of boots and pulling them over her mismatched socks.

Soon Jim was at their door, exchanging pleasantries with Wendy’s mother, who had to pick up the graveyard shift at the GCPD and would unfortunately be missing the circus.

“Uncle J.” Wendy greeted awkwardly, giving him a loose hug. “Sorry I missed you the other night, traffic was crazy.” Jim grinned and ruffled the girl’s already messy hair.

“That’s alright Windex, I’m seeing you now, aren’t I?” she nodded, pulling her father’s jacket closser around herself when her uncle opened the door for her, bracing herself against the chilly Gotham air. Wearing a dress had been a bad idea. She sighed remorsefully at this realization, trying to tug the red fabric down to cover more of her thighs.

“Wendy? Oh my God! You look so cute!”

“Hi Lee.” Wendy waved to her uncle’s girlfriend with a tight smile. Lee quickly wrapped her arms around the teenager, giving her a warmer hug than Wendy had given her uncle. Wendy had never been very close with Jim, he reminded her too much of her father, looking at him was like looking at her dad, or what he would have looked like if he were still alive. It wasn’t that she felt sad or anything, though Wendy was a sentimental person she tended to become attached to memories more than to people. It was more like jealousy that she felt toward Jim. Wendy wanted to have known her father as much as Jim did, she wished she could have built a stronger relationship to the man who was responsible for half of her DNA before he died. All she had of her dead dad were a couple trinkets, Jim had his face.

“Where are your sisters?” Lee looked up at their tiny subdivision, searching the upstairs windows for either of Wendy’s sisters.

“Honestly? They’re probably taking a few hits of Mikey’s joint.” Lee was unphased by Wendy’s bluntness, only watching the stairs to see when the girls would appear. They did, wide grins and bloodshot eyes proving that Wendy was right. Joe had worn her wire framed glasses in an effort to hide the redness of her eyes, but they weren’t doing much for the smell.

“You girls ready to go?” Wendy nodded to her uncle, sliding into the back of his cop car first. This wasn’t the first time Wendy had been in a cop car, even though she had never before been in Jim’s car.

“Ah, feels like home.” Micaela said mockingly, leaning her head back against the middle seat and making herself completely at home.

“Have you been arrested Mikey?” Lee asked, maternal concern spreading over her face.

“Only by my mom.” Micaela answered, picking lint off of her jeans. “They always call her first, ask if they should arrest me or let me off with a warning, she always makes sure I get the maximum sentence.” yes, Danielle Gomez-Gordon was nothing if not a stickler for the rules. She was ashamed that her daughters would do anything to contribute to the chaos Gotham was already filled with, but that didn’t stop Mikey from selling weed, and it didn’t stop Wendy from bring a can of spray paint wherever she went. If anything, having a cop mom made them want to do more, because they weren’t afraid of it, they had been to the GCPD since they were kids and spending the night in one of it’s cells felt like home. The cops would bring them pity doughnuts, they would even let them use the regular bathroom (against Detective GG’s orders).

“That’s ‘cause you’re her baby Mikey! She wants you to grow up to be a good citizen!” Joe had never been arrested. She found that she liked to rebel in other aspects of her life, namely her pants. Micaela rolled her eyes and sunk down in her seat, elbowing Joe once she was low enough. The pair began to squabble, each trying to sink their nails in the other’s scalp. Jim and Lee laughed from the front seat, cuddling up to each other and being disgustingly happy. It made Wendy smile, though. Theirs was a relationship you couldn’t help but smile at, they were ooey, gooey, and completely head over heels for each other.

“Kay, you ready girls?” Lee still had that maternal look on her face. Maybe it was part of being a Doctor, always wanting to take care of people. Like it was somehow your duty to help people un-fuck what they fucked up. The group wandered through the circus for a while, each choosing a tooth achingly sweet carnival food, save Jim, who got a corndog. The show went by in a flash. A mix of jarring music and colors, “bathroom breaks” that were excuses to smoke a cigarette behind the main tent, flirting with stage hands, and saying “Yeah that was hilarious Uncle J!” with a straight face.

“So, what’d you think?” Mikey asked, popping her bubble gum and digging her shoe in the dirt.

“It was pretty great until that clown started beating up the trapeze artists.” Joe frowned, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the memory of the clown coming out.

“Really? I honestly thought that was when the show hit its’ climax.” Wendy countered, grinning when Joe rolled her eyes.

