angel

(no subject)

[Private Post]

I dream about it every night. We're surging through the air faster than I can catch my breath, and I start to laugh as I feel wetness cling to my eyelashes. The air is cool and his lips are warm as they claim mine, and we're still flying. Flying.

It's never anything less than transcendent, so elusive and incredible that it aches, I feel it through and through. I never imagined I'd feel this way, that I'd have the opportunity.

Clark is everything, everything I have to protect. He's what I was put on this earth for.
angel

(no subject)

[Locked from Clark]

I'm probably too old for this. When I started this journal, I was young and wild. I did whatever with whomever. Now, I'll do just about anything—but only with Clark. And most things I know he won't go along with. Slowly, as he becomes his own man and his parents' prohibitions fall off, I have a slightly larger scope of influence. Clark turned 20 this past week, and I was able to give him the truck that was returned when he was 15, following on our first meeting. Not the same truck exactly, of course, but a contemporary equivalent. He needs a reliable vehicle to drive between our apartment in the city and the farm. It was a practical gift. Red, and large, and practical.

I'm sure Mr. Kent didn't approve, but I'd been given the green light, and I haven't had the truck returned to me, as of yet, so this time round it would appear it's a go. When I arrived in the truck Friday afternoon, the look on Clark's eyes was absolutely delicious. Pure, materialistic joy—something I rarely get to see in his face. I wanted to spoil him, I wanted to see him indulged. He deserves to be indulged. Of course, I also wanted him to fuck me against the truck—right there in the farmhouse driveway. That would have been part of the gift, if his parents hadn't been inside the living room at the time. A pity.

The truck was the material gift, but I had planned every element of the weekend, designed it carefully to give Clark a sense of security and control. And old fashioned fun. He's 20, but he doesn't need the weight of the world on him at every moment. I want to be able to keep him safe from the worries, to let him feel that the world is his.

So, Saturday morning started out with video games and a menu of his choice. Eventually we left the apartment , for dinner at a little place I know in Little Italy. No need to foist strange foods on him—pasta it was. And red wine. I'm trying to give him a taste for the better things in life… with time.

And then we hit a certain night spot where privacy is guaranteed. I didn't want to push Clark to do anything he was uncomfortable with, but he seemed anything but. My intentions were that he might recover some of his sense of control in a space where prohibitions we've long lived with were lifted. Here we could touch, we could do whatever we wanted, in public, with no fear of recrimination. An expensive privilege, one that I would have paid for long before, if I had thought Clark were so inclined. I should have tested the water earlier.

He went much further than I imagined he would. Had me up against the wall, legs spread, begging him for it, with people mere feet away. We were hidden in shadows; no one was watching, but they were there. And he seemed to almost get off on it, like it were a drug. Not that I want Clark under the influence. I just… like to see him let go like that. And I don't mind reaping the benefits. Selfless, no?

We eventually retired to a private room, but left the door open, to maintain that edge—of danger, of safety. Clark seemed to revel in it, and it reminded me of who I was and who I've become. We didn't go near my limits, but then with Clark I have very few.

Maybe we both needed to forget, and to get away. And so, well into the work week, as my mind wanders back to Saturday night, I feel young and old at once, thanks to our excursion. But how I feel doesn't matter: Clark is what matters.
angel

(no subject)

[Locked from Clark]

It's my angel's birthday today. I haven't seen him yet, but after I tie up some loose ends at work, I'll head out of the city to pick him up and to surprise him with his birthday gift. I hope he likes it. Once upon a time, it wasn't an option, but he told me that I had free reign this year.

I'm selfishly glad to have him to myself this weekend. Last weekend we had far too much interference. Mother's day necessitated family time, which I of course understood. However, Clark saw the need to invite not only Chloe but also Lois to his mother's day brunch... company I would have rather avoided. Clark's parents and I have come to some sort of tenuous peace; but the presence of others changes the game, no doubt reminding Mr. Kent of other paths his son could have chosen. Not that Jonathan would have been too happy with Lois as a daughter in law. Who knows, maybe he's counting his blessings.