“Wanna explore?” Micaela asked, losing interest in the conversation as soon as Joe opened her mouth to argue that violence is never funny. The brunette didn’t wait for an answer as she went to go wander through the animal cages. Wendy watched as she popped another bubble and flipped off a tiger that was trying to reach her through the bars of its cage. Mikey stepped closer and skipped away with a wide smile, then repeated. That would keep her entertained for a while.

“Let’s go find those trapeze artists.” Joe said, eyes glimmering with excitement as she reached for Wendy’s sleeve, already well on her way out of the circle of cops. Wendy dodged Joanne’s hand.

“I don’t really wanna watch you suck some rando’s dick, Joe.” Wendy raised her hands and backed away from her younger sister apologetically.

“What are you gonna do instead, Wendy? Graffiti a picture of me sucking some rando’s dick on a tent?” Wendy grinned maliciously and reached into her tote, pulling a red can out and spinning it in the air.

“Maybe.” Joanne’s eyes widened, she placed her fists against her hips firmly, brows knitting together angrily.

“Wendy Gabriela Gordon, you’d better not!” Joe yelled to Wendy’s retreating form. Wendy rolled her eyes and spun on her heel.

“Don’t be a…” she mimed a square to finish her sentence, shaking her bottle and turning back toward the now desolate circus. Wendy wasn’t actually going to paint anything, the poor people working at this place had enough shit to deal with without having to clean up some teenager’s shitty art. She slipped the can back into her tote once she was far enough away from Joe so her sister wouldn’t see and think maybe Wendy was “responsible”, or “matured”. She shoved her ice cold hands into the pockets of her jacket. The stars were different outside the city, in that there were more. Gotham’s light pollution was something to fear and it had never been more obvious to her than that moment. Wandering past candy cane striped tents, nothing but the occasional grunt of a working man to disturb her silence. Her neck was craned to the point where it ached, but she couldn’t be bothered enough to care as she tried to pick constellations out of the shining mess that hung above her. “Hey look, Leo.” she said, pleased that she found one, she pointed it out to no one, because there was no one there. Smiling at the stars and imaging she was a cartographer, hundreds of years ago. Sailing through the sea with nothing but the stars to guide her. Yeah sure, she only knew five constellations, but she thought she could probably figure it out.

“Where?” she squealed, almost dropping her bag at the sudden intrusion. She stumbled away from where she had heard the voice, turning around with raised fists (you can never be too careful in Gotham). She was even more shocked by what she saw.

“Peter?! What the fuck! You scared the shit out of me!” she reached to slap the boy, who’s amusement was starting to piss her off. He ducked his head and her hand hit his arm.

“Wendy! Wendy- darlin’, calm down!” he was bursting with giggles when she finally ceased her assault.

“What are you doing here?” she said, as she spoke you could hear the anger leaving her voice and by the time she closed her mouth she had calmed down. His eyebrows raised, looking around as if he had forgotten where he was.

“I should be asking you that question, doll face! I live here!”

“Oh, my uncle brought me.” she informed him, shifting her feet awkwardly. He looked at her expectantly, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. “What?” she snapped.

“Where’s Leo?” he repeated his question from before.

“Oh, uhm, c’mere.” she commanded, tugging him over so their sides were pressed together. Her hand shot out to point to where she had been staring before. “There, see?” he frowned at the bunch of stars she had pointed out.

“Is that supposed to be a lion?” she grinned at his abrasiveness. He looked so upset at the sky. “That doesn’t look anything like a lion!” Wendy rolled her eyes and pulled him close again.

“You have to use your imagination dummy, see? That’s his tail, and that’s his head.”

“I still can’t see it.” he admitted.

“It’s easier to see when you’re laying down, plus your neck doesn’t feel like shit.” she informed him, releasing her grip on his arm reluctantly. She looked up to him to find him already looking at her.

“I mean… I do have a place.” her heart skipped a beat, fluttering in her chest rapidly when she looked at the hand he was offering to her.

“Does it have a roof?” she slipped her hand into his and he beamed.

“It has more than that, babydoll.” she raised her eyebrows at his suggestion.

“A door…?” he giggled maniacally.

“Oh! You are just too much fun!” Wendy placed her other hand on his and he lead her through the circus to a trailer park. “Ta-da! Home sweet home.” he patted his trailer lovingly. It advertised a snake charmer, her hooded eyes staring down anyone daring enough to visit her trailer.

“Is that supposed to be you? Gotta say, you really glowed up.” he leaned against the trailer and shrugged humbly.

“Must be all the greens I eat, ma always told me if I had enough of them I would grow up to be strong and handsome.” Wendy smiled and followed him up the steps of the trailer.