But Lois gives me little peace, and neither does Chloe. Chloe pulled me aside to speak privately about Clark's recent adventures and my role in them. She attempted to impress upon me that she would go as far as I did for him. I wouldn't wish that on her.

After the little ideal family gathering, Clark decided to distract me with sex. And who am I to argue with a solid plan like that? We made good use of the mansion's amenities, and I was happy to put Lois and Chloe, and Martha and Jonathan, out of my mind.

But this weekend will be all about Clark and only Clark. As it should be.
castle

(no subject)

[Locked from Clark]


How I feel about my father is no secret. It's never been. His recently revealed interest in Clark only escalated resentment already rooted deep. I hate him. Even those words sound so fucking flat compared to how I feel.

He hates me too. I saw it in his eyes last night. I walked into my office to find him there with Clark. An accidental reunion I would have done anything to prevent. Clark appeared to have the upper hand, but I know my father. Even if my father had only come there looking for me, as he professed, even if their meeting were completely accidental--I want him nowhere near Clark. He should be locked up. He should be worse than that.

And yet, he brought me into this world. My blood. My DNA.

I miss Pam.
castle

(no subject)

[Locked from Clark]

I believe Clark is indeed feeling more like himself. I attempted to force the issue, arranging for an impromptu meeting with his parents at a local diner dive. Greasy burgers and fries are not my choice of cuisine, but I wanted Clark to feel at ease.

I'm still not certain whether or not Clark even realized it was a set up. But either way, Clark did seem to warm slightly after being with his parents. He draws strength from his family. It's a foreign notion to me, still, but I've seen them together enough over the years to know that his family is integral to Clark's well being. I would have liked to be enough for him, but there are some parts of Clark I am still not able to reach.

I think he might be ready to return to his hometown for a visit. I know he has been avoiding the rural spaces that previously had been his comfort. But it may be time for him to take that next step, to reclaim what was and is his.

As for me, I find myself still dwelling on what I almost did, what I proved myself capable of. But I'm like a broken record, stuck on the reality of it, unable to move forward.

But I must assimilate it. There are balls in the air now, and I have to play the game. I don't have the luxury of simply opting out.
dream

(no subject)

[Locked from Clark]

I could not exist without him. He's beautiful, breathtaking, and have I mentioned recently, built like a God? To fuck him is to be anointed, carnal and celestial all at once.

But beyond that, he believes in the good in people. In the face of corruption, hell in the face of my father, he still found mercy. Belief, if not in my father, then in me.

And this even though he isn't himself, not after what my father put him through. This morning he wanted comfort. I tried to give him that and more. I'm used to him being stronger than this. He doesn't usually show his vulnerability in this way.

I don't know exactly how to handle it. I'm doing my best, but even after all these years with him, there are some types of intimacy at which I am not adept.

Fortunately, sex is not a problem. But I know it's only a temporary fix for deeper fault lines.
castle

(no subject)

[Locked from Clark]

Clark wakes in the middle of the night, often. Last night, he was clinging on to me, his hand tight on my arm. I have the bruises to show for it, which of course I have kept hidden from him. That's the last thing he needs to see.

I can't fix this. It's all I can do to get him to leave the enclose of my city apartment. He won't go back to his home town. The only person he seems willing to confide in is Chloe. Irrationally, I find myself jealous of the trust he puts in her. I see his muscles relax when he is with her. Somehow, I cannot do that for him.

But he is depending on me, too, and whatever role I can fill for him, I will.

I know it was not me who did this to him. Still, my flesh and blood. I feel responsible. If I think about it too long, my head begins to pound, my neck aches, and I want to throw things, to break them. In those moments, I regret that my angel stopped my revenge.
castle

(no subject)

[Advisor locked post]

Clark is home. Clark is safe.

No doubt you will be displeased that I tell you so late. Days have passed, now, since his return. He hasn’t seemed eager to reenter cyberspace. No doubt he doesn’t want to talk about what happened.

Indeed, much of what happened I cannot share, and that which I can share, I'm not sure I want to.

And yet, as if moved by some endless drive, some instinct, I find myself typing here again. Duty to you, my readers, to let you know that he is safe, and that we are both as well as could be expected given the circumstances.