“Well I gotta say stranger, it’s working.” he frowned at her name for him, but before he could complain Wendy was hoisting herself onto the roof. Her fingers burned from rubbing against the sheet metal as she pulled herself up but she brushed them off on her pants and pretended not to care. “You need help getting up?” she called over her shoulder. She was answered by a thump and a “no” grunted through gritted teeth. Peter stomped over to her and lay next to her.

“Show me more.” he demanded like a child asking for another bedtime story. She smiled and searched the stars for another constellation she recognized.

“Ah! There! That’s Orion’s belt.” she grinned up at the three stars, turning to Peter, wanting to see his reaction to the stars. He wasn’t looking at the stars, when she rolled her head over she immediately met his eyes. It was like striking a match inside her stomach, when her eyes met his she could practically feel the sparks that flew. “Sometimes…” she broke their eye contact, looking back up to the stars, eyes wide with wonder. “Sometimes I wish I could turn off all of Gotham’s lights so I could see all the stars.”

“I’ll do it.” he spoke with fierce determination. She laughed, boys so often made her empty promises it was the only reaction she had left. “I’m serious.” Wendy searched his eyes for amusement, any hint that he was joking around. When she found none she smiled at him, a challenge in her eyes.

“How?” he smiled, seeing that she believed him.

“See that, over there?” he took her elbow in one of his hands, pulling her so her back was resting against his chest as he pointed to Gotham city, specifically the generator that powered basically the entire city. “Ka-poosh!” she laughed when he mimed an explosion with his hand.

“You’re gonna become an arsonist to impress a girl you barely know?” she asked sarcastically, turning to meet his eyes. Her eyes flickered down to his lips and she prayed he hadn’t noticed, but how could he not when their faces were inches apart. He was so close she could feel his breath on her when he scoffed.

“I’m already an arsonist, darlin’, impressing pretty girls is just a bonus.” she let her eyes wander down his face unashamedly. Going from his hazel eyes to the scattering of freckles over his nose, looking for shapes among them like she had the sky. To his lips, which were still split open in a self-satisfied grin that she wanted to wipe off him, to the unshaven orange scruff growing on his chin, and back to his lips.

“Pretty, huh?” when he hummed her entire body vibrated along with his chest, making her breath catch in her lungs.

“Yeah, you’re right, pretty doesn’t even begin to describe you darlin’.” she grinned mischievously, her eyes meeting his again.

“Is this the part where you tell me you find me ridiculously annoying and/or pretentious? I’ve had that happen before.” he shook his head and it was his turn to examine all her features. She watched his eyes drift from her own eyes, which were still examining him like it was the first time she was seeing him, drinking in all the ways his face would contort with his emotions. His eyes drifted to her nose and her own smattering of freckles, to her heart shaped mouth, then to the piercings decorating her ears, and back to her eyes.

“Nah, it’s the part where I tell you you’re fucking gorgeous… and annoying and pretentious.” she grinned at his quip, taking her hand up to trace circles on the inside of his wrist.

“Are you gonna kiss me or should I find another circus boy?” he frowned at her, insult making his eyebrows draw together.

“I was getting to that! Hold your horses.” she was mid laugh when his lips connected with hers, his mouth taking the tinkling giggles from the air and claiming them as his own. It wasn’t so funny anymore when he pushed her onto her back, twisting around her body so the teenagers were aligned. His hands were gripping the sides of her neck, tracing gentle circles on the hinge of her jaw, his thighs on either side of her legs, which she was grateful for because it hid the fact that her babydoll dress had ridden up past her underwear. Her hands grasped the fabric around his waist desperately, clawing at him to bring him closer. He’s so skinny, she thought when she pressed her palms against his stomach and felt his ribs poking out from underneath his skin. His lips were like fire spreading over her body, lighting her skin up like a beacon into the night.

“Hey,” she said, separating from him with a series of quick pants and gasps. “you have a bed?” he looked almost surprised, still reeling from their kiss. Though that dazed confusion quickly warped into a predatory grin.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” he reached out his hand to help her up and the pair descended down the side of his trailer. As Wendy was climbing down her still shaking fingers gave in. She squealed and darted out all her limbs in a blind search for something to hold her up. In that search she caught herself on the roof again, and she accidentally kicked a hole through the woman’s eye.

“Shit!” she yelped “Fuck! I’m so sorry, I was falling, and-” she was cut off by Peter Pan laughing wildly as he stared at the hole she had kicked in. “You’re not mad?” he managed to get a ‘no’ out in between his gut rolling laughter. She laughed a little in relief, releasing a breath and feeling herself relax. “Thank God, that would’ve been a total mood killer.” he grinned, finally calming his breaths, though when he took her hand he was still releasing little chuckles.

“You can kick her more if you want.” he offered. She rolled her eyes and began to follow after him as he led her into his trailer.

“As much as I love damaging things I’m not gonna ruin your wall, Peter.” he paused in the hallway leading from his kitchenette to what looked like a living room/bedroom. She looked at him in the dim light from the circus outside curiously.

“Uh, Jerome.” he said sheepishly. “You should probably know my real name.” she laughed and drew closer to him.

“You have a last name, Jerome?” his eyes darkened when she pressed herself against him, looking up to him with that spark of mischief that he had come to recognize as purely her’s.

“Yeah, why? Are you planning on calling out my full name?” she shrugged.

“No, I just need more information for when I stalk you later.” he grinned down at her, face lighting up with pure joy, though his eyes were still dark.

“Valeska, can’t have you stalking the wrong Jerome.” she grinned and shook her head, pushing him backward into the futon impatiently.

“Nope.” she said before straddling his thighs, resting her hands in the crook between his neck and shoulders as she claimed his mouth. His fingers replicated the circles he had been drawing on her jaw before but up and down her thighs. Wendy separated from him with a little pop, reaching for the hem for his shirt and tugging on it to silently command him to remove it. He did, tugging the dark grey cotton above his head, before doing the same with her dress. She shivered as his hands traced the length of her torso, dipping down to his neck as soon as her hands were out of the red sleeves. Jerome gasped as her lips trailed fleeting butterfly kisses down his neck, stopping to suck where her hands hand been before.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” he asked quietly, as if he were afraid his voice would shatter her. His arms trailed from her thighs to loop around her, pressing her closer to him. “So gorgeous.” she smiled against his skin at the sincerity in his words.

“Aw thanks Valeska.” he grinned at her, reaching behind her and fumbling blindly with the clasp of her bra. She was about to reach to help him when there was an abrupt knocking at the door. She frowned and quirked her eyebrows in question to Jerome, both sat still, debating if whatever was on the other side was worth stopping what they were doing. The knock came again and Wendy froze when she recognized the voice demanded the opening of his door as her uncle’s.

“Shit.” they both said.

“Okay, fuck, can I go out the window?” Jerome frowned as she scrambled to put on her dress.

“Why? Are the police after you?” she laughed sarcastically.

“No, but I am related to two of them.” his eyebrows flew up, lips falling into a little ‘o’.

“Yeah, fuck, you can go out the window.” he said, snatching his shirt from the floor and hurrying to help her push the jammed window up. She paused when she had one leg out the window, looking at him with regret.

“So, will I see you again?” he grinned and pulled his shirt down all the way. He took her lips in a gentle kiss that ended far too soon.

“Oh Wendy, darling, I’ll just fly to your window.” she frowned at the non committal answer. He rolled his eyes. “I’ll find you before you leave, meet me at the carousel.” she nodded, giving his cheek a quick peck before swinging her other leg through the tiny hole and trying her best to land softly on the ground.

Carousel, carousel… where the fuck is the carousel?

___

“Wendy!” his boyish voice shouted excitedly. “Wendy, where are you?” he called, wiping his fake tears away as he continued to search for a flash of her black curls, or hear the sadistic tinkling laughter he had come to love. He frowned at the carousel, hope of finding the girl vanishing. His shoulders slumped and he felt blind rage overtake him. “Fuck!” he yelled to no one, tossing his head back to stare at the same stars they had been looking at not two hours ago. He had barely managed to escape from Detective Gordon to see her, he felt the familiar prickle of real tears put pressure on his eyes. He wouldn’t actually cry, obviously. He hadn’t cried in years and he wasn’t about to start again, but the frustration and anger were building inside him beyond what he could handle. Jerome looked back to the carousel, almost hoping to see her, he didn’t. “What…?” he trailed off, seeing red liquid dripping down a purple horse’s leg. He approached slowly to investigate, curiosity overtaking him as he hurried over to the horse.

PETER PAN, CALL ME

He grinned wide, writing the number scrawled under her message on his arm. “Looks like I don’t have to fly to your window Wendy.” he muttered softly to himself, heart thumping in his chest in anticipation. He tugged his sleeve over his arm protectively and wandered back to Detective Gordon, an excuse for his absence already prepared as he made his eyes well up with tears again, even giving a heaving sob for good measure.

Chapter 3

MASTERLIST