But something more pushes me to write here, as it always has. I still cannot name the impulse. This time, maybe it’s penance. Or a desire for absolution. An attempt at confession. Or none of the above, because, truth be told, I have little to no regret.

Clark held me back from taking irrevocable action—or rather, I took action, and Clark prevented the consequences. Despite everything that Clark had been through, he saw fit to have mercy. I had none, have no capacity left for mercy. To me, both my father and Patricia are dangers that need to be eradicated. It makes no difference that I found Clark via Patricia, that she wore a wire and led me to my father. She was playing the game, and her interests remained the same throughout, like those of my father. For all this time, he had his eyes on the endgame.

My father had him in a cage.

But I cannot talk about it here. For whatever premise of trust and double talk we’ve established here, there are some things I cannot speak about. Only know this: my father has proven himself inhuman. And as a result, I am inhuman in my own desires to see his end. And if it weren’t for Clark, that would be indeed how this little lovely story ended.

I had entered the facility with only Molly and a gun. Both trusted, both good at what they do. I had purposefully kept Chloe from coming with me, not because I didn’t trust her, but because I knew that, when it came down to it, she’d stop me from taking necessary action. But she was waiting when we emerged, a true friend to Clark.

Clark is... I don’t know how Clark is doing. I can’t tell yet if this has changed him. In some ways, he seems the same, but from my own experiences, I know he must be changed.

I never wanted him to change. Not like this.
castle

(no subject)

[Advisor locked post]

Patricia Swann is not much of an enigma. She’s moderately curious, moderately ambitious, moderately intelligent, and she’s playing far out of her field. She suspected my father already, and was all too ready to believe I’d join with her against him.

She was all too ready to spill what she knows of Veritas, and to believe I would join her.

But what she told me--makes me shudder. Memories I don’t have but should have. That sense I had that I knew something: I certainly did. But I still don’t remember; I barely remember the meetings in my home, Jason and myself and Oliver and Patricia? How can I not remember? And yet--it’s still out of reach.

And what she’s told me of Veritas--that which I don’t remember--it means my father has been lying, all this time, has known so much more than he indicated, all of this time. Did he know it was Clark from the beginning? He must have. He...

Fuck, I can’t wrap my mind around it. Why did he act now? What is it he thinks he’s able to gain, now--or what was threatened? Or is he doing this now, somehow because of me, because of Clark and I and how far we’ve come?

Patricia agreed to meet with him tonight, in exchange for my partnership and for the proof that my father is responsible for her father’s death. I feel no compulsion to keep any parts of this bargain.

And now, I must wait a few hours. Everything is in place.

Waiting is torture. A drink may speed time along.
castle

(no subject)

[Locked to Clark]

Clark, for once, I'll say it, you were right about Chloe—to a degree, at least. She's smart, and she cares for you, and she knows where power lies and how to cut it down. She doesn't know how to watch out for herself, or when to recognize that she's playing outside of the safety of her own playground, but those are forgivable sins. If I find you, and get you back, based on her information, I will watch out for her from now on.

She knew enough to connect my father to the death of one Virgil Swann. And she knew enough to look into the activities of Patricia Swann. She's compiled quite a case against my father; he wouldn't like the looks of it. I'll have to bet on that.

Molly had mentioned emails from Patricia Swann, cryptic emails--and while it was concerning, I didn't have enough to go on to link it to the letters or to your absence. I should have realized; Swann the elder was your protector. Or so we believed. I hate to instill doubt, Clark, but you had best prepare yourself for the possibility that he was your betrayer from the beginning.

I'm going to meet with Patricia this evening. I put it to her in a way that she could not possibly refuse. I don't yet know the level of her involvement, but if she is behind those letters to my father, it may be high. From her response to me, I gathered that she does not know my investment in the affair, beyond my interest in my father. This will be one advantage--not my only one, but one that may take me far.

Forgive me, Clark, for not stopping this, for not unraveling it sooner, and for the masquerade I will perform this evening with Patricia.

And even if you don't forgive me, not completely, do this much: wait for me